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‘Shit! Timeout!’
Roland was there first, pulling off his glove and tossing it aside as he knelt down beside Patrick who was lying on his side in the dirt, clutching at his nose and the left-hand side of his face. The bat that had been in his hand was lying abandoned by his feet as the baseball that had just been thrown continued to bounce and roll towards first base.
Ronnie was also dropping her glove and running over from the pitcher’s mound, a look of shock on her face, like she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just done.
Roland had a hand to Patrick’s shoulder. ‘Hey, Pat, you okay?’
‘Brewer?’ Ronnie asked, as she bent down and tried to peel Patrick’s hands from his face. Blood was welling between his fingers as he pulled away from Ronnie, rolling onto his back as his right heel kicked against the ground, throwing up dust. He was making pained noises and trying desperately not to swear like a sailor.
Jocelyn was coming down from the bleachers to join the crowd of players around Patrick on the ground now.
‘Alright, let’s give the man some room.’ Roland was trying to corral people backwards with wide sweeping gestures as Jocelyn snuck under one of her husband’s arms to kneel beside Patrick’s head, dropping the first aid kit that she brought to every game. The most she’d had cause to use it before was to offer plasters for blisters. Or that one-time Rollie had accidentally hit himself in the arm with his own bat on a backswing.
Jocelyn pressed a hand to Patrick’s shoulder. ‘Patrick, honey, let’s have a look at your face.’
His eyes were screwed shut in pain as Ronnie sat back on her heels on the other side of Patrick, looking up as someone shoved a towel at her. It took a while for Patrick to start peeling his uppermost hand away from his face. The second one was slower in coming, and he seemed to refuse to open his eyes. There was a sharp inhalation from everyone still in the vicinity of Patrick, as Ronnie’s face twisted into a deeper look of guilt.
Patrick’s lip was split, which seemed to be the main cause of the blood that was dripping down his chin. That, and the blood that was coming from his nose, making it look more horrific than it probably was.
‘Okay, Patrick, let’s sit you up before you start swallowing blood, because that’s not going to be pleasant for anybody.’
Roland and Ronnie took an arm each, pulling Patrick forward into a sitting position as Jocelyn took the towel from Ronnie and pressed it to Patrick’s nose to try and stem the flow of blood. He brought his knees up to his chest and leant forward on them, head hanging down and taking over the task from Jocelyn of holding the towel to his face. He moved it out the way momentarily to spit blood onto the floor and Jocelyn grimaced. He reached up slowly to try to pull the helmet from his head, Ronnie helping to relieve him of it.
Jocelyn kept a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, watching him in concern. ‘Patrick, apart from your nose and lip, does anything else hurt?’
A muffled word came from behind the towel. ‘Head.’
‘Well that would make sense since your nose and lip are attached to your melon.’ Jocelyn tried to sound reassuring as she moved the towel away from Patrick’s face to get a better look at his nose. Despite the blood, his nose still looked relatively whole. She smiled at him as she took his face in her hands and pressed gently against his nose and cheek, trying to make sure nothing was broken. Tears were running unbidden down his cheeks, and he hissed as Jocelyn pressed against the swelling underneath his left eye.
‘Okay, I don’t think anything’s broken, so let’s you and I sit the rest of the final inning out.’ Jocelyn gave a little laugh at her own joke as she pulled herself back to her feet, brushing down her pants. Patrick moved lethargically, trying to get his feet under him as Roland grasped him by the arm to help haul him to his feet. Both Jocelyn and Ronnie reached out to steady him as he swayed, a smattering of applause breaking out as Jocelyn lead him over to the bleachers with an arm around his back and sat him down.
She sat next to him, waiting for his nose to stop bleeding, while Ronnie gather his bat and helmet, resting them against the fence before making her way back to the field. Jocelyn eventually replaced the towel with an ice pack in Patrick’s hand, before trying to use the baby wipes she had with her to take some of the blood off of his face so he didn’t look quite so much like an extra on a horror film.
Jocelyn stood up, squeezing Patrick’s arm. ‘I’m just going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.’
Patrick closed his eyes as Jocelyn wandered away. His head was pounding and his face smarted where the ball had made contact. Like Jocelyn, he was fairly certain he hadn’t broken anything, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less.
