Page 60 of The Problem with Players

“Don’t be.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I care.”

“Well, stop caring, Nathan. Seriously. This is ridiculous. You’re my coworker, not my friend.”

“We could be friends, though,” he offered. “And roommates.”

“Nathan.”

“Avery.”

“Why are you pushing this?” I questioned. “Why are you being so damn pushy about this topic?”

His shoulders rolled back, and the corner of his mouth twitched. There was a heaviness in his stare that made me want to know his thoughts. What it was that was eating at him so much.

“You said you were extremely sad, Ave. That scares me.”

“Nath—”

“Mickey Ray Phillips.” He cut in. “Did you know him?”

I tilted my head and nodded. “Yeah, of course, I knew him. He was one of the best baseball players in the world. Wasn’t he your…?”

“Teammate, yeah. And one of my best friends.”

My stomach knotted up, knowing where this was going. Mickey Ray was one of the best Major League Baseball players of our time. He was one of the happiest-seeming individuals out there, too. I remembered when the news came out of his passing. It was shocking to hear that he took his own life. Nothing about Mickey Ray seemed to point to him being the type of person who would’ve taken his own life. Then again, what type of person took their own life? It was all types, all people, all levels of success.

Still, it stunned me.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t follow Nathan’s career. He was one of my favorite players even though I hated him. I could never hate his talent. Studying how he and Mickey played was like studying the greats. It was clear that when those two were on the field together, they jived extremely well. Though I didn’t know they were best friends. I’d only known what I saw on the television screen and during press conferences.

“I’m so sorry, Nathan,” I expressed, placing a hand on his shaky leg.

He smiled, but it wasn’t his normal, happy grin. It dripped in sadness.

“The night he passed away, he asked me to hang out with him. It was after a big win, and some of the guys were going out to celebrate. Mickey normally joined us, but he was in a weird mood. I figured it was because he didn’t perform his best during the game. Sure, we won, but Mickey was hard on himself. He’d always go deep into his head when he had a bad game. But to me, on the other hand, a win was a win. And his worst game was my best. I wanted to celebrate.” He grimaced and brushed his thumb against his nose. “I told him not to be a buzzkill and to come out with us. He asked me to stay in with him. And I didn’t…”

“Nathan, what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it, though? Looking back on it, he was reaching out to me. He was asking me to be there for him, and I couldn’t get my head out of my own ass for the life of me. I was so egotistical that I couldn’t see past myself to realize my best friend, my best fucking friend, was suffering. He had suffered for a long time, too. And I didn’tseeit. I should’ve seen it.”

“But still, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I hear you, Coach, I do. But I can’t believe that. Because he asked me to stick around that night. He pretty much begged me not to be alone. And that’s what he was—alone. They found him alone in his hotel room. That still haunts me. So the idea that you’ve been having dark thoughts…Avery…I’m sorry. But I can’t leave you alone.”

My tired, broken heart slowly began to beat for him. Maybe that was the exact second when my long-lived hatred for Nathaniel Pierce began to fade away. I had to admit, it was easier to hate him when he wasn’t around. Yet when he was around, Nathan was the easiest person in the world to like. Especially in his older age.

“We’ll figure out my living situation so I’m not alone,” Iswore to him. “I can’t stay with Yara because they have a baby on the way, and I don’t want to put them out. And Willow’s bus house is a little too small. And living with my dad…” I shivered at the thought. “Even though I love him, I can’t live with my dad. He has one too many women who like sleepovers.”

“So you’ll stay with me.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s just make it through this weekend. How about that?”

He smiled—his real smile. The smile that almost made me smile, too. He held a hand out toward me. “Promise you’ll really consider it?”

---