Single (Stockton Beavers #1) (7 page)

Chapter Nine

Luke

It's happening again
.

I'm falling, and I can't see a thing. I flail through the air, but there's nothing to grab on to, nothing to slow my descent. The wind whips by my face as I pick up speed, and I think to myself, this is it. This is how I'm going to die. However, my downward plunge suddenly stops, and it's like I was never falling at all. Instead, I'm standing upright in a shallow pool of water.

It's dark down here, cold and wet. Scared, I run my hands over the brick wall, turning around in a complete circle, realizing I'm boxed in. I splash around, desperate to find a way out, but there isn't one. Sloshing through the ankle-deep water, I look up, only to see a lone star, shining down on me. I smile up at it. It's the only source of light I have to dispel the thick curtain of darkness that's surrounding me. Until little by little, someone starts covering the opening above my head.

"No! Please don't!" I yell up. "I'm still down here!"

Whoever it is pays no heed to my cry. Instead, all I hear in response is, "Lukey! Where are you? Lukey?"

My heart starts pounding even harder inside my chest. "Ma? Ma, is that you?"

"Lukey…help!"

Mom needs me. I need to get out of here. I need to get to her.

"It's him!" Mom calls down, absolutely terrified. "He's going to take you away from me."

"Who, Ma? Who is it? Who's up there with you?"

"It's him," she whimpers back. "The pitcher who hit you."

Nichols?

But her voice gets drowned out once he slams the lid down on top of the well, the echo of finality reverberating all around me.

Nichols has Mom, and I can't protect her. I start to panic when all I sense is a steady drip of water falling on me from above. I move to avoid it, but no matter where I go, it just keeps hitting me smack dab on the side of the neck.

"No…no…NO!" I scream, clawing the walls. "NO!"

"Luke, shhhh. It's okay."

My eyes fly open and I find Roberta hovering over me, shaking me awake. For a moment, I just stare into her pretty blue eyes that hold the same shade of light as the star as I try to grasp what she's doing in here.

"You were having a nightmare," she whispers, kneeling down beside my bed. "I hope you don't mind that I barged into your room like this, but when I heard you yelling through the wall, I was worried."

I sit up, kicking the covers aside, agitated that she had to see me like this. "Sorry," I mumble. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

She sighs, sitting back. "It's okay."

The night-light in the hall is extending a diagonal beam of light from the door across my bed. Though now that she's outside its reach, I can't really see her, but I can feel her eyes on me. I run my hands over my face, needing to reassure her somehow. I don't want her to be scared of me. I don't want her to leave.

"Living here…" I start, unsure of where to begin. "You may hear me call out in my sleep sometimes, and if you do, please…just ignore it."

It was kind of her to check on me, but she really has to be regretting her decision to move in with us right about now. Getting up with Mom in the middle of the night is going to be hard enough on her, and I'm not about to have her lose any more sleep on account of me.

"So tonight isn't the first time this has happened?" she asks.

Resting my head in my hands, I let out a low groan. "No."

But she keeps questioning me, seemingly undeterred. "When did they start?"

I lift my head to answer her. "Right after I got hit. Can you believe it's the same thing I saw when I blacked out?" I pause, not sure how she's going to handle that much truthfulness. And when she remains silent, I get nervous and chuckle halfheartedly. "I guess having a near-death experience at home plate will do that to a guy."

I wait for her to bolt, make some hasty excuse to get up and leave, but instead, she asks gently, "What is it that you see?"

I run a hand over my jaw. I've never really talked about this to anyone before, and I'm not sure how to put it into words. Usually, I don't remember much after I wake up, just the main points, mostly the fear. "Well," I begin slowly, talking faster as I go along. "I fall into a deep, dark well. Someone covers it up and I'm trapped inside. That's about it."

I'm convinced she thinks I'm crazy, until she says, "I used to have nightmares too. I know what it's like."

I hone in on that. "Oh, yeah? About what?"

"Well, I didn't find myself buried alive inside a scary, abandoned well. The place I dreamed of didn't feel dangerous or frightening. It felt more like an escape," she replies thoughtfully. "I was actually more afraid to wake up."

Perplexed, I sputter, "You're telling me you didn't want it to be over?"

The honesty in her voice tugs at my heart as it reaches me through the darkness. "No. I'd have to say the moment when I knew I was leaving that nice, safe place was always the worst part."

I ponder what she said for a moment. "So your nightmare was basically the complete opposite of mine?"

She stands, her body skimming the light. "A nightmare is a nightmare. They're certainly not any fun."

She's going back to her room. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore because I let things get too personal. She was okay when we were talking about me, but once I started questioning her, it's like she can't get out of here fast enough. I need to make a mental note never to bring this up again. I understand. Reliving your worst nightmare isn't something I particularly want to talk about either. But there's something I need to know, something that maybe she can help me with.

