by Laura Simcox
Georgia’s jaw began to tremble. She hated Joan for being right, but there was a lot more at stake than her own pride right now. Brett had faced his fear, hadn’t he? She could do the same. She could walk away.
Georgia summoned up a smile. “I’m going where I need to go.” She dug in her pocket, yanked out her press pass, and placed it on a nearby desk. “I quit,” she said quietly.
Joan let out a gasp.
“If you don’t fix that interview, your internship is over.”
“So be it.”
Georgia walked out the door and climbed into the SUV. Without a word, she reached for Brett and wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t let go until they’d reached the hospital.
Chapter Thirteen
WHEN BRETT WOKE up the following morning, his back was stiff, his legs ached, and he was hot. He stood up from the uncomfortable chair in his mom’s hospital room, and a cotton blanket fell from his chest to the floor. Automatically, he reached down and picked it up, but when he caught sight of his mom, he went still.
Margot lay on an adjustable bed, her body tiny in a sea of white sheets. Even though he’d seen her like that through the night, with the early morning sun filtering through the window, she was an alarming sight. It was made even worse by the foreign-looking oxygen tube in her nose. A line of stitches ran diagonally across her forehead in sharp relief to her pale skin, and her arm was wrapped in a plastic brace. The only thing that lessened Brett’s anxiety was that his mom’s eyes were open, and she was talking to Georgia.
“Did you call him? Did you call Buddy?” Margot asked in a raspy whisper. Her breath caught, and she began to cough. “Oh God. That hurts my ribs.”
“Yes, he’ll be here in a bit. Shh.” Georgia took Margot’s hand. “You want some water?”
Margot nodded and allowed Georgia to support her head. After she’d sipped from a straw, she settled back onto the pillows, wincing. “Can’t believe the president’s daughter is waiting on me.”
“It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it,” Georgia replied softly.
Margot turned her head to look at Georgia, and a hint of a smile crossed her lips. “I know all about tough jobs. I’m the queen of Memphis.”
Brett’s lips quirked up too. His mom had often remarked—sarcastically, of course—that it was tough to be queen. Those remarks had always come right before she’d busted up a childhood squabble between him and Joe. But the squabble she’d been in last night was something else altogether. It was serious, scary, and it haunted him.
Last night, Margot had arrived for her shift at O’Brien’s but hadn’t even made it to the entrance before she was mugged. She could’ve just handed the attacker her purse, but she never was one to go down without a fight. And she’d fought hard—so hard that she’d ended up with bruised ribs, a concussion, and a broken wrist. She’d need to have surgery on that wrist today. The attacker was nowhere to be found, but that was often the case in the rough neighborhood where his mom worked.
Swallowing, Brett took a step forward. “How are you feeling, Mom?” he asked, knowing it was an inane question.
“Great,” she answered, just like he knew she would.
“Great,” he echoed and stuffed the blanket onto the chair. “Do you need anything?”
Georgia glanced up at him, a frown furrowing her forehead. “She’s tense. Needs pain medicine,” she whispered.
“I’m not deaf,” Margot commented. “And I’ll be fine.”
Brett shook his head. “I know, Mom, but you won’t be able to work for a while. It’s a lot to think about right now, but would you at least consider the idea of moving to St. Louis? Joe and I want to take care of you.”
“Forget it,” Margot said stubbornly. “You boys are Cardinals. You’re in the big time. I’m not about to distract you from that.” She coughed again. “Besides, Buddy’s gonna take care of me.”
Brett exchanged glances with Georgia. Her face was impassive, but he bet his wasn’t. He hadn’t broached the subject of Buddy yet at all. He was too afraid of what she knew—and when she’d found out. He was too afraid that she’d known and kept the knowledge from him.
He looked away. “Joe caught the red-eye and he’ll be here soon. We can discuss it later.”
Margot waved a weak hand in the air. “You shouldn’t have called him.”
“He never would have forgiven me if I hadn’t,” Brett responded. And it was a safe bet that Joe wouldn’t be forgiving about Buddy either. Eventually he would because Joe had a big heart, but it was going to come as a shock. What hadn’t come as a shock was Brett’s news that he’d been called up. Joe had simply said, “Way to go. I’ve always believed in you, you know.”
