Page 72 of The Light We Lost

I nodded, trying to keep the hope within me at bay. Nolan must’ve sensed the change in me, or felt as I did, as he put a hand on my hip and pulled me to him. His arms banded tightly around my shoulders, and mine his waist. I presseddeeper into his frame, his comfort a second home. Neither of us voiced it, but I imagined we were silently assuring one another of the same thing:We’ll be okay. We’re going to get through this. I’m not letting go.

Later, when I lay on the bathroom floor, I tried telling myself those very words. Willed myself to believe them as I curled my knees to my chest, my back aching. But no matter how I tried, there was no denying the absence of strong arms and warmth around me, no denying how very alone I was.

Everything wasnotfine.

Nolan

I craned my neck back, arm pressed against the dugout fence as I scanned the stadium stands, searching for Indy. It was the bottom of the fourth inning, meaning it was our team’s chance to score. I didn’t play offense—I had a pinch hitter—so typically I’d spend our at bats on the bench, resting my arm.

But Indy wasn’t here.

“Have you seen Indy?” I asked Dalton, hoping he’d spotted her and she’d only gone off to the concession stand or something.

“Yeah. She’s in my bed, right where I left her—ouch!” He gave me a wide-eyed look and brought his hand to his chest, his skin red from where I’d squeezed it. “What the hell, man?”

“Did you see her or not?”

“I don’t know. I don’t keep tabs on her.” He shook his head, his attention on the game as he murmured, “Why do you reek like beer?”

I cursed under my breath, glancing over my shoulder to ensure no one had heard him. Indy was right. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t drinking during games or how I tried to hide it; I was going to get caught. But it was hard to quit when I felt like it was working, relaxing my mind enough to let me play ball.

Except it wasn’t doing shit for me now.

I leaned over the dugout fence and scanned the stands beside right field, just as a voice boomed through the dugout. “Graham!” Coach Whitmore was acrossthe dugout, spit flying from his mouth. “You got somewhere else you want to be?”

I cleared my throat, hopping down from the fence. “No, sir.”

“Then sit your ass down”—he pointed at the bench—“and keep your head in the game. If you’d rather be somewhere else, you’re welcome to walk out.”

Time seemed to still, and a hand nudged my shoulder, probably one of my teammates telling me to sit down. I held Coach Whitmore’s gaze, not out of disrespect, but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to be here.

Because baseball, everything I was working for . . . none of it mattered without Indy.

And I didn’t know where she was.

I sat down and focused on the game, leaving every bit of myself on the field, all while promising myself Indy hadn’t left me.

But had I given her any reason to stay?

That question haunted me throughout the game, worsening when Coach relieved me with a different pitcher after I’d thrown six innings. If my arm was tired, I didn’t know. I didn’t feel it. Nor did I feel the win when the final scoreboard read four-three and my teammates celebrated around me.

Indy hadn’t shown.

Knowing I’d suffer the consequences in the morning, I told the trainer I had a family emergency and dipped out of our post-game recovery session. My arm could fall off for all I cared. Maybe I was overreacting, but Indy didn’t just not show up. She’d always shown up for me.

Even when I’d least expected anyone to find me.

I ran through campus, regretting leaving my phone at home. I hadn’t wanted to be distracted. My head pounded with pressure, but I ignored it and climbed our complex’s steps two at a time, not stopping until I was outside our apartment door. Fingers shaking, it took me two tries to get the key in and the door open.

The apartment was dark, and I flicked on the light switch, relieved to find Indy on the bed.

The feeling was short-lived. Her back trembled with each breath. Was she sick? She’d told me she was on her period, but it didn’t usually knock her down like this. I racked my brain, trying to remember how she’d been this morning. I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember.

My throat swelled. I walked to the bed, heavy with guilt, and scooped Eugene up from where he lay behind her and stole his spot, faintly registering Indy was lying on a towel.

“Hey.” Her voice was throaty, as though I’d woken her up. “How’d the game go? Do you still have the best ass?”

I let out a half-hearted chuckle, noticing the heating pad and pain relievers on the bedside table. “Are you sick?”

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