Chapter 60
Alicia
The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, spilling across the bed in soft, golden streaks. Damon was already up. I could hear the faint hum of the TV in the next room, the steady rhythm of a man trying to distract himself from the weight pressing down on him.
I sat up slowly, my body still sore from the sleepless night. The image of his face when he told me about Nathan joining the Denver Hawks kept flashing in my head. It wasn’t just anger I saw in him...it was betrayal. The kind that cut deep and didn’t heal easily.
When I walked into the living room, he was standing by the window, hands in his pockets, staring out at the skyline. He was dressed in his training gear already, his duffel bag on the couch.
“You’re up early,” I said softly.
He didn’t turn around. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I crossed the room and stood beside him. The city was waking up... cars below, vendors opening up, the normal chaos of life continuing like nothing had changed. But for us, everything had.
“Today’s the game, isn’t it?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he said, his tone flat. “Denver Hawks. First matchup of the season.”
The way he said it told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t just another game. It was war.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked.
He finally looked at me, his eyes tired but sharp. “I have to be.”
I hesitated, then touched his arm. “Damon, you don’t have to prove anything. Not to him, not to anyone. You’ve already done enough.”
He gave a small, humorless smile. “You don’t get it, Alicia. This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about protecting what’s left.”
Before I could say anything, his phone buzzed on the table. He grabbed it and glanced at the screen. “Marcus,” he muttered.
He answered, his voice low. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell it wasn’t good news from the tension in his jaw. When he hung up, I asked, “What is it?”
“They’re changing the lineup,” he said. “Nathan’s starting. Pitcher.”
The air in the room shifted. I swallowed hard. “So he’s really going to face you.”
He nodded. “Yeah. He’s making this personal.”
I stepped closer, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Then don’t let him get into your head. That’s what he wants.”
He didn’t respond, just leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before grabbing his bag. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll call when the game’s over.”
“Damon,” I said, catching his hand before he could leave. “Please be careful.”
He squeezed my fingers gently, a small promise hidden in his silence, then walked out the door.
The moment it closed, the apartment felt emptier. I tried to distract myself with breakfast, but everything tasted like nerves. So I did what I always did when I couldn’t breathe... I worked. I threw on my white coat and drove to the hospital.
The halls were quieter than usual, maybe because it was still early. My colleagues greeted me with polite smiles, but I barely heard them. My mind was miles away... on that baseball field, on Damon, on Nathan and whatever game he was playing this time.
As I made my rounds, I checked charts, adjusted IVs, smiled at patients, but inside, I was counting down minutes. Every time my phone buzzed, I jumped. It wasn’t rational... Damon was one of the best players in the league, and yet, I couldn’t shake the sense that something would go wrong.
During a short break, I sat in the staff lounge with a cup of coffee that had already gone cold. I turned on the TV... the hospital always had a sports channel running somewhere and sure enough, there it was: the game.
The commentators were buzzing with excitement. “It’s a heated matchup today between the New York Titans and the Denver Hawks,” one of them said. “And all eyes are on Damon Strathmore as he faces his former teammate, Nathan Graves, for the first time since Graves’ controversial transfer.”
My heart hammered. The camera cut to Damon on the field, adjusting his gloves, his jaw tight. He looked calm, but I knew him too well. Every breath, every twitch of his fingers told me he was ready to explode.
Then the camera panned to Nathan... smirking, confident, enjoying every second of the tension. I felt my stomach twist.
“Come on, Damon,” I whispered to the screen. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Doctor Alicia?”
I startled, spilling a little coffee. It was Mia, one of the nurses. “Oh, sorry,” I said, forcing a smile.
“You okay?” she asked. “You look pale.”
“Yeah, just tired,” I said quickly, brushing it off.
I excused myself and went back to the ward, needing to move, to do something. But my mind kept flicking back to the field. Every cheer, every gasp that echoed faintly from a nearby TV made my chest tighten.
Then my phone buzzed, a text from Damon. Just one word: Seventh.
It meant the seventh inning. That was his cue. He was up to bat.
I slipped into an empty hallway and turned on the game on my phone, heart pounding. The crowd was roaring, the tension electric. Damon stepped up to the plate, eyes locked on Nathan.
The first pitch came fast, a curveball. Strike one.
The second, another miss. Strike two.
I gripped my phone tighter. The third pitch came in, but Damon didn’t swing. Ball one. The crowd’s noise built. Nathan was taunting him with that same crooked grin.
The next pitch came straight for his side, a deliberate hit. Damon staggered, the bat clattering to the ground.
“Damon!” I gasped, my voice echoing in the empty hall.
He straightened, pain flashing across his face, but he didn’t fall. He picked up the bat again. The umpire gave a warning, but Nathan just smirked.
The crowd booed, the commentators shouted, but Damon stayed silent. Focused. He waited.
The next pitch...contact. The crack of the bat echoed through the stadium. The ball soared high, clean, powerful. Home run.
The stands erupted, and I could feel my heart bursting with pride. Damon didn’t even look at Nathan as he rounded the bases. He just kept running, eyes on the field ahead.
I smiled, tears blurring my vision. He’d won that battle... not with anger, but control.
But then, as he reached home plate, something shifted. The camera cut to the dugout, where a figure in a dark jacket was moving through the crowd, unnoticed by security. My blood ran cold.
Nathan’s smirk was gone. His eyes were on something beyond the field. Damon turned, following his gaze, his face darkening.
The feed cut to commercial before I could see what happened next.
I tried calling him... once, twice, three times but it went straight to voicemail. My pulse raced. Something was wrong.
Minutes later, the hospital’s intercom crackled. “Code Yellow incoming. Prepare trauma bay.”
I froze. That was the emergency code for incoming accident victims. My stomach twisted as I rushed toward the ER, praying it was anyone... anyone, else.
When the doors burst open and I saw the paramedics wheeling in a man in a Titans uniform, blood on his temple, my world tilted.
It was Damon.
“Found unconscious in the locker room,” one paramedic said. “Possible concussion. No external signs of assault.”
I forced myself to move, to breathe, to think like a doctor. “Get him on monitors,” I ordered, my voice shaking but steady enough to hide the fear clawing at my throat.
As the team worked around me, I stood at his side, holding his hand, whispering his name. He didn’t respond. His face was pale, lips parted slightly, the steady beep of the monitor the only thing keeping me anchored.
And in that moment, as I stared at him lying there, one thought broke through the chaos... Nathan wasn’t just trying to ruin his career. He was trying to destroy him completely.
I leaned close, my voice trembling. “Hang on, Damon. Please. Don’t let him win.”
The monitor beeped steadily, but the silence between each beat felt heavier than the last and somewhere deep down, I knew... the game wasn’t over yet.