by S A Clayton
10
Harper
“Dad?” I ask, entering his office and shutting the door behind me. He’s been in here all night and I wanted to watch the Hawks game with him, but he never came out. Not even when Mom called that dinner was ready.
“I told your mother that I was busy and not to be disturbed,” he mutters, not looking up from whatever he’s reading. I know he wants me to leave, but I stay rooted by the door. “Harper, I am not in the mood to repeat myself tonight. Please go see your mother.”
“But Daddy, you missed the game… we always watch them together.” I’m trying to make the tears go away but they start to fall, anyway. I miss him. I miss who he was before the accident.
“I don’t give a shit about the game!” he yells, causing me to flinch, but still, I don’t move from where I’m standing.
His eyes meet mine and they aren’t the eyes of my father, they’re the eyes of a man who wants nothing to do with the person in front of him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out a bottle of Advil and taking two pills dry. He’s been getting more and more headaches lately and Mom has been begging him to go see a doctor, but he refuses.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. This was a mistake, he’s in one of his moods and I should have known to just stay away. It’s better for both of us when I just stay away.
He says nothing as he gets up from behind his desk and makes his way toward me. I try to stand tall, but the closer he gets, the angrier he seems to become. He opens the door and waits for me to move. The heaviness in my chest grows as more tears start to fall. This man isn’t the man that would tuck me in before bed, this isn’t the man that would take me to the park and push me on the swings.
This is a man I barely know anymore and before I think better of it, I open my mouth and say, “We don’t have to watch baseball, we could do something else?” Before the last word leaves my mouth, I know it was a mistake.
The hardened look in his eyes shows me exactly how useless my words are. They won’t make a difference, they never do. Mom says the anger is just a side effect of the accident, but it’s been a year and he hasn’t gotten any better and I wonder if he ever will.
“Don’t you get it?” he sneers, pushing me out of the room. “It’s not just baseball that I don’t want to see anymore…” Even at my young age, I know what he left unsaid and as he slams the door in my face, I shut my eyes, wondering if he knew that all I wanted was to be enough. Enough to make him see the life he still had to live.
I wake with sweat covering my entire body and my sheets soaked through. I wipe away the stray tears that must have fallen while I slept and I stare at the ceiling. This isn’t the first time I’ve dreamed of my father, or the night he died, and it probably won’t be the last. Sometimes the words are different, but the sentiment is the same. I’m not important, he doesn’t care about me anymore. That’s the part that haunts me no matter how many hours of therapy I have. You would think after ten years, the memory of that night would get easier, but honestly, the older I get, the more I question everything I thought I knew.
After a few deep breaths, I turn over and see that it’s just after five in the morning. I might as well get up since I know from experience that I won’t be able to get back to sleep. I grab a pair of old boyfriend jeans and a plain white T-shirt and bring them into the bathroom. I turn on the shower, making sure the water is scalding since the heat is heaven for my mind, the steam seems to take away the memories of that dream and I relish the sense of calm that washes over me.
When the water cools, I turn it off before getting out and getting dressed. I make a point not to look myself in the mirror, knowing it won’t be a pretty sight and not caring enough to do anything about it. I hurriedly brush out my tangled wet hair and twist it into a bun at the top of my head as I head into the living room where I grab my purse and my keys as I make my way to the one place that seems to calm my nerves after a night like this.
Hard Ball is dark and empty when I arrive. Walking through the doors, my whole body relaxes and I let out a shaky breath on the way to my office. I set down my purse and keys, looking around for something to do, but I know my mind isn’t up for it. I find myself walking toward the field and head straight for the mound. My footsteps echo with each and every step I take and the second the ground changes beneath my feet, I stop, standing there for a second. Although this field is a bit smaller than the one my father saw on a regular basis, this exact spot was where he was the happiest. On a mound just like this one, is where he became one of the best pitchers of all time. This was his home away from home and where he was meant to be for the rest of his life. I sink to my knees as the tears form.
“Hey Dad…” I whisper, hoping he can hear me wherever he is.
I sit in the dirt, my finger instinctively digging out the coin I buried there after he died. It was the same coin he used to bury in this same spot before every game. He told me the coin represented the two sides of life, what you can control and what you can’t. He was never a man that believed in chance but for some reason, the symbol of the coin was his way of controlling what he couldn’t control. When he died, I decided to keep his tradition and that memory alive, even if he wasn’t.
“It’s Harper.” My voice echoes in the empty space, making my voice carry. “I dreamed of you last night, about the night you left us… the night you left me.” I take a deep breath and tilt my head toward the ceiling, as if for some reason that action could bring him closer to me. I push my fingertips through the clay and watch as it falls through my fingers. “I miss you so much. I get up every day wishing, hoping that it was some bad dream and that you’d walk through that front door. I keep waiting for you, but you never come.”
