Page 37 of Double Play
Coach barks from the top step, “Less flirting, more focusing.”
Kai calls back, innocent as sin. “We’re always focused, Coach!”
Coach glares and that just makes Kai grin wider.
Jackson looks at me like he can’t believe this is our life, and neither can I. I reach out and hook two fingers under the back of his jersey for one second, and his eyes soften. He steps closer, brushing his shoulder into mine again like he’s learning he’s allowed.
The crowd above us gets louder as the anthem ends and the first inning begins.
Topof the third is when I notice that something is wrong with Jack. Not because he says anything. He doesn’t call time.
Because I know his tells the way I know the seams on a baseball.
Jackson’s movements at first base go slightly off. He’s a fraction too stiff. There’s a half-second delay on a throw, and his jaw locks and unlocks like he’s biting down on something invisible.
At first I tell myself it’s nothing.
Heat.
Adrenaline.
Home crowd energy.
Then he blinks a little too hard, shakes his head once, and I feel my stomach drop. I end up watching him between pitches, my focus splitting even though it shouldn’t.
He adjusts his glove and flexes the fingers of his throwing hand. Watching the way his shoulders rise and fall with a forced breath has my heart rate kicking up.
When the inning ends, Jackson jogs toward the dugout with the rest of us, but his stride is wrong.
“Jack,” I shout, but he doesn’t look at me.
Fuck.
He reaches the dugout and sits hard on the bench, like his legs just gave up on the idea of holding him upright. He leans forward, elbows on knees, and squeezes his eyes shut.
My blood turns to ice and I’m on him immediately. I crouch in front of him, blocking him from the rest of the dugout, like my body can shield him from being seen. From being vulnerable.
“Jackson,” I say, voice tight.“Mírame.”
His lashes flutter and he forces his eyes open for a second. They’re glassy, and his tracking is too slow.
“Dre,” he whispers, and it’s not teasing this time. “I?—”
He’s sweating, but it’s when his whole body trembles with a shiver that my throat goes tight.
A sharp little sound that feels like a siren comes from his pump, and I fish it out of his pocket. The number hits me like a punch.
28
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Medic!”
Jackson’s eyes close again like he’s trying to disappear and his body starts to lean.
“No,” I snap, gentling immediately. “No. Stay with me.”
I look up, my eyes scanning the dugout. “We need a fucking medic!”
Coach is already moving, but Kai is faster.
