The Aftermath
Two Years Earlier
In a stadium full of tens of thousands of people the only thing I see is the one, teal seat that’s glaringly vacant.
For the first time since I got her tickets, my best friend is a no-show. It was the first thing I noticed when I stepped onto the field after warm-ups. The metal seat gleaming in the sun has continued to taunt me each inning when my eyes inevitably find it—drawn to it like a magnet. It’s been almost ten months of having her in the stands cheering me on. Delilah rarely misses and if she’s going to, she always lets me know.
Each time my eyes find her empty seat the panic coursing through my body escalates another notch. I couldn’t even tell you what the stats or highlights of the game were. Each inning I went out there, counting down the seconds until I could get out of there. I haven’t been that unfocused since last year, after I lost my brother, Jarrett, in a tragic accident.
My knee bounces, making the bench shake while Coach Wilson gives his postgame speech in the locker room. I nod along as he reviews the critical moments in the game, but it’s all background noise. As soon as he’s done talking to us, I grab my phone, frantically checking for a message or call from her. Anything to let me know she’s okay.
There’s nothing.
The pit in my stomach grows deeper until it feels bottomless. I shoot off a text and take the world’s fastest shower, hoping that when I’m done, there will be a message from her.
Nothing.
Her phone just rings and rings when I try calling her as I walk through the player’s lot. I’m practically running by the time I disconnect.
It’s a miracle I don’t get pulled over as I race towards her apartment. The entire way, my heart is beating wildly at the visions that flash through my head like a sickening slideshow. It’s one I have seen before, but this time it’s Delilah in a hospital bed, with a breathing tube—eyes closed in a permanent sleep. My palms are damp as I grip the steering wheel tightly, hanging on like it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from losing it completely. One more block.
I pull into the first spot I see and run toward her building. Taking the stairs two at a time, instead of waiting for the elevator, I skid to a stop at her door.
My fist comes down on her door harder than I intend with the anxiety coursing through me. “Delilah, are you there?” My voice shakes as I continue knocking. “Delilah!” I bark again, seriously considering kicking the door in.
It seems like hours before the knob turns and the door swings open. My eyes roam over her, checking to make sure she’s okay. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. I cross the threshold without a word and wrap her in my arms. As soon as I have her in my arms, my muscles uncoil for the first time since I spotted her empty seat.
She clings to me, her whole body shaking as a sob escapes her. The door clicks shut behind me and I squat, scooping her small body into my arms.
“Talk to me, Delilah. You’re scaring me,” I beg as I move us through the apartment, keeping her cradled against my chest. We sink to the couch together and my hand comes up to brush her blonde hair back, but it’s stuck to her tear-streaked face. After smoothing it out of the way, I tilt her chin up. She sniffles and tries to bury her face back in my shoulder, like whatever is happening makes it too hard to face me. “Is someone hurt? One of your dads?” She shakes her head, still struggling to control her breathing. “Is Brad okay?” I ask just grasping at straws for what could have her this wrecked.
The maniacal laugh that comes out of her mouth alarms me. “Yes—no. Brad’s fine. Better than fine,” she chokes out the words, her chest heaving as she wipes the sleeve of her sweater under her nose. “I found Bridget in his lap—naked—this morning when he bailed on our brunch. Since when is fucking the groom part of bridesmaid responsibilities?” She looks up at the ceiling before looking back at me. “He told me he was sick and I went to check on him, like the fool I am.”
Rage is bubbling just under the surface, but I lock that shit down. She doesn’t need my emotions adding fuel to the fire. My hands come to the side of her face, cradling it and forcing her to see the sincerity in my eyes. “Jesus Delilah. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I’m so stupid. It wasn’t even the first time. How did I not see it?”
I grit my teeth and place a gentle hand on her chin coaxing her to look up at me. “No. You're not gonna do that. This isn’t your fault.” By some miracle, I keep my voice mellow even though there’s a battle raging inside me. I’m so fucking angry that she’s blaming herself—that she’s hurting, but as much as I try to shut it down there’s a piece of me that’s glad she’s free of him. I rub circles on her back as she shakes in my arms, tearing my heart out. I want to kill him for hurting her like this—for not seeing what he’s had all along. “He’s a tool. No, a wholeshedfull of tools. Hands down the dumbest man on the planet to let someone as amazing as you slip through his fingers.” My voice softens. “He’s the problem, not you. What can I do?”
“Stay. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Anything Delilah.” I kick my shoes off and shift under her, so my legs are extended in front of me, keeping her curled up in my lap. Her breathing slows as I rub her back until she passes out in my arms.
We stay like that until I’m certain she is asleep. Pushing off the couch with her in my arms, I carry her to her room and tuck her in before crawling in next to her. I don’t want her to wake up alone in the middle of the night.
I slowly creep through Delilah’s apartment to find coffee.
She’s still sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her if I can avoid it. Mikey was already scheduled to open today, so she has the morning off.
When I find the grounds, I brew a carafe for the two of us. I have to get to practice this morning, but I’m not leaving here until the last possible minute. She was understandably devastated last night, and I need to see that she’s okay this morning. I’ll drag her along to practice if I need to.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memories still haunting me from last night. I thought she was physically hurt. The whole time I was trying to get to her, images of her in a hospital bed haunted me.
The drip of the coffee pulls me out of the dark memories.
I hear Delilah blowing her nose in the other room before she shuffles out. Her eyes are still puffy, but less red this morning. Golden wisps of hair fall free from her adorably messy bun sitting crooked on her head. It’s not lost on me that even like this she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“You started coffee. That’s usually my job.” Her lips curl into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s a start. “You need to get to the stadium soon.”
