Page 24 of Lines We Cross
It was the whispered plea that hit me, that made me look up and meet his stare. My armor clanked as it hit the ground, leaving my heart vulnerable to that blue-eyed gaze. I’d always been a sucker for those eyes. They still had the magic to make me melt.
“Fine. Meet me after work. Around six at the baseball field,” I whispered back, closing my eyes for a second just to break the connection. To give myself a second to collect myself. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I’d grown a steel backbone and I had to remember that no matter how Max tried to make that steel melt in a puddle at his feet.
He let the conversation go at my promise, throwing himself into the stretching that I knew caused him a great deal of pain. We even worked on the quadriceps muscle, getting it firing again so he could work on strength training soon. He was quite a natural athlete, catching on to things quickly and responding faster than most of my clients. If I went a little over the hour with him, it was only because I knew how important it was to get him back out on that field sooner rather than later.
* * *
The sun had just set, giving off a kaleidoscope of oranges and reds sliding down the horizon. The metal bleachers were already cold, the chill seeping through my jeans. I pulled my jacket around me tighter wondering why I’d chosen this spot to talk to Max. Just behind me lay the football field where the infamous kiss had happened. That seemed like the last thing I should have on my mind as we hashed out our differences. On the other hand, maybe I needed the reminder forefront in my brain to keep me from falling under his spell.
He came around the bleachers and bounded up the stairs, giving me a few precious seconds to drink him in before he directed those blue eyes at me. He was wearing a Niners baseball hat tonight, a gray T-shirt stretching across his muscular upper body. The jeans were just tight enough to show off the muscles underneath, flexing as he climbed the bleachers. His limp was far less pronounced already and I felt a professional glow of pride at my contribution to his progress.
“Rae.” Max nodded and had a seat next to me.
The scent of his cologne and soap washed over me, familiar from when he came to his physical therapy sessions. Back when we were kids, it had just been soap and Max’s own unique scent. I’d once stolen his sweatshirt when he was seventeen after he’d slept over at our house. Emerson would have killed me if he knew, but I kept it hidden away under my pillow. The fabric had kept his scent for a whole week before I stuffed it back in Emerson’s room to be found later and given back to Max.
“Max,” I replied.
He put his big hand on my knee, the one that had been jostling up and down in a nervous habit I didn’t know I had. I stilled immediately, enjoying his hand on me far too much. He didn’t remove it and I didn’t make him.
“I used to spend more time on that field than I did in a classroom. I had big dreams and bless my parents for never talking me out of it. We had no doubt I’d make it onto the big field one day. But it all started on this one.”
We both stared out at the high school field, me lost in the ribbon of pleasure coursing up my leg where Max’s hand lay, him lost in the memories of long ago. He finally removed his hand and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Do I have even a remote chance of making it back out there, Rae?” He cut his head my direction, finally making the eye contact I both yearned and dreaded.
As a professional, I would never lie to a patient. Not even one who had his entire future on the line and his heart in his eyes. “Of course you have a chance. It’s a pretty small one, but you’ve always beat the odds, Max. Guy from a small town? There’re thousands of guys out there just like you, wanting to play in the big leagues. But you made it happen when the rest didn’t. No reason you can’t make this happen too.”
“Give me a percentage,” he grunted.
I looked away, not courageous enough to see the damage my words would bring to that hope he held clutched to his chest like a lifeline. “Ten.”
He sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out, looking back at the field. A few crickets hidden in the dark kept up a steady chirp soundtrack. Any other person, any other circumstance, it would be a relaxing way to spend the evening.
“Next issue. Why are you always mad at me? The real reason, Rae.”
The stare was back and with a quick mental pep talk during a prolonged sigh, I met his gaze. “You and Emerson were best friends. Yes, so were Heath and Ryder, but you and Emerson. Well, you two werebrothers. And then he got sick and moved back home. I juggled work and taking care of him for a full year and not once did you come back and visit. Not once did you try to help him. You weren’t even at his funeral. I just don’t understand what kind of man does that to his brother.”
He winced, but didn’t break eye contact. Several beats passed while he absorbed my accusations. With a broken sigh, he grabbed my hands, holding them tight.
“The day he told me about his diagnosis, I had a plane ticket booked back home. He begged me to stay on the road and finish out the season. Made me promise to stay away while he beat the cancer. Said it wasn’t a big deal. Just a few months of chemo and he’d be a new man. I gave him his wish, checking in almost daily.”
Max squeezed me tighter and looked back out at the field. “I could hear it in his voice a few months later. He wasn’t getting better. The cancer was beating him. Again, I booked a flight home and he broke down, begging me not to see him like that. Told me he wanted my memories of him to be when we were kids, when he was whole. I told him I didn’t care about all that, but he wouldn’t budge. I called your mom and talked to her about it. In the end, we decided to respect his wishes. How do you tell a dying man no, right?”
Max’s eyes filled with tears and my heart squeezed in my chest. I knew that pain well. I carried that grief every single day since Emerson left this world.
“Emerson was my brother. Still is.” His voice broke as he spoke. He swallowed hard and continued. “And I was at his funeral. You were next to your mom and dad, the black dress you wore looking as strange as everything else that day. You never used to wear black. Said with your red hair, you were made to wear colors.”
I chuckled, despite my wet eyes. He remembered. He was there. Everything I thought about Max had been wrong. I laid my head on his shoulder, two people sharing grief the only way they knew how: together.
“Why didn’t you say hello?”
He rested his head on mine. “I couldn’t go up there without breaking down and I figured that wasn’t what Emerson would want. Besides, I didn’t want the focus on me. I’m used to having my picture taken at all times and posted online, but I didn’t want that kind of private matter plastered on the internet.”
I nod against his shoulder. A tickle of remorse finds its way through the grief.
“I’m sorry, Max.”
“For what?”