The teams were currently taking a moment as Café Tropical tried to figure out who was going to replace Patrick. Ronnie was stood on the pitcher’s mound, tossing the ball nonchalantly in the air, but her gaze kept drifting towards Patrick sat halfway up the bleachers, his head hanging between his shoulders. She could see Jocelyn on her phone beside the barbeque, a bottle of water in her other hand as she watched Patrick from afar.
‘How’re you feeling?’ Jocelyn asked, rubbing a hand across Patrick’s back as she sat back down next to him on the bleachers a few minutes later, handing him a bottle of water.
‘I’ll live,’ he mumbled, ice pack still pressed to the side of his face as he lifted his head to watch morosely as the game started up again, squinting painfully into the sun. He wanted to find his baseball cap, but the thought of moving made him feel sick.
‘I gave telehealth a ring for you, and they said that you don’t need to go to the ER, but that someone should stay with you for the next 24hrs and make sure you don’t have a concussion.’ Jocelyn unfolded a bit of paper that she was holding between her fingers. ‘I wrote down the list of things to watch out for.’
‘Thanks, Jocelyn.’ Patrick tried to smile, but realised that made his face hurt more than it already did, so desisted.
‘Do you want to give me your phone and I’ll call David for you? See if he can come pick you up?’
Patrick frowned. ‘David’s away visiting Alexis.’
Jocelyn looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘What about Stevie? She’s in town this weekend, right?’
‘Yeah.’
Patrick pointed at his bag that was a couple of rows down on the bleachers. ‘It should be in the inside pocket. Could you grab my cap too?’
Jocelyn retrieved Patrick’s baseball cap and phone, smiling as she handed it over to him so he could unlock it. The lock screen picture was one of Patrick and David on their wedding day. It wasn’t a posed photo, though, it was a candid one that someone had clearly taken late in the evening, the two of them sitting in a booth at the café wrapped up in each other looking more than a little tipsy, but unequivocally happy.
Jocelyn didn’t move away from Patrick as she hit dial next to Stevie’s name. She glanced across at him to see he’d closed his eyes against the sunlight again, elbows resting on his knees as his head hung heavy between his shoulders. She reached out a hand in comfort, rubbing his back like he was a small child. It made her miss her eldest for a moment, even though Patrick and Mutt were nothing alike, apart from their mild-mannered personality and their ability to reign in the Rose siblings to some extent.
Stevie answered quicker than Jocelyn was expecting, thrown somewhat by Stevie’s initial enquiry.
‘You can’t be missing David already.’
‘Stevie? It’s Jocelyn on Patrick’s phone.’
‘Hi.’ There was a pause. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘I’m afraid Patrick’s had a run in with a baseball at the game today.’ Jocelyn proceeded to explain what had happened as well as the instructions telehealth had given her over the phone. ‘I thought he might be more comfortable with you keeping an eye on him while David’s away rather than me or Rollie.’
There was barely a beat before Stevie responded. ‘Um, sure. Does he need a ride? Or-‘
‘I can drive him back to the cottage in a bit if you’re busy?’
‘Um, can you give me a half an hour?’ Jocelyn could hear rustling in the background, momentarily surprised that Stevie seemed to be so quick to drop all of her plans.
‘Course. Thanks, Stevie.’
‘Sure.’ There was the click as Stevie hung up and Jocelyn turned back to the dejected form of Patrick.
‘Patrick, honey, I’m going to drive you home and Stevie will meet us there in a bit if that’s okay?’
It looked like Patrick was going to argue, proclaiming that he wanted to watch the end of the final inning, but as Katie was struck out he seemed to realise that it was a foregone conclusion and nodded infinitesimally, turning away from the field and climbing back down the bleachers.
Jocelyn gathered his things up, waving him away as he tried to help, calling over to Roland about her intentions as he sauntered over, pulling his catcher helmet off.
‘Piece of advice, Pat. Next time try hitting the ball with your bat rather than your face.’ Roland laughed to himself, even as his wife gave him a withering look, shoving him gently on the arm, while Patrick gave a weary smile.
‘I’ll be back after I’ve made sure Patrick has gotten home, okay?’ Jocelyn kissed her husband as she turned towards their truck where Patrick was leaning against the passenger side door, water bottle in one hand, ice pack still pressed to his face with the other.
‘Brewer?’ Patrick looked up to see Ronnie walking towards the truck uncertainly. ‘Take care of yourself, alright?’
