Disclaimer: Hush, Hush belongs to Becca Fitzgerald.
Patch held the cue dutifully under his pointer finger. He squinted one eye, posing his elbow at just the right angle. One little tap was all he needed to win the game.
"Hurry up, Princess," his competitor taunted from behind him. Even though Patch's back was turned to him, he could still picture the man's playful smirk.
The younger boy grunted. "Give me a minute," Patch muttered still studying the solid purple ball he was aiming for. "I'm this close to whipping your ass." The lighthearted banter felt good. It wasn't every day he got to relax and joke around like this. Normally, it would just get him beaten up.
The man snorted. "You may have won the last game-"
"And the last three games before that," Patch added with a grin.
"Right," the man said sourly before continuing with his spiel, "But this game is mine."
Still supporting his Cheshire Grin, Patch took his shot at the ball. He laughed at the triumphant clink as it fell into the hole effortlessly. "Looks like I win again," he said. "Pay up, Ricky."
Ricky grunted, fidgeting as he tried to scrape up what was left in his pocket. He came out empty handed. "Sorry, Bud," he said with a shrug. "Guess you cleaned me out." He paused before giving Patch a sloppy grin. "I could always write you an I.O.U.," he offered.
Patch rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No," he said trying to act serious, although his mind was slightly slurred from the seven and seven he had just drained. "I know you. You'll leave town leaving me with your pocket lint." His eyes glanced up at the top of Ricky's head, eying the blue ball cap that covered up most of the man's short brown hair. "What about your hat?" He suggested with a mischievous smile.
Frowning Ricky slipped it off his head and stared at it in confusion. "This old thing?"
"Of course." Patch sighed at the blank look on Ricky's face. "You're a big shot baseball player," he explained. "I could get a few bucks for it on eBay."
Another frown. This one seemed real. "I don't know, Patch," he said. "Coach'll kill me if he finds out I lost it."
"He'll kill you anyway," Patch mused. "Out late gambling on the night before a game? A game against the Yankees? You're damned either way," he said trying to laughing it off.
Ricky chuckled. "True." He twirled the hat nervously in his fingers, looking from the cap to Patch. With a loud sigh he shut his eyes tight and handed it over to Patch. "You can have it," he said, "on one condition. You can't sell it. Keep for yourself. I have some good memories with that thing."
Patch's heart throbbed. He hadn't gotten a gift like this since, well, forever. But, God forbid Ricky found out Patch had feelings. "One of those memories didn't happen to contain head lice, right?" he asked fitting the hat over his head. It was a little tight, since Patch's hair was thicker than Ricky's, but it made him feel good inside. Warm.
Ricky rolled his eyes. "If you don't want it, I'll gladly take it back."
Patch repositioned it on his head. "Don't you have a hat you need to replace?"
Holding his head high, Ricky tipped the top of an imaginary cap. "I'll be looking for you at the game tomorrow," he warned. It was an empty gesture. They both knew they were never going to see each other again. He picked up his glass on the edge of the pool table and drained the last of it, before disappearing into the smoke of the bar.
A familiar presence hovered behind Patch. "Who was that?" Rixon asked watching Ricky's retreating figure.
"Just a guy. We were gambling."
Rixon nodded. "What was that lad's name?"
"Ricky."
"Athlete?"
"Baseball player," Patch replied touching the weathered blue ball cap.
A pause.
"You know anything else about him?"
"No."
Rixon shook his head. "You sure were having a good ass time with a complete stranger."
"He wasn't a complete stranger," Patch protested.
"But he wasn't a friend," Rixon pressed, slightly confused.
Patch pursed his lips, unsure what to say. "I start school tomorrow, I should get going."
Letting out a large sigh Rixon waved the young man away. "Whatever. I'll see you tomorrow. You owe me a game of poker."
Patch didn't say a word as he strode out the door and into the parking lot. The engine hummed beneath him as he cranked the keys in, vibrations shooting up his thighs. Perhaps he wouldn't go to school tomorrow. There was, after all, a baseball game that day and he wasn't sure he wanted to miss it.