Chapter Eighteen
Brock thought he was prepared when he followed the officer into the Louisiana state penitentiary’s visitor’s center. He fidgeted and took a seat in front of the Plexiglas barrier and waited. After riding his Harley all day and all night with one rest stop, he’d placed flowers on his mother’s grave. His mother had always told him he was stronger than his father, that he’d survive and and overcome his upbringing.
He hadn’t seen his father since the day he’d left him bloodied on the lawn and called the police. He hadn’t wanted to. But today was necessary, crucial if he was to be a survivor.
He swallowed bile and did the mental exercises his therapist had suggested. He was no longer a little boy. Not a victim. He was dealing with a psychopath and a master manipulator—a sick person. He was stronger and righteous. He was not at all like his father. He would prevail today.
Brock stared at the door across the divider as it swung open. A solid punch socked his breath away at the first sight of his father. The man who’d loomed so large in his nightmares shuffled forward, shackled by chains around his hands and feet. Hostility glinted in his squinty eyes as he slouched in the plastic chair and sneered. He picked up the plastic phone receiver.
“Dad, I’m here to apologize,” Brock spoke first. “I was wrong to beat you. There was no excuse.”
“Humpf. Yer wrong. Was the only right thing you done, except weaseling out and telling the cops I set it up.”
“No, it was wrong to resort to violence.”
“Wuss. You think you’re better than me?” He narrowed his already thin eyes. “You need to fight like a man.”
“No, Dad. It’s not manly to fight. It’s not manly to beat someone up or use force to control.” Brock steadied his breathing. His father wasn’t going to get to him. He was strong like his mother. He would speak his piece and leave. “I visited Mom’s gravesite. I left her flowers. She would have been proud of me, because I have a life and a shot at the majors.”
“Playing ball’s for sissies. You got a woman? Any kids?”
“No, Dad. I’m not going to inflict our family heritage on any woman or kids.”
“What happened to that chick you were boinking in college?”
Brock bristled at his father’s choice of language. “She’s doing fine. Owns the Hot Corner Bar and Grill.”
“She still have that baby? Or did she give it up for adoption?”
Baby? Marcia had a baby? Brock’s jaw slackened and acid bubbled up his throat.
A smug grin erupted on his father’s leathery face. “I see she never told you, son. Smart girl. Didn’t want to endanger her child.”
Brock stared in horror at the man who’d tormented him as far back as he could recall.
All the dominos clicked into place. Marcia’s mood swings five years ago. Her hints on starting a family right away. Her insistence that he hit the road after he refused to consider it. Her hostility at his return, and most damning of all, her refusal to let him interact with Bianca.
Bianca. Sweet little Bianca with the rosy red cheeks and the green eyes—the fair hair and freckles—the same pert nose as his mother, the same pointy chin and fiery spirit. No way in hell would he let anyone beat that spirit out of her.
His daughter. His precious daughter, named after his mother, Fiona. He should have known. Fiona was the Irish name for Bianca.
Brock dropped the receiver, stunned. He didn’t need to hear his father’s gleeful jeers to know what he was saying.
Like father, like son. Like father, like son. Marcia wants nothing to do with you. Abuser. Batterer. Freak. Monster.
“Are you finished, sir?” The attending officer tapped Brock’s shoulder.
“Yes. Yes sir.” Brock swept from the booth and made for the door.
He didn’t know how he made it to the parking lot, barging through the line of folks waiting to visit their loved ones. He had no clue whether it was sunny or misty.
Tears blinded him as he weaved, clutching his belly with misery, mourning what he’d lost. Marcia was afraid of him. Marcia believed he would hurt his own child. Marcia lied to him. Maybe she only said she loved him because she was scared of him. Only said she’d help him because she feared his wrath. He’d already lost control and hurt her once. What was to say he wouldn’t do it again?
You’re not your father. You’re not your father. You’re better than him. You can rise above it. His mother’s words whispered in the breeze. You will have everything you dreamed of. You will win the victory and prevail.
