Page 41 of Convincing the Catcher

Her eyes lock with mine, and I swear she’s looking right through me—seeing everything I’ve always worked hard to hide.

“Yeah, here’s the thing,” she whispers. “After actually spending time with you, I don’t see how in the world you could have ever done what you admitted to doing.”

Out of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them. My brother? Sure. Cash knows me. He knows I have a tendency to jump in front of a moving bus to stop it from hitting other people. But Harley? She doesn’t know me that well. Not in that sense at least. And yet, with her eyes burning into mine, I know she’s calling bullshit on it all.

I could tell her she’s wrong. I could change the subject or come up with a lie. And if I was talking to anyone else right now, I would. In this moment though, I don’t know why … but I know I can trust her.

“It was my fault, Catch,” I murmur, tilting my head closer to hers. “That’s what matters most.”

Her eyes narrow a tiny bit. So small that most people wouldn’t notice. She examines me, searching my face for some sort of tell.

I may have a poker face with everyone else, but with her … fuck, it’s hard.

“Because you drove there,” she whispers, almost like she’s asking a question. “You drove there, not knowing that was your teammates’ plan.”

Exhaling, I look straight forward at the seatback in front of me.

“Cane,” she whispers, putting her hand on my arm, “you took the fall for something you hadn’t done. You … you ruined your reputation to help out your teammates.” She pauses, keeping her hand on my arm, and I fucking feel that touch in my entire body. “Why would you do that? Even if you did drive, it still wasn’t your fault.”

I’m quiet for a moment, knowing we’re getting closer to landing with every moment that passes. And the second this plane’s wheels touch that pavement, she’ll have to worry about her dad again. Until then, even if it’s five minutes or, hell, thirty seconds from now, I can take her mind off that with this.

“My stepdad is a retired NHL player. My biological dad may be gone, but I have Tripp and my mom. So, I have the best parents,” I say, still not looking at her. “Tripp is an assistant coach for the hockey team and my family …” I pause, sighing before I finally look at her. “I am a lot more fortunate than a lot of the guys I play with, Harland. Some of them? They have no family. At least not one they can count on. They don’t have a famous stepdad to bail them out of trouble or a credit card to buy whatever they want.” I exhale. “I do though. I have all of those things.”

Her brow furrows, and she gives me a tiny, almost sad smile.

“Wow,” she whispers. “You know … if everyone knew you—like, really knew you—they would have never given you a hard time on social media.” She inhales through her nose. “You are a really good guy, Cane. And I mean that.”

As the plane drops lower, her neck cranes to look out the window, and her fingers begin to fidget nervously. And seconds before the wheels hit the ground, I have her hand in mine, lacing my fingers through hers.

“Touchdown,” I say, leaning against her as the plane’s brakes forcefully come on.

Looking at me, she laughs nervously, putting a hand on her chest. “I always hate that part.”

I don’t pull my hand from hers right away. Instead, I keep our fingers intertwined until the plane is parked and it’s time to get out. Even then, I wish I didn’t have to let go.

I don’t know what she’ll need from me once we get to that hospital. Maybe she’ll want to push me away, or maybe she’ll need me to stay close. Whatever she needs … whatever she wants … that’s what I’ll do.

HARLEY

After driving the fifteen minutes it takes to get from the airport to the hospital, our Uber driver pulls up in front of the huge main building, and we grab our things and get out.

“Thank you, sir,” Cane tells the driver before closing the door.

The first thing he does is reach for my small duffel bag, and then he takes it from me, slinging it over his shoulder with his own.

“Ready?” he asks, and slowly, I turn toward the doors.

“No,” I whisper. “But I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He puts his arm around me, and without saying another word, we walk up to the doors and inside the hospital when they open.

The scent of antiseptic hits my nose, instantly making me feel even more uneasy than I already do. Before my dad got cancer, I didn’t mind hospitals. I had friends who would talk about hating them and hating their stench. For me, I didn’t really understand the aversion.

Until right now.

My body feels like ice, and my heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that everything else is just … white noise. I swear I forget how to put one foot in front of the other, but then Cane moves his arm from around my shoulders and takes my hand in his. He may not be saying a word, yet he’s making this a tiny bit more bearable, somehow.

“Didn’t your mom text you his room number?” he whispers gently.