The tears fall freely now, and I let them, knowing they can’t be stopped. “Why did you have to leave? Why!” I yell, hearing the echoes as they surround me. “You were supposed to go to the doctor, you were supposed to get better, not worse. Mom can barely look at me and my life is falling apart, and I don’t know what to do…” My head falls into my hands as a sob rips through me. “I need you to tell me that everything is going to be okay…”
“Buttercup?” I jump at the sound of Henry’s voice.
I bury the coin back where it belongs as I wipe away the tears from my cheeks. I stand, expecting to see Henry’s sad eyes, but what I don’t expect are Josh’s. His eyes bore into mine and his need to touch me is palpable. I look away, knowing that if he got any closer, I’d cave in to his touch.
“Hi.” The happiness in my voice is forced and we all know it, Henry’s knowing look tells me all I need to know. Once in front of me, Henry grabs both sides of my face, noticing the puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” His eyes are pleading and as much as I miss my father, I couldn’t ask for anyone better than Henry. He does everything for me, and I would be lost without him.
“Just a bad day.” I know that’s all I need to say for him to understand. He gets it. Josh’s head tilts to one side, probably confused by what I’m so upset about. I don’t blame him. “I just needed a moment to gather myself before we opened. I’m sorry I interrupted you guys… again.” Henry shakes his head, bringing me in close for a hug.
“You’re allowed to grieve, Harper,” he whispers. “No amount of time will make that go away.”
I lower my head, trying to stop the second wave of tears from falling.
“I come in here too sometimes, you know.”
I take a step back in shock.
“Really?” I wonder what else I don’t know.
“I talk to him sometimes too.” He tilts his head, letting me know he heard me talking to Dad. “He heard you, Buttercup. He might not respond, but he’s there listening.” He smiles, bringing me back in and wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head. A weight lifts off my shoulders as I take a deep breath in.
We turn at the sound of a throat clearing and Henry lets me go as we both set our ey
es on Josh who is still standing by the door. “I am so sorry, Josh,” Henry says. “That was so rude of me. I totally forgot you were even here. Do you mind if we reschedule our tour?”
Josh nods and turns to leave when I stop him.
“Please don’t stop the tour because of me.”
“Harp—” Henry starts but I shake my head.
“I said no, Henry. I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl. Just let me clean up and I’ll open the front doors so you and Josh can continue to do whatever you were doing.” I dip my eyes away from both of them as I walk away as fast as I can toward the bathroom, hoping the distance will help the butterflies from forming at the sight of Josh’s sad eyes.
“Harper, wait!” Josh yells as he runs up beside me.
I ignore him, walking until his fingers lightly grasp my elbow, stopping me. A shaky breath leaves me as I turn and face him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks as the concern in his eyes starts to pierce the armor I’ve constructed around my heart.
“I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
I see the questioning look in his eyes and I tilt my head toward the ceiling.
“Harper, please…” he pleads.
I close my eyes as Josh’s hand makes its way up my arm, over my shoulder and behind to trace the line of my jaw. A shiver makes its way through my entire body as I bask in the feeling of his fingers on my skin.
I take a deep breath and wonder for a split second if what I’m about to do is a good idea. But I know if I don’t tell him the truth, he’ll just keep touching me like that until I cave. “Have you ever heard of Hank Stevens?” I close my eyes, hoping I don’t regret doing this. When my eyes open once more, I notice the furrowed brow across Josh’s face.
“Of course I have. He’s a legend, one of the best in the—” he cuts himself off as his eyes focus on mine. “Stevens… your last name is Stevens?” he whispers, realizing the connection as I nod, looking away.
“He was my father.” I look everywhere but his eyes because I know if I do, the tears will start again, and honestly, I can’t handle that kind of breakdown right now.
“Harper…” My name on his lips never gets old, but I know I need to get this out in the open because if I don’t, I won’t be able to get through this day.
“I woke up this morning with that memory of him all over my skin…”
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to say anything else.” His eyes are pleading, and I give him a grateful smile, even though I know I’m going to tell him as much as I can. I have to.
“My father loved baseball, probably more than he loved me.”
Josh shakes his head, his mouth opening probably to dispute that fact, but I shake my head.
“You think I’m being harsh, but I’m not.”
The sadness that washes over him in this moment starts to bleed over to me, and I shut my eyes.
“In those last few days, he was really mean, angry, and hateful. The doctors all said it was just side effects from the trauma, but back then I didn’t understand why the man that used to tell me that he loved me every day, would spend most of his time ignoring me and wishing I didn’t exist.”
“Harper, he didn’t wish that.” His hands caress the side of my cheeks and for a second I lean into it, loving the comfort.
“I know that now. It took years of therapy to get to this point, but there are still days where I wish he could walk through that front door, smiling like he used to.”
He nods, understanding.
“Can I ask what happened?” he asks, and I give him a confused look. He knows what happened. Everyone in the industry knows what happened. “I want to hear it from you.”
I don’t know why that statement affects me the way it does, but I nod.
