“JJ?” His sleepy slur is faint. His hand searches around the mattress. “JJ?”
I drop to kneel by his bedside, grabbing his hand between mine. “Yeah, I’m here. What do you need?”
His eyes crack open, and shattered blue glass stares back at me. “I’m—I’m—” he rasps.
My heart clenches. His voice sounds like sandpaper scraping over his throat.
I quickly grab the Gatorade I had already opened and popped a straw in. “Take a small sip of this.” Once he takes a couple pulls, I take it away. “Not too much at once. Let’s see how your stomach does with that, ‘kay?”
He nods while he watches me through bleary eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He turns his hand over, palm up, his fingers open in invitation.
I lace mine with his. I’m not sure if he’s apologizing for getting incredibly drunk, for tonight and flirting with that woman, or for the past few days. But none of that needs to be discussed right now. I just want him feeling better, both body and mind.
“That’s a conversation for another time.”
His lids droop, and his blinks slow. “I’m really struggling.” His words are threadbare, broken, like the man they drifted from.
My throat tightens. “I know. But you’ll get through this. We’re all here for whatever you need.” I’m here.Please know I’m here.
“Stay with me, Storm Cloud,” he slurs faintly. His eyes flutter shut, and his breaths even out, slow and steady.
The organ in my chest trips over itself.
I brush back a golden wave. “Like I have a choice, Sunshine.”I’m yours.
I don’t know what to do to help him.
His phone lights up. A text notification from My Favorite Mommaglowing on the screen.
Something that drives you.
My momma. Everything I do, I do for her.
Maybe I can’t help him. But there might be someone who can. I snatch up the phone and slip into the kitchen.
I tap call. It rings once. “Shane Andrew Michaels.You are in so much trouble. Ignoring my calls and text messages! I raised you better than that, baby.”
I clear my throat awkwardly. “Ah, Ms. Michaels?”
There’s a pause.
“Who’s this?”
“Jed Stone Junior, ma’am.”
“Ah. The man who stole shortstop from my baby.”
I choke. Great. His mother already hates me.
“Uh. Yes, that one.”
“What’s going on, Jed? Why are you calling me from my son’s phone?”
I glance at the slightly ajar bedroom door, Shane’s soft snores drifting out to me. “I think…do you think you could make a trip up here?”
“What’s wrong?” I can practically see her sitting up straighter just by her tone of voice.
I don’t know how much to relay. Shane’s obviously been avoiding her too. God, do I know that too well. It was for different reasons, but I was in Shane’s place not so long ago. The intentional isolation. It’s instinct, the same thing wounded animals do. Withdraw to lick their wounds. Or worse.
