Playing for Kinley (Cruz Brothers Book 1) (37 page)

“Hey, you,” he answered. “Listen, before you say anything, I’m sorry that I didn’t call you last night. After the Derby, me and a lot of the guys went out for drinks and I forgot to charge my phone so it was dead all night. We left directly from the stadium so I didn’t have the charger with me. And by the time we got in, I figured it would be too late to call you.”

Well, didn’t
that
just make me feel even worse.

“It’s okay. Not a big deal. I hope you had fun. And congratulations again. You put on quite the hitting performance, Mr. Cruz.”

He laughed. “Thanks, but it still wasn’t my best.” Then he lowered his voice and added, “I missed you, Kin.”

Please, Universe. Just keep kicking me when I’m down.

“I miss you, too. Which makes this suck even more.”

“What’s going on?” he said, concern prominent in his tone.

“There’s really bad weather up here,” I said warily. “Severe thunderstorms and high wind speeds and…my flight has been delayed. The whole airport is shut down until it clears, which the news is saying may not even happen today.”

He was quiet for a while, sending my nerves into panic mode. “Are you serious?” he asked. “So you might miss the game?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that the earth would just open up underneath me so I wouldn’t have to hear the disappointment in his voice. “Yes, it’s looking like I’ll probably miss the game.”

More silence followed and then he let out a heavy sigh straight into speaker. The fact that he hadn’t tried to cover it by turning away from the receiver let me know that he wanted me to hear it, which made this whole situation just horrible.

“Well…shit, that sucks,” he said. “I was really looking forward to you being here, Kin. You haven’t been to any games since the end of June.”

That made me pause. He’d never given me grief over missing any of his games before. He knew I’d been working. It wasn’t like I was blowing him off to go hang out with my friends or something.

“I’m sorry,” I said evenly. “You know I’ve had a lot of shoots lately. It’s summer and my work is outdoors. I have to take advantage of the warm weather.”

“I know but you’re the one who schedules your shoots, right?” he pushed. “I mean, you’ve known about the All-Star game for months. You knew it was in Kansas City and yet you booked a shoot in Vermont?” I could hear his temper starting to build, and I was trying to keep my own in check. The last thing I wanted to do right before his game was fight.

“I was under contract with this shoot, Parker. You know that. And I’ve done everything I can to make it to as many of your games as possible. I’ve adjusted my schedule so many times to see you play, and I’ve seen almost every one on TV that I can’t make it to. There’s only so much I can do. I have to make a living, too.”

“You don’t have to actually.”

Whoa.

He did
not
just say that.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed heavily. “I make a lot of money, Kinley. If you moved in with me in Boston, you wouldn’t have to work. I could take care of you.”

I was dumbfounded and for a second, my brain could not function well enough to come up with a response. My senses quickly came back, though, along with my anger. “I cannot believe you just said that. You know how much my work means to me. It’s like what baseball is for you. How would you feel if I asked you to stop playing?”

“I eventually will have to stop,” he replied.

“And I’m sorry for that, but if I ever do move in with you, it wouldn’t mean that I would have to stop working. I
like
working. And I really don’t appreciate you implying that I should give it all up to be with you.”

He grunted in frustration. “I never said you had to give it up to be with me. All I said was that it was an option in order for us to be together more.”

I shook my head and threw my hand in the air because I had no idea what else to do. “Sounds like the same thing to me. Look, I’m really sorry that I won’t make it to your game. I want to be there more than anything. I’m camping out at the airport, for crying out loud, to see if anything changes. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I guess there’s nothing else you can do.” His voice was resigned, like he’d given up on the conversation.

“Don’t do this, Parker. This isn’t something I can control, so don’t take it out on me.”

A few seconds of silence passed and then he blew out a heavy breath. “I just really needed you here tonight.” And before I could respond, he ended with, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you,” I said desperately.

“Love you, too.” It was said quickly and unemotionally.

And distantly, as if he’d already been hanging up the phone as he said it.

Parker

Things had been pretty rough ever since the All-Star game. Kinley had been to several of my games in Boston since then, but the air between us had been tense. We hadn’t been the same Parker and Kinley since that weekend in July, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

Something was just eating at me and I couldn’t figure out what. I’d been irritable ever since that phone conversation with her that night, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.

I’d also played like complete shit at the All-Star game. The American League had still won, which meant that if the Red Sox made it to the World Series, we would have home field advantage. But it was no secret that I had impressed no one that night.

That whole night, all I’d been able to think about was my fight with Kinley, her words on repeat in my head. Even at the Home Run Derby my head had been messed up. I’d been in a good flow and then all of a sudden in the final round, Kinley’s face had popped into my head. The realization that she wasn’t there in person watching it had been at the forefront of my mind.

I had almost lost the title because I’d been distracted.

That
never
happened to me.

I was like a stone wall when it came to my concentration on the game. I was pretty much well known for it around the clubhouse. All of this was new territory and I had no clue how to deal with it.

