Double Play (Hit and Run Book 3), page 4
Blowing out a breath, he turned back toward the kitchen and saw Roger plating a burger with no bun alongside some macaroni-shaped pasta. He smiled when he caught Orion looking, then gestured for him to take the plate as they sat, and he passed over a jar of spicy mustard for Orion to use.
Once he had his burger coated, he glanced at Roger’s plate and saw that his own was well dressed…and raw.
Completely raw.
“Oh, dude,” he breathed out as Roger took a bite.
After a beat, the old man seemed to notice his expression, and he laughed, shaking his head before opening his mouth and gesturing to the lack of teeth with the prongs of his fork.
“They make dentures, my man,” Orion said, but all of that clearly went over Roger’s head.
To each their own, he decided, and he finished his meal with gusto. The pasta had looked plain, but it was salty and cheesy, and the burger had never tasted better. Everything here had so much life to it. Everyone took their time and put care into even the simplest meals, and Orion was starting to realize he needed more of that.
He was sick of living in the moment and rushing from one day to the next.
Every second that ticked by was one more closer to when his best friend was gone—and even though he wasn’t with Carey now, it was the first time he didn’t feel like he needed to hurry.
He smiled at Roger and thanked him, then let the old man walk him to the street.
“You come back,” Roger said, holding his hand tight.
“Oui,” Orion promised him, squeezing his frail fingers. “I’ll bring you peas next time so you don’t have to sneak in.” When Roger frowned, Orion pointed at the gate, shaking his head, then pointed to himself. “Petits pois,” he said, hoping he remembered from Roger’s lesson earlier.
The old man’s eyes glowed, and he gave Orion a pat on the shoulder before letting go.
The gate to his front yard closed with a loud clang, and Orion breathed out and dragged his fingers through his hair before he turned and headed down the path. He didn’t go home this time though. It was late afternoon, and the weather was gorgeous, and the only thing he wanted to do was walk. There was a small path that cut through a field not far from his cottage, and he took the sharp right, ducking under low-hanging branches.
The path wove through the little forest, and he was lost in his head when his gaze caught something, and his heart began to race in his chest. There was a person lying in the path, and they looked unconscious.
Or maybe even dead, which would be just his goddamn luck.
He started running before he was even aware of it, and he was falling to his knees in the dirt. He immediately recognized the man from the café earlier, only this time, the guy was completely limp, and his head was bleeding from a vicious gash just above his right eyebrow.
“Fucking hell,” Orion said.
He held the man’s chin in his hand, then gently tapped his cheek. His first aid training he’d done years back reminded him not to jostle the guy’s body, but he let out a breath of relief when the stranger’s eyelids began to flutter.
Then, after a beat, they opened.
“Putain,” the guy said.
Orion knew that word. Or he knew it wasn’t a polite word, anyway. He swiped his hand over his brow. “Okay, I know you probably don’t speak much English like everyone else around here, but I gotta get you up, my man. That wound doesn’t look great.”
The guy muttered something else in French Orion couldn’t follow, but he didn’t put up a fight when Orion got him sitting up. He checked the guy’s pupils, which were luckily normal, and he did his best not to get lost in them because fuck, they were beautiful. They were a sort of grey-green like the stormy sea, and Orion felt himself get warm all over.
His hand lifted as he tested the area around the cut, and the stranger sucked in a breath.
“Sorry, sorry,” Orion told him, trying to make himself look nonthreatening. He was well aware he was much larger than this guy, and the last thing he wanted was him to be afraid after everything else. “Look, can you come with me?” he said, trying to mime along. “To my place? I’m not far, and I can help you with your head.”
The guy started to shake his head, but he listed to the right, and Orion just managed to catch him. When the guy touched his head, he hissed again, his face falling when he saw the blood on his fingers.
Orion decided not to try talking to him, but he did help him to his feet, and the stranger didn’t put up any sort of argument as Orion got an arm around him and carefully led him back down the path and toward the street.
The short distance to his cottage felt like a thousand miles with the guy leaning against him, but it wasn’t long before Orion stopped at the gate and fumbled with the code.
“Non,” the guy started, but Orion gave him a sharp look.
“Listen, man, I promise I’m not a serial killer, okay? I’m just a guy who doesn’t want you to bleed out or some shit. You can come in and use my phone, and I’ll make sure you’re not gonna pass out on me. And yeah, I know you can’t understand me, and I’m just rambling on like some dickhead.” With that, he punched the code into the keypad, then hip-checked the gate open when the lock slid back.
The stranger kept pace with him, and he seemed to be regaining his strength as they reached the door. Orion got it open, and the guy stepped over the threshold without holding Orion’s arm.
So. Progress, he supposed.
He quickly took him into the kitchen and pointed to the chair at the little breakfast nook, then ran to his bedroom and pulled out his travel kit. It had some very basic first aid—a few butterfly bandages, some Neosporin packets, and some gauze.
It would do in a pinch, and if the guy was really fucked, he was pretty sure there was some sort of ER somewhere within driving distance. There had to be.