Patrick was confused, concerned he already had a concussion and was potentially hallucinating Ronnie’s sincerity for his wellbeing. He tried to form a coherent sentence to respond to her, but all that he managed was a vague nod as the locks on Jocelyn’s truck clicked open.
Stevie was already sat on the porch waiting when Jocelyn and Patrick pulled into the drive. She’d told Jocelyn half an hour, but in reality she’d only needed the five minutes that it took her to pull together an overnight bag and then the other five minutes it took her to drive over to the cottage. She jerked herself to her feet and crossed over to the truck, her eyes widening as she spotted the blood on the front of Patrick’s shirt and the already darkening bruises around his left eye and lip.
Blood was flaking from where it had crusted on the side of his face and chin, and she noted that he was clinging onto the door of the Schitt’s truck as he squinted at her from under the peak of his cap.
‘Ronnie really doesn’t like you, huh?’
Patrick slammed the door of the truck shut, and winced.
‘I think she would say it was my fault for getting in the way of the ball.’ Patrick’s words were quiet as he dragged his feet over the lawn to the front porch, making it all the way to the front door before he realised that his keys were in his bag that was still in the truck. Stevie watched him look around in confusion, even as Jocelyn appeared, handing over the bag to Stevie who started to rifle through it for his keys.
She opened the door and watched as Patrick stumbled over the doorstep before slouching towards the bottom of the stairs where he immediately sat down and started to try and remove his cleats.
Stevie turned back to Jocelyn who was watching Patrick sympathetically. Jocelyn then handed over the piece of paper with the instructions that she’d gotten from telehealth. ‘They said to just keep an eye on him, let him get some sleep and take some painkillers. If he starts acting not like himself, they said to take him to the ER.’ Jocelyn looked back at Patrick who was still struggling with his shoes, lowering her voice. ‘Also, I didn’t tell him, but they said he shouldn’t play sports for 3 weeks.’
‘Yeah, I’m gonna leave David to break that one to him.’ Stevie swung Patrick’s bag over the threshold and let it drop under the coat stand there, her own following. ‘Thanks, Jocelyn. I’ll try and keep him alive for the next day.’
‘Just you give me a ring and let me know if you need anything.’ She gestured towards Patrick. ‘Let me know he’s alright.’
Stevie nodded slowly, trying not to smile. ‘Will do.’
Stevie waved Jocelyn off before turning back to Patrick who was still sat on the bottom step of the stairs, water bottle and ice pack forgotten next to his shoes. He had both hands on the top of his head, looking like he was holding his cap in place as he sat slumped over his knees.
‘Right, come on Babe Ruth.’
Patrick raised his head to frown at her in confusion as she shut the front door behind her.
‘Just because David doesn’t listen when you talk about baseball, doesn’t mean all of us don’t.’ She grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet and steering him up the stairs.
He zigzagged down the corridor to David and his bedroom, Stevie following behind as he dropped down to sit on the end of their bed. Stevie didn’t really want to start rummaging around in David and Patrick’s drawers, because who knew what she would accidentally uncover, but Patrick didn’t seem to be capable of anything other than sitting still.
She stood staring at the dresser. ‘Do you want to grab a shower?’
‘No, think I just need to take some painkillers and try and sleep off the headache.’ There was a pause where Stevie heard Patrick audibly swallowing. ‘Second drawer down.’
Stevie pulled the drawer open, pulling out a pair of striped pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, unsure if it belonged to Patrick or David, but realistically knew that Patrick probably didn’t care at that point. She turned back to find him looking at her from under the peak of his cap. He looked like the poster boy for an ad campaign on the dangers of drink driving.
‘Okay, I think we should maybe try and get some of the blood off your face first.’
She sat him down on the toilet seat, picking up a washcloth and filling the sink with warm water. She half expected him to take the washcloth from her and start cleaning his own face, but he just sat there with his eyes closed, even as she started wiping at the blood under his nose and on his chin, wincing every time, despite how gentle she was trying to be.
Stevie rarely saw this vulnerable side of Patrick. In her presence he was normally teasing banter, all sharp edges apart from when he thought the sun shone out of David’s ass. She’d only seen glimpses of him looking so unsure and nervous on occasion. When he’d come out to his parents was one, and when he’d asked for her blessing to marry David was another. Now he just looked dejected, and she secretly wished David was here to take care of him, because she didn’t know how to. In her eyes, Patrick Brewer wanted for nothing.