We were into August now, which meant postseason was approaching fast. The Red Sox were leading our division and we still had the best record in baseball. We were on the fast track to The World Series, but that didn’t mean we had the way paved for us. Oftentimes, teams with the best records were the first to choke in postseason.

Other than the All-Star game, I’d been playing well. Batting average was up and my defense hadn’t depleted any. I just didn’t like where my head was at.

Little did I know then that my head was about to take a swan dive into a whole other level of fucked up.

##

We were playing the Orioles in Baltimore, which was a huge relief to me because that meant I would get to see my brothers while I was here. Kinley had a photo shoot somewhere down in Mexico so she wouldn’t be in attendance. During the season, she’d been trying to keep her international shoots to a minimum, but the money for this one had been too good to pass up, apparently.

We had just won the first game of series, going to eleven innings, and I was beat. I wanted a beer, maybe a Jacuzzi, and a twelve hour night’s rest. And Kinley wrapped up in my arms. But that wasn’t going to happen so I didn’t even allow my mind to go there.

I went in search of my brothers after cleaning up and found them waiting near the team gates. I’d given security permission to let them back. We were going to go for a few beers and catch up, just the three of us. No girlfriends or wives or kids.

Just the men, speaking freely.

They slapped my back in greeting, but I could immediately tell something was off. Their smiles were forced and their bodies were stiff. We never could hide shit from each other, so my senses were on instant alert.

“Let’s go grab a beer,” Dawson said.

“Sounds good to me.” I’d let them ride it out however they wanted it to go. And if I didn’t get the answers I was looking for, I’d simply push for them.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the bar Dawson chose wasn’t too busy. We opted for a table near the back, offering privacy, and ordered a round of beers—Coke for Mason—and a plate of buffalo wings first thing.

Eh, screw letting them play it out.
I was impatient.

“So, what’s going on?” I asked.

They glanced at each other, sharing the same worried expression, and my mind began to whirl. “Somebody better tell me real fucking quick.”

Dawson sighed, taking on the role of big brother like he often did. “We weren’t sure we should tell you this, what with you trying to stay focused for postseason and all. But we figured you had as much of a right to know as us.” He took a long swig from his mug and then met my eyes. “Sal’s dying.”

I froze.

Not from shock, not from devastation, but from not knowing how to react.

Was I supposed to feel immediate grief, regret, anguish? Because I felt none of those things. I felt…nothing.

I wasn’t sure what kind of person that made me.

I eventually found my voice but it was weak and cracked at the edges. “How?”

“Cirrhosis of the liver. He was diagnosed two weeks ago. Doctors are giving him less than a year.”

“Jesus.” I leaned forward in my chair, rubbing my hands down my face with my elbows propped on the table. “How’s Mom handling this?”

Mason let Dawson answer again. “Not great. She may be hopped up on pills all the time, and she may have taken a lot of shit from the bastard—too much shit for too long—but she loved him once. She’s spent more than half her life with the man, and she has no idea what she’ll do without him. She’s already feeling lost.” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Fucked up, isn’t it? It’s like all the times he hit her over the years, left her bruised and bleeding, never even happened.”

There really was no love lost between us three and the man who fathered us. We all knew that and would freely admit to it. But were we supposed to feel something, knowing our father was on borrowed time? Considering everything he put us and our mother through in our lives, were we expected to mourn him when he eventually went, staying by his bedside until the moment he took his last breath?

Would society blame us if we didn’t do any of that?

Because I honestly didn’t know if I could stomach it, grieving by his bedside like the man had been a wonderful, loving father. Like we would miss him after he’d gone.

Death didn’t erase the past.

And our pasts were dark, all because of that man.

He’d never asked for forgiveness, and I didn’t know if I had it in my heart to give it even if he had.

“I don’t really know what to say,” I admitted, my voice flat. “Or how I’m supposed to feel. I don’t want to hate anyone. But if there was one person who could draw that emotion out of me, it’s him.”

Mason nodded, a somber expression on his face. Dawson just sat there, unblinking, showing no emotion whatsoever.

“I don’t either,” Mason finally spoke up. “But I think we should be there for Mom. For all of her faults, I know that she would never have gotten mixed up into the shit she did if it hadn’t been for him. He fucked with her head for so long, I think the pills were the only way she was able to deal. She was a good mother once. Maybe we could finally get her the help she needs once he’s gone.”

“Rehab?” Dawson asked, now harboring a speculative look.

Mason nodded. “Yeah. The facility I went to for my issues is one of the best on the East Coast. I really think it would do her good to go, once he’s gone and she has her freedom back.”

His death meant her freedom.

How messed up was that?

“If she’s willing to go,” I pointed out. “I could see her refusing.”

Mason met my eyes. “We could admit her if we felt that she was a harm to herself or to others.”

Dawson sneered and glared at Mason. “We’re not fucking committing her.”

