"Living room recliner or bed?" Dad asks from behind me.
"Definitely bed, but I got it. Thanks."
"Old man," Addie says through a fake cough.
The clock on the oven reads 4:07. God, she's right.
I flip her the bird without releasing my crutch.
"You two," Dad says.
"What?" we ask in unison. We may not see each other much, and we may not be super close lately, but we're still siblings. And we sure don't miss a beat when we're together.
He and Mom share a look, but before they can scold me like the man-child I apparently turn into when I'm home, I hobble down the hall to their bedroom. Or mine for the foreseeable future.
The door clicks shut behind me, and all my bravado vanishes. I'm deadweight on these crutches, and I desperately need to lie down. Mom already pulled the blankets back for me, and I make a mental note to remind her I'm an adult accustomed to taking care of myself.
I lower onto the bed and use my hands to lift my left leg onto it. Exhausted from the exertion, I sit back against the headboard to catch my breath.
There's a sharp knock on the door as Addie barrels through holding up my phone.
"Here, fuckface, thought you might want this," she says, tossing it in my direction.
I catch it right before it hits my face. Damn post-surgery reflexes.
"Thanks, Ads," I say to the door slamming shut behind her.
It feels strange being home, especially because I'm not sure how long I'll be here. I haven't spent more than a week or two at a time in Wilmont since college. It's why I never bought a home here. There was never a need. Until now.
But it's not like I expected to need help doing everyday shit. I never thought I'd end up in Wilmont. It's not what I planned. But who am I kidding? I didn't have a plan. My torn ACL forced me into early retirement, but it came a few games early, not years or seasons. There was time to plan, but I chose to ignore it. I didn't want to think about life after baseball.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I swipe up to read a text.
(555) 262-1986
Hope surgery went well babe, thinking of you. XOXO. Call me.
I delete it without responding. Whoever she was, her contact wasn't saved in my phone. She wasn't special. I let my head fall back to my headboard and scrub my hand over my face. They're never special, and that's the problem.
But that's a thought for another day. Right now, I have a fresh problem to solve. My SUV, the one I ordered months ago, finally came in. They told me it'd be in three weeks ago, but it wasn't. When it became evident it wasn't going to be delivered before I left Baltimore, I arranged for it to be delivered to a dealershiphere. Apparently the person who arranged that is no longer with the dealership, and my car isn't where it's supposed to be.
I have two options. I can pay to have the car shipped here which is fucking stupid, because the dealership messed up, not me. Or I can purchase something else from a local dealership. The car I ordered was essentially a pre-order of a second-year model…which means even if a website says it's in stock somewhere, it isn't. And it won't have all the added features.
Guess I'm shipping a fucking SUV.
Chapter two
Jade
"One of these days you'll say yes," Kevin slurs from his side of the bar.
I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes.
"Not even if you're the last man on Earth," I say. "Now go the fuck home, we're closing."
He stumbles from his stool, catching himself on the counter. When he rights himself, he grabs his junk and thrusts his hips forward. "Surely if this was the last sausage on earth, you'd want a taste, Jade baby."
"Two things, man. One, if you call me baby again, you won't have a sausage to grab anymore, and two, I'd take a taco over that disease-infested dick any day of the fucking week. Go home."