Stevie pulled his cap from his head as she tried to work out if the dark colours being cast across Patrick’s face were shadows or bruises already forming. She put a hand under his chin, tilting his face towards the light, realising that unfortunately for Patrick they appeared to be bruises.
‘So, what did you say to Ronnie that caused her to do this?’
Patrick’s answer was barely above a whisper. ‘Was an accident.’
‘If this is an accident I’d hate to see what she’d do to you if she was really mad.’ There was no response to that, and Stevie inferred that his headache was getting worse, because their usual sarcastic banter was completely missing from the conversation. She let the distinctly pink water out of the sink after she’d rinsed out the washcloth a final time before she opened the bathroom cabinet and rescued the ibuprofen packet.
‘You think you can get yourself into pyjamas if I go get you a glass of water so you can take these?’ She shook the packet of pills, because his eyes were still closed.
‘Yeah,’ he said as he pulled himself back to his feet and moved unsteadily back out into the bedroom, squinting against the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. Stevie moved to turn on the anglepoise lamp, bending it away so it cast a warm glow into the corner of the room. She pulled all of the curtains shut, plunging the room into semi darkness. When she turned back she found Patrick with his shirt already over his head, which she took a moment to appreciate before disappearing downstairs.
Stevie re-entered the bedroom to find Patrick had managed to finish getting changed and crawled under the covers. She placed the glass of water down next to the box of ibuprofen as she gave him a cursory glance. Patrick’s phone that she’d managed to retrieve from his sports bag in the hall chose that moment to vibrate for the second time in as many minutes, the first half of a panicked message appearing on the screen.
And then her own phone started vibrating. ‘Patrick?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Have you spoken to David since this happened?’
‘Um, no. Don’t want to worry him.’
‘Okay, I think we’re beyond worried David and into panicking David, because not only is your phone blowing up, but he’s now calling me.’
Stevie turned her phone round so Patrick could see the screen, squinting up at it before she swiped to answer and pressed it to her ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh my god, finally. Why is no one answering their phone?’
‘You’re very needy. And I was busy.’
‘Have you seen Patrick?’
‘I have, yes. In fact, he is right in front of me at the moment. Would you like to speak to him?’
Stevie was fairly certain Patrick was trying to glare at her, but with one eye at half-mast and bruising already vivid on his cheek and a fat lip, he just looked dejected. She was already holding out the phone to him, not bothering to wait for David’s reply. He reluctantly took the phone, rolling over in the bed so he was lying on his back and he could press the phone to the side of his head that wasn’t hurting.
‘Hi, David.’
‘Hi.’ There was a notable amount of relief in that one word. ‘Are you okay? You haven’t answered any of my messages this afternoon. Is everything alright?’
Patrick took a deep breath. ‘Okay, David, before I tell you what happened, you need to know that I’m okay.’
‘Oh my God! What happened?’
‘I had a small run-in with a baseball at the game today. Stevie’s going to keep an eye on me, but I’m okay. So, you don’t need to worry.’
‘Then why does Stevie need to keep an eye on you if I don’t need to worry?’
Patrick closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Okay, David, I know I said I’m okay, but I have a headache and every time your voice goes up an octave it feels like someone’s poking a knitting needle in my eye.’
There was silence on the other end of the line and Patrick sighed for a second time, knowing that he’d upset David, when that was the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to do.
‘David, I’m fine, okay? Bruised face and ego from the ball hitting me. Stevie is just staying over as a precaution on the advice of telehealth to make sure I’m not concussed.’ Patrick opened his eyes, only to realise he was alone in the bedroom now. Stevie clearly having slipped out to let the two of them have an argument in private, which was very unlike her. His eyes slid to the water and painkillers she’d left behind and he tried to struggle into a sitting position so he could take them.
‘So, you’ve phoned telehealth but you haven’t seen an actual medical professional?’
Patrick fumbled one handed with the packet of drugs, retorting back at David. ‘Says the man who used to go to the vet for his medical needs.’
David didn’t say anything, but Patrick could hear Alexis in the background asking what was happening. He took the momentary silence as an opportunity to down two ibuprofen.
‘I know my husband’s name is David Rose. That his birthday is on the 2nd July, which is also the day that my life changed for the better, because I started dating the love of my life. Do you need me to go on, or are you satisfied that I’m not going to die in the middle of the night and leave you to run the store on your own?’
