Present Day
Stillness is in the air today. The cold weather clears my head, though I’m still sleepy, and it begs me to retreat back into the warmth of my bed. But I forge on, desperate for the exercise and mental refresher.
It’s my first day off from the hospital in two weeks. The winter season has kept the doors revolving with every mutation of the flu, viruses, and other nasty shit referenced between coworkers as “the crud.”
I tug on my zipper, securing my body heat inside my hoodie as I stroll down the deserted street. The citizens of Madison are either snuggled in front of their roaring fireplaces or knee-deep in work. Not many in-between activities are offered when you live in a small town. We literally have one grocery store, three gas stations, and a hardware store. By the grace of God, we have a few mom-and-pop restaurants. We’re southern, we like to eat.
I’ve been working part-time in the emergency room at our local hospital, St. Francis, since completing my sports medicine residency with Theo’s team, the Nationals. Since Theo is a pitcher, he only plays once a week in their current pitching rotation, leaving me plenty of downtime. I fly home as often as possible, reveling in the quiet of my small town. The constant traveling is exhausting. I’m not so sure the city life is for me.
Speaking of Theo, I haven’t heard from him today. He’s been busy with spring training for the past month and a half. I flew out not too long ago on one of his off days, and we traveled to Orlando for a mini vacay. Mickey Mouse didn’t stand a chance with us running amok in the land of dreams. Ride after ride we laughed and joked freely busting each other’s chops like we always do. It’s not often we get a chance to just hang out.
If I’m honest, I kind of miss the asshole. My involvement with the team is minimal during spring training as opposed to games. Plenty of trainers are on hand in case of injuries during their preseason training. I have no doubt Theo will call if he needs me.
My breath billows out, hovering in front of me like one of those cartoon chat bubbles. It’s oddly comforting. My brain jumps through ideas as I take in the open farmland surrounding the deserted road. I need a hobby, something to do other than be at Theo’s beck and call. I have my job at St. Francis, but that’s only because I’m bored sitting at home during the off season. I could use some fun in my life, something that makes me happy. Something just for me.
Maybe painting? I could paint. How hard could it be? You take a canvas, paint, slap it on in random places and voila! Abstract art!
Nah. Too sedentary. I need something wild. Fun. Entertaining.
Along Old Mill Road, which runs along my grandparents’ property (which is actually mine now), birds chirp, reminding me that summer will be here soon. For years, I have associated summer with one thing: baseball.
During the season, Theo stays with me here at the plantation. I’m one hundred percent sure it’s because he’s a cheap ass and hiding out from the media deep within the country. After all, he has his own penthouse in Atlanta as well as one in Washington. But some days when we’re laying in the grass, sun on our faces, breeze in our hair, I think maybe he just misses the simplicity of how our lives used to be. Before Major League Baseball. Before medical school. Before that night our relationship changed.
The new Bieber song pops in my head (I know, but it’s so catchy) and I start humming since I don’t know all the words. My arms swing to the beat as a chill flows along my skin, leaving a trail of bumps in its wake. It’s probably time to turn back and head inside. I don’t know how much more of this cold I can stand.
With a sigh, I turn back the way I came, when out of the corner of my eye I spot blankets wadded up, tossed carelessly in the ditch. Fucking assholes. I get so tired of picking up after litterers. Have some respect people!
I charge over to the trench and grasp the corner of the disgusting material, ready to yank when my hand hits something solid. I squeal a girly noise and jump back, clutching my chest in surprise. Did I just fucking touch a dead deer or something?
Curious, I creep back over, careful not to startle whatever it is. I damn sure don’t want it charging me. Inch after inch, I close in on the mysterious thing and see that the tattered blanket is rising and falling rhythmically, almost like it’s breathing. Holy shit! Did I just find an abandoned baby?
Worry forgotten, I jerk the threadbare blanket back and reveal… a man. Well, at least I think it’s a man. He’s in the fetal position. His eyes are closed, his body shivering almost violently. Oh, God. His clothes are filthy and littered with holes, his skin sunken to the bone. This man is obviously dehydrated and malnourished.
A bum. He’s homeless, living out on the street. As much as I want to judge this man and just cover him back up and leave, the doctor in me insists I make sure he’s okay. Bum or not, he’s a human being.
I reach out, hesitating a moment before I place the back of my hand on his forehead. Fear starts to creep in. What if he’s crazy and lunges at me, or worse, mugs me? Well, it’s not like I brought any money or anything. Just my phone.
“Please, Lord, watch over me,” I pray before allowing my hand to make contact. The man doesn’t open his eyes, which worries me. His skin is freezing. He may be suffering from hypothermia, especially if he lives out here. It’s been one of our coldest winters in the past five years.
I shake the man softly.
“Sir. Sir. Can you open your eyes for me?”
He doesn’t. I lower to my knees, concerned, and place my fingers to the side of his neck and feel for a pulse. I can barely make out the shallow rhythm.
Ready to call 911, I unlock my cellphone and tap in the first number when I hear, “I’ll move. Don’t call the police.”
My eyes go wide in shock. He’s awake, and he thinks I am waking him to move off the property? His eyes blink. One, two, three times, before his eyelids reveal murky mint irises. Beautiful green eyes blaze back at me in confusion. And let me clarify that these are the most magnificent green eyes I have ever witnessed in all my years. They’re gorgeous. I’m staring, my manners going completely out the door as I rake my gaze down this man, taking in his strong jawline that appears even more defined with his cheeks sunken and hollow. Strong angular cheekbones protrude from his face, a dark five o’clock shadow blanketing the lower part of his face, giving him a rugged look. Healthy, this man would totally be on my radar. I would flaunt my ass in front of him until he agreed to go out with me just to get me to stop.
I’m lost in my fantasy of my new rugged friend, when I realize his green eyes are settled on my hand, still on his head. I pull back on instinct.
“You’re freezing. I think you are hypothermic,” I explain, hoping he mistakes my blush for windburn.
He frowns, making a soft noise as he shuffles himself into a seated position.
“I’m fine.” His voice is raspy, slurred from the cold. He attempts to stand, trying to get away from me. But only groans instead, letting his head rest back against the grass in exhaustion. Definitely hypothermic.
“You’re not fine,” I admonish, giving him my don’t-argue-with-me look.
