Railers Volume 2 (Harrisburg Railers Box Set)

by RJ Scott

  Wrapped in his arms afterward, I knew I had to tell him about the worries I was keeping inside. Without sharing that last part of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself anymore.

  “I need to tell you something,” I began, and extricated myself from his hold, sitting up in the bed and tucking the quilt around me. He scooted up next to me and gripped my hand.

  “Me too,” he said.

  We could do that whole “you first” thing, but hell, I needed to clear the air of my secrets.

  “I’ll go first,” I said, and he smiled at me like he was waiting for me to tell him the most wonderful thing in the world.

  “Go on, then,” he encouraged when I didn’t talk straight away.

  “Just after I was traded, I had a medical thing.”

  He poked me, then, “I can understand longer words than ‘thing’.”

  He didn’t sound pissed or worried, but then I hadn’t told him everything.

  “It was an arteriovenous malformation, an AVM.” I waited for him to show some understanding, quietly hoping I wouldn’t have to explain, but he looked blank.

  “What is that?”

  “A blockage of sorts that causes bleeds on the brain, can cause strokes, that kind of thing. I had an operation to remove the blockage, completely successful.” I added the last bit in a careless way, as if it wasn’t vital he took those words as the most important.

  “Shit.” Now he was worried, concerned, holding my hand and looking at me with those sexy liquid-chocolate eyes. “I’m so sorry, that must have been so scary.”

  “It is.”

  At first I didn’t realize what I’d said. I was soft and sated from making love, and Ben was holding my hand; I couldn’t even think that those two small words could mark the beginning of the end.

  “What do you mean, ‘it is’?” Ben untangled his fingers from mine. “You mean it was scary. Right? It’s done now?”

  It wasn’t as if I was going to hold back the worries I had now, but the way he stressed that word made me reconsider how honest I was going to be. I wouldn’t share my fears, just the cold medical facts.

  “Well, I still see a specialist in case it comes back.”

  “Back.”

  Was Ben going to repeat everything I said?

  “Well, yeah, there’s a chance there may be another blockage at some time, but I’m used to living with that now.” No sense in giving him the statistics that haunted me.

  I saw him move. Just a little. A few inches away from me. His expression changed from sympathetic to this blank nothing I couldn’t get a handle on at all. I reached for his hand, but he avoided my touch.

  “Ben?”

  He stared right at me, and then in a smooth movement he slid out of bed and yanked on his jeans and a T-shirt.

  “You’re dying?” He said dully.

  “No, not if I have anything to do with it.”

  “You could die and you didn’t tell me.”

  “Ben—”

  “I can’t do this again. You need to leave,” he said. His tone was dead.

  “Don’t be stupid, Ben. Let’s talk some more,” I said with a smile. He didn’t let me say anything else, so I didn’t get to say anything about how I was living with it, and so should he now if he really cared.

  “I don’t care—get out of my house.”

  I scrambled to stand, feeling at a disadvantage naked, pulling on my underwear and post-game suit, desperately trying to find the words to get him to calm the fuck down.

  “Ben, come on.”

  He stalked out of the bedroom, and I followed him. He had my shoes in his hands, and he opened the front door and threw them out on the step.

  “Get out,” he shouted.

  “You’re being stupid.”

  I looked at my shoes lying outside, only knowing this was an overreaction. What right did he have to know everything about me? I kept things to myself. This was my life. Not his.

  “Fuck you,” he snapped, and I blinked at him. “You lied to me.”

  Anger poked at me, and I pulled on my jacket. “I wasn’t lying. This isn’t something I share with anyone—”

  “I’m not just anyone!”

  “I didn’t know I could trust you not to tell the team—”

  “You want to know what I was going to say to you tonight?” Ben interrupted, and he jerked back from the door so I could go through. “I was going to tell you I loved you.”

  “Jesus, Ben—”

  His lips twisted into the parody of a smile. “Good job you got there first with your secrets.”

  “Ben, you’re not making any sense.”

  “Get out.” This time there was no anger, more regret and a finality that bit at me.

