“I do care for her!” I shouted, gesturing so wildly that chips flew out of the bag. “I care a lot, that’s why I left!”
“You broke her heart to show her how much you care?” Sadie blinked at me. “Sorry. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but something about that is not making sense.”
I reached into the bag and grabbed another handful of chips. “You said you weren’t going to argue with me.”
“No, I didn’t. I said I wasn’t going to try to convince you to come back, but my fingers were crossed anyway, so it doesn’t count.”
I spoke slowly through clenched teeth. “I’m not going back, Sadie. I can’t. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She was making me second-guess myself. I hated that feeling.
She sighed. “Okay. Fine. You can stay out here eating chips in your castle with its fancy gate and high walls and security cameras and never have to let anyone in ever again. But it seems like an awfully lonely way to spend the rest of your life.”
“It’s my decision,” I said stubbornly, shoving the chips in my mouth.
Her smile was sad. “Yes. It is.”
We ordered dinner in, and after Sadie closed the door behind the delivery guy, she gestured to a large cardboard box sitting in the front hall. “Is that the box from my attic?”
“Oh yeah. I forgot about it.”
“How’d you get it here?” she asked.
“Actually, this is kind of funny. I forgot it was in the back of my rental car until I got to the airport to turn it in. The guy at the desk happened to be the same one who was there when I rented it. Steve.”
“Oh?”
“He offered to ship it to me, and I said okay. Gave him a big tip.”
She laughed. “Nice. Did it just get here today?”
“A few days ago. After we eat, we can look through it if you want.” Anything was better than listening to her analyze my feelings—even looking at plastic trophies.
But actually, it turned out the box held some neat things. Notes my dad had taken during early coaching sessions with Virgil—things I’d internalized and had repeated to Chip. There’s an art to the mechanics. Focus on the process and not the result. You have to trust your pitches. A few of my favorite baseball cards, some of which were signed by the players.
“If you have a boy and he’s into baseball, he can have these,” I said to Sadie, who was kneeling next to me in the living room, looking through old photos.
“What if I have a girl who’s into baseball?”
I flicked her earlobe with a card. “She can have them too.”
“Hey, look at this one! I think I took it.”
I leaned over and saw a picture of April and me at the kitchen table. “Let me see that.” Grabbing it out of her hands, I studied it more closely. April was sitting how she always did, on her knees, her feet bare, her elbows on the table. She had a pen in her hand and her lower lip caught between her teeth, like she was concentrating hard on whatever she was writing. I, on the other hand, was looking directly at the camera, tilting the chair back on two legs and wearing my usual confident smirk. My hair was wet, as if I’d just gotten out of the shower.
“Here’s another one.” Sadie handed me a second photo, which looked as if it had been taken right after the first. I appeared exactly the same, but in this one, April was looking at me with undisguised adoration, still biting her bottom lip. Sadie giggled. “Her crush on you is pretty obvious there.”
“Yeah.” God, I missed her. She was never going to look at me that way ever again, and it was all my fault.
“Oh, look at this one of you, Dad, and Virgil Dean!” She showed me the picture she’d found, and I had to smile.
“That was the day of the draft. I don’t know who was more excited, Dad or Virgil.”
“I heard he’s in the hospital. Any word on how he’s doing?”
My gut clenched. “What?”
“Something about his heart maybe?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I jumped to my feet and started looking for my phone.
“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Don’t you talk to his son?”
“I haven’t. Not since I left.” I found my phone and started scrolling through my texts. Of course, there were a bunch from David, which I’d ignored because I’d thought he was contacting me about the incident. God, how self-centered could I be?
He’d left a voicemail too, which I immediately listened to. “Hey Tyler, it’s David Dean. It’s, uh, Wednesday. I just wanted to let you know that Dad’s in the hospital after a bad fall. We think he had some mini strokes earlier in the week, but they’re still running tests. He’s doing okay, but they’re worried about a bigger stroke in the near future, so they want to keep him here. Anyway, he’s in and out of consciousness, but he was asking for you at one point. I know you already went back to California, but maybe you could call him or something. Well, just wanted to let you know. Give me a call if you’d like an update.”
“Shit,” I said aloud.
“What is it?”
“It’s Virgil. He had some mini strokes, and they’re worried about a bigger one. He’s in the hospital, and he’s doing okay—at least, he was on Wednesday when David called me.” But it was Saturday already, and a lot could happen in four days. “I need to call him back.”
“Definitely. But it’s late out there. Almost eleven.”
“You’re right. Crap.” I grimaced. “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Sadie continued pawing through the box for a few minutes, but before long she was yawning. “I guess I’ll go to bed. Is my room free?”
“Of course.” I showed her to the guest room, which Anna always kept perfectly made up, even though the only person who ever came to see me was Sadie, and she hadn’t visited in nearly a year. “Need anything?”