“Mammy! I need you. Why did I leave you to die?”
Stumbling like a madman, he made his way to his bike. He knelt in a puddle and soaked his jeans. The drizzle accumulated on his face and mixed with his hot tears.
“I’m not my father. I’m a better man. I said my piece, apologized for beating him, and I will never, ever use force on anyone. I’ll watch myself, call a time out, and walk away. I’m a better man than that.” He straddled his motorcycle.
I can help you, Brock. You’re a victim, and you’re still being victimized. Marcia’s words played in his mind.
“No! I’m not a victim. I don’t fucking need you to cut me down. I am a man. A good man, and I don’t need your help.” Brock yelled at the top of his lungs as he revved his Harley. “I don’t fucking need you to tell me I’m not good enough for my daughter. I don’t need you believing the worst about me, that I’d hurt my child, my Bianca, because my father beat me. You’re wrong, Marcia. You’re fucking wrong, I don’t need someone like you judging me and acting like I’m some kind of freak. I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor.”
# # #
Marcia fidgeted with a baseball squeeze toy as she recounted her story to her therapist, Dr. Reyes. She wanted to talk about Brock, but the doctor insisted on directing every avenue of examination back to her.
“I know I was wrong to threaten him with a breakup every time I got upset with him,” she explained.
“You were, but it doesn’t excuse what he did.”
“That’s what you keep telling me.”
The therapist stretched a glob of Silly Putty. “Any time you try to control or punish someone else, you are manipulating them. Whether it’s physical or emotional.”
“I know that now, but I don’t think he’s coming back. He’s given up on me.”
“We can’t control what he does, Marcia. The important thing is to stop beating yourself up and to be honest with your motivations. Blaming others is a precursor to abuse. You’re justifying in your mind that they deserve to be punished.”
Marcia blinked and sniffed, nodding. This was one of her faults. Always shifting the blame for her own unhappiness on others instead of taking responsibility.
“On the same token,” Dr. Reyes said. “Don’t let anyone put blame on you. Never tolerate any form of abuse. Call them out on it or call the police. I would recommend you continue to see me while you wait for Brock to return.”
He will return. He has to return.
“How about couples counseling?” Marcia clutched the foamy baseball.
“Not until I confer with Dr. Sparks. There has to be no evidence of abuse before we can allow that, from either side.” He pushed the Silly Putty into its plastic egg and capped it. “Any other questions?”
“He said he no longer believes in love. Do you think he’ll change?”
“Let’s not speculate. What’s in front of us right now is working on your emotional responses. Taking a step back when confronted with a problem and learning to communicate without resorting to hurtful words.”
“I got it. More transparency and taking responsibility for my own feelings.”
“Exactly. I want you to keep a journal. Each day, note down the people and situations that frustrated you. Note how you felt, your first reaction and what you actually did.” The doctor folded his hands, signaling the session was over.
“Thanks, Dr. Reyes.” Marcia reached over and shook the therapist’s hand.<
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“See you next week.” His eyes twinkled as he removed his glasses and cleaned them.
Marcia walked out of his office with a bounce. She had a lot to work on, but she was sure she and Brock could make it work.
She was halfway to her car when her cell phone rang. It was Jeanine.
“Brock’s back. I went by Ryan’s place to bring him a care package and Brock was there,” Jeanine spoke fast. “He said he’s playing tonight.”
“Really? How long has he been back?”
“I don’t know. He worked out with the team this morning,” Jeanine replied. “By the way, I don’t think Brock’s a bad guy anymore. He kept blaming himself for Ryan’s injuries. He just doesn’t seem the type.”
“Glad you finally agree with me.” Marcia felt a weight lifting from her chest. “How did he look? Is he okay?”
“Conrad told me he’s scouting other teams.” Jeanine sounded hesitant. “It might not mean anything, but he’s been granted free agent status.”
“What? Why?”
“You better talk to him. I just wanted to let you know he’s back.”
