Page 70 of The Battery
I shared an easy story about a fight Archie and I had been involved in when we were thirteen. He one-upped me with his own about a rival foster brother. We upped the stakes every time we traded a story about brothers being brothers, like old men showing off scars. Eventually our conversation, as it always did, drifted toward the game. I expressed my excitement—in my own way—about Cody returning to the mound. Marveled at how the fans and crowd would react when they saw him walk back out onto the field. I painted a picture for him.
Cody had braced his elbows on the table. His eyes distant. I had lost him somewhere.
“Cody?” I said to bring him back to me. “You okay? Rolling on meds?”
He blinked back to reality. He really did disappear. “Sorry. Um. I hadn’t, y’know,putmyself in those shoes. Being back on the mound.” He cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. His entire demeanor shifted, as if he hadn’t just mentally checked out a second ago.
Something’s up, I realized. And I thought I had an idea, since I had experienced something similar in my own past, when getting into a car terrified me.
I had an idea on how to help him, but I needed to let the thought bake in the oven for a while.
The usual Cody, in the meantime, was back. He had compartmentalized the fear I knew he felt. Like me, he took command of the conversation to steer it away from a perceived weakness.
“Okay. It’s been killing me,” Cody said. “Can I ask you something somewhat personal?”
I let him steer, as he so often did for me. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how muchsomewhatmeans. So ask and we’ll see.”
“I know your twin’s name is Archie. But when you were telling me your story that night, you said something different. At least I think it was different. What was his full name?”
I nodded. Archie hated his full name. “Archidamus. He was a king of Sparta.”
Cody nodded emphatically, with a smile. “Like Leonidas. Ah, I get it now. Leo and Archie. I love that.”
“My mother fought my father for weeks after he said he wasn’t budging on those names. She came up with the nickname Archie. Leo was kind of obvious.”
“I think it’s a great…” He trailed away as he casually looked at his phone. “Ah, shit. PT will be here any second. Help me clean up?”
We brought the plates back into the kitchen. As if on cue, the doorbell rang as I lowered the dishes into the sink. Cody ambled his way to the entrance and soon came back into the kitchen.
A model walked into my house. Well over six feet, silky black hair tied in a bun. Shapely eyebrows and a square jaw sharp enough to cut through diamonds. He was stacked, broad-shouldered, and exuded the easiness of someone who got exactly what he wanted. He wore scrubs and I wanted to set fire to them.
“The Spartan, no way,” the man said as he extended a hand for me to shake.
Everything in me defaulted to my standard personality. I shot him a look that told him to fuck right off to the bowels of hell. My grip was overly strong. “You are…?”
“Marley, Cody’s physical therapist.”
He had a smooth, practiced baritone. It made me want to punch a wall.
“We’re gonna head downstairs to the gym. Be back in a half hour.”
I think that was Cody speaking. My vision tunneled onMarleyas he casually chatted with Cody on their way to the basement stairs. I had a brief image of shoving him down them. Laughter echoed up as they descended and my sight tinged with a red haze.
Holy hell, Leo, check yourself, I thought. This Marley dickwad had been over to the house three times since I had been gone and, had I known the PT guy looked likehim, I would have installed cameras. I rinsed the dishes in the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher while planning where to bury the body.
More laughter up from the basement. I slammed the faucet shut and went down to check on them. Cody was lying on his back on a yoga mat with his knees bent. He held a lightweightexercise ball over his core. Marley kneeledbetween his legswhile also holding on to the ball. Oh what the fuck.
Marley looked over first. “Hey, Spartan,” he said in an affable tone. “You should join us. The dual exercise will help.”
I imagined throwing the exercise ball against his head.
The hell is wrong with you. Get a grip.
Cody’s eyes slid sideways. He had been genuinely concentrating on holding the ball over his core. He shot me a confused look, as if to say, “What the hell are you doing?”