Tucking his kit under his arm, he snagged his phone from the bedroom, then made his way back to the kitchen and saw the guy sitting at the table with his gaze down. Orion set everything down, then quickly pulled up his app and typed in the translator.
The sentence was fucking long, and he was totally going to butcher it, but whatever. “Je vais t’aider.”
The guy blinked at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Je m’appelle Orion.”
The guy blinked at that, almost like he was startled, and then his eyes narrowed like maybe he recognized him. And shit, wouldn’t that be just his luck? Some French guy who didn’t speak a word of English but loved baseball. He wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with that.
“Hervé,” the guy muttered after a second.
It took Orion a moment to realize that was his name. It sounded familiar as hell, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and he was way too stressed to go digging around for it. He smiled and quickly pulled out some gauze.
“Is it okay if I…”
“Oui,” Hervé said.
Orion nodded, then began to dab at the wound. “Please don’t hate me for being totally shit at French, okay? I wasn’t even supposed to be here, but everything in my life just went straight into the toilet. Do you guys have that phrase here? Everything going into the shitter? Anyway, yeah. It was either this or hole myself up in my house for a month and make sure my trainer hates my guts before season starts with all the carbs I will have definitely eaten by then.”
Orion reached for the antibacterial ointment, and he caught Hervé’s curious gaze.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not past the translation app, like some kind of giant dumbass.”
“It’s not your fault. America is shit at teaching second languages.”
Orion started to laugh before it caught up with him that the guy wasn’t just speaking English—he was speaking perfect fucking English. He took a step back. “You asshole.”
Hervé glared at him. “What?”
“You know English!”
Hervé scoffed. “Yes. I do.”
“You said you didn’t!”
Hervé blinked. “No. You assumed that everyone in this village is some sort of…I forget what they call them in America? Mountain person with no education.”
Orion’s mouth dropped open, prepared to tell this little shit exactly where he could shove his opinion, but he realized in that second that Hervé was right. He had assumed. He hadn’t even asked the guy if he spoke English.
With a breath, he glanced off to the left, then finally met Hervé’s gaze. “You’re right.”
Hervé looked startled, and his hands, which had closed into fists on the table, spread out. “I…yes. I am.”
Orion laughed quietly, then picked up the Neosporin packet again. “Glad we could establish that. It’s…I’m really sorry for assuming. It’s been a really rough couple of weeks, and when I saw you at the café—”
“That was you,” Hervé blurted, then flushed, and he rubbed his temple, flinching a little when Orion dabbed on some of the ointment.
“Yeah. You, uh…you fainted there too.”
Hervé’s cheek hollowed like he was biting it, and then he sighed. “It happens sometimes.”
“Do you really think you should be out walking by yourself if you’re going to pass out all the time?” Orion asked as he peeled back the wrapping on one of the bandages.
Hervé’s look could have melted a glacier. “Do you think that’s your business?”
“Well, this is the second time I pulled you up off the ground, and this time, you busted your forehead open. So it might not be my business, but I’m probably not wrong.”
Hervé looked furious, but Orion could see his lips moving, and he was pretty sure the guy was counting. “It wasn’t fainting.”
Orion’s fingers curled back away from where they was smoothing the bandage over Hervé’s forehead. “Um…”
“I have this disorder,” Hervé said, his voice hesitant and almost sheepish. “I’m fully aware. I just can’t move.”
Orion backed up into a chair, then sat down. “That sucks.”
Hervé’s lip twitched, and then he burst into laughter. But before Orion could even smile, Hervé’s face went slack, and he slumped forward. Luckily, Orion’s reflexes were quick because he managed to catch the guy before he face-planted on the table, and he gave him a gentle shake.
“Shit. Is this it? Are you awake? Can you hear me right now? Can you—”
“Ouais,” Hervé muttered. He came back to himself the way he had when he was on the ground—slow at first, and then his awareness settled in almost sharply. “I’m sorry.”
“Bro. Don’t apologize. Jesus,” Orion said, passing a hand down his face as he sat back again. “Does it just randomly happen like that?”
Hervé shrugged and bit his lip as he stared down at his hands. “There are…I forget the word in English.” He muttered to himself for a second. “Causes.”
“Triggers?”
Hervé nodded and glanced up. “Eating sweets—eating anything that tastes very good,” he clarified. “Strong emotions. Stress. I can’t speak to my mother without collapse.”
Orion snorted. “I’ve got one of those too.”
Hervé’s mouth twitched into a very small smile. “I have treatment, but it’s not all the time effective.”
Orion had no idea what the hell to say to this man. He looked out the window, then back at this veritable stranger at his kitchen table. “Could I tempt you to stay for dinner? I’m not a great cook, so it won’t taste great—and just in case it does, I can catch you before you pass out in your pasta.”
4
Orion hadn’t expected Hervé to say yes, but he did. It was odd because he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew this guy from somewhere, but he was determined not to let it bother him. Apart from the hottie at the café and his random new neighbor, this was the first person Orion found himself at ease with.
The guy was intimidatingly gorgeous—like one of those Parisian models on all the billboards, but there was something humble about him too. Like he was cloaked in shadows and holding something close to his chest. Orion had a feeling it was more than just his diagnosis, but he didn’t want to give the guy the third degree.
