Page 31 of Sideline Play

Nodding my head, I whisper, “You got it,” pulling her in and securing her to me until she sighs.

“Thank you.”

“Anythin’ you need I’ll give.”

After a while, the tears pooling at the crook of my neck and slipping down my back stop flowing. Soon after, her hiccups and gasping breaths turn steady. And finally, the tremors racing through her limbs subsides.

Carding her fingers through my hair, her voice is devoid of all emotion as she sighs, “I guess I have to explain now, huh?”

“You don’thaveto do anything. If you want to tell me, I’ll listen. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t ask. If you just want to keep lying here, I’ll hold you until you’re ready to move. You do what you need and what makes you feel safe, and I’ll be here to help in any way I can.”

Pushing up so she’s square in my lap, her hands caressing up my chest and across my shoulders, she whispers, “I need to shower. I can still… still… I can still feel… feel…”

“Shh…” I soothe as the hands that are grounding her to me pick up the pace of their exploration, her breathing trying to back pedal into short, dizzying gasps. “Breathe, Scarlet. Remember, you don’t have to explain yourself. Just tell me what you need and you’ll have it.”

“A shower. Please, Remi. I just, I just want to be clean.”

Locking my arms around her, I rock forward using the momentum to pop up on the balls of my feet, years of squatting behind the plate taking over as I rise to standing.The action doesn’t go without notice though, my hip giving an echoing pop I brush aside when she tries to protest. The clicking, the blooming ache, the injury, all of it is a concern for a much later time. And unless her talking about its maintenance and admonishing me for not following the guidelines keeps her grounded in the present, I could care less about it so long as the damn thing doesn’t decide to give out on me now.

With Winnie once more leading the way, I carry Scarlet into the ensuite. Despite it all, the feeling of her in my arms and her legs locked around my waist is absolute heaven. It feels as perfect and life changing as holding my glove and making my first catch all those years ago. It feels right, and I never want to let her go or know what it's like not to have her like this ever again.

Sitting her down on the once empty, window facing vanity that’s now cluttered with makeup, hair things, and Lord only knows what else, I warn, “I’m going to kiss your forehead,” moving slowly even as she looks up at me waiting.

Taking a chance, I brush her hair back from where it’s sticking to her face. Then cupping her cheeks in my hands, I press my lips just above the middle of her brow, trying to smooth out the deep furrow that remains. Her skin is clammy to the touch, but as my fingers trail off to her neck, I find her pulse steady and calm.

Going over to the shower, I check the towel rack and turn it’s heat on. I begin turning the individual knobs, the space rapidly beginning to fill with steam as water pours out from both the wall mounted shower heads and the rainfall in the ceiling.

Voice more clear but still despondent, she asks, “Stay with me?” She slips her hand in mine and looks up.

While my back was turned she undressed, but the only thing I see when I look down at her are the broken pieces she’s been hiding so well. It doesn’t take but the few pieces dropped at my feet to put together the source of her shadows. A realization that has guilt settling in on my shoulders over possibly having triggered her episode.

The quiet, emotionless state she’s in unnerves me, so I’m startled when she brings my hand up to her lips and kisses my knuckles.

“You didn’t do anything, Remington. In fact, you’re the only person outside of my family I feel safe with. This just happens sometimes. Much less frequently now, but I don’t think these sort of things ever fully go away.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You couldn’t if you tried. At least not in that way.” Letting go of my hand, she steps into the mosaic tiled shower and offers, “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I understand. Will you atleast stay in the bathroom, though? I don’t want to be alone. Not yet.”

Reaching behind my shoulder, I pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. Then pushing my athletic shorts down, but keeping the boxers I put on after my earlier shower, I repeat, “I’m here to give you and be whatever you need, baby girl,” stepping in with her.

No sooner do I feel the water on my skin does she step back into my arms, a soft sigh leaving her as her shoulders drop and eyes close. Holding her under the hot spray, she feels impossibly fragile. As if a single sudden movement will see her shatter. And for as emotionally delicate as the moment is, I’m calm, content even. Because no matter how slow she needs to go, how many steps we may take back in our quest forward, she’s letting me in. Vulnerable as she is, she trusts me, feels safe with me, and as long as that remains, we can build something sure and sturdy. Something that will last.

After some time, I lead her out from under the rainfall and say, “Let me wash your hair for you,” already picking through the numerous bottles that have collected along my shower’s shelves since she moved in.

“The black one,” she laughs. The sound isn’t as buoyant as it would be on any other day, but it’s promising. She’s coming back to me, slowly but surely.

“Which black one?” I ask, finding three different bottles.

“The one that says ‘lather.’”

“Got it.” Squeezing it into my hand, I instruct, “Turn around.”

Transferring it to her head, I scoop up the ends of her hair and pile it all on top, beginning to massage her scalp, moving the soap about until her head is covered in a crown of white suds.

“I think I may have used too much,” I worry, wringing some out and slapping it free onto the floor to swirl down the drainbefore threading my fingers back though where they snag and pull.

“I think you may be knotting my hair.”

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