+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Coach was angry with me. This was a given, when he practically scolded me in front of the entire team. I held my tongue, and let him have at it. Swallowing my pride, whenever Rick sent me a sideways glance, obviously wondering why I had been gone in the first place.

     I sat soundly in coach's guest chair in his office, as he clicked the back of his pen anxiously. I assumed that there must've been something deeper to his anger, because sure I had been absent, but surely it wasn't something to be scolded like a child for.

     I waited for him to speak again, as he paused to take a long-awaited breath. My hand reached up, tucking a curl behind my ear, adjusting the baseball cap that was covering my full head of hair.

     Coach leaned forward on his desk, fingers folding together patiently. "Gage, what do you mean, you slept in? You're not one to oversleep."

     Everybody oversleeps sometimes, I want to say, but end up choosing another approach for safety measures. "I, uh—I didn't mean to. I had a very long night, and forgot to set my alarm for this morning. But I swear, it won't happen again."

     "It better not," he began, his posture visibly shrinking into its usual state. Whereas before, it was tall and frigid.

     Nodding vigorously, I assured him. "I promise—it won't."

     He pauses for a while, brown eyes scanning mine. The wrinkles above his lips crinkled a bit, as he bit his bottom lip in thought. He, too, wore a navy blue baseball cap, that was printed with our schools team logo into it.

     Coach Witherspoon's hand reached up to remove it, the greying hair beneath it messy and tangled. "Is everything alright, son?"

     I was taken aback by the question, hand reaching for the back of neck, gripping onto it tightly. I didn't know what sort of feeling I was giving him, to make him think that I wasn't okay—and I sincerely hoped that I didn't give everyone that same feeling.

     The hand that was wrapped around the back of my neck, ventured down to my chest, where I pointed toward myself gently. "Yes, I'm alright, Coach. Do I not seem alright?"

     He shrugged, leaning back in his office chair with nonchalance. The clicking on his pen stopped, as he slipped it back into his shirt front pocket. I watched quietly. "You just seem a little distracted. . . distant."

     My words were caught in throat, as I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond. He took this opportunity to continue on. "You know, when I gave you the position as team captain, I was under the impression that you were the most focused, most motivated, most influential player on this team.

     "And for a while, you were," he pauses, a serious, grim sort of look taking over his aging features. "But tell me that, that hasn't changed, Gage."

     I'm having a hard time catching my own breath because of his accusatory words, yet alone spare him a response. My hands find themselves wringing together tightly, as my leg begins to bounce.

     "I-Is this because of this morning? Because I swear, Coach, it will never happen again. And I am focused, motivated, and influential—"

     "No, this isn't just about this morning. Like I said, you haven't been as motivated or focused as you last year, or your first year. I'm just worried that baseball isn't as important as it used to be to you." His words are sort of like a wake-up call, because I can't help but agree with him.

     Baseball wasn't as important to me, anymore. Baseball went from being something that I loved to do, to a responsibility and a thing to check off of my to-do list.

     But I truly didn't mean any harm, let alone make Coach think that I didn't want to be apart of my team, anymore. Because I definitely did—I couldn't imagine a life where I didn't go to six am and after-school practices.

     But then again, what good was I doing the team if the passion for it, just simply wasn't there anymore? It wasn't fair to any of my teammates who worked under me.

     I pushed those thoughts down, coming up with a clear answer for Coach. "Can I think about it?" I whisper, my stomach churning tightly.

     "Of course." He stands from his chair, making his way over to me. Coach then pulls open his office door, that has his name on the front of it, and letting me walk through it.

     I leave coach's office feeling ashamed, my baseball cap covering my eyes, that I'm sure let out nothing but embarrassment and anxiety. I walk over to my locker, where Rick is sitting on a bench right in front of it, quite peacefully.

     Sending him a curious look, I pull open my locker, reaching inside of it for my mitt. "Were you eavesdropping, Alaric?"

     He scoffs at my accusatory tone, and the fact that I've called him by his full name. "No. As a matter of a fact, I'm just sitting here, minding my own business."

     "Uh-huh."

     The witty conversation is cut short, as coach begins our after-school practice. Elijah and I make pleasant eye contact every few minutes, as I cannot help but stare at him. He's walking a few of the sophomores through an arm-strength building excessive—one that I've done a thousand times.

     But still, I watch.

     I had expected to feel weird and awkward while seeing him during practice, because of the entire dream ordeal. But things weren't weird at all, as it turns out.

     I could feel coach watching me while we ran drills, in the corner of my eye. Hoping that he wouldn't think too much into my every move, I sent him a polite smile—which he returned soon after.

     Rick looked better than usual, and certainly better than whenever he and his father weren't getting alone. His eyes were clear of stress, skin healthy, which meant that he hadn't been spending too much time overthinking anything.

     And these mere observations made me quirk a tiny smile at him during practice. He sent a weird look back, most-likely wondering why I was smiling at him in the middle of a drill.

     Once practice had finally ended, I tidied up my locker, stuffing my baseball cap into my gym bag that consisted of everything I'd need during practice. Shutting it firmly, I sat myself down on the bench, removing my cleats, and fastening my feet into my favorite pair of white sneakers.

     As I tie them up, someone takes the seat on the bench beside me, sitting idly. I look over, hesitation washing over my features. Spencer took the seat as though it didn't belong to him, facial expression seemingly nervous and fingers fidgeting.

     He seemed even more nervous than usual, and just as I parted both lips to ask if he was alright, he began speaking. "I'm sorry about the way I acted this morning."

     Taken aback, my first instinct was the assure him that he didn't do anything wrong. "No, Spencer, it's okay."

     Spencer shakes his head, a restless look overtaking his gentle features. "No, it isn't okay. I didn't mean to seem rude, but I know that I came off that way," he says this lowly, careful so that no bystanders are able to hear our conversation. "And I just wanted to let you know that I'm not usually like that."

      I take his words into consideration, giving him a minute to collect himself before I defend his actions. "You didn't have to come all the way over here just to apologize, dude. I know that you didn't mean anything by it, and besides, some people are just quieter than others." I assure him.

     After my statement, I had expected him to up and leave, his consciousness finally being settled. But when he doesn't budge, I offer him my undivided attention once more.

     "That's actually not the only reason I came over here." He says quietly, so quietly that I'm almost uncertain that the words were actually spoken.

     My free hand reaches into my pocket, checking the time, as I now realize that it's getting later, and Rick is most-likely waiting for me in his truck.

     "What's up?" I wait patiently for him to speak, watching as he visibly gathers his courage, before he starts speaking again.

     His lips part, chest rising and falling vastly and with need of more air. "G-Gage, would you like to go on a date with me?"