Page 35 of The Battery

Leo

F or ten days I played like every game would be my last. I collapsed into my hotel bed each night with such an exhaustion I might as well have been Cody rolling on his pain meds.

I still made time to call him so we could go over the notebook I left him.

He walked me through each day’s PT and tracked his progress.

His breath had only made a minor improvement but was trackable all the same.

I wanted to say things to make him giggle, but that action would make his chest bounce.

As much as I wanted to see him laugh, I’d have to settle for his smile. Which was fine with me.

We returned to Ottawa for a three game series after the Barracudas in Jacksonville.

At the end of that first game I had Cody on video chat.

Lawson was there, a big stupid grin on his face while he and Cody chatted for fifteen minutes about his progress.

By the end, he forced Cody into a promise to visit Ottawa in the offseason.

The team also joined when they could. By the second away game it had become something of a tradition.

I’d call Cody up and flip the screen around so everyone could say hello and wish him well in his recovery.

The skipper would make an appearance and, to my surprise, one of the Assholes, Shoji, even said hello.

We didn’t miss a day of talking, although sometimes the hotel chats were cut short. My libido demanded I send as many salacious pictures that my phone would allow but my superego won the battle most nights. Cody had yet to send one in return and it didn’t seem fair to keep teasing him.

After ten days away, I finally got home at 2am after a late flight out of Ottawa.

I stayed as quiet as I could tiptoeing into my own home.

I dropped my duffel in the kitchen and performed an inventory on what I saw.

He was transitioning off of the major pain meds and moving to over-the-counter NSAIDs.

The notebook was there, his neat and legible handwriting marking down progress like we discussed.

I’d have to order equipment soon to set up in the backyard to begin light practice.

I grabbed a water from the fridge and headed upstairs.

I knew I should have crept down the hall to my own room to catch some sleep.

I had the entire day off so I could sleep in as late as I wanted.

But curiosity got the best of me and I padded softly to Cody’s room.

The door was closed. I could hear white noise pumping out through a machine.

I held up my hand to rap my knuckles against it. Then paused.

Let him sleep.

I turned to go when my phone buzzed. An incoming text. Cody, asking if I was home.

I knocked quietly and politely.

“It’s open,” came Cody’s voice. I pushed inside to see the sleepy man laying at a forty-five-degree angle. He reached over to the nightstand and clicked off the white noise machine.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“I saw the headlights come up the driveway,” he said. “Got some good news for ya.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He held out his arms. “I can hug now.” Then he shot out a single finger. “But not a lot. Don’t go crazy.”

Didn’t have to tell me twice.

I climbed in next to him instead of hovering over.

I went in for an easy side hug, then locked my arm around him so we lay next to each other, him under the sheets, me over them.

I kissed his temple. A serious bout of regret hit me—I didn’t know how long I could keep up with restraining myself for him. I said we’d “date,” but now…

“How’s the breathing?” I asked.

He wowed me by extending his belly in a full breath. It was slow, careful. But progress, nonetheless. “I’m also able to let myself yawn. You have no idea how satisfying that is.”

“After only two weeks,” I said. “Very impressive, Hill.”

He shimmied under the sheets, presumably to gain some comfort. He demonstrated his new ability by taking in a yawn. “How was the flight?”

“Good,” I said and shifted. “What’s the AC set to in this room, arctic chill?”

He laughed. Lightly. “I like it cold when I sleep.”

“I do, too, but this is next level.”

He swiveled his head to look over and up at me. “Then get under the covers with me.”

I turned to look away. A crossroad lay before me. Did I trust myself enough to do this?

“I’m falling asleep here, Spartan,” Cody said.

I craned my long arm and snapped the button to turn his sound machine back on.

I slipped under the covers, my frozen toes brushing against the warmth of his feet.

I wouldn’t fall asleep like this, at this angle and wearing clothes.

But the feel of Cody under my arm, the smell of his hair, and simply his presence was enough to take the edge off.