  I love you too.

  I stepped outside and picked up my shoes, turned back to get him to calm down, but he slammed the door on me.

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever told,” I said to the door. He was being an asshole now, throwing a man out in the dead of night. A man who had no car.

  The door opened and hope bloomed in my chest, but all that happened was Ben threw out my phone, which I managed to catch. The door was shut before I could say a thing.

  I wanted to take back all the words. Why had I thought sharing my fears would be a good thing?

  No one cared about me or my worries. I was pretty much alone in the world, and that was how I liked it.

  By the time I’d reached the sidewalk and turned right to find a space where I could call a cab that wasn’t right outside Ben’s place, I was over Ben and his overreaction.

  The best sex I’d ever had wasn’t enough for me to be with someone like him.

  Fuck him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ben

  “Benton Isaiah Worthington!”

  I cringed as my name echoed down the still quiet street. I’d thought I’d get away from my aunts by running before six in the morning.

  “Why did you make crafty old women go to bed early and get up even earlier?” I asked God as I slowly turned to face Aunt Glenna storming down her walk. God was quiet. He had been for the past week. Wished I could say the same for my great-aunts and nephew.

  “Are you running again?” She stopped right in front of me, sharp brown eyes moving up from my running shoes to my running shorts to my old, ripped Washington running T-shirt.

  “Nope, I’m off to paint a mural.”

  “Do not get wise-mouthed with me, young man. I can still whip your backside with no help from the Lord,” Aunt Glenna snapped, a finger waving under my nose.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “Mmm, you had better be. You know you can’t run away from being a damn fool.”

  I closed my eyes and drew in a deep lungful of city air.

  Sweet Baby Jesus, can you please get my family off my back about Max? I’ve truly heard enough. Can the old gals be struck mute? Just maybe for a week or two? To let me get back on my feet and try to repair my broken heart. Amen.

  “Did you want me for something other than calling me a damn fool?”

  “Someone has to point out what a damn fool you are.”

  I rolled my eyes to the heavens.

  Anyone up there listening?

  No booming voice from the clear sky to be heard. Just dogs and traffic.

  “Okay, well, you’re two up on Carol for the day. Did you want something?” I folded my arms over my tattered Washington shirt, eager to be off.

  “I need you to buy me Band-Aids.” She dug in her robe, way down where her boobs would be, and pulled out two one-dollar bills.

  “Band-Aids. Why do you need Band-Aids at six in the morning?” I refused to take the boob money when she tried to push it into my hand.

  “Maybe I cut myself.”

  Right. Good. This I needed right now? No, I did not. “I was planning on going the other direction. Are you losing a lot of blood? I know how to make a tourniquet.”

  “Do not get smart with me, Benton. I’m going to sha
ve my legs. It’s been since winter and I want to wear shorts to the voters’ rights rally on the weekend.”

  “Dear Lord.” I sighed, the thought of her hairy legs and where the hell she’d had those bills hidden spurring me to get moving. Those kinds of thoughts needed to be expunged ASAP. “Fine, I’ll go the opposite direction of where I was planning to so I can stop at Mike’s Drugstore and buy you Band-Aids. I’d hate to see you bleed out from a wound inflicted by one of those pink lady razors.”

  She nodded. “Guess you’re not a total damn fool. It’s always wise to do what your elders tell you to do.”

  With that, she took her boob money and pattered back to her house, stopping to yell at someone going too fast down the street.

  “Lord, give me strength.”

  I went south instead of north, falling into the pace of a nice run. I’d thought of bringing Bucky, but it was already too hot for a dog from the North. He hadn’t been happy to go back into his crate, but I was trying to be a good dog dad. He was the only thing I had in my life. Again.

  Why had he lied to me? Fucking Max. Why? When he’d had all that time and he knew—he knew—how terrible it had been for me to lose Liam. That bastard had sat there and listened to me talk about the agony of loss, how I’d wanted to die from the sheer misery of losing the man I loved. He’d laid beside me, held me, told me shit to placate me, made me fall in love with him, and all that time he’d had this thing in his head. This thing that could take him from me without warning. And he’d never said a word. Not once.

