Inside Game

by Collette West

  I scoot over beside him on the floor. "How are you holding up?"

  "I think I'm just going to stay down here, if that's okay with you," he groans, shifting onto his good hip.

  "That bad?"

  "Yeah. It's gotten worse," he sighs. "Liam and the training staff think it's on account of the HGH, which sucks. They said I was on it too long, and now, I'm paying the price."

  "Then why don't you let me guide the girls through the rest of the class?" I urge, patting his arm.

  "I really hate that I did this to myself," he grumbles. "It scares me to think how many productive years I might've taken off my life."

  I shiver subconsciously. I need to stop endlessly comparing what happened to Jared to what Drake's going through. I've finally been able to quit looking at Jared's overdose as a personal failing after having worked so intensely with Drake. I'm getting better at slowly coming to terms with Jared's death and learning how to stop blaming myself for it, but I'll probably always be on the lookout for any little warning sign that Drake might be slipping again. I'll always be worried about him. It goes with the territory. I care too much, and I'm okay with that. It's just who I am—and I don't even want to joke about ever losing him.

  "Don't think like that," I scold him. "You're here. Aren't you? That's what they're going to remember. How Daddy was too old and stiff to do yoga with them."

  I get a smile out of him with that.

  "Stiff, huh? I think seeing you roll around on the floor in that tight little outfit accomplished that."

  This time, I smack his arm hard. "And here I was feeling sorry for you."

  He rests his chin on his knee and glances over at me. "Do you think I can really do this? Be a parent to them?"

  "You're already their parent," I remind him.

  "No, I haven't been," he admits. "And now, I have no clue what I'm doing."

  "If it makes you feel any better, neither do I," I reply. "I guess you just do what comes natural. Put what's best for them ahead of your own needs. Be as selfless as possible."

  "That doesn't come naturally to me," he says, going for that level of honesty we talked about, the kind that doesn't necessarily put him in the best light.

  "It will. Give it time," I reassure him. "Right now, they look at you like you're their friend. You have to work up to being their dad."

  "As long as you promise to work up to being their stepmom, because I don't think I can do this alone."

  He says it so nonchalantly that, at first, I think he's kidding, but when he turns his attention to watching Willa fill a paper cup for Coco, I know he's not fooling around. He let it slip like he's already thought this through and that's where he sees me, moving forward in his life.

  And it kind of makes me feel giddy inside, like a teenager who just got kissed for the very first time. He wants me to help him raise his children, and who knows? Maybe have a few of our own? I know he's joked about us sharing the same address, but I thought he just wanted me to move in with him, nothing more. But this? This is huge.

  I stand up when the instructor reenters the room, needing to do something to settle my nerves. He winces, shifting to his leg, and I offer him a hand up. But he's so big that my bare feet slide across the hardwood floor as he holds on to me. I laugh when I fall against his chest as he staggers to his feet.

  "I meant it, you know," he whispers against my hair. "You and me, doing this together. I think we'd be great at it."

  "Baby steps," I whisper back, my heart thumping wildly. He knew what he was saying. He didn't just let it slip.

  "We'll get there," he says, tapping my butt with a mischievous glint in his eye as the girls come running back to us.

  In the full-length mirror, I catch a quick glimpse of our reflection, so different now from the night of our first elevator ride at the Roosevelt Building. He looks happy, and I look relaxed. And we're both glowing with a promise neither of us can wait to come true.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Drake

  Step Twelve

  Carry the message to other addicts.

  "I think I'd rather do yoga," I mutter in Eva's ear.

  Tonight, I'm the featured guest speaker at the weekly Cocaine Anonymous meeting at the brand-new Harbor House I had the pleasure of funding. It's a second satellite location Eva's in charge of getting up and running. It's meant to complement the work that's still being done by her father at the original clinic, only with more conference space to conduct group sessions and plenty of private offices for the full staff of therapists Eva's in the process of hiring.