“It’s started like every other game; Mom and I got there early, I was on the field with him, loving every second. When the game started, I was antsy. I always loved watching him play, I would write down every one of his stats and we would always go over them on our way home.”
His eyes soften, realizing where my love of stats comes from.
“Then the fourth inning started, and my entire world changed.” My body goes cold, my eyes closing and remembering the day as clearly as if it happened yesterday and not fifteen years ago.
Josh’s fingers grip the back of my neck as my breaths come faster and faster. His head leans forward, resting against mine, and I realize that feeling him this close while my memories are taking over settles something inside me. He calms me.
Once my breathing goes back to normal, I continue. “I remember the sound of the ball hitting the side of his face. No one expected the ball to come straight back at him the way it did, and at the speed it did.”
Josh flinches at the memory as I try to find the words, but I come up empty.
We’re silent for way too long before I take a shuddering deep breath and try and regain my thoughts. “He was never the same after that day. No matter how many doctors he saw, or how many people he talked to. The trauma was too much for his brain. The trauma of never stepping onto a baseball field again ruined the man I once looked up to.” My eyes tilt to meet his, and when I see the sincerity there, when I see the understanding staring back at me, it gives me the courage to finish the one story I can never seem to finish.
“They told us when he was discharged from the hospital that he might be different. They told us that personality changes are normal after that kind of brain trauma. But it was sudden for me. I was ten and all of a sudden my dad wasn’t my dad anymore, you know?”
Josh nods, his thumbs lightly brush against the line of my jaw.
“Then one night his brain couldn’t handle it anymore. I walked into his office late one night, seeing that the light was still on, but when I opened the door he was slumped over his desk, eyes wide open.”
“Fuck,” Josh murmurs softly.
“He’d been having headaches for months, but he said they were just that, headaches, and nothing more. We begged him to get them checked out, but he refused. After he died, the doctors told us it was a sign of fluid in the brain, and I think that’s the hardest part to live with. That if we’d just made him go to a doctor that he’d be alive right now.”
I’ve never said that to someone outside of my therapist’s office. Admitting that my father’s death was preventable is a big deal for me because the guilt from that knowledge can be insanely overwhelming.
“I don’t want your pity,” I admit as Josh gives me that smirk I’ve come to love so much. “That’s not why I told you all of this. I guess I just needed to talk to someone that wasn’t my uncle.” I’m waiting for him to say the textbook I’m sorry for your loss but what comes out of his mouth is not what I was expecting.
“Harper, believe it or not, you are allowed to be upset. Just because a certain amount of time has passed doesn’t mean you have to stop feeling sad.” The look in his eye makes my lips turn up, and when our eyes meet, I’m rewarded with the sweetest smile. The one that, no matter how many times I try to resist, makes my knees weak.
“Thanks,” I say, starting to walk away, but he holds me still once more, stopping me.
“Are you free tonight?” he asks, and I automatically shake my head. No matter how good it felt talking to him, no matter how good it feels being this close to him, I can’t do this. I can’t let myself be a part of this world again.
“Don’t you have a game tonight?” I tease, knowing that he does and by the look on his face, he forgot.
“Shit, what about after the game?”
I give him a look, telling him without words just how unlikely that would be even if I said yes. There is no way I’ll be up late enough.
“What about tomorrow?”
I admire his persistence.
“It’s always going to be a no, Josh.” The pit in my stomach gets heavier the more I think about Josh not being in my life, but the panic that sets in when I think about what my life would be like wi
th him? That feeling takes over all of my senses no matter how hard I try and fight them.
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?” I ask as he inches closer. I close my eyes and that picture from the other night flashes behind my eyes and before I think better of it, I say, “I saw the picture of you and Angela from the basketball game.”
He physically recoils and I can tell from the panic in his eyes, he knows exactly what picture I’m talking about.
“Shit.”
My shoulders fall, every horrible scenario playing out right in front of me.
“She ambushed me at the game. She knew there were cameras there and sat beside me especially to get noticed. I swear nothing happened. I promise.”
He steps close as I step back, needing space because the closer he gets the cloudier my head becomes. But he keeps coming toward me until I hit the wall. His face is inches from mine and my breath catches at just how much my body reacts to him when he’s this close. I shut my eyes, telling myself repeatedly over and over again that he’s a baseball player.
You do not date baseball players.
Yet my body is currently saying something completely different.
His hand reaches up and as I open my eyes, he places a stray hair behind my ear, brushing the side of my face with the tips of his fingers. I can only imagine what those fingers would feel like on other parts of my body. The image of his hands on me sends a moan ripping from my throat, and I notice Josh tense in front of me.
“You seriously have no idea what you do to me,” he growls, his eyes never leaving mine. “I know you feel this, Harper, I know you want me just as much as I want you. I felt it that night at the bar and after I heard that sexy moan come out of your mouth? Now I know I won’t be able to stay away.” His breath on my skin has my head tilting back against the wall for the second time.
“I don’t date athletes,” I repeat, not knowing if I’m saying it for him or for myself.