Anger sparked in Mason’s eyes as he looked over at our older brother. “I’m not saying commit her, I’m saying convince her. We all know she’s going to spiral after he’s gone if we don’t interfere. Her mind is weak, she can barely make decisions for herself anymore, and she’s addicted to pills. It won’t be long before we lose her, too, if we don’t try to help. I don’t know about you two, but I wouldn’t mind actually having a decent parent around for once.” He paused before saying to Dawson, “And maybe the kids would finally be able to meet their grandmother at some point.”

“She has to be willing to help herself, too,” I said, resentment coming to the surface. “I won’t lie, some of my anger is also directed at her. She never did anything to stop him once he started going after us. For the last several years I lived there with them, she was just floating along, barely even there mentally. It was like we didn’t even exist to her anymore.”

“She didn’t always used to be like that,” Dawson said quietly.

“I know, but I never knew her like you did,” I told him. “All I have are a few sweet smiles here and there and maybe one or two home-cooked meals. The rest is of a frail woman passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of pills on the floor. That’s the only mother I know.”

Mason cut in. “All I’m saying is that I’ve been in that situation before. I know how quickly and easily shit like that can corrupt your mind, deteriorate it. I also know that sometimes you just need a little help from others, and some people are too afraid to ask for it.” He glanced at both of us, his eyes flicking back and forth. “She’s our flesh and blood. Sal may have never been willing to lay off the sauce and get help. But that doesn’t mean she won’t, especially if he’s not there to talk her out of it.”

That brought back the reason we were even here in the first place. “So what kind of care is he getting?” I asked.

Our wings were sat on the table in the front of us and Dawson immediately reached out to snag one. “Mom said he doesn’t want any. He said there’s no point in staying in a hospital if he’s going no matter what. Doctors said his condition will start to worsen over the next several months. He’ll get weaker and sicker and he’ll need to be brought into the hospital at some point. They said they would try to make him as comfortable as possible at the end, but that’s all they can do.”

“I’ll help with the hospital bills and whatever else needs to be paid for.” Not for him, though. “For Mom. I’ll help Mom out with whatever she needs.”

“Me, too,” Mason said softly, his head bowed.

“I don’t know if I can see him before he goes.” My head snapped over to Dawson, surprised at the emotion I heard in his words. “I can’t feel sorry that he’s dying. I mean, I really can’t find it in me to be sad right now.” He looked confused, almost lost. Then he laughed harshly, without humor. “That isn’t fucking normal.”

“Our childhood wasn’t exactly normal.” This from Mason. “Men like him should never be fathers. And if he never could manage to show love for his kids, then I don’t feel that there’s any reason for us to show him love either. He doesn’t deserve it from us.”

I was listening to them in a state of detachment. It was beginning to worry me that the feelings, the emotions, that were supposed to come with the news of a dying a parent hadn’t hit me yet. Even more frightening, I didn’t know if they would ever hit me.

But like Mason said, our childhoods hadn’t been normal.

Our relationships with our parents were by no means conventional.

“Will you guys be going down there a lot?” I asked. “Will you be able to?” Our parents still lived in D.C. and none of us had ever made visiting them a huge priority.

“I can move my hours around a little and probably go down on weekends, help look after her,” Mason said and took a bite out of a wing, washing it down with his Coke.

“I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to,” Dawson responded. “My hours at work are crazy and I’m not going to be able to take off a lot of time. Money’s tight and Mickie’s hours can be as irregular as mine sometimes. Plus, with the kids…” he trailed off and then added, “and like I said, I really don’t know that I can handle seeing him.”

I nodded, understanding. The wings had sounded amazing earlier, but now for some reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of any food. “I could probably manage making some trips down there after the season’s over.” Not that I would really want to, even for my Mom’s sake.

Shit, I sound like a monster.

Dawson blew out a breath and then sat up straighter in his chair. “Okay, look. I’ll just go ahead and say it. Our father has always been an asshole. Still is an asshole. And if this illness hadn’t hit him, he would go on continuing to be an asshole. Nobody expects us to get all depressed with his death. We don’t owe him anything, not how I see it. We’ll all do our parts for Mom’s sake. We’ll help her however we can. But we don’t need to feel guilty for our lack of empathy towards him. None of us do. Okay?”

A slow smile crept across my face as I stared at him. “You know what, I take it back.” Pointing at Dawson, I continued, “
That’s
the only mother I know.”

Mason smiled and snickered into his drink while Dawson looked at me like he was about to break his bottle over my head. “I meant that as a compliment, bro.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, it makes sense,” I went on. “You’re a parent yourself now and you were always the big brother. I think out of the three of us, you always had the best maternal instincts.”

He reached over and smacked the back of my head while Mason and I laughed at his anger. “Dick,” he muttered.

“We love you for it, though,” Mason chimed in, wiping wing sauce off the corner of his mouth. “Out of the three of us, you’re also the most mature so we appreciate your sense of duty and responsibility.” He meant it as a joke to tease our older brother, but what he said was the truth. Both Mason and I did appreciate Dawson a whole hell of a lot—always had—and I suddenly hoped he knew that.