Page 53 of Convincing the Catcher

It’s Harland’s alarm, signaling that her level is off.

I get to her bedroom door, and even though it’s already cracked open, it feels wrong to just barge in. If her friends were here, I’d ask them to go in first, but they’re staying at the hotel attached to the airport because their flight home is so early. And Harland’s aunt, who flew into town, isn’t staying here either, though I do remember her mentioning giving Harland’s mom something to help her sleep because apparently, she’s a nurse practitioner. And if she did take a sleeping pill to relax her, I guess that’s why she isn’t hearing her daughter’s alarm.

I wait to hear her rustling around in there, but that never happens. Though I do hear a sudden noise of what sounds like a whimper or sob, and that’s all I need to say fuck it before charging into the room.

The lamp in the corner of the room is on, lighting up the room enough for me to see Harland moving subtly under the covers. I sit on the edge of the bed, cupping her cheek, and my heart drops when I feel how soaked with sweat she is. I’ve researched enough about type 1 diabetes to understand that if she’s drenched with sweat the way she is right now, her sugar is probably low.

I don’t know how she isn’t awake with the continuous beeping from her glucose monitor, but the expression on her face is pained, and when I run my hand over her hair, even her head is soaked.

“Catch,” I whisper, but when she doesn’t respond, I know I need to be louder. “Hey, Catch. Wake up.” This time, I give her a gentle shake.

Her eyes flutter open, but when they quickly widen to the size of saucers, I know I’ve frightened her, which is the last thing I wanted to do. When I read about low sugar level, it said that it could cause confusion or distortion. The thought that she’s scared of me right now makes me sick.

“It’s okay,” I say, attempting to soothe her when she sits up quickly. “Your alarm is going off.” I glance at the nightstand, grabbing her phone and holding it in front of her.

She blinks a few times, wiping her hand across her dampened forehead. “My head. My head hurts.” She attempts to sit up higher but falls back. “Dizzy.”

“I’m going to open the app on your phone for your monitor, okay?” I tell her, not wanting to just do things without her permission. “Is that okay, Catch?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, rubbing her temples. “I need … sugar.”

When I look at the screen, she’s right; just like I assumed, her sugar is too low.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell her before running into the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, I grab a purple Gatorade and close the door before rushing back to her bedroom, twisting the cap off just before I reach her bed.

I sit down beside her, putting my arm around her body and pulling her against me before I bring the bottle to her lips. She keeps her eyes closed—I’m sure in an attempt to fight the headache—but continues to take gulps of the drink until it’s about half gone.

“That should be good,” she says softly, and I pull it back from her mouth to put the cap on it and set it on the nightstand.

She sinks down again, nuzzling her head against my side, but I stay upright, leaning against the back of the bed, not wanting to take advantage of the situation and smother her. She’s quiet—so quiet—for about ten minutes. Her body temperature seems to level out, and I don’t feel her heart racing as fast against my body. I wonder if she’s asleep, but then she speaks, telling me she isn’t.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispers, wrapping her arm around my bare abdomen—because when I raced in here, I didn’t have time to throw a shirt on. “Please?”

I swallow roughly and skate my hand against the soft skin on her arm.

“You sure?” I utter, feeling her chin hit my side as she bobs her head.

“Yes.”

Unhurriedly, I sink down into the bed, and her head stays against me, along with her arm around my body.

I have everything I need right in my arms … and she doesn’t even know how I feel.

Time passes, and for the life of me, I can’t fall asleep. Something tells me that Harland isn’t asleep either.

I hold as still as I can, not wanting to wake her in case she is, but having her this close … it’s igniting a fire inside of me. A fire that has no right burning.

Her hand moves against my abdomen. Not much, but enough for me to know she’s not asleep. And seconds later, she moves it again, but this time, she skates it further along my flesh.

“Cane,” she whispers, her voice gruff. “Are you awake?”

I sigh. “Yeah, Catch. I’m awake.”

She’s silent, and once again, I’m scared of what is about to come out of her pretty mouth. Right now, with her in her short sleep shorts and ratty NEU shirt, I’m not sure I could push her away if she asked me for something.

I know I couldn’t.