‘Don’t.’ David’s voice was small on the other end of the line, and Patrick knew he’d gone too far.
He lay back down in the bed, losing all traces of sarcasm from his tone. ‘David, I’m okay. I promise you.’
There was another pause where Patrick could envision his husband’s face going through a range of emotions. ‘Okay. I love you, but I need you to put Stevie back on.’
‘Stevie,’ Patrick called, wincing at the sound of his own raised voice. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
Stevie reappeared almost instantaneously, holding a hand out for her phone. ‘Are you done freaking out now?’
‘I need you to promise me that he’s okay.’ There wasn’t a hint of hysterical David in his tone of voice now, he was just concerned.
‘David, he’s okay.’ Stevie tried to sound as sincere as she possibly could.
‘And you’ll call me the minute he’s not okay?’
‘Oh my God, yes. Stop worrying and go have fun.’ Stevie hung up on him before he had a chance to say anything else that would annoy her. Patrick was looking up at her where he had now moved back to lying on his side in bed, the one eye that she could see was nearly closed.
‘Just checking, you’re still okay, right?’ Stevie smirked, as Patrick frowned. Stevie handed him the make-shift ice-pack she’d been to make while he’d been on the phone, which he gratefully took and laid on the side of his face.
‘I’ll be back up in a few hours to check you’ve not died.’
She watched as he closed his eyes in relief. ‘Thanks, Stevie.’
Stevie was nursing a bottle of wine, curled up under a blanket on the couch in the Rose/Brewer living room, enjoying watching a film that David hadn’t picked for once when her phone started ringing. For a moment she was worried it was Roland phoning her about some disaster or other, which he seemed to do on a regular basis when he knew she was back in town. It was interesting that most disasters only seemed to occur when she could drive over to sort them.
However, this disaster was much closer to home, and more of David Rose’s own making.
‘He’s still alive.’
‘Okay, great, but I’m going to need you to take a picture of Patrick.’
Stevie frowned, even though her best friend couldn’t see her. ‘He’s asleep.’
‘Yeah, but I’m still going to need a picture. Just to know he’s not horribly disfigured.’
‘Did you google "baseball hit in face"?’
There was too long a pause, in which Stevie managed to draw her own conclusions on how much googling David had done. ‘I may have done a bit of googling.’
‘David, this was like amateur baseball, not major. Ronnie was the one who threw the ball, not whoever it is who pitches for the Blue Jays.’
‘I don’t know, there’s a lot of them, and I just get distracted when Patrick tries to tell me their names. Also, do you think Ronnie mutilating Patrick will make them even?’
‘He’s not mutilated. He has a black eye and a split lip. And I’m fairly sure Ronnie feels guilty about it, because she’s already texted me twice since it happened.’
‘How much of a black eye are we talking? Are we sure he’s not broken his orbital bone? Also, I thought they wore those little helmets with the cage on the front to stop this happening?’
Stevie sighed in frustration. ‘David, that’s only the catcher. The batters just wear a helmet when they’re batting.’
‘Well someone should probably look into that rule, because baseballs are dangerous!’ David’s voice was verging on hysterical again. It was clear that while Patrick had been asleep and Stevie had been enjoying babysitting duty from the comfort of the couch, David had fallen down a panicked wormhole on Google.
‘Look, if I facetime you when he wakes up so you can see for yourself that he’s not horribly disfigured, will you leave me alone for the rest of the evening to look after your husband?’
‘Don’t you have to wake him up every couple of hours and check he knows who he is and where he is?’
Stevie sighed. Apparently, David had also done some Doctor googling in the interim as well.
‘Okay, I’m fairly certain you only have to do that with someone who’s actually concussed.’
‘But how do you know he’s not concussed? He could have like a brain bleed or something. He could be on the verge of a seizure or bleeding from his ears right now!’
Stevie heard Alexis echo her sentiments on the matter in the background of the call. ‘Oh my God, David! Stevie knows what she’s doing. Patrick will be fine. Can we please go out now?’
‘David, trust me, he is fine. Go be a tragically hip city dweller with your sister. I will call you if he dies.’ Stevie knew that her words would only worry David more, but he was being ridiculous, and needling him about it was part of her designated job as best friend.
‘You could have just called down. Or text me.’ Stevie was leant against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching Patrick who was shuffling around in the semi-darkness of his kitchen, trying to get himself a drink.