  I had to stop at the corner to dash away sweat and tears from my eyes. I lingered there, shaking out my hands, pacing, trying to push down the anger and pain of that deceit.

  Traffic stopped. I jogged across the intersection, soaked with sweat, unable to let the joy of exercise wipe away Max. Nothing was helping. Not running or work. Max lingered everywhere, around every corner, in each room of my house. His smell was on my bedding, his razor and toothbrush on my counter, and some of his clothes were still in my hamper.

  Four blocks later, I slowed and stretched outside Mike’s Drugstore I hoped I wasn’t too smelly to shop. Just in case, I made a fast pass through the store, which had just opened, so there were hardly any customers, to grab a box of Band-Aids. While I was there, I made a pass through the hair care aisle, grabbing a bottle of intensive hydrating shampoo and conditioner. Honey-berry scent, my favorite. I had used the last of my shampoo yesterday. Shampooing daily wasn’t good for my hair—I usually only washed it once a week and then conditioned the hell out of it with some deep-conditioning hair tonic—but the daily runs meant I had to shampoo in the shower. I mean I had to. To hell with the dry hair worry, my head felt gross after a run.

  Waiting in line for the register to open, praying I didn’t smell like stinky man, I thought back to the morning Max had used my shampoo and conditioner. His hair had laid flat on his head, slick and kind of greasy despite several rinses.

  “You might want to sort your hair out,” I teased, then rolled him back into bed for a nice long kiss and cuddle session. The memory of that tender moment pierced me like a lance.

  It took forever to get rung up. Stepping out of the cool of that pharmacy into the heat of a city summer day stole my breath. Or maybe I was still gasping after being gutted by that memory of better days. I glanced across the street, and there sat the Rose of Beulah Baptist Church.

  My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my shorts. Pulling it out, suspecting it was an aunt with another pharmacy-related need, I nearly dropped the phone when I saw it was a text from Max. It had been ten days since we’d spoken. The Railers and Raptors had each won a game. I hadn’t watched, DK had. I couldn’t look at Max on TV and be calm, cool, and collected. DK was furious I wouldn’t tell him what had happened to break us up. Which put him in company with my aunts and most of my employees.

  I’m so fucking stupid

  I re-read it a couple of times, hoping context about what he meant would magically appear. Did he mean he was stupid to have slept with me? Was he texting me to start an argument? What kind of text was that to send me? My thumb hovered over delete, and another text flashed up before I could.

  I’ve been missing you

  “I’ve been missing you too,” I murmured, sweat slipping into my eye and making it water.

  I didn’t know if I should reply or not. I hated the man. Didn’t I? Well, maybe hate was too strong. I was mad at him, though. So damn mad. Livid. Angry as hell for how he had uncaringly omitted something that important from any dialog we’d ever had. All the openings he’d had, and he’d never once said jack shit. That hurt on a cellular level. I just could not grasp how you could sleep with someone, eat at their table, make love to them, ride in Kissing Towers with them, yet not have the common decency to say, “Hey, Ben, I got this thing in my head and it might come back and kill me. Just thought you should know before you fall head-over-heels in love with my stupid-ass face.”

  I did love his stupid-ass face, though. And his smile, and the way he made me laugh and made me cry out in passion. I even loved how he thought he knew what good dancing was, when he obviously didn’t. I spun around, looking for a direction to go in or a sign. Something that would guide me, because I was about as confused and frightened as a man could be. My soul ached. A sharp, shooting pain ripped through my side. I groaned and winced in such agony—memory or cramp, it was hard to discern—that I slapped a hand to my side and shuffled across the street when there was a gap in traffic. Maybe a break in the shadowy interior of my church would ease my mind.

  The house of worship’s doors were open, as they always were come five a.m. It was dark inside, cool, the smell of lemon wax rising from the newly polished pews. It was funny, but every time I smelled lemon furniture polish, I thought of God.

