Page 30

Head Over Heels

Daniel

Today’s piss-poor attempt at a baseball game can’t just be Charlie’s usual panic about the major leagues.

This is different. More serious. Worse, even.

One glance at the scoreboard tells me everything I need to know: Scarlet Knights, eight. Green Wolves, two. We’re in Piscataway, New Jersey, but it might as well be baseball hell. The Rutgers crowd is going wild, and I’m pretty sure they’re chanting Charlie’s name solely to rub it in.

Charlie glances at me, frowning. I nod reassuringly while the opposing team trots around the bases for the millionth time. His pitches have been all over the place, and as another one flies out of Bainton Field, I know he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

Coach Bryant calls for a timeout and corrals the offensive players onto the mound. We listen as he lays into us, never once singling Charlie out, even though it’s obvious who the weak link is. As we break, I rub Charlie’s shoulder.

“Dude, you’ve got this,” I say.

“I don’t think I do.”

I frown because Charlie isn’t looking me in the eye. He’s staring down at his cleats, toeing circles in the dirt.

“You’ve had rough games before. So have I. ”

“Never this rough.”

“And here I thought you loved it rough,” I jest, slapping him on the ass before heading back to home plate.

The next batter steps up, smirking as if he knows what’s coming. Ignoring him, I focus on Charlie, signaling a splitter. It usually throws the batter off, and this guy could stand to be knocked down a hundred pegs or so.

Charlie winds up and throws with everything he’s got, which isn’t much at this point.

Crack! The ball’s gone again, over the fence, and halfway to Manhattan. The little shit takes his time rounding the bases because he knows there’s nothing any of us can do about it.

Coach eventually pulls Charlie after six innings of futile effort. By some miracle—or maybe just sheer pity—Rutgers finally strikes out a time or two before we all stagger to the locker room, survivors of some horrible disaster movie.

“Uh, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, fellas,” Javi says.

I tear my gaze from Charlie’s deflated form to see that the showers here aren’t the same as the ones back home.

At good ol’ Ashford, it’s all about letting it all hang out.

Communal shower, zero privacy. Just a bunch of dudes getting clean and shooting the shit.

But here? Individual shower stalls with doors that hide everything from the waist down.

The sleek black tiles and gleaming chrome fixtures give the place a modern, almost futuristic vibe. Steam billows out from behind the closed doors, carrying the scent of fancy-ass bodywash. None of that generic stuff we’re used to.

“Fancy digs,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

The guys crack jokes about how it’ll be a relief not to see each other’s junk for the first time in forever. And then Javi chimes in with, “Yeah, who’s gonna admire Hollingsworth’s hairy ass now?”

Raucous laughter bounces off the walls, and even Coach Bryant grins at the banter.

But not Charlie. He doesn’t even crack a smile. It’s as if someone sucked the fun right out of his soul. His shoulders slump even more as he trudges over to one of the stalls, closes the door, and shuts himself off from the rest of us.

It’s weird as hell seeing him so damn quiet. I know I need to talk to him, but not with everyone else around. For now, I focus on cleaning the grime of sweat, dirt, and loss off my body.

I gasp when the shower head shoots out sprays of water that are borderline luxurious. Half the dudes are giddy over the situation, laughing at how soft we’re all going to be after this road trip.

“Hey, McManus,” I call out to Charlie when I realize he hasn’t moved a muscle. “You’ll turn into a prune if you don’t start showering.”

No response. Just the steady rhythm of water hitting tile.

“You alive over there?”

“I’m fine.”

I roll my eyes, lather up some bodywash, and let the silence take over for a minute. His “I’m fine” reeks of anything but. “Wanna tell me why you threw like your arm was made of spaghetti today?”

Still nothing. I rinse my body and watch him shift uncomfortably.

“Charlie?”

He turns halfway, avoiding eye contact. “You’re gonna keep asking until I say something, aren’t you?”

“Bingo.”

He lets out a sigh that comes from his toes and waits for our teammates to leave. Once it’s only us, he finally looks my way. “It’s dumb.”

“Always is with you.”

He flicks water at me with surprising precision that he didn’t have earlier. “I dunno, man. Everything’s off lately. I’m off,” he says.