“Nope.” She set her shoulder bag on the floor and gave me a hug. “Just this.”
I didn’t sleep well, and before Sadie was even up, I went down to the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, took it out by the pool and called David Dean. He picked up right away.
“Hello?”
“David, it’s Tyler Shaw.”
“Tyler. Good to hear from you.”
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s okay. Had a decent day yesterday.”
“Just decent?”
“Well, he’s ornery as hell about being in the hospital. Wants to be at home.”
“Sure.” I took a sip of coffee. “You said he asked for me?”
“Yeah, he did. He was a little incoherent that day, but we clearly heard him saying your name and requesting—not too politely—that you get your ass to practice.”
I had to laugh. “Sounds like Coach.”
“We think he was confused about what year it was, but he was definitely looking for you.” He paused. “If you were thinking of paying him a visit, I’d make it sooner rather than later.”
My heart lurched. “Is it that serious?”
“Yes. He’s got congestive heart failure.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” I made my decision in a snap. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks. I think it would mean a lot to him.” Another pause. “You know, Tyler, I’m not sure what happened before you left, but the team was really disappointed to find out you’d gone.”
I stiffened. “Sorry. I just . . . wanted to get out fast after what happened. I never should have thrown a punch at Brock.”
“Nah, you shouldn’t have, but he deserved it. Nearly every other parent on the team reached out to me and said they fully support you. Even a couple of them who were there when you hit him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. They’d like you to come back. The offer’s still there if you’re interested.”
“That’s . . . that’s really cool of those parents. I had the impression some of them were talking to the press because they didn’t want me there.”
“As far as I know, only one
gave an interview like that. And I bet you can guess which one.”
“Brock?”
“Yep.”
I wavered for a second, then came to my senses. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. I’m going to jump on a plane as soon as I can to come visit though.”
“Okay. Safe travels.”
We hung up and I lay down in one of the chairs overlooking my pool, bare feet crossed at the ankles. I wondered what April was doing right now, if she was walking at the track or getting ready for work, or maybe having breakfast at her sister’s café. Was she mad at me? Did she miss me like I missed her? Did she think about how close we’d come to being happy together and feel like I’d let her down?
How long would it be before thoughts of her didn’t fill my every waking moment?
A few minutes later, Sadie came out in sweatpants and a T-shirt and stretched out on the chair next to me, a cup of tea in her hands. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Did you talk to David?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Virgil?”
“Not good.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” She looked over at me. “You’ve got some seriously dark circles under those eyes. Did you sleep at all?”
“Not really.” I hesitated. “But it’s not all about Virgil. I’m fucking miserable, Sadie.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I miss her. I really fucking miss her.”
“I know. I can tell. Why don’t you—”
“Because I can’t, Sadie. I don’t know what possessed me to think I could in the first place. I’m not the guy who stays. I’m the guy who leaves.”
She sighed and looked out at the pool again. “Well, it’s beautiful here. I can see why you like it so much.”
“I don’t like it that much.”
She looked at me again. “So why are you still here?”
I shook my head, feeling more lost than ever. “I don’t know.”
Prepared for another psychoanalysis or lecture about repression or even just a good shaming about how I wasn’t the person she wished I was, I was surprised when all she did was reach over and take my hand.
Surprised and grateful.
“I’ll fly back with you if I can,” I said after a while.
“Really?”
“Yes, but don’t get too excited. I’m only going to see Virgil.”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course you are.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sadie.”
“What?”
“It’s temporary.”
“I know.”
“I’m not staying.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I never said you did.”
“Okay. Just so you understand.”
She sipped her tea and looked out at the pool, that grin still on her lips. “I understand completely.”
Turned out I couldn’t get on a flight until Tuesday, but I checked in with David each day, relieved to hear there was no turn for the worse.
Seated in first class, ignoring the woman next to me trying to flirt, I put on some headphones and watched a few TED talks, then gave in and watched Bull Durham for probably the five hundredth time. The funny thing was, it’s my favorite baseball movie ever, but I hadn’t seen it in a long time—maybe ten years. In the past, I’d always identified with Nuke, the hotshot minor-league rookie pitcher who needs to learn discipline and control before he’s called up to the majors. But this time around, I saw myself in Crash, the mentor. He’s a catcher, not a pitcher, but he sees the game differently than Nuke does, because he’s been around it so long. And when he’s let go because the team wants to bring up “some young catcher,” I felt the sad punch to the gut as much as Crash did. I knew what it was like to feel you weren’t worth anything anymore.
Even funnier, I used to hate the ending—the cheesy porch scene with the stupid eighties background music, the fucking dancing in the living room—but now I found myself watching with new eyes, listening with new ears. When Crash says, “I just want to be,” I fucking got it.
But the dancing still made me cringe.
