Page 185 of Chasing Headlines

And then there was the doorway to his room. No door, but a space large enough for double doors. Breslin lay on his back amidst dark-colored sheets and a fuzzy blanket—his features smooth as he breathed.Must be nice.I grumbled and wished I had a pair of his dirty uniform socks to ball up and throw at him.

I glanced around his room, but there hadn't been any other 'place' to sleep in the single-athlete dorm. No couch or even a stuffed chair.

And I sure as hell was not getting in that bed. Nope. The guy was already a giant forced into a standard-sized mattress, no-doubt made of ultimate cushy memory foam wonderfulness worth basking in. And definitely beat wavering on my feet like I might topple over any second.

Nope. Not happening.I’d go sleep on the tiny window ledge first. The closet floor. Hot coals and simmering embers. I sighed.The floor right here wins.A small amount of light filtered in from the window, and a charging cable already plugged in, next to his built-in nightstand. I stared at short, bland carpet.

He could at least donate a pillow and blanket to the cause, though.Hard headed jerk.I should still be mad at him forhiding his injury and letting the coach put him in the game. Yes. That was it. I was mad. Would be mad . . . tomorrow at some point.

I found a clean-enough looking blanket in the closet. Spread it over the small span of floor between the bed and the window. The bottom shelf space of his nightstand did not look like a suitable pillow, but there hadn't been anything pillow-like. I lifted to my knees beside his bed—my eyes so desperate to close.

Ah-ha. He had a second pillow on the other side of his double-bed. I rose and reached over him. The warmth of his skin hovered in the air, saturating the space with: his spicy, earth-flavored scent, his quiet presence, his?—

Open eyes.

He stared at me. Electric, hot-cold shivers zapped me to life. “Ah. You’re awake.” I scooted back to the safety of my floor blanket, holding the pilfered plush softness. “Are you ok? How's your head? Do you?” My breath came in pants and gasps.

“Need me to make room?” Those dark eyebrows lifted and so did the corner of his mouth.

“What?” My heart tried to leap from my chest. “No! I just wanted a pillow.” I held it up as if its existence explained something. “See?” I hugged it to me and studied the door frame. What's not interesting about basic white trim around double doors? A lone picture hung on his wall. An older woman knelt beside a young boy in a baseball uniform.Probably his mom.

“That's all?” His sleep roughened voice stoked a small flame near my heart. I glanced his direction and got caught in his gaze. “You could just admit you like me, it’s not like I mind.” He gave me a bleary-eyed version of that smirky grin that made me want to hit him with his pillow—seventeen hundred times.

“That’s it.” I stood from the floor. “We’re going back to the hospital. Clearly, your brain was damaged.” I fiddled with the edges of the pillow. “Those helmets don’t do enough to protectpeople. I’ll lodge a complaint with the college. The NCAA if I have to.”

He sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes wide and seemingly focused on me.

“And-and what the hell were you doing out there anyway?” I hit his shoulder with the pillow. “You jerk! You knew you weren’t ok.” I threw the thing at him, but it just fell to the floor. “And you still!” I sniffled. “You could've been really hurt.” The room wobbled and distorted. “I don't like you, I'm mad at you, and I?—”

He reached up and wiped away a tear. More fell, trickling down my skin. I couldn’t stop. Idiotic, stupid, overly-tired Liv.You’re such a fool.I shuffled backwards, glancing at the door.But I promised to stay with him.I sunk back down on the blanket, grabbing and hugging my new Breslin-scented pillowy bff.

“I don’t think anyone has ever . . . cried.”

I sat back on my heels and wiped at my eyes. He rose. Always so much larger. You’d think I’d be used to it. He was probably the exact same height as Curt. Or close to it.

Ballplayers. They’d made me feel accepted when I was anxious. Abandoned. Small.

“There you go, little Livvie.” A mostly faceless blur in my memory placed his hat on my head. “Can’t be part of the team without a hat.”

Oh no. Why now?No, no. It’d been short lived, anyway. Mom still hadn’t been there when we got home that night. I’d woken up every evening for months, sobbing, aching, begging a strange man who wore my father’s face but never smiled, anymore—for my mother to come home.

“What? Bruise your ego to have a girl crying in your room at night?” I wouldn't look at him. The great Breslin Cooper was certain to beexactlyas my brother claimed his teammates were. The kind-faced ones who were so accepting to a child. Playedbaseball like they were born for it. And traipsed on women’s hearts because they could.

“Coach said I couldn't use this for at least three days.” He held up the condom packet and gave me a dangerous look.

I turned away. “None of my business.”

I couldn’t reconcile it. I’d never been able to. Baseball and the people associated with it—my brother, his teammates, coaches, the scouts I interned with . . . Antonio, Fens, Eddie, Jacobs, even Eberhardt. That fieldhouse felt more like home than my father's mostly-empty and somewhat occasional residence.

“Not what I meant.”

“What kind of mess are we in? This was a bad idea. We both got you into this and now everyone on your team thinks we’re dating. So they think you want me here. Taking care of you. When I’m the last person.”

He lowered himself to the floor. “You’re the last person, what?”

“You'd want. Here, now . . .” My voice ran out.Ever.I wiped at my eyes again. “Aren’t I?”

A small frown pulled at his eyebrows. “Depends. Are you here to interview me?”

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