Now we’re getting somewhere. I turn off the shower and lean against my stall door to listen better. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I can’t get my shit together in anything right now. Baseball, classes…other stuff. ”

Ah, other stuff. The plot thickens.

“Other stuff like…Harrison?” I ask.

Charlie’s eyes widen at the mention of Harrison’s name, and he quickly turns away, busying himself with the shower knobs. “What? No, I mean, maybe. I don’t know,” he stammers.

“Come on, man,” I press, my voice gentle but insistent. “Talk to me. You’ve been off ever since Coney Island. Hell, now that I think about it, I think you’ve been off since the Kappa Sig party.”

“I’m fine. Coney Island was fun. The Kappa Sig party was nothing special.”

That’s a bald-facedlie. There’s no way he’d brush off a Kappa Sig rager like it was nothing. “Bullshit. Something happened at that party that got you into this funk.”

He quickly reacts, turning off the shower and slamming his stall door shut with a clang. I wrap a towel around my waist and follow him out to the benches, where he’s already pulling on sweats and wrestling with his shirt.

“It’s not Harrison,” he says through the fabric. “Or maybe it is? Or maybe it’s…whatever!”

This is classic Charlie. One part melodrama, two parts confusion.

“Listen, if you really don’t want to talk about it?—”

“But that’s just it! I do want to talk about it!

I just…I don’t know what I’m supposed to say!

Or how to say it!” He finally gets his shirt on straight and slumps down onto the bench beside me.

His elbows rest on his knees, and he stares at the floor.

“I’m going for a walk,” he says, rising to his feet and walking out the door.

I dress in record speed, throwing on sweats and a hoodie before jogging out to meet him. He’s already halfway across the street, heading toward the neighborhood that borders Bainton Field. I catch up to him, falling into step beside his slouched form.

The air is cool, with a scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers hanging in the air. The sun is low in the sky, painting the clouds in soft hues of pink and orange. It’s the kind of evening that would normally put a smile on Charlie’s face .

We walk in silence for a few minutes, our sneakers scuffing against the pavement.

The neighborhood is quiet, with only the occasional car passing by or a dog barking in the distance to let us know there are signs of life.

It’s a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the city, and I can see why Charlie chose this route.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “The Kappa Sig party. What happened?”

Charlie takes a deep breath, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I ran into Olivia,” he says softly. “And we talked. Like, really talked.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Olivia?”

He nods, still not meeting my gaze. “Yeah. And it was…intense. We got into some deep shit, man.”

“What did you talk about, exactly?”

He takes another deep breath. “Us. Olivia told me about your fight at the poetry slam.”

My stomach drops out of my ass. Fuck. I never wanted him to know about that fight with Olivia, especially not the details. Because if he starts putting two and two together, he might realize that my feelings for him run deeper than best buds.

I’ve tried so damn hard to keep that shit locked down tight. To act as if everything’s normal between us and like my heart doesn’t race every time he flashes me that goofy grin. Like I don’t constantly fight the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against mine.

But the truth is, I’m head over heels for the guy.

Have been ever since that wild New Year’s Eve when we ended up in that jail cell with Harrison.

After we kissed, I started seeing Charlie in a whole new light.

Suddenly, I wanted him in a way I’d never wanted anyone before.

And it scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

I thought I could ignore it—push it down and pretend it wasn’t there. But Olivia saw right through me. She called me out on it at the poetry slam. Accused me of being in love with my best friend .

I denied it, of course. Told her she was being ridiculous. But she knew. She could see the truth written all over my face.

And now, thanks to her big mouth, Charlie knows too. Or at least, he suspects. And I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.

I swallow hard. “What exactly did Olivia say?”

Charlie kicks at a pebble, sending it skittering across the sidewalk. “She said she thinks you’re in love with me. And that I’m in love with you.”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “That’s crazy, man. Olivia was just being Olivia. You know how she gets when she’s pissed.”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they ring hollow.

Charlie stops walking and turns to face me, his brown eyes searching mine. “Is it, though? Tell me the truth, Daniel. Do you have feelings for me?”

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I meet his gaze.

This is it. The moment of truth. I could lie. Brush it off and play it cool like I always do. But something tells me that won’t fly this time. Not with Charlie.

“Yeah, Charlie. I do.”