‘Yelling’s loud and screen’s too bright.’ Patrick was squinting against the light from the fridge as he tried to pull orange juice from the door as quickly as possible.
Stevie rolled her eyes, taking pity on Patrick and moving into the room to pull a glass from the cupboard for him, before crossing to the cupboard where she knew they kept a first aid kit and fishing some more painkillers out. ‘David wants proof of life.’
Patrick looked confused. ‘I spoke to him.’
‘He googled “baseball hit in face”.’
Patrick sunk into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, accepting the packet of painkillers. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, so now we have to facetime him so he knows that you’re not horrendously disfigured.’ Stevie pulled out a second chair at the table and sat down opposite Patrick, watching him as he sipped gingerly at his juice.
‘I haven’t even looked in a mirror to see how bad it is.’
Stevie contemplated Patrick’s face, head tilting to one side to take him in. ‘I mean, you’ve looked better.’
Patrick stared back at her. ‘Helpful.’
‘Not going to lie, it doesn’t look great. If I were David, I would definitely be freaking out, probably because I would be concerned that people thought you were a battered husband.’
Patrick frowned, and immediately seemed to regret it. ‘What about you?’
‘We both know I don’t do concerned.’
Patrick gave her a look that clearly said that neither of them believed that.
‘It looks like you got hit in the face with a something much larger and harder than a baseball.’
Patrick made a humming sound as he pulled himself to his feet and shuffled away from the table, disappearing into the half bath, flicking the light on. Stevie followed him, watching as he shied away from the light, while simultaneously trying to get a look at himself in the mirror. He frowned as he poked at the bruise under his eye, clearly making a concerted effort to open his eye wider than it was willing to go and sucking a breath in through his teeth in pain when he pressed too hard. His tongue flicked out to lick at his split lip as he pulled back from the mirror to try and take in the whole picture, his eyes drifting to Stevie’s reflection where she was leant against the doorjamb with her arms crossed, watching him.
‘It’s not that bad.’ There was a rise in his voice that meant it was almost phrased like a question, and Stevie just looked back at him incredulously.
‘So, I take it you want to phone him now before the bruising gets even worse?’
‘Probably for the best.’
Stevie nodded before she turned away from him to go and rescue her phone from the living room, Patrick following her and sitting down next to her on the sofa. She pushed herself back against the arm of the sofa so she could see Patrick beyond the screen of her phone trying to flatten his hair down, as if that would somehow make a difference to the mess his face was in.
She hit the video button and wasn’t surprised when it only wrung twice before David picked up. By the looks of it David was in a bar or a restaurant that had lots of retro lampshades hung at haphazard angles from the ceiling, making it look like a grandmother’s living room, which Stevie knew was no doubt by design. David’s face looked anxious.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘He’s not dead. I wouldn’t have video called you if that was the case.’
David made a face at her, his husband unintentionally mimicking that face behind the camera.
‘I’m doing like you asked and giving you proof of life. But before I spin the camera round, Patrick wanted you to know that it looks worse than it is, and I want you to know that I think he’s lying.’
Stevie enjoyed the glare Patrick shot her, as David nodded solemnly in response. Stevie handed the phone to Patrick, somewhat sad she couldn’t see David’s response, even though it was predictable.
‘Oh my God!’ A hand went to David’s mouth as he took in the image of his husband now taking up the screen of his phone. ‘Well you’re never playing baseball again.’
Patrick tried to turn his face slightly so that the left-hand side was hidden. ‘Okay, you’re making this a thing when it’s not a thing. Sports injuries happen, David. I will be fine.’
Alexis appeared in the frame behind David’s shoulder. ‘Ouch, Patrick.’
David ignored Alexis. ‘Why did you have to get injured when I’m away?’
‘I didn’t let myself get injured, David. I didn’t purposely wake up this morning and decide that I was going to get hit in the face with a baseball today.’
‘Well it wouldn’t surprise me if you had!’
Patrick’s eyes softened. He knew this was just David’s way of being concerned. He wasn’t actually angry about the situation – he was worried, and Patrick was struggling to reassure him. He already knew David would twist himself in knots catastrophizing about what could happen, and all Patrick wanted to do was kiss the worry off of David’s face, which was difficult with five hundred miles between them at the moment.
