Page 115 of Hiding in the Outfield

I walk around the bed and slide into my side, rolling to face him. “Then let’s go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. We’ll tackle it with renewed energy.”

He settles in next to me, mirroring my position. “Together?”

I dust my knuckles over his cheek. “Of course, together.” If only forever together.

His mouth tightens, and he nods. The muscles in his face twitch and jerk. It’s not the first time I’ve caught this strain on his face. A few times tonight I saw it on his brother’s as well.

“You can let go with me. You don’t need to keep holding it back.”

His nostrils flare, and he shakes his head tightly. I have a feeling, given what I’ve learned thus far about his family, his household was very much a men don’t cry kind of home.

Bottle, bottle, bottle the emotions.

All that leads to is men exploding.

I hit the lights on the app on my phone, and the room fades into darkness. I pull him to my chest and stroke his hair. “You’re safe with me, Jackie.” The same words he said to me only a few nights ago.

His arm comes around my waist, and his fingers dig into my back. His body is so damn tight, a rubber band almost at its limit. Just waiting to snap.

A shuddered breath punctures the quiet and immediately cuts off. He buries his head into me, fingers latching on like hooks, like if he clings on hard enough, he can stave off what he’s feeling. But what’s inside him is going to win.

And it’s okay that it does. To let it out. Sometimes we need to feel—the pain, the anguish—before we can truly move on.

I press my lips to the top of his head. His body vibrates. I cup the back of his neck and hold tight. “I have you.”

A sob jolts through him, cutting through the room.

Cutting into me.

Then nothing. Just a wall of muscle quaking in my arms.

I gently squeeze his neck, massage the muscles that are as tightly coiled as steel wire. “I love you,” I whisper.

A strangled, wounded noise rips from him. He tries to bury it. His fingers claw at my back as he fights to regain control. His ragged, panicked breaths pierce the room.

My hand flexes around his neck, firm, supportive, secure. I have you.

And he breaks.

And I break along with him.

Sobs tear from him, his body shuddering violently, erratic breaths ricocheting like shrapnel around us. I shift and wrap my arm around him, squeezing as tight as I can, trying to be the blanket of security he needs. I’ll hold him—every piece that breaks off, I’ll catch. I’ll keep them safe, and when he’s exorcised his demons, I’ll put him back together.

Lighter.

Free.

Loved.

Each pained sound that falls from him hooks into my heart, drags down like sharpened talons. Tears slide down my cheeks into his hair. I press a kiss there and hold, another way I can surround him. “I love you.”

A hiccupped breath bursts from him, and then his shaking eases slightly. “I-I’m s-s-orry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Jackson.”

Another hiccup jerks through him, softer this time. He draws back, and I cup the back of his head as he looks up at me. We’re nothing but a kaleidoscope of gray in the shadows, but not even the shadows can hide those shattered irises.

“I don’t ev-v-ven know why it’s hitting me like this,” he says hoarsely. He sniffs and then squeezes his eyes shut as another tremor wracks his frame.