Page 4 of The Way Love Heals

God, please let my mama hurry up.

I slightly jolted forward at the firm squeeze he gave my behind. Coach placed his other hand on my shoulder and stared into my eyes. When I glanced away, he demanded I be a man and give him eye contact.

With a tight jaw, my gaze met his. He gave me a lopsided grin and slowly reached around to touch my penis. Before practice, I put on a cup. I wasn’t a catcher, but I had a feeling Coach would try something like that. He had done it on more than one occasion, and I didn’t want it to happen again.

Coach’s eyes expanded, and his wide nostrils flared. Before I had time to process what was happening, he backhanded me so hard that spit flew from my mouth. I held my cheek and silently whimpered.

“Take that shit off right now, Nyle.”

“I . . . I can’t.”

He barged over to me, sat on the bench, and started unbuckling my belt. It was then that I blacked out. I’d learned to allow my mind to go elsewhere, taking me to a place where I was safe, loved, and cared for. A place where I wasn’t taken advantage of.

A place where my mama actually protected me.

The sound of Coach’s low grunts brought me back to reality. I knew exactly what that sound meant. When his hand released my bare balls, I wasted no time stepping away from him and pulling my pants up. I swiped the cup from the ground, grabbed my bag, and started out the dugout.

“Brown?” Coach called out to me, and I stopped in my tracks but didn’t turn around. “Let your mama know I’ll have the money in her account, and you’ll be starting next game.”

I didn’t acknowledge him, but I’d heard him loud and clear. Off in the distance, I saw Mama’s car parked by Coach’s. The sight of her sickened me. She sat on the hood of her car with a cigarette hanging from her mouth and my drink in her other. I didn’t want anything from her, not even a ride, so I started my walk home.

“Nyle! Nyle, where do you think you’re going?” Mama asked, but I kept walking and ignored her.

The sound of her feet shuffling against the concrete behind me made me start running. Unfortunately, she caught up to me and jacked me up by my shirt.

“Let me go, Mama!”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to like that? If you don’t get your ass in the car, I know something.” A few seconds passed before she inquired, “What did Coach say?”

“You know exactly what he said.”

“Money?” I nodded my answer, and the grin that spread her thin lips enraged me. “Good. I’ll make sure I get you something good with it too. Are you starting next game?”

“Yeah.”

“You must know, Nyle, I only want what’s best for you. To get to the top, you gotta make sacrifices.”

My blaring alarm woke me from my dream. Sweat covered my entire body, drenching my covers. I threw them off me and snatched my phone off my nightstand to turn my alarm off. For a moment, I lay there trying to regulate my emotions. Anytime I dreamed of my past or my mother, I had to take the time to get myself together. The older I got, the better I was at not allowing either to dictate my day. After my talk with God, I was in a better headspace to get up and start my day.

My feet hit the ground, and I removed my sheets from the bed before taking them to the laundry room. I got the washer started, then headed back to my room.

Once my morning hygiene was handled, and I was dressed for the day, I went to fix myself some coffee and a light breakfast. I checked the time to see that my sister, Brielle, would be calling soon. Lord knows I needed to hear her voice.

On cue, at 7:30 on the dot, my phone rang. I slid my finger across the screen and placed it on speakerphone.

“Good morning, Sis.”

“Hey, Nyle. What’s wrong? I can hear something all in your tone,” Brielle replied, and I could hear the concern in her voice.

“Another dream,” was all I had to say. Brielle didn’t need any context. Besides my therapist, my family were the only people I felt comfortable with talking about my past. If it wasn’t for Brielle, the abuse probably would’ve gone on longer than it did.

“Was it her or the abuse?”

“Both. Coach Barnes.”

“Fat fucker,” Brielle muttered. “Are you okay?”

I chuckled at her. “Yeah, I am. I prayed so I’m good. I just hate when I dream about it, but my therapist told me they would occasionally come even in adulthood. It’s been a while since I had one.”