“And you’re still with Conrad?” Marcia’s voice was more accusatory than she wanted.
“I’m not ‘with-with’ Conrad. He’s a friend of Ryan’s. He gave me tickets to the game. You want to come?”
“Don’t we have to work?”
“Todd can handle it. Come on, Marcia. Girl’s night out.”
“Sure, why not?” Marcia hung up the phone.
Things were finally going her way. Brock was back in town, and it was only a matter of time before she ran into him.
She’d invite him over for dinner. After dinner, they’d put Bianca to bed and the three of them, Brock, Marcia, and her father would retire to the porch to chat.
He’d have his arm around her, and Pappy would sit on her other side, and she’d finally tell him the secret that was burning through her heart.
She’d beg for forgiveness, and with Pappy there, Brock would consider it. It might take a few days for him to process, but he would come around, because he already liked Bianca.
Happily, she browsed to an online recipe site and planned the menu.
Chapter Nineteen
The game was rained out. Thunder blasted through the sky as Marcia and Jeanine ran for the parking lot.
Marcia scrambled into Jeanine’s BMW. “What now? Shall we go back to the bar?”
“Why don’t we try and get into the clubhouse? Conrad can get us in, and you might run into Brock.”
“Is that what they do when the game is rained out? Hang out at the clubhouse?”
“I don’t know, but today is Riggins’s wife’s birthday. They were going to have a celebration after the game, but I bet they’re there right now. Wanna go for it?”
Marcia’s pulse did jumping jacks. “I mean, Brock hasn’t called me, but he can’t stop me from showing up, can he?”
“No way, you’re my guest. Conrad will let us in. No worries.”
Jeanine started her car. Because tonight’s game was an “away” game, they had a short drive back to the park where the Rattlers trained.
Cars were already arrayed in the parking lot when they arrived. Rain whipped around them, and lightning arched across the desert sky.
Marcia and Jeanine covered their heads with the program brochures and tore through the parking lot.
A doorman checked the guests. “Which party are you with? State your names.”
“Jeanine Jewell and Marcia Powers. We’re with Conrad Riggins,” Jeanine said in a confident tone.
Marcia wished she could have claimed Brock Carter, but he’d never invited her to an event here and she wasn’t sure he would acknowledge her.
The doorman flipped through an iPad and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Please put your name along with your contact person on your badge.”
While Jeanine filled out the badges, Marcia scanned the room for Brock. She spotted him standing between a man with a swollen face, probably Ryan, and an Asian man.
Marcia gulped and swallowed the lump in her throat. He’d obviously been back, but had not called or texted. Had he meant it when he said he no longer believed in love?
For the first time ever, Marcia was afraid to approach Brock. She hid behind Jeanine as they made their way around the party. The Riggins family were taking pictures behind a huge cake. Conrad winked at them as they approached.
Winding his way through the crowd, he put an arm around Jeanine and the other over Marcia’s shoulders. “Girls, welcome to my mother’s birthday party.”
He kissed Jeanine on the lips and turned to Marcia, aimed for her lips, but glanced off it when Marcia moved her face.
Out of the corner of her eye, Marcia observed Brock. He’d seen her, but made no move to acknowledge her. Instead, he pivoted so that his back was turned toward her. A cheerleader sashayed up to the group and looped her hand around Brock’s arm. She made some sort of joke and all the guys around her laughed.
“Stop looking at him,” Conrad said. “He’s gone free agent. Any day now, one of the clubs in New York or California’s going to make him an offer he can’t refuse. He’s just biding his time.”
Marcia shoved away from Conrad. Tears blinding her eyes, she parted the crowd and made her way toward Brock. She wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. They’d had something special. They’d been in love. Heck, they had a daughter together. And dammit, she was going to fight for him.
Her courage flagged when she approached the group. Ryan spotted her first, his glance flitted to Brock and the cheerleader. The Asian guy cleared his throat and said, “There’s gotta be a bug in the stats database. They’re fucking with my ERA.”
