Page 52 of The Light We Lost

Knowing Nolan would likely spend an hour after the game with the team trainer to help with the recovery of his arm, I hurried down the stadium steps and toward the field. The dugout roofs were nearly flush with the stadium floor, and if anyone had a problem with me crawling onto it, they didn’t protest. I peered over the edge, ensuring the coaches weren’t inside and deciding if I could make the ten-foot drop into the dugout, when a few of the guys noticed me.They laughed, promising they’d catch me as I sat down, my feet hanging over the edge.

I braced myself to jump just as Nolan said, “Don’t you so much as think about letting them catch you, Indy Graham.”

He strode toward the center of the dugout, and I raised a brow. “What’ll happen if I do?”

His eyes flared as he stood beneath me, and my stomach stirred with excitement. “Get down here and find out.”

Consumed in the moment, I pushed off the edge and let myself fall. Strong hands caught me, my laugh breathless as Nolan wrapped my legs around his waist. His lips found mine immediately, hungry and needy. I might’ve cared about his teammates heckling us had I not tasted the musty bitterness on his tongue.

I pulled away, the taste of beer a reminder of why I felt like I was being split in two. I was failing Nolan. And I had no idea what to do. After quietly confirming he hadn’t driven here, I whispered, “I should go.” I didn’t want to make a scene, and he must’ve agreed because he lifted me up onto his shoulders and helped me climb onto the dugout roof. Still on my hands and knees, I turned to face him before he could walk away. “I love you, Nolan.”

His throat bobbed. “I love you, peaches.”

With that, I walked away, never once doubting what he felt for me. But I wasn’t confident in what he was doing. He was playing with fire. It was dangerous, and nothing good was going to come from it. Deep inside, I was relieved Nolan had told me his newfound plan and hadn’t tried to hide it from me. But I hated it.

I’d worked myself up into a panic by the time I was inside the apartment, steering between frustration and heartbreak. There was so much I needed to say to him. I was scared. Hopeless. Hurt. And I couldn’t help but wonder if Mom had been right and I had made a mistake.

But all of that went away when Nolan opened the front door.

I sat up on the bed, keeping Eugene in my lap as he closed the door behind him. He’d changed into gray joggers and a T-shirt, and I assumed by his damp hair he must’ve showered at the locker room after finishing his recovery routine.

“Is your arm feeling okay?”

“It feels good,” he assured me. “Tired, but good.”

Nolan’s coach had put him in at the beginning of the fourth inning to relieve tonight’s starting pitcher, and while he hadn’t gone over his pitch count, I wasn’t surprised his arm was tired. It was normal.

But this tension between us wasn’t.

He stared at me, and I him, the silence between us loud. He was the first to break it when he reached into his sports bag and pulled out a box of Lucky Charms. “You want to eat a bowl of cereal with me?” I scrunched my nose, assuming it was the stress from the past few weeks that made one of my favorite treats sound unappetizing, but Nolan must’ve thought otherwise. “I didn’t drive to get it. I walked to the gas station.”

I forced a tight-lipped smile, relieved he’d at least done that. “I’d like to kiss my husband without him tasting like beer more than I’d like a bowl of cereal.”

He let out a heavy breath, dropping his bag by his feet before sitting at the edge of our bed, his back to me. “I’m playing better than I ever have.”

“Exactly,” I told him. “Youare playing better than you ever have—and that’s becauseyouare beyond talented, andyouhave worked your ass off to be where you are.”

He shook his head, refusing to hear me. “You said it yourself: what we were doing wasn’t working.”

I bit my cheek, fighting my temper back. If I wanted Nolan to talk to me, I needed to keep a level head. “It wasn’t. But drinking every day isn’t the answer.”

I’d hated him drinking before, no matter how infrequent it was. But I’d understood that every time he’d done it, it was out of desperation and hopelessness. When his mind was too heavy and he couldn’t take it anymore. But I hadneversupported it. It was why I worked to be everything he needed. Why I constantly called out of work, why I tried to be in tune and sense when he shouldn’t be alone.

I didn’t mind putting Nolan first. I wanted him to reach for me.

But now he was reaching for the bottle instead.

He rubbed at his temples with his palms, his voice tired. “We talked about this, Indy. I’m being careful. This is better than me crashing and getting drunk—I’m only having three beers a day. It’s not a big deal.”

I shook my head, not bothering to repeat what I’d already told him again and again. How eventually he’d build up an intolerance and three beers wouldn’t be enough. It was only a matter of time before one of the coaching staff caught him drinking or found out one of the upperclassmen was buying him alcohol.

“It’s helping me . . . I’m not worrying all the time. My mind doesn’t feel all screwed up.”

My throat swelled. “There’s nothing wrong with your mind, Nolan.”

“You’re not the one living in it.”

I covered my mouth, strangling the emotion down. He was right, I wasn’t living in his mind. No matter how much he let me in, I’d never fully understood the weight he carried. My soul ached as I thought of the first time he’d truly shared himself with me.

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