"Hey, wait," I whisper and she pauses in the doorway, keeping her back to me. "How did you…?" I cough to clear my throat, my voice strained from all the yelling I was doing in my sleep. "How did you get them to stop?"

She looks back at me, her face in silhouette as the glow from the night-light spills over her shoulder. "I found a safe place for myself outside the nightmare." She shrugs. "But it's a temporary fix. It's not to say they won't come back."

I stare at her. "Are you afraid they will?"

She nods. "All the time, but I don't let it stop me from moving forward with my life. I've just learned how to be smart about it." She taps a finger to the side of her head. "Mind over matter."

I breathe sharply through my nose. "Can it really be that simple?"

"It can be, if you let it." I allow her words to sink in as she reaches for the doorknob. "Good night, Luke."

"Good night, Roberta," I whisper as she closes the door, taking the light along with her.

This time, I'm not alone in a dark well, not anymore. She came in here and succeeded in igniting something a whole lot brighter inside my heart, a radiance that, for now, nothing can extinguish. Not my nightmares of Nichols, not even my fear of losing Mom. What Roberta passed on to me is a flame that, once lit, never really goes out.

A flicker of hope that no matter how hard things are now, they will get better. I just have to believe they will.

Chapter Ten

Luke

I lift the barbell over my head and hold it there. It's only a fifty-pound set, and even though I can easily bench-press a lot more, I know better than to push it without having someone to spot me. I grunt, yet another drawback of being stuck with a basement home gym. I'll just compensate by doing more reps because, boy, oh boy, do I have a lot of pent-up frustration in me right now. A good workout is exactly what I need.

I didn't get one hit in the doubleheader yesterday against the Jackalopes—although, I didn't end up on my ass again either. Unfortunately, the Beavers' manager and his coaching staff don't consider that progress. With Landry back in Texas, they held a team meeting today and called me out in front of everyone, showing video of all my at-bats and pointing out in excruciating detail everything I did wrong.

"You can't keep bailing on the fastball up and in."

"I guarantee the advance scouts already have you pegged."

"You mark my words, Singleton. If you don't man up and whack the hell outta something soon, every pitcher's gonna think they can get you out."

My arms start to burn, proof that my competitive fire hasn't gone out completely; it's still smoldering. The Beavers' manager is new. I don't know Rex Carlson, and he doesn't know me. He wanted the guy who tore his ACL to be his second baseman this year, not me. That's why I got designated for assignment. To him, I'm just Landry's little pet project. But he'll be sorry. I'll show him and his staff what I can do. I'm more than ready to prove them wrong.

With my iPod cranked up and my eyes closed, I'm startled when someone takes the bar right out of my hands. Blinking, I look up and there's Roberta, placing it back in the rack over my head.

And I immediately jump up…because I don't have a shirt on. I keep forgetting that I can't do this kind of stuff anymore, not with her around. I feel her eyes on me just like I did two nights ago when I awoke to find her in my bedroom. But I didn't try to cover up then because she really couldn't see me in the dark. But now she can. I hastily reach for my tee, and for a half a second, I wonder if she likes what she sees. But I'm too embarrassed to turn around and find out. I'm not ultrabuff like most sluggers out there.

I pop out my earbuds and give her a tentative smile. "Hey."

But she's having none of it. "Didn't you hear me calling you?" she asks, waving whatever it is she's holding in front of my face. "Your mom got into your suitcase and all of your crazy taped-up pants are all over the living room!"

Okay, her finding out that I have to hem my pants is way more humiliating than anything my coaches could've dished out during that meeting today. Having any added attention brought to my height, or lack thereof, is never a good thing.

I shrug, trying to make light of it. "And here I thought I was all packed. Besides, how'd you even see the tape? I put it on the inside."

She groans, "Luke, the cuffs are all bunched up. They look terrible. You
cannot
go around looking like that."

"Well, in case you've forgotten, I'm leaving on a six-day road trip after the game tonight, and with everything that's been going on around here, I haven't exactly had time to make an appointment with my personal tailor." I roll my eyes at her. "Besides, I have no clue how to sew. Mom used to fix them for me before…" I stop, forcing back yet another memory.

Her eyes soften. "So that's why she won't let me put them back." She folds them over her arm. "Sorry, Luke. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm able to thread a needle thanks to the home ec class I took in high school. So when you get back, remind me to take a look at them for you and I'll see what I can do."

She hands them over to me, and a card falls out of the pocket. I bend down to pick it up, but she beats me to it.

"Heidi Foster, speech therapist. Wow, she's pretty. If you like blondes…" she says, scrutinizing the photo on the front of the card before flipping it over and spotting the handwritten message on the back. "And you said you didn't have a girlfriend." She gives me a pointed look before passing it back to me.