I kissed him again on his temple and let my lips linger. I pressed repeated, soft kisses. Desire rose in me. I wanted to pull him atop my body and grind against him. Wanted to let my fingers trace his body, inside and out. Let my tongue taste…

His light snoring dissuaded me from any wanton fantasy.

I carefully extricated myself after staying there for about fifteen minutes. The guy didn’t bat an eye, thankfully. I quietly closed the door, stripped down, and was under my covers a few moments later. Like Cody, I was out in seconds.

*

We chatted over a plate of homemade eggs, toast, and a bowl of fruit.

We sat together in the dining room, steaming mugs of coffee wafting between us.

I awakened to the smell of bacon and hoofed it downstairs as fast as I could.

It was there, with Cody cooking in my kitchen, that he announced we were having a breakfast date in place of dinner. Who was I to argue?

I learned more about Cody’s past. He called himself a “foundling,” one of the rarer cases of infant abandonment in the country.

He had nothing but positive words regarding his foster experience in all five homes.

All of his foster moms and dads showed up to his high school graduation, some driving quite a distance to make it to see their “special boy” obtain his diploma.

I catalogued everything, making mental notes as he spoke so I could learn to ask more information during future dates.

I shared an easy story about a fight Archie and I had been involved in when we were thirteen.

He one-upped me with his own about a rival foster brother.

We upped the stakes every time we traded a story about brothers being brothers, like old men showing off scars.

Eventually our conversation, as it always did, drifted toward the game.

I expressed my excitement—in my own way—about Cody returning to the mound.

Marveled at how the fans and crowd would react when they saw him walk back out onto the field. I painted a picture for him.

Cody had braced his elbows on the table. His eyes distant. I had lost him somewhere.

“Cody?” I said to bring him back to me. “You okay? Rolling on meds?”

He blinked back to reality. He really did disappear. “Sorry. Um. I hadn’t, y’know, put myself in those shoes. Being back on the mound.” He cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. His entire demeanor shifted, as if he hadn’t just mentally checked out a second ago.

Something’s up , I realized. And I thought I had an idea, since I had experienced something similar in my own past, when getting into a car terrified me.

I had an idea on how to help him, but I needed to let the thought bake in the oven for a while.

The usual Cody, in the meantime, was back. He had compartmentalized the fear I knew he felt. Like me, he took command of the conversation to steer it away from a perceived weakness.

“Okay. It’s been killing me,” Cody said. “Can I ask you something somewhat personal?”

I let him steer, as he so often did for me. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much somewhat means. So ask and we’ll see.”

“I know your twin’s name is Archie. But when you were telling me your story that night, you said something different. At least I think it was different. What was his full name?”

I nodded. Archie hated his full name. “Archidamus. He was a king of Sparta.”

Cody nodded emphatically, with a smile. “Like Leonidas. Ah, I get it now. Leo and Archie. I love that.”

“My mother fought my father for weeks after he said he wasn’t budging on those names. She came up with the nickname Archie. Leo was kind of obvious.”

“I think it’s a great…” He trailed away as he casually looked at his phone. “Ah, shit. PT will be here any second. Help me clean up?”

We brought the plates back into the kitchen. As if on cue, the doorbell rang as I lowered the dishes into the sink. Cody ambled his way to the entrance and soon came back into the kitchen.

A model walked into my house. Well over six feet, silky black hair tied in a bun.

Shapely eyebrows and a square jaw sharp enough to cut through diamonds.

He was stacked, broad-shouldered, and exuded the easiness of someone who got exactly what he wanted.

He wore scrubs and I wanted to set fire to them.

“The Spartan, no way,” the man said as he extended a hand for me to shake.

Everything in me defaulted to my standard personality. I shot him a look that told him to fuck right off to the bowels of hell. My grip was overly strong. “You are…?”

“Marley, Cody’s physical therapist.”

He had a smooth, practiced baritone. It made me want to punch a wall.

“We’re gonna head downstairs to the gym. Be back in a half hour.”

I think that was Cody speaking. My vision tunneled on Marley as he casually chatted with Cody on their way to the basement stairs. I had a brief image of shoving him down them. Laughter echoed up as they descended and my sight tinged with a red haze.