Page 82 of Catcher

My brows knit, trying to make sense of the words through the pounding in my head. “The doctor told you?”

He gives a short, humorless exhale. It makes the cut at his mouth pull, and something sharp twists in my chest when I realize even breathing probably hurts him right now. “He didn’t realize it was a secret, babe.” Catcher’s jaw flexes. “He didn’t even hesitate. Just assumed we all knew.”

My stomach tightens, the fear turning sour. “We?” I repeat the word small and sharp. “Who are we, Catcher?”

His expression shifts, as if with regret or resignation. “Everyone,” he says.

My heart stutters again, this time in outright panic. I try to sit up, but my ribs and hip bite back, so all I manage is a strained lift of my shoulders before I fall against the pillow. “What do you mean, everyone?” My voice climbs, thin and frantic. “Catcher⁠—”

“After they brought you in,” he says, voice still low, as if he’s afraid a loud sound will crack me in half. “The club.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “Your parents.”

I stop breathing.

My parents know.

This is not how I wanted them or Catcher to find out.

Though I was terrified to tell him, I still wanted the words to come from my mouth. “Are my parents still here?”

“They were,” Catcher says. “The nurse made them step out when the doctor came in. After a while, visiting hours ended. Your mom didn’t want to leave, but she did. Your dad put up a fight because he wanted to stay. The doctor assured them you would be okay, and I told him I’d protect you and my baby with my life. They said they’d be back this morning.”

At his admission, my body goes tight.

Catcher continues, “I know, Ruby.”

My chest tightens. “You know what?” I ask, even though my body already seems to understand before my mind does. My fingers curl into the blanket.

Catcher’s eyes don’t flicker. Not once. “I know it’s my baby,” he says.

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and when one escapes, Catcher brushes it away with the pad of his thumb. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just didn’t know how.” I want to look away in shame, but I don’t. “You… didn’t remember that night, and I⁠—”

Catcher cuts me off before I can finish. “I remember that night, baby. And I know why you didn’t tell me. I’m not angry. It’s you who should be angry. I was an ass, and you didn’t deserve that.”

I start to cry harder.

“I’ll never forgive myself for doin’ that to you, Ruby, but know that I had my reasons.”

Catcher sees the questioning look in my eyes and shakes his head. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs the rest, and so does our baby. That’s a conversation for later. For now, I want you to sleep.”

I want to protest, but just then, a yawn escapes me, and suddenly I’m finding it hard to keep my eyes open.

Catcher kisses my forehead. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” I ask, already closing my eyes. Catcher’s promise is the last thing I hear before I’m swept into darkness.

When I come to again, I can tell it’s much later. The room is dark, aside from the television’s glow. My head feels muddled, and my body still aches, but at least I feel safe. That’s because, as promised, Catcher kept his promise.

When I turn my head, I catch sight of him sitting in the chair beside my bed. Our eyes meet, and for the longest time, neither of us says a word. I watch as several emotions cross his face before he speaks. His gaze drops to his hands for a second, like he has to make sure they’re steady before he lets the words out.

When he looks back up, the bruising on his face can’t hide the weariness in his eyes. “I met Hannah when we were kids,” he says. “High school.”

Why does that name feel similar to a punch in the gut? He says it as if it carries pain. I don’t interrupt. I listen because the way he says her name sounds like something he’s carried for too long.

“After we graduated, she went off to nursing school,” he continues. “A couple of hours away. Not far, but far enough when you’re broke, eighteen, and you’d think it’s a million miles away.” A faint, almost-smile tugs at his mouth and doesn’t last. “I stayed in our hometown to help my dad at his shop. Took on a few construction jobs too. Whatever I could get my hands on.” He shifts in the chair. “Whenever I could scrape the money together for gas, I’d go see her on the weekends. I’d drive up after work, show up at her dorm like I didn’t have a care in the world.” His eyes go distant, looking past me, the hospital bed, and the dark window. “It was that… stupid kind of young love. The kind where you’re so sure of everythin’.”

I picture it without wanting to, Catcher younger, softer around the edges, smiling like he doesn’t have anything to prove. It doesn’t match the man I know, the one who has built a wall around himself.

“When Hannah graduated, she moved back home,” Catcher says. “Back to me… back to us. We didn’t waste time gettin’ married.” He says it with a smile like it was yesterday. “We bought our first house not long after. It was small and needed a shit ton of work. Neither of us cared. It was ours. I spent months fixing it up,” he says. “Every spare second. I’d work my shifts at Dad’s shop, come home, change clothes, and start tearin’ things apart… floors, cabinets, and the porch steps. I poured myself into makin’ it a home. Every nail, every board, every cabinet… it all had my touch. I wanted Hannah to walk into our home and feel the love I had for her. Like we belonged there.”