Page 30 of Diamond Ring
“Are you psychic too?” Because Alex’s aunt is, or at least does a reasonable enough impersonation to convince their neighbors, though Alex says it’s mostly psychology and selling back gossip at a markup.
“With that pitch. I knew something was going on.”
Jake tenses. “I told you it wasn’t because of that.”
“You can’t be sure. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m hurt until the next day.”
“That’s not what happened.” Jake smiles, trying to defuse some of his annoyance, because Alex ishereand Jake doesn’t want him to leave. Because he flew down to see Jake, even if it was to assuage his own guilt. “I was running—”
Alex makes a disapproving noise at the general idea of running, even if he’s fast for a catcher, meaning slow for a barge.
“—and it just kind of gave out.” Jake doesn’t mention nearly puking on his neighbors’ lawn or spending the ride to the doctor’s office blinking back tears, both at the pain and knowing his season was likely scrubbed.
“You were probably already hurt.”
What the doctor said and the surgeon said and his mother said. Jake swallows but doesn’t disagree.
“Don’t do that.” Alex gestures to whatever expression he’s making. “That thing where you think something’s bullshit but don’t want to piss me off. If I’m totally out of line, just say that.”
Jake laughs, a real laugh. “This offseason sucked without you.”
“Well, I’m here now. What’s there to do in the suburbs?”
They spend the day hanging out in Jake’s room. Alex’s present turns out to be headphones because Jake always forgets his on team flights and they sometimes end up sharing Alex’s, an earbud in each of their ears as they watch movies. A present that makes Jake a little sad that he won’t have an excuse to burrow under the same blanket, to sit close, to have Alex glare at him as Jake laughs through some comedy.
Until Alex says, “Let’s see if these have decent sound pickup.” And he nudges his way onto Jake’s bed.
They watch a movie on Jake’s laptop, Alex lying next to him, one earbud in, Jake with the other. Alex laughs, occasionally, then pretends he isn’t. The only reason Jake doesn’t laugh along with him is that he has no idea what’s happening in the movie, not with the solid weight of Alex’s body next to his, the smell of strawberry body wash, the way Alex’s fingers stroke the top of Jake’s comforter, then the side of Jake’s leg as they get closer.
“Is it too warm in here?” Jake asks. Because the heat’s running full blast and Alex complains at San Francisco summers being too hot sometimes, even when Jake’s wearing a sweatshirt.
He expects Alex to move over, to interject some cool air between them. “I’m good.”
It’s a soporific kind of warmth, Jake slowly growing sleepier as his arm relaxes and his tangled-up thoughts unravel. He doesn’t realize he’s asleep until he’s dreaming. He’s on the mound, a crouching figure of a catcher in the distance. Alex, by the obstinate set of his shoulders. Jake throws, but the ball comes up short, Alex blinking back toward the horizon. Another ball materializes in Jake’s hand. Another throw. Alex moves farther and farther away, until he’s all but invisible like a bobbing dot of a distant ship. Jake calls out to him, his voice locked in his throat, as an unseen crowd jeers.
“Hey.” A hand shakes his good arm.
Jake blinks his eyes open. Afternoon has deepened into early evening. The house is quiet save the blow of the air in the vents. Alex is looking at him. He has dark brown eyes, fringed with thick lashes like he’s wearing mascara. Which he sometimes does according to the tube Jake found in his bathroom cabinet and never asked about. The way he doesn’t ask about Alex’s club gear or the gadgetry in his nightstand or how he’s looking at Jake now, concerned.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Alex says.
Jake sits up. “Did I say anything funny?”
Alex presses his lips together. They go a brief white. “Not really.” He doesn’t elaborate. “What’d you want to do for New Year’s?”
Which is tomorrow. “Some of my friends from high school are having a party.”
“You want to go?”
“I can’t really drink and I can’t really drive, but it’d be okay to see them. If you don’t mind.”
Alex looks skeptical at the idea that it’ll be any fun. “Sure.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“I love drinking flat beer out of Solo cups and dancing to top forty. It’s gonna be”—his smile goes brassily bright, to the point where Jake rolls his eyes—“epic.”
“It’s not gonna be like that.” Though it very much is.