Instead, he threw together a little lemon butter sauce, boiled some pasta, and served it with some toasted baguette. Hervé eyed the plate a little warily, but he nodded his thanks, and they sat together at the table close enough that Orion would be able to catch him if he fell.
“I appreciate this,” Hervé said after his first bite, and Orion breathed out when the guy didn’t immediately collapse. “Eating has gotten a bit frightening.”
Orion raised a brow. “Like drowning in soup?”
“Like choking to death,” Hervé said, and it was very clear he wasn’t joking. “The first time it happened, my head fell backward.”
Orion’s whole core heated up with horror. “Holy shit.”
Hervé huffed a small laugh and shrugged as he swallowed another bite. “After that, I became very careful how I handle my food. I can’t eat on the sofa because I slump backward. And I try to cut everything into very small bites. It makes the meals take forever, but that’s not how I want to go out.”
Orion cocked his head to the side as he bit into his baguette. “How do you want to go out?”
Hervé looked a little startled at the question, but he smiled as he took a sip of the wine Orion had poured. “Like one of the classics. Young. Still beautiful. Living in a way people can forget all the mistakes I made because how tragic my death was.”
Orion might have laughed at that once, or he might have joined in. Instead, his throat went hot, and to his extreme horror, a couple of tears leaked from his eyes.
Hervé immediately looked alarmed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“My brother’s dying,” Orion blurted, not wanting this poor man to feel like he’d done something wrong. “My brother-in-law. We were best friends, and he married my sister.” It felt odd just spilling all of this to a total stranger, but he hadn’t been able to say any of this shit aloud since he’d seen Carey, and he’d only been able to tell Pietro and James the one time before he put the rest of his focus into the season and ignored reality. “He’s got this disease which is terminal, and there’s no treatment and no cure. He’s so fucking young, and they have this little baby, and I just—” He cut himself off before he really embarrassed that poor man.
Hervé was looking at him carefully, almost like he was trying to measure his response. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
Orion quickly waved him off. “Please don’t. I’m a fucking mess right now, and I have no idea how to deal with these emotions. I feel like some hormonal thirteen-year-old.”
Hervé’s mouth twitched again, and Orion wondered what it would be like to live a life where he had to try and temper his emotions so he didn’t fall on his face. “I don’t think anyone would blame you.”
“Some people might,” Orion muttered. “I don’t know how much you know about American sports—”
“Some,” Hervé cut in.
Orion nodded. “Well, that’s what I do. I’m a pro ballplayer, and I need to get my shit in check before I go home because I can’t walk into the season crying every time someone looks at me funny, you know?”
He noticed Hervé was staring at him again with that look on his face like he knew Orion, but it faded after a few seconds. “You could always go into acting. I hear French cinema is losing one of its major stars, and they could use a man with a strong emotional range.”
Orion laughed for a second, but then he registered that there was real pain in Hervé’s voice. “You?”
Hervé rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “It’s hard to call on the emotions I need to do my job when they make me collapse.” He muttered a string of French, then dropped his hands in his lap and sat back in the chair. “My therapist suggested some time to figure out what I want to do next.”
That didn’t sound terrible, Orion thought. In fact, it sounded like a good idea for him. Not that he was ready to speak a single word about Carey, and God only knew when he would be. But it would happen eventually. And he couldn’t let his team down.
Glancing at the clock, he saw it was nearing eight, and then he looked back at Hervé, who was rubbing at his eyes. “You need to take off?”
Hervé huffed a quiet laugh. “I used to spend every weekend in the city—dancing in clubs, drinking, not caring about anything. Now I need to be in bed by nine.”
Orion felt a pulse of sympathy, so he offered his hand, and he was startled when Hervé took it. In the shadows of the kitchen’s low lights, Orion could see the wrinkles forming at the edges of Hervé’s eyes, and the dark circles, and the look of a man who’d recently lost a lot of weight. He was obviously run-down and showing his age, and Orion couldn’t begin to imagine what that was doing to a person like him.
“Let me walk you back to your place.”
Hervé hesitated, then nodded, and his fingers spasmed gently on Orion’s. “If you don’t mind. It might be safer that way, and I’m…I’m trying to learn how to take help.”
Orion smiled, but he said nothing. He figured it would be easier for Hervé to digest it better if there was only silence between them. Grabbing his phone, he snagged his jacket on the way out, and he let Hervé take the lead as they passed over the soft grass, then through the wrought-iron gate door.
The streets had only a couple of lamps, which looked like they’d been converted from gas to electric in a hurry, and they did very little to light the road, but Orion kind of liked it. The moon was full and only partially obscured by a handful of clouds, and the air was cool and slightly humid.
There was a light breeze, which played with the ends of his hair, and he looked over to see an almost peaceful expression hovering on Hervé’s face.
“Do you like it here?” Orion asked.
Hervé took a breath. “I thought I would hate it. Places like this are…too quiet. Toujours la même.” When Orion frowned at him, he smiled. “Always the same. It’s this place trapped in time, and my mother always loved it. That’s why she—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “But…my head is too loud. Too…chaos?”