Patrick lowered his voice, fully aware that both Alexis and Stevie would still be able to hear him. ‘I promise not to get any paper cuts or cut myself shaving or trip over the backdoor mat for the rest of the weekend, until you get back and can look after me.’
The guilty vice around Patrick’s heart eased slightly as David’s face softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ‘As long as you promise.’
Alexis’ voice broke the moment, coming from somewhere off screen. ‘Let me know if you need any tips on what concealer to use.’
Patrick smiled. ‘Thanks, Alexis.’ She appeared on screen for a second behind David’s shoulder again, a finger reaching out to boop him through the camera, her nose wrinkling, and Patrick was grateful she couldn’t boop him in person at the moment.
She vanished, and David’s concerned face filled the screen again.
‘David, I’m going to go. But I want you to promise me that you will stop worrying about me and have a good time and I will see you on Monday.’
David frowned, his lips twisting into a look of contemplation. ‘Okay, I can’t make that promise, but I will try.’
‘Night, David. Love you.’
David’s eyes filled up momentarily before he returned Patrick’s sentiment and Stevie’s phone went dark.
‘You two are sickening sometimes, you know that?’ Stevie commented as Patrick handed back her phone.
Patrick had a thoughtful look on his face. ‘He’s going to phone back again, isn’t it?’
‘Well considering the first thing that comes up when you google "baseball hit in face" is an image of a guy with a cheek the size of a football and a seven-minute YouTube video of major league baseball to the face moments in HD that David has definitely watched, I would say he’s probably going to call at least twice more this evening. And definitely again in the morning.’
Stevie hesitated in the doorway of David and Patrick’s bedroom. She’d changed into her own pyjamas and made sure the house was locked up for the evening. She’d felt momentarily weird about getting ready for bed in their house, normally because she only slept there when her and David had gotten high or the three of them had drunk too much wine and Patrick had shoved her in the direction of the spare room, telling her she wasn’t allowed to drive - still the most sensible one of them when drunk.
Her and Patrick had agreed to have dinner that evening before the whole baseball in face debacle, because for all that they both felt like their lives revolved around the gravitational pull of David Rose, their friendship was something that Stevie cherished in the quieter moments for it’s easy going nature. As much as Patrick Brewer and his quiet confidence had been a salve to David, he’d soothed Stevie in the same way too.
David and Stevie had both gained something in Patrick Brewer. He made her feel safe, in the sense that she could tell him anything, and while he would judge it would be with enough sarcasm that Stevie knew he wasn’t really judging. When she hung out with him, it was with no expectations and with the reassurance that she would have to do something truly heinous for him to turn his back on her – like killing David. But then, he’d also probably help her hide the body – he was just that sort of man.
‘Stevie?’
She jumped when she realised Patrick was watching her from the confines of his sheets.
‘Just checking you’re still alive.’
‘Still alive,’ he confirmed before he was patting David’s empty side of the bed, tugging the sheets back in invitation. She hesitated. While she’d shared a bed with David on multiple occasions, she’d never shared a bed with Patrick. Not that she thought anything would happen, but it felt – not wrong – just, new territory.
She pushed off the doorjamb, closing the door quietly behind her when she heard Patrick’s soft admission. ‘I don’t sleep well without David.’
She turned back to him, pulling the covers back further so she could climb into the bed. She could smell her best friend on the sheets as she lay her head down on the pillow, pulling the covers back over her. ‘I’m not being the little spoon.’
‘David’s actually the big spoon.’
Stevie didn’t know why that surprised her so much – logically it made sense, since David was the taller of the two, but she’d always assumed that because David was so adamant that Patrick made him feel safe, that Patrick was the one that wrapped David up in his arms at night. To find out that the opposite was true made Stevie a little jealous.
‘I’m also not being the big spoon.’
‘I won’t ask you to rub my belly until I fall asleep either.’
Stevie turned her head slightly to see Patrick was smirking at her in the dark of the room. She didn’t respond, just turned back so she was staring at the ceiling of the bedroom. She’d thought she would feel awkward lying next to her best friend’s husband in their marital bed, but she found that she already felt sleepy and secure as she listened to Patrick’s breath evening out beside her. She listened to the house settling around her, before a whisper came from beside her.
‘Hey, Stevie.’
‘What?’
‘You’re a really good friend.’
The corner of Stevie’s lip quirked up, before she tamped the warm feeling in her chest back down. ‘I know, I’m amazing. Go to sleep, Patrick.’