Brett looked at Georgia—her beautiful face pinched with exhaustion. She’d stayed up all night, and, though she’d said she would be going back to the station, she never had. He knew that her interview with him was due to air on WHAP in about half an hour, but still, she’d made no move to get up.
“Sugar,” he said in a low voice. “You know what time it is?”
“A little after seven,” she said. “I know. The station is only ten minutes from here.”
“You’re cutting it close. Don’t you think you ought to—”
“Probably.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and slowly she stood. “I’ll just go splash some water on my face.”
Brett caught her arm as she walked toward the door. “Hey. You never told me what happened last night.” He paused. “When you went back into the station.”
She gave him a quick smile and kissed his cheek. “I’ll tell you another time,” she said. And then she was gone.
It was obvious that she was upset—and not just about his mom. During the course of the night, she’d disappeared frequently, and when she’d returned to the hospital room, her eyes had been red. But every time he’d asked, she’d merely shaken her head. He assumed Georgia’s anxiety had to do with Joan, and he worried. Especially since Georgia hadn’t returned to the station to add the announcement about his being called up. Not that he cared about feeding his own ego—but she’d said that breaking the news was going to save her ass.
“Son?”
Brett turned back to the bed. “I don’t know what’s going on with her.”
“I know. Come here.”
Brett took the chair Georgia had been sitting in—it was still warm from her body, and he caught the faint, sweet scent of her shampoo. He sighed and took his mother’s hand.
Margot turned slowly on the bed to face him. “What are you gonna do about her, son?”
“I’m not gonna let her go, if that’s what you mean,” he replied.
“Good.” Margot closed her eyes. “Buddy will be here soon.”
Brett gazed at her, his heart breaking. She’d asked for Buddy last night, not long after she’d been admitted. Brett had swallowed his discomfort and called the man, but Buddy hadn’t answered. After leaving four voicemails over the space of two hours, Brett had given up. What an asshole. A loser. A user.
There was no way he was going to let his mother stay in Memphis—temporarily disabled—with only her unreliable neighbors and Buddy fucking Mambo to depend on. If nothing else, he and Joe had to convince her to give up the pretense that she didn’t need help. If she couldn’t see it now, though, when would she ever?
“Turn on the TV,” Margot said suddenly. “I want to see your interview.”
“It’s not on for a little while, Mom,” Brett said. He stroked her hand gently.
“Don’t care. Want to be ready,” she mumbled.
Brett suspected that she’d be asleep within minutes, but he picked up the remote and did as commanded, turning the channel to WHAP. Dave Burrows and Simone Flowers sat behind the anchor desk, all smiles. Soon Georgia would take Dave’s place to introduce the interview. He fervently hoped it would go well because, no matter what had happened last night, Georgia had spent weeks pouring herself into that interview.
After watching a coup
le of national news segments, Brett realized that his mom had gone back to sleep. He slowly moved her hand onto the blanket and stood up to stretch. There were voices murmuring in the hall, and he peeked his head out to look. One of the floor nurses walked toward him, Joe beside her. The nurse gestured toward Brett and then left.
As Joe stood there, hesitating, Brett studied his brother’s face—it was uncharacteristically grim. Tired. He was dressed in wrinkled jeans and a plain T-shirt. Aside from the fact that he was a pro athlete—a big man in top physical shape—there was nothing about the way Joe carried himself that screamed “entitled.”
Joe had always been unassuming and easygoing, though. Playing baseball came as naturally to him as waking up in the morning. But right now, Joe looked awkward—scared even. The skin around the edges of his trim beard was white. Brett hated seeing that, and his throat tightened. He walked into the hall and wrapped his arms around his brother.
“Hey, little shit,” Joe said. He pulled away and squeezed Brett’s shoulders. “How is she?”
“She’ll be all right.” Brett nodded, his throat too constricted to speak further.
