Page 41 of The Road to Home Base
I texted Ricky and told him to call me.
Seconds passed before I remembered to breathe. Then came the minutes with short, shallow breaths. Minutes went from single to double digits. Did he take his phone and chuck it? Was he busy?
Nearly a half hour passed before the ringing came.
I took a calming breath. Slid the screen to answer the call.
“Hey,” I said, and I knew it sounded like I spoke to Death itself.
“Alex, baby, hi,” Ricky cooed in the saccharin voice he liked to use. “I’m glad you finally are talking to me. What are you doing?”
“Editing,” I said and tried to keep my voice from wavering. “Hey, so listen, I was hoping we could talk.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Of course. I was hoping we could, too, baby. You saw my texts, right? About the CTE? Let me tell you, it was such a relief to learn that, you know? Like, it just makes so much sense about everything. Obviously it was when I was hit too hard. Probably from that bitch-ass pussy Kostov. Kicked his fuckin’ ass in the next match, though.” He laughed, a stupid, impish sound. “But that’s amazing, baby, right? Like, it just shows that it wasn’t me. It was the brain injury, you know?”
I had no words. Everything dried up in my mouth as if he stood right in front of me with his arm craning back for a swing.
“Baby, you there?”
That two-syllable term of endearment that made my skincrawl. Each utterance felt like a bee sting. The more of them I accrued, the more painful it felt. “I’m here, yeah. I dunno about the CTE thing, Ricky. I’m glad you’re figuring out what’s wrong. But—”
“They say it makes me think irrationally,” he interrupted. “My actions aren’t my own sometimes, you know? Like, like you know, sometimes I just see red. And that isn’t me. It just isn’t. That’s the brain injury. I do things I don’t wanna. But I’m recovering. They’ve got all these fancy things now. Pills ’n shit. Therapies, I guess. That’s good, right, baby? I know it’s what you want to hear. Baby, I am so, so sorry. You gotta believe it wasn’t me, though. Okay? But I’ll own up to it because I ain’t no bitch. I did what I did. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. What are you doing right now?”
“Editing,” I said again but I knew what would come next.
“Well, guess what?” A knock came at my door.
I froze.No. No way.
“Hello?” came Ricky’s voice through the phone, followed by more knocking, this round more insistent. “I’m here, baby. I’mactuallyhere.”
“How did you get through the front door?”
“Someone let me in. Come on, I gotta see you. I’m right outside your door. Please let me in? Please? If we can just talk face-to-face?”
I felt Devin appear on my shoulder screaming my name. Screaming for me to call him. To call the cops. To wedge a chair under the doorknob. To grab a knife.
And yet. Something carried me to my door where I looked out the peephole. There stood Ricky through a fish-eyed view. Shorter than me, shaved head, dark stubble, impressively toned body accented by a snug, black t-shirt.
He looked… what,concerned? He didn’t appear frantic. The center of his brow curled up. Was he actually apologetic? CouldI get the closure I needed?
Something dark and insidious inside my brain took that thought and ran with it.Yes. Yes, this is what you need to do. Let him unburden his guilt. You can accept it. Then you can fully embrace your relationship with Rome. You need to see him.
I had the door unlocked before logic could catch up with the darkness that whispered such alluring words.
Ricky pushed the door open the moment I unlatched it. That brow of his still curled and he looked at me with pity. Like he was sorry.
Is he?
I couldn’t feel my way through the battling fear and hope. He carried the potential for violence like the Headless Horseman wore death. What provocation would he need to spring loose with his steel fists?
Mistake! Mistake!
The alarm bells went off as fear overcame my thought process.
“Thank you, baby, thank you thank you thank you,” he said, the words rolling with ease from a serpentine tongue. The door slammed shut as he came close to me and I pressed my back against it. He was shorter, yes, but his stature was anything but small. His hands reached up to cup my face and I flinched away.
Anger flashed on his face.
