He slipped out of bed, and I heard the sink turn on and the toilet flush. He was back with a warm rag that he used to wash me.
When I was in his arms again, held tight against his chest, I allowed my eyes to close.
I didn’t worry about tomorrow; it was an entire a day away. I didn’t worry about yesterday; it was no longer here. I allowed myself to enjoy the now. This man lying beside me for however long that would be.
As I drifted into sleep, I prayed that I could have this moment for the rest of my life. Even if it was only in my dreams.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ace
Something was stalking me through the woods. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it or smell it, but it was there. The touch of its gaze burning my skin.
I ran, branches slicing my cheeks.
“Leave me alone,” I screamed when it’s hot breath caressed my neck.
There was a rumble, like thunder after a lightning strike. But this was a laugh, the evil in it causing gooseflesh to break out on my arms. One word followed. Never.
The earth opened up beneath me and I tumbled down into a darkness deeper than black. I screamed but no sounded rebounded around me.
“Someone help me,” I yelled, reaching out into the inky surrounding. I screamed when something reached back.
Claws sank into my hand, digging into the bones, and I was pulled in the monster’s direction. But it wasn’t a monster anymore. The woman before me was beautiful. Glowing.
She opened her palm, revealing a pile of white powder.
“I can help you, Ace. Just give me your soul.”
Before my eyes, the beauty melted away, like wax from a candle. My dad stood before me now, throwing the powder in my face.
“See, I knew you’d fuck up,” he said. “You can’t even play ball without stuffing something up your nose. You’re a phony. The worst kind of liar. You’ve fooled everyone so far, except me.”
His eyes changed first, then his teeth, then his skin. His bones lost their flesh as his hand reached for me. Closer. Closer.
I jerked awake just as he touched me, my breath heaving from my lungs.
Holly moaned beside me, turning in my arms, but didn’t wake up. Good.
I slid out of the bed and rolled onto my feet, careful not to wake her from her peaceful slumber. I envied her for her comfort, her peace. Pulling on some clothes and a cap, I was desperate for some air.
Demons raged through my mind, pain screeched down my spine like nails on a chalkboard. Destruction was suddenly the only light I could see at the end of my tunnel. I ran from the laughter of my father. Ran from the people I’d let down. Out of the room, then outside, I ran, not stopping until my lungs were burning from the cold.
I dropped onto a step leading into some store, my face in my hands.
Holly.
I was torn, broken. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of actually loving someone. I proved I could feel it, or she proved it to me. But loving someone, really loving them? Well, that was a real job, one I wasn’t sure I was up to or understood.
Lifting my head, I looked around. The streets were dark with the exception of the neon lights of a convenient store about a half-block up, the liquor store sign blinking next to it.
Liquor, yes that could calm me down, help me sleep, and get me back into the bed with that perfect woman. The woman I should be worshipping, the one I should be dropping to my knees in front of, thanking God for sending her into my life.
I walked down the dimly lit street towards the blinking liquor sign instead, hating myself for my weakness. Hated my dad for dying. Hated not being with my team.
For the first time in years, I would listen to a ballgame instead of playing in it. I wondered if the Beasts would even miss me or if Nate would do a good job in my spot. I hated that thought, of someone else standing between second and third. I just wanted to get back on the field, the only place I ever dominated, succeeded, or even mattered.
Out here in the real world, I was nothing but a fuck up. It scared the living shit out of me to grow old and get booted out of the league. Maybe I was self-sabotaging. The drugs, the women, the booze, it was all a way to stay in control, even if it looked as if control had slipped from my grasp long ago. If I made the choice to fuck up my career, then no one else got to play God and take it away from me.
The bells chimed over the door as I let myself into the store. “Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked when I walked inside.
“No, thanks.” I smiled and walked towards the front of the store where they kept the good stuff. I didn’t need any help in a liquor store. I knew exactly where everything was, down to the small airline bottles, not the ones already filled, but the empty ones you can fill with your own poison. You had to ask for those, a specialty product that usually didn’t sit on the shelves. “I’ll take a pint of Patrón.” I pointed to the locked display where the smooth tequila was tucked away, only to be brought out for those who asked, for those who, when they buckled under the pressure of pain, life, love, wanted it to go down smooth.
The man unlocked the display, grabbed the bottle, and slid it into a brown paper bag, as if cops didn’t know what might be hiding inside.
I paid for my bottle and stepped outside, my mouth watering, knowing the elixir was so close to entering my bloodstream. I twisted the lid off and took a long gulp to drown out the insults from my dad, the warnings from my coach, the cries of heartbroken women, and the disappointment of my mother.
“Hey, you’re Ace Newman,” a tall redheaded kid wearing what looked like a farmer cap pointed in my direction. “Yeah. You are. You’re Ace motherfuckin’ Newman.” The kid repeated himself, only louder.
“Yup. That’s me. Ace motherfuckin’ Newman.” I smirked and took another long drink from the bottle.
“No fuckin’ way. What are you doing here?” a tall, skinny blond boy asked.
“Dad died. Bummer.” My laugh was bitter, even to my own ears.
“No shit? That sucks, man. I’m sorry.” The redhead with the weird ball cap offered his condolences.
I took another drink. “You didn’t know my dad. No need to be sorry.”
A thick boy, shorter than the other two wore a red striped shirt that reminded me of Where’s Waldo. He was quiet, not interested in my celebrity, and for some reason, was the only one of the three who intrigued me.
“What about you, Waldo? Do you think it sucks that my dad died?” I pointed at the boy so he wasn’t lost with my name change, unless his name actually was Waldo, and in that case, it would be fuckin’ hilarious.
“Me?” he pointed to his chest. The other two boys laughed, slapping each other on the shoulder.
“That’s fuckin’ awesome,” the redhead roared.
Waldo ignored his friends and looked me in the eye. “No. If your dad was a dick, then it doesn’t suck that he died. It sucks that he didn’t die sooner. And dying during opening day week? Well, that makes him a dick, so even if he was the perfect dad, he fucked up in the end, didn’t he?”