“Okay. I’m here now.” Joe gave him a weary smile. “Congrats, by the way. Can’t wait to play ball with you again.”
Brett’s vision went blurry with tears and he nodded again. “Thanks. Uh . . . you want to see her?” He walked back into the hospital room and gestured lamely toward the bed.
Joe stood in the doorway for a few seconds, staring. He rubbed his forehead. Then he walked to the bed and leaned down, gently kissing Margot on the cheek. “Mom?”
Margot opened her eyes. “Hey, sweetheart. Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”
“Sure, you are.” Joe stood by the bed, seemingly at a loss as to what to do. He glanced toward the TV. “Let’s turn that off, okay? You need your rest.”
“No!” Margot grimaced and tried to turn over. “Brett’s thing is coming on.”
“What’s she talking about?” Joe asked.
“I’m being featured on WHAP.” Brett let out a sigh. “Just like you were.”
A familiar glint of amusement stole into Joe’s eyes. “Oh yeah. You and the president’s daughter. Are the rumors true?”
“She’s in love with him,” Margot announced.
Joe chuckled. “All women are in love with him.”
“Not like this.” Margot shifted and tried to sit up. “Both of you come here and sit next to me. It’ll be just like old times.”
Brett knew what she meant—when he and Joe had been kids, Margot had made a big deal out of movie nights, which had usually consisted of a watching a romantic comedy and eating a bag of chips. She’d tolerated their juvenile comments, and they’d tolerated her crying at the end. As a teenager, Brett had rolled his eyes at those movies, but he’d give his left nut to be watching one of them now instead of WHAP.
He wanted to see Georgia’s work—he was proud of her—but it seemed like a strange time for everyone to be gathering around the Brett Knox show. Margot would make a huge fuss, though, so he did as asked and perched beside her. Joe sat on the opposite side, but his eyes weren’t on the TV. He was watching Margot—and Brett was watching him, a sense of foreboding growing in his stomach. He needed to say something about Buddy. As soon as the interview was over, he’d take Joe out of the room and tell him.
“Mom,” Joe said. “I only have a few hours, and then I need to fly to Atlanta for a game. So I wanted to talk to you about leaving Memphis.” He glanced up at Brett. “I mean—since Brett is leaving too.”
Brett nodded. “I mentioned it already.”
“Quiet, boys. I don’t want to miss anything.” Margot stared at a cell phone commercial.
“But she won’t listen,” Brett continued. “Maybe in a little while you and I can . . .”
“Yeah.” Joe took her hand.
“There’s something else I want to talk to you about too,” Brett told him, his stomach tingling.
“About what?”
“Shh!” Margot wrestled her hand away from Joe’s grasp and pointed at the TV. “There you are, Brett.”
Video footage of Brett running bases splashed across the top of the screen, and a logo appeared at the bottom. “Hometown Hero: A Special Report by Dave Burrows and Georgia Fulton,” Joe read aloud. “Sweet.”
Dave? Why was his name up there? Brett held his breath as the video faded to a studio shot and the news intro music played. When Brett saw Dave sitting behind the anchor desk alone, his stomach knotted.
“Where’s Georgia?” Margot burst out. “Oh no! What if she didn’t make it back to the studio in time?”
Brett didn’t answer. He was pretty sure they’d find out in about ten seconds, and he found himself clenching the edge of the bed as Dave began to speak.
“Welcome back. I’m Dave Burrows for WHAP, Channel Nineteen News. As promised, we are pleased to present a special report on one of our own—a Memphis hometown hero, Brett Knox. As most of you are aware, he’s the popular catcher for the Redbirds, and he was kind enough to make time for an interview with us. But before we get to that, I’m pleased to share some exclusive breaking news with you.”
Dave gave his usual sappy wide grin. “As much as we love Knox here in Memphis, we’re sure that he will be just as popular in St. Louis, where he will begin playing baseball on Friday for the Cardinals. He will join another former Redbird—his brother, Joe Knox Jr. From all of us here at WHAP, best wishes, Brett.”
“That was nice,” Joe commented.
Brett let out a breath. “So far, so good.”
“But where’s Georgia?” Margot asked.