  Side still caught in a spasm, I dropped into the closest pew, breathless and lost and scared beyond reason, Max’s text still unanswered. I used the hem of my shirt to dry my face after placing the bag from the drugstore on the pew beside me. Once my face was dry, I studied the pulpit way up front. The wood was rich oak. On each side of the pulpit were stands to hold flowers. They were empty today but come Sunday they’d be filled with glorious color. Behind the flowers and pulpit was a large wooden cross, dark brown, as old as my great-aunts. I sat there for the longest time, staring at the cross, whispering for God to help guide me from this mess my life was in. If he couldn’t offer guidance, how about just a signpost or an answer?

  “Ben, did you get your a.m. and p.m. mixed up?” Pastor Bert asked from the front of the church. “Choir practice is at seven at night.”

  He smiled widely as he walked past his pulpit and up the aisle.

  “No, sir, I was just in need of some counsel.”

  “Ah, well, the Lord is who I turn to when I’m lost.”

  I sighed. “He’s not saying much.”

  “I have found he’s the silent type. Perhaps you could tell me what’s troubling you?”

  I glanced at my pastor, then back at the cross. “How much do you know?”

  “Well, I know you and Max have run into some difficulty, but what that difficulty is has been hard to pry out of you. Although your aunts have told me enough.”

  That made me smile a bit. “They do like to talk.”

  “They’re concerned about you. But yes, they do like to talk.” He chuckled and wiggled back into the pew, making the wood squeak.

  “I want this to stay between us,” I opened.

  “Of course.”

  He patted my sweaty back, and I started talking. Guess I shouldn’t have made fun of my aunts’ love of gabbing. I talked and talked and talked, and Pastor Bert listened. When I was out of words, I closed my eyes and slithered back into the pew, mentally and physically exhausted.

  “It sounds to me as if both you and Max are caught up in fear.”

  “He lied to me.”

  “Because he was afraid. And you threw him out because you’re afraid of losing anothe
r man you love.”

  Head resting on the back of the pew, I opened my eyes and stared at the smooth white ceiling.

  “I can’t do that again, Pastor. I cannot give my all to a man then for him to die. I just…I can’t.” Tears ran down my cheeks and into my ears.

  “I know facing those fears is hard. But don’t give in to them. If you do, you won’t be able to talk to your heart.”

  I rolled my head to the left to gaze on the man of God. “Was that from the Bible?” My scripture knowledge was pretty slack .

  Pastor Bert smiled. “No, it’s a favored quote of mine from Paulo Coelho, but don’t tell God I’m not using his word for counseling one of my sheep. He might fire me.”

  That made me laugh. Out loud.

  “You think Max is my heart?” I asked, using the backs of my hands to dry my face.

  “Do you think Max is your heart?”

  I nodded and sat up straight.

  “Then you’ll need to push your fear aside so you can hear what your heart has to say.”

  That made sense. I was terrified to reply to that text, though.

  “Thank you,” I said as Pastor Bert pushed to his feet.

  He placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled. “If you need me, I’ll be back in my office, having coffee.”

  He ambled off, humming a song that sounded a great deal like Prince’s “Raspberry Beret”.

  I drew in a long, deep breath, pulled out my phone, and sent Max a text in return.

  I’ve been missing you too.

  It took a moment for him to reply.

  Can we talk?

  I wanted to weep, laugh, and vomit. Love was one confusing emotion.

  I’d like that. Tonight, at the shelter after closing. Six?

  I knew there was no game tonight. That would be tomorrow night. Sitting there with that phone in my hand, trembling with nerves and fear and excitement, I waited to see if he’d come and talk with me. Maybe…. just maybe… we could both conquer our fears and listen to our hearts.

  See you at six. I’m sorry. I suck at this love shit.

  I swallowed down a sickly laugh/sob because God had probably heard enough of my sniffling for one damn morning. Thumbs moving slowly because nerves and giddiness had taken over my central nervous system, I tapped out the only reply that came to mind.