  But the most important thing is that I made sure it was dedicated in honor of Jared, and I think it helped Eva let go of the pain she was holding on to and put it to rest.

  I glance over at the curious faces staring at me from the circle of folding chairs where I'm about to share my story—my whole story. And I don't know what kind of reaction I'm going to get. Disgust? Empathy? Or even worse…boredom?

  Eva straightens the tie I'm wearing, brushing off the lapels of my suit. "You're going to be fine. Just speak from the heart."

  "Maybe I shouldn't have gotten all dressed up for this." I fiddle with my gold cuff links. "I don't want to give off the impression that I think I'm better than them or something."

  "This is your first time speaking in public, and looking good is the best way to combat stage fright." She pulls my hands apart, sliding them into her own. "There's a reason they call cocaine the caviar of street drugs. It's the most expensive way to get high, and the people at this meeting cross a wide range of income brackets. A lot of them didn't start out as junkies living on the street. Some of them used to be doctors, lawyers, stockbrokers. Yet they all have one thing in common—they let their addiction destroy their lives, and they need to hear how you put yours back together."

  "Hey, man. I think it's pretty cool that you're doing this." Dwight comes up next to me, patting me on the back. "Trust Eva. She knows what she's doing. I can testify to that. She got me off that witch's brew of Mama's and even gave me a job."

  Eva smiles at her newest client. "One day, we'll have to get you to talk to a group too, Dwight."

  "Umm…I don't know about that. My accent's too thick. These big-city folk would never understand me." He gives her a sheepish look. "I'm better off pitching in as the friendly custodian of the place. Let that young hotshot over there do all the talking." He points over at Sanders, getting his attention from where he's standing against the wall. "I've got floors to sweep." Then he winks at us before shuffling off with his broom.

  "Oh, I don't know about that," Sanders says, coming over to join us. "Chase doesn't think it's such a good idea that I admit what I've done. He told me he's giving me one free pass and I damn well better use it."

  "I can't say that I agree with him on that," Eva declares.

  Sanders blushes to the tips of his ears.

  "Do you want to tell me what happened to all that swagger you had?" I glare at him.

  He lowers his head. "It's gone," he admits bluntly. "You've seen how I've been hitting lately."

  "Forget about the slump you're in and focus on getting a good look at the ball. Stop pressing." I soften my voice when he shirks away from me. "I promise you'll start getting some hits again."

  "But…you're not hitting the ball, either."

  "Don't worry about me. I'm at the tail end of my career, using what's left of the regular season to prepare for the playoffs. I fully expect the final two years of my career to be frustrating. The homers are going to be few and far between from this point out, and I don't care that my batting average is only .240 right now. As long as I can feel my swing coming around for when it counts. You, on the other hand, are just a kid. Your best years are still ahead of you. This is just a temporary setback."

  "But what if it's not? What if I suck without the PEDs?" he asks, chewing on his bottom lip.

  "That's the billion-dollar question, isn't it?" I smirk. "The one that all of us who've taken the stuff wil
l probably never have the answer to. Did PEDs hurt us or help us? I don't know. I don't think anyone knows. I'm just sorry I ever introduced you to it in the first place."

  "It was my choice," he replies, lifting his gaze to me. "You didn't shoot me up with HGH. I did it to myself. I wanted to be great like you…"

  "Well, I'm not so great anymore, am I?" I shrug. "No matter what kind of numbers I've put up in the past, I'll never get in the Hall of Fame now. And let me tell you, I'm going to have to live with that regret for the rest of my life."

  Eva slides her arm around my waist, and it's the only thing that can ease the burning ache in my heart.

  I swallow hard before continuing. "Sanders, if Chase is telling you to keep quiet, then he must see something special in you. Despite the slump you're in, you're still the odds-on favorite to win Rookie of the Year. When San Diego sent you back down to the minors last season, I'm sure you were crushed but it left you with less than a hundred and thirty at-bats in the majors. It kept your eligibility alive to win this year's award. Your time away from the bigs turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The Kings must've had a feeling you could nab it in pinstripes. That's why they went after you. So what if you don't hit as many home runs now? You didn't before and the Kings still signed you. Just tell the reporters the pitchers figured you out and you had to start making adjustments to your swing. It's what guys say all the time."