I hadn’t checked a bag, so once my flight landed, I went straight to the rental car desk.
“Shaw!” Steve said happily. “You’re back!”
“I’m back.” And I was actually kind of glad to see him.
What the hell was happening to me?
I called David, and he said the sooner I could get to the hospital, the better, because visiting hours were nearly over. He texted me the room number as soon as we hung up, and I went straight there.
I’d been expecting Coach to look weak, but he was even frailer than I’d imagined. He looked shriveled and pale, and his breathing was labored. His eyes were closed. He wore a hospital gown, which was embarrassing, but the covers were pulled up high on his chest. David was sitting in a chair by the side of the bed and stood when I entered the room.
“Hey,” he said, extending his hand.
“Hey.” I shook it and glanced at his father. “How’s he doing?”
David shrugged. “He’s okay today. A little confused here and there, but physically okay. My mom finally left to get some decent food and rest.”
“Tell her to bring me some decent food,” grumbled Virgil. His eyes were open now but a little unfocused. “The food is awful here. I’m not confused about that.”
“Hey, Coach,” I said, glad to see some of his spirit was intact.
“That you, Shaw?”
“It’s me.”
“You been skipping practice.”
“Sorry, Coach. I’m here now.”
“Good. I need a word.”
“I’ll give you guys some time,” David said. “Tyler, want anything from the coffee shop?”
“No, thanks.” I gave him a wave and sat down in the chair he’d vacated. “What can I do for you, Coach?”
“Can you spring me?”
I grinned. “Nope.”
He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “Figures.”
“You doing okay?”
One eye popped open again. “I look okay to you?”
“I’ve seen you look better,” I admitted.
“Yuh.” His eyes closed again, and he was silent for so long that I thought he might have fallen asleep. I was almost about to doze off myself when he spoke. “I was talking to your dad about you.”
I was about to ask when, but realized A, he might not even be able to answer that, and B, it really didn’t matter. “Oh yeah? What did he have to say?”
“He’s worried.”
Present tense. Interesting. I shifted in my chair. “About what?”
“He thinks maybe he pushed you too hard to be the best.”
“Nah.”
That one eye opened again. “You gonna let me talk?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“He said he didn’t want you to feel like baseball was the only thing that mattered. Because even the best careers only last so long. There are things that matter more and last longer.”
“Yeah, we never really got a chance to have that conversation.”
“We’re having it now, aren’t we?”
“I guess.”
He appeared to go back to sleep, and I felt restless. A couple minutes later he spoke again. “You asked me why you got the chance to prove yourself and he didn’t.”
“Huh?”
“The last time you came to practice. You asked me that. About your dad.”
“Oh. Right.”
“But he did prove himself, didn’t he?”
My first thought was that Virgil was confused again. What I’d meant was that my father had loved baseball like I did, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to prove himself where it really mattered—on the field, in front of thousands of screaming fans and television cameras and the best players in the game. But before I opened my mouth, I realized what he meant.
My dad ha
d proved himself where it really mattered—as a dad.
On his own, with two children. Working his fingers to the bone. Making sure we were housed and fed and clothed, and beyond that, loved. I’d always felt loved. It had given me the confidence to chase my dreams.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “Holy shit! You’re right, Coach. He did prove himself when and where and how it mattered most.”
Virgil said nothing, but he nodded. Closed his eyes.
“It’s not just about the ballfield. It’s not about strikeouts or home runs or the speed of a fastball. In the end, it’s about who’s there for you, and why. Through the highs and lows, the wins and the losses. It’s about the people who love and support you through anything because of who you are, not what you do. It’s about family.”
Virgil began to snore.
I stood up. “Sorry, Coach. I have to go.”
On my way down the hall, I nearly crashed into David, who was carrying a cardboard cup of coffee. “Hey,” he said. “Did he insult you?”
“No, just the opposite. He gave me the best advice he’s ever given me!” I shouted as I raced for the elevator.
David laughed. “Well, good!”
I punched the down button until the doors opened, barreled into the elevator, and hit L.
As it began to descend, I prayed that who I was would be enough to make up for what I’d done.
Twenty-Five
April
At my next therapy appointment, I told Prisha about everything. By the time I got to the end, I was pretty sure she was going to need to call her own therapist.
“Well. That is a lot to handle in a very short amount of time,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“Better,” I said. It had been ten days since Tyler had left my house, and I’d managed to get through yesterday without any tears. That was better, right?
“Are you really? Or are you saying that to please me?”
I winced. “Probably a little of both. I’m still really sad, to be honest. I know he was only here a short time, but we came so far so fast—at least it felt like it to me. We were so open with each other, and it just felt so right. When he said he wanted to move here, I guess I got carried away. I envisioned this whole future for us.”
Unforgettable: A Small Town Second Chance Sports Romance Page 23