Game Changer, page 1
GAME CHANGER
COLLETTE WEST
Copyright © 2014 Collette West
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. They are not to be misconstrued as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Editor: Mickey Reed
Dedication
To all the girls who wanna play with the boys.
Chapter One
Brooks
Yeah, I’m the starting shortstop of the New York Kings.
Yet, somehow, it doesn’t seem real. That I’m here. I made it. I’m just a country boy from Oklahoma playing under the lights of what many consider the world’s biggest stage—Kings Stadium—the baseball cathedral of a mythical dynasty steeped in tradition and greatness.
But to the Roberts brothers, it’s like they’re playing a game in their backyard, trying to best each other on the sandlot their father made for them when they were kids.
"Look at him. He thinks he’s going to win this with one swing of the bat," Kyle mutters, staring over at the on-deck circle and his older brother, Nate, who just so happens to be Boston’s most feared power slugger.
"I heard him talking before the game over by the batting cage, bragging how they were gonna steal the division out from under us." I know those are fighting words the minute I utter them and Kyle tenses beside me. "He was putting on quite a show during batting practice, hitting them out one right after the other like he was in a home run derby or something."
Kyle flexes his jaw and spits on the infield dirt.
"All right. Take it easy, man." I only meant to shoot the breeze with Kyle during a pitching change, not get him all worked up over this stupid sibling rivalry they have going on. "You know how Nate likes to bust your chops. Don’t let it get to you. We’re still in this thing."
"You’re damn right we are. If anyone’s going to lose this game, it’ll be him, not us." Kyle pinches his eyebrows together like he’s in physical pain at the mere thought of his brother’s team beating ours.
"But we’re still gonna grab a cold one with him later on, right?" I cock my head as Kyle mulls it over for maybe half a second.
They love to wage war against each other whenever they’re in uniform, but after the game it’s an entirely different story. Off the field, they’re as thick as thieves.
"Absolutely. I’ve been dying to grill him about this new girl he’s supposedly seeing. You know how Nate is. He’ll never settle down." Kyle grimaces, pressing his glove against his chest.
"I bet she’s nuthin’ less than a perfect ten." I laugh, well aware of how Nate is a virtual magnet when it comes to attracting the opposite sex, not to mention how particular he is. "Hey, if I had guns like that—"
"If being the proverbial word," Kyle butts in.
I continue, undeterred. "I’d show them off with a babe on each arm, too." I lay it on thick, waiting for Kyle to explode, and he doesn’t disappoint.
"That’s funny coming from you, Mr. Sweet Home Oklahoma. Dude, you can’t even look at a girl, much less speak to one, without losing your shit." Kyle pauses like he’s out of breath. He’s usually a lot better when it comes to razzing me.
"Except for one," I say mostly to myself, but he still hears me.
"Don’t go there, bro," Kyle warns, his glare telling me in no uncertain terms to back the fuck off.
Since the game is ready to resume, all I can do is give him a sharp nod. I’m steamed at him for being so obstinate. His stubborn streak is rearing its ugly head and pissing me off. Yet I can’t help but notice how slowly he walks back to second base, his shoulders stiff and his hand still over his heart.
It’s my bad. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I know that his sister, Sasha, is a sore subject between us, even now. I just couldn’t help myself. Whether he likes it or not, she’s all I ever think about. That’s why I get all tongue-tied around other women—not because I can’t be as smooth as Nate, but because they’re not her.
Ever since Kyle got married, he forgets what it’s like to be single. Yeah, I try to save face, pretending it’s great, but truth be told, it downright sucks. Kyle and I have pretty much had each other’s backs since we were eighteen years old, but once he kissed bachelorhood goodbye, it’s like he left me in no man’s land, stranded and alone. I just don’t know how to navigate my way out of this ongoing stalemate of ours concerning his sister unless he throws me a lifeline, because let’s face it…I’m dying here. I tried my best to get over her, but I just can’t.
I steal another glance at Kyle as our closer Bruce "Jilly" Gillette resets on the mound after quickly getting Nate to foul off a fastball. Nate is battling, not wanting to give his brother the satisfaction of making the last out. There’s no way he’s going down quietly even though it’s clear that he can’t catch up to the high heat Jilly is throwing. Any other pitcher would intentionally walk a home run threat like Nate. Not Jilly. His stuff is that good.
Kyle has to be enjoying this, seeing Nate flail away. It’s not too often that Kyle gets to see his brother so overmatched. But when I glance over at Kyle again, I notice him squatting down, bending his knees. What’s he doing? If the ball’s hit to him, he’s not in position to make the play.
Nate hacks another foul into the stands, causing the crowd at Kings Stadium to groan in unison as he manages to stay alive. Kyle straightens up but keeps his head down, clutching the front of his uniform.
Something’s wrong.
"K-dawg, you all right?" I call over to him, but he doesn’t hear me. The crowd is too loud as Jilly gets ready to throw another pitch.
I know there’s no way in hell that Kyle wants to be taken out of the game. Whatever’s going on, he’ll grit his teeth and grind it out. No player wants to be pulled in a situation like this. But knowing his family history…
I don’t have time to think as the ball heads toward the hole. My instincts immediately take over and I lunge for it. It bounces once in the dirt before I can get some leather on it. The quickest play is to second, where I can get the lead runner. I pivot and set, ready to throw to Kyle, but he’s nowhere near the bag.
Instead, he’s on the ground halfway between first and second.
Nate, who was hustling down the line, slams on the brakes. No umpire has called time and the blur of a red-and-grey uniform rushes by me. I don’t even reach out to tag the runner. I’m frozen in place, my eyes riveted on Kyle.
This can’t be happening. Not to him. Not now.
I’m too afraid to approach Kyle when Nate bends down beside his brother and a hush falls over the stadium. I hold back, running my thumb back and forth across the stitches on the baseball. I want to do something—anything—but I don’t know what.
The trade deadline is looming, and there have been rumors that a lot of teams are tossing Kyle’s name around, asking if he’s available. Shit like that messes with a guy’s head, and I know it must’ve been eating Kyle up inside—although he’d never admit it. He’s a free agent next year, and so far, the Kings haven’t offered him a contract. New York is his home. It’s where he thrives. He’d be devastated if he had to go to another team.
I was careless, downplaying it, not wanting to rankle his pride instead of helping him let off some steam. I knew what Kyle was going through. I knew about his condition. He was under way too much stress, and I was just pretending that it would all just go away once the trade deadline passed, and now look what happened.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.
Our manager, Tony Liotta, comes running out of the dugout with Liam, the head trainer. The rest of the guys in the infield shuffle around nervously. Scott Harper is shell-shocked over at first, a dazed expression on his face. Pedro, holding his facemask, is mouthