Page 78 of Convincing the Catcher

I expect him to lean down and kiss me—anything that says he feels the same. Instead, he removes my hand from his shirt and wraps his arms around my upper body to lay me down in the bed before he pulls the blankets over my body.

I stare up at him, the alcohol only letting me be slightly mortified that he pushed me away.

He turns away from me before walking toward the door.

“Cane,” I practically sob out of nowhere. “Can you at least stay with me?”

The light turns off, and I wait. I wait, and I wonder if him seeing me this way—watching how far I’ve fallen from the woman I was a month ago—has changed how he sees me.

He knew me as the badass catcher. Now I’m the girl who ignores her diabetes to shake her ass at a party.

Footsteps again, and not long after, the bed shifts from his weight. His arms slide around my waist, and my back is pulled snugly against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I sob quietly, the two words tearing through my throat pathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know what happens next or what other words slip from my lips because the world goes dark. And I don’t try to fight it; instead, I just succumb to the spinning and the comfort of Cane’s arms.

CANE

I hold Harland against me, but it doesn’t feel the way it did a few weeks ago in the hotel room. She was hurting then, sure. But this is different. Now it feels like she’s not even in there at all.

Since she came to NEU, she’s been one of the most composed, mentally strong athletes I have ever seen play. And though I hoped that she wouldn’t lose that when her dad died, I expected it to some degree because there’s nothing that can prepare someone for what it feels like to no longer have a dad on earth.

I want to be here for her—and I will, if she needs me. But deep down, I know me being here for her would just be putting a Band-Aid on her pain. I can’t heal her. Nobody can.

I figured she would throw up, but to my surprise, she simply passed out once her sugar came back up after some Skittles.

I reach my fingertips to my phone as it sits on my nightstand, sighing when I see that it’s after midnight now. I haven’t been sleeping much since we got back from Montana, and my body is starting to feel it. She’s been out for over two hours in my arms, and yet I haven’t so much as dozed off for a second of it.

I wasn’t going to go to the party tonight, but when Hendrix messaged me and said that Harland was drunk off her ass and that I should get over there, within five minutes, I was carrying her out of that house.

Pushing her away this time was almost harder than before because all I’ve done is miss her the past few weeks. But she’s drunk, and I’d never do that to her.

I look down at her, brushing some hair away from her cheeks as she sleeps. My eyes sweep over her beautiful face, and I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She’ll be all right …

I’m just not sure when.

THIRTY-FOUR

HARLEY

My eyes open to slits, and right away, the pounding in my head has me closing them again. I don’t know if my blood sugar is suddenly high, but this headache feels different than that. Then it hits me …

I’m in Cane’s bed. And my head hurts because, for the first time in my life, I got drunk at a party.

Opening my eyes again—this time about halfway—I reach for the other side of the bed to find it empty. This is the first time I’ve been in Cane’s room, and even though it’s dim, I let my eyes sweep around it, taking in how neat it is.

Water … I need water.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, I swing my legs, letting my feet hit the floor before gazing down at my outfit. Gray sweatpants hang off my body, along with an NEU baseball tee that is more like a short dress.

I look back at the bed and frown, wondering why he would bring me here and then leave. Maybe I’ve been such a bitch lately that he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me. I wouldn’t blame him; I haven’t been that nice since we got back. I’ve ignored most of his texts and done everything possible not to run into him on campus. All because what? I’m afraid that I’ll throw myself at him if we get too close?

Suddenly, a flashback from last night hits me, and I cringe when I recall coming onto him after he was nice enough to get me dressed in more comfortable clothes. I debate not going downstairs at all, scared to face him, but the need for water makes it worth the risk, I guess.

Walking out of the room, I head down the hallway. I’m nearly to the kitchen when I hear the voices. They aren’t yelling, but they are loud enough for me to make out every word.