I blush, not knowing what to do with it. "I don't."

"Uh-huh, that's why she gave you her personal cell number to 'call her anytime,'" she mimics, shooting me a contemptuous glance.

"It's not like that," I protest, rubbing the side of my neck. "She helped me after the accident…when I had to relearn how to talk again."

Her eyes go wide. "Luke, I didn't—"

"Yeah, not many people know about that," I admit, feeling more exposed than I did without my shirt on. I let out a breath. "But now you do."

She takes a seat on the exercise bench. "Do you still have to see her?"

"Every few weeks or so." I try to meet her eyes, but she won't look at me. "Roberta, it's okay, really… I'm fine. Now you can't shut me up if you tried."

I sit down next to her and bump her foot with mine. "Hey, I didn't realize you were such a softie."

Her head shoots up. "I'm
not
," she declares, glaring at me. "I'm just sick and tired of hearing about bad things happening to good people."

I smile. "So, you think I'm a good person?"

The light shining in her blue eyes strikes me right in the heart. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

There's nothing I'd like more than to lean in and kiss her.
All I have to do is tip my head, move in, and
… No, it wouldn't be appropriate. I hired her to take care of Mom. Just because I'm interested in her doesn't mean she's interested in me, and things could get messy in a hurry if I make a move on her and she shoots me down. We're practically living together now. I can't go blurring lines that shouldn't be crossed. I grin to myself. She'd probably slap me across the face for trying anything anyway.

"What are you smiling about?" she asks.

"Nothing." I stand, resisting the temptation of being so close to her.

"Liar," she chides, her eyes never leaving my face. "You have a thing for Heidi, the speech therapist, don't you?"

No, I have a thing for you, and I have for quite a while
. But I can't very well say that to her, since she doesn't even remember meeting me in Arnold's office. Still, my cheeks remain red-hot, knowing that she's watching me.

"I knew it," she groans. "Players like you are never really single. Are you?"

She shakes her head, heading toward the steps, and I reach for her arm to stop her. But I'm too late, and my fingers grasp nothing but air. I want to tell her she's got it all wrong, I'm not like that—I
am
single—but my true relationship status doesn't seem to be something she's all that interested in.

She waits for me to catch up to her, giving me a sly grin. "You know what? I can't wait for us girls to have the house all to ourselves while you're gone."

I cringe, fearing she's referring to my late night outburst. So I try to play it cool, act like whatever she says isn't going to bother me.

"Is that right?" I smirk at her as we trudge up the stairs together. "You're not gonna miss me?"

"Nope," she chuckles. "I look forward to having some bonding time with your mom, one-on-one."

Instead, her remark causes my emotions to veer off in a completely different direction. I'm not worried about what Roberta thinks of my nightmares. I'm more concerned about how Mom is going to handle being separated from me.

"Even if she can't remember you from one day to the next?" I can't help but ask. "So far, I've had to introduce you to her twice, and you've only been here two days. What if she wakes up tomorrow and panics when I'm not there to remind her who you are and what you're doing in her house?"

"Then you'll be receiving an early morning wake-up call from us." She smiles at me. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

I run my hand across my forehead, grumbling, "We would have to be playing two teams out of our division the first trip out. I'll be an eight-hour drive away if anything should happen. Are you sure you're going to be all right handling her on your own?"

"Positive," she proclaims as we come to the top of the steps.

And there's Mom, kneeling by my suitcase. She doesn't even look up, she just keeps methodically folding and unfolding the same pair of pants, while the rest of my clothes are haphazardly strewn across lampshades or lying in crumpled heaps on the floor.

Roberta reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. "I promise you. I've got this." She lets it go just as quickly as she took hold of it. But the sensation of how nice it felt to hold her hand in mine stays with me as she rushes forward to begin cleaning everything up.

"Mrs. S., we need to get Luke ready to go," she says, smiling down at her. "He has to leave for Beaver Field in about fifteen minutes. So what do you say? Do you think we can do it?"

"He's going…
where
?" Mom asks, clutching my pants in her hands, wrinkling them even more.

"He has a game tonight, and we really want him to get a hit now, don't we?" Roberta encourages, keeping her voice friendly and light.

Mom nods. "Of course, we do."

Roberta kneels down and gently slides the pants out of her grip. "Good, because we have to let him know we're behind him one hundred percent. So how about we give him a, 'Gooooo Beavers!'"

Mom turns to look at me. "Go…Beavers?"

Roberta laughs, and so does Mom, and I feel my throat tighten up when they smile at each other. Roberta's treating Mom like a person, not like a nuisance or a burden. And that's all I ever wanted when it comes to her care.

For the first time since Dad died, I feel like I have someone I can lean on, like maybe I'm not alone in this anymore, that she's someone I can trust.