“Uh . . .” Joe cleared his throat, and Brett saw his brother looking at the doorway. With a sinking feeling, Brett looked, too. Georgia stood there, her arms wrapped around her middle, staring at the TV.
Brett stood up immediately, but he didn’t make a move. He’d known something was wrong, but from the look on her face, it was bad. Really bad.
“Georgia?” he asked softly.
“It’s . . .” Georgia took a deep breath. “It’s a taped interview. I thought I’d watch from here and . . .” She trailed off and glanced toward the bed. “Hey, you must be Joe.”
“Nice to meet you.” Joe smiled, but he didn’t get up. “Would you like to come in?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to intrude.” She turned her attention back to the TV, and immediately her hands flew to her mouth.
Brett looked up, too, and found himself staring at the image of Buddy Mambo, inset into the top-right corner of the screen.
All the air went out of Brett’s lungs, and a buzzing started somewhere in his head. He saw Dave Burrows lean forward on the anchor desk, his expression one of faux concern. He saw Dave’s mouth moving, but he didn’t hear anything that came out of it. The photo of a smiling Buddy got bigger and bigger until it filled the screen.
Dimly, Brett heard Joe say, “What the hell is this?” Brett didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He just watched with horror as Dave’s voice dropped into a dramatic, hushed tone. “The Knox brothers overcame great hardship to get where they are today. Raised by a single mother, they struggled and scrapped their way to the major leagues, even though all along their father was right here in Memphis. But Buddy Mambo, owner of a lucrative furniture chain, was not able to help his sons because he was completely unaware of their existence. Until now.”
Margot let out a small whimper. Georgia stood frozen in the doorway, and Joe grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. Brett watched him, not able to look away from his brother’s face. Joe’s expression shifted until his eyes were flat and his jaw clenched so tight that his neck muscles stood out.
On the screen, Dave continued to tear Brett’s world apart with every smoothly enunciated word that came out of his mouth.
“And though the information has only recently come to light,” Dave continued, “we at WHAP were able to track down Mambo for an interview.”
Brett grabbed for the remote to turn it off, but his brother held it out of reach. Joe frowned. “What does that weirdo furniture guy have to do with us? What kind of trick is he pulling?”
Nobody answered.
A second later, a new shot filled the screen. It was Buddy sitting in front of a backdrop, Dave opposite him. In between was the same small table arranged with Redbirds souvenirs that had been there for Brett’s interview.
“Mr. Mambo,” Dave asked in a grave tone, “How does it feel to have your world turned upside down?”
Buddy shifted in his seat and grinned arrogantly—looking for all the world like he owned the place. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”
“How does it make you feel to find out that the sons you never knew about are, in fact, Major League Baseball players?” Dave asked.
“Great. I wish I’d known sooner so I could have watched them grow up, but it’s all water under the bridge now.”
“Water under the bridge? That’s bullshit,” Brett retorted. His voice sounded far away even to himself—hollow and unsteady.
“I hope all of this is bullshit,” Joe said. “Mom? What’s going on?”
Margot closed her eyes.
“Turn it off,” Brett commanded. He walked around the bed and reached for the remote. “Turn it off.”
Joe increased the volume. “Shut up, Brett.”
“And do you intend to get to know them?” Dave asked, his eyes wide with interest.
“That’s up to them,” Buddy answered. “I’d be happy to, though. Maybe . . .”
“Yes?”
“Maybe they could even be in one of my furniture commercials. Make it a family thing.”
“Indeed.” Dave turned to the camera with a wistful smile. “Viewers, what do you think? Should the Knox brothers reconcile with their father? Weigh in on WHAP’s Facebook page and stay tuned for local weather, followed by Georgia Fulton’s interview with Brett Knox. I’m Dave Burrows for WHAP. We’re Memphis to the bone.”
The screen faded. A second later, the happy music of an antianxiety drug commercial blared from the TV. Margot whimpered again. Joe stood motionless, as did Georgia, but Brett walked across the room and yanked the TV plug from the wall. The only sound in the room was his rapid breathing.