Brock’s back was still turned to Marcia. He said, “Tell me about it. My batting average has plummeted. We should demand an audit.”
Ryan said nothing. He tugged his collar and winked at the cheerleader. “Get you another drink?”
She was soon joined by a friend who hooked her arm around Ryan and cooed, “Did you know hippo mouths are sexy?”
Ryan’s lopsided smile stretched across his giant swollen cheek and froze when he noticed Marcia still standing there. His Adam’s apple dipped and bobbed.
It was now or never. Marcia tapped Brock’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re back.”
Brock whipped around. The look on his face wasn’t friendly. He stared past her and his smile failed to make it to his eyes. “Too bad about the game, eh?”
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” she pleaded, trying to meet his eyes.
He glanced at her name badge and shrugged. “I have to meet my guests. Enjoy the party.”
Marcia’s lungs collapsed, and her head spun. Hot tears burned her eyes, and she felt the room closing in on her. The conversation was too loud and piercing. The heat too oppressive. The laughter too forced. She gasped and choked for breathable air, her eyes stinging and her heart breaking.
She would have fallen except Jeanine grabbed ahold of her. “There you are. Come, they’re about to blow out the candles and sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”
A crack of thunder slammed the clubhouse, and the lights flickered once, twice, and then all was dark except for the flaming candles.
As voices around them sang “Happy Birthday,” Marcia leaned on her friend and somehow, they made their way out the door.
Brock was back, but he was no longer hers. She’d blown it. She’d lost him for good.
# # #
“I saw her at Mrs. Riggins’s birthday party,” Brock said to Dr. Sparks. He lay on the couch and stared at the kaleidoscope mobile she’d hung from the ceiling. “I couldn’t speak to her. All I felt was anger and a burning need to hurt her.”
“How did you resolve it?”
“I blew her off. Told her to enjoy the party. Lightning hit the clubhouse and it went dark. When the lights came back on, she and her friend were gone.”
Dr. Sparks scribbled on her notepad. “How did that make you feel?�
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“Empty.”
“Any anger? Frustration? Feelings of revenge?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing. The only person I care about right now is my daughter. I don’t want to lose her too.”
“Don’t you think it would be better to get along with her mother?”
Brock twisted his fingers around the back of his neck. “Maybe. But she lied to me. She made up all these reasons for me to leave and blamed me for breaking her heart, for playing around on her. All because she wanted to keep me from Bianca.”
“Perhaps,” the doctor hummed. “Would you like to know her reasons? Maybe hear them from her?”
“No. I’ve heard enough excuses from her. Everything’s always my fault. Did you know she broke up with me because I took a shower the morning we found out that Bianca was in the ER?”
“I detect anger,” the doctor said. “You’re not ready for couples counseling.”
“Who said anything about that?” A funny feeling lurched in his gut. He couldn’t place it, but it wasn’t hope. He’d given up on Marcia.
“Dr. Reyes, my colleague. His client requested it.”
“Oh.” Brock set his jaw. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be manipulated by some slick therapist Marcia had hired. “I’m not interested. The only people I care about are Bianca and Marcia’s father. The problem is, Marcia’s in the way.”
“She’s Bianca’s mother. You’ll have to find a way to deal with her civilly, if not for your sake, but for your daughter’s.”
Brock passed his hands over his face and shook his head. “I wish I could go away and take Bianca with me. Except the courts are always on the woman’s side. There’s got to be something I can do.”
Dr. Sparks said nothing for a long moment. She scribbled in her pad and ripped a sheet. “Homework. Find an amenable way for you to have contact with your daughter.”
“Sure thing. You have an attorney for me?” Brock lifted an eyebrow.
“Not yet. I’m hoping you won’t need one.”
# # #
Marcia surveyed the mess in their backyard. Beside her, Pappy fluttered his arms from up high to down low, telling her for the umpteenth time about the thunderstorm.
Playing Without Rules: A Baseball Romance Page 12