  "But, dude, you're working with the commissioner now to rid the game of PED use. You did that press conference with him, fessing up to being a dealer and everything, and now, you and Chase and all the rest of the guys are just going to let me slide? I don't get it," Sanders argues. "I feel so guilty. I should be punished for what I did."

  "Sanders, are you taking PEDs now?"

  "Well…no."

  "Then we have nothing else to talk about. So why don't you take a seat and let me get on with this?"

  Sanders walks backward, unsure of what just transpired. I took the fall, and I didn't take him down with me. I don't think anyone ever considered me capable of that. Except maybe for the woman with her head currently nestled against my shoulder.

  Eva stares up at me. "I don't necessarily agree with your boys' club logic, but I can't fault you for it, either. Outing Sanders would only do more harm than good. He's not as strong as you are. I don't think he could bounce back from something like that."

  "It's my fault anyway, no matter what he says," I reply, stroking her hair. "I wasn't going to rest until I got him hooked. He was my scapegoat in case anything went wrong. And boy, did it ever go wrong—just not the way I'd expected."

  "Are you sorry you got caught?" She lowers her head, so I can't see her face. "Your life would be so much easier if you hadn't."

  I sigh deeply. "Easier, yes. Better, no. I'd still be living in fear of my mother. I'd still be living a lie."

  "Are you really going to testify against her in court?" she whispers, referring to the meeting I had yesterday with the prosecuting attorney.

  "It's the only way I'll be granted immunity for my involvement. I'll only have to do some community service," I reply. "I want to put this chapter of my life behind me once and for all. I never wanted my past to come out, but now that it has, I don't want to run from it anymore."

  "Well, I hope she rots behind bars for a long, long time," Eva says, looking up at me with fire in her eyes.

  I bend down and kiss the tip of her nose. "Me too."

  "It's time for you to begin the next chapter of your life," she insists.

  "I thought I already was?" I tease her.

  "Without all this baggage weighing you down." Her eyes regain their usual compassion, and their warmth fills my soul. "You have a World Series in your sights. You got Karolina to give back your visitation rights. You've completed every step in your recovery process, and I couldn't be more proud of you."

  "But you're forgetting one very important thing." I lose myself in her eyes and just let go. "You asked me if I wish none of this ever happened, and I have to say no. Because then I never would've met the girl whose Sharpie I'd stolen."

  I lean in for a kiss, but she chuckles, pushing me away.

  "You mean this one?" She pulls it out of her pocket and hands it to me.

  "You brought it?" I ask, shaking my head. "Why?"

  "It's your good-luck charm, right? I thought you might need it tonight. I know what you're doing's not easy. That it's something you never wanted to do."

  "What? Talk about how I was a white trash drug dealer?" I laugh, but she doesn't. "Maybe I'll travel around the country and give motivational lectures. It could be a great new career path for me."

  "It's not funny," she says, bumping my arm.

  "I didn't say that it was," I reply, trying to wipe the grin off my face. "But I could make quite an entrance rolling in on my Harley. People eat that stuff up."

  "I'd rather they listen to what you have to say because you have a powerful story to share. You're my hero, Drake Schultz, whether you want to be or not." She turns her head, leaning in for a kiss.

  I'm barely brushing her lips when someone coughs next to us.

  "Drake, are you ready? It's about time we got started."

  Eva groans over the interruption, but I turn and smile at her dad.

  "Yes, Dr. Sloane. I couldn't be more ready."

  Eva pokes me in the ribs. "You're going to have to be a lot more specific when using that title anymore. There are two of us now."

  "But not for long," I whisper as her father begins to introduce me to the crowd. "Dr. Eva Schultz sounds so much better than Dr. Eva Sloane."

  "We'll get there," she says breathlessly. "But we're not there yet. At six months sober, I want you to get a potted plant. At one year sober, a pet, even if it's just a goldfish. If you haven't killed either by the end of the second year, then and only then will I even let you think about putting a ring on this finger."

  "Yes, dear," I tease her.

  Even though I'm getting drug-tested two to three times a week, she still watches me like a hawk, and she probably always will. She has every right to doubt me. She's been through too much in her past to ever fully shake her anxiety when it comes to addicts after what happened to her birth mother, to Jared…and to me. But she's gradually letting her guard down, and I know the longer I remain sober, the more she'll begin to trust in what the future holds for us. The mere promise of an addict holds no value—only my actions carry weight with her.

  The voice of Eva's dad breaks in. "So, now, would you please give a warm welcome to our special guest this evening, Mr. Drake Schultz."

  My fellow addicts begin to applaud, and the knot of apprehension tightens in my stomach.

  Eva starts to clap right along with them, giving me a smile full of warmth and love, the kind that gives me the courage to do anything—even talk to a room full of complete strangers about how I grew up in the type of poverty where a mother would sell her son to the highest bidder.

  Because I'm not that scared thirteen-year-old anymore, hiding in the body of a grown man. I have one identity now. I don't have to conceal the raging drug addict inside the tortured psyche of a baseball player anymore. My fame is no longer sheltering me from the mistakes I made. It's what's allowing me to finally make things right. And hopefully help others in the process.

  And it's all because of her and the faith she had in me from the beginning that I was strong enough to do this. To be the man she needed me to be for her and my girls.

  And the only way it works is if I stay clean for myself.

  Throughout the whole process, the most important thing I learned was that I have to take responsibility for my life and the choices I make.

  I don't have any secrets anymore. I just hope that people don't judge me too harshly for the mistakes I made in the past, because I'm ready to be as open and honest as I can about my struggles and how developing positive relationships with the ones I love ended up saving my life.

  Eva has the biggest heart of anyone
I've ever met, and nothing makes me happier than knowing I have a place right at the center of it.

  I enter the circle and glance at all the eager faces peering up at me. I look at each one of them in turn, but I don't start until I lock eyes with Eva and whisper the words she deserves to hear.

  "Thank you."

  Epilogue

  Eva

  I stare at him across the table because I can't wait to get him alone.

  We're sitting in the back room of a Tampa bar known for catering to the Kings during spring training. It's Drake's birthday, and the guys wanted to take him out to celebrate after the terrific night he had at the plate, going four-for-four and hitting the go-ahead run, a homer deep to center, in the top of the ninth. It turned out to be the game-winner after Jilly had struck out the side in the bottom half of the inning, and starter Mike Landry had the pitching performance of his life, a gutty, gritty outing where he left it all out there, striking out eighteen and only allowing two hits and a walk over eight innings—quite an emotional return to the team after the death of his wife.

  The Kings managed to squeak by in this winner-takes-all wild-card game, one to nothing, and advance to the Division Series of the playoffs, the first of three rounds to get back to the World Series.

  So they're definitely in the mood to celebrate, especially since Drake's postseason woes seem to be a thing of the past.

  Now, I can only hope his turnaround continues.

  "Hey, birthday boy!" first baseman Scott Harper calls out from two chairs down. "You don't look too bad for… How old are you now? Fifty-eight?"

  The guys snicker at that, since all of them have been ribbing him incessantly throughout the day about being the oldest player on the team. But I worry when Drake doesn't even crack a smile.

  "Cheers, old man!" Scott raises his bottle of beer, and everyone clinks glasses for yet another toast.

  Scott's wife, Carrie, my old college buddy, leans into me. "What's wrong? Do you want me to tell Scott to cool it?" she asks, eying Drake nervously. She's part owner of the team, along with her mother, Diane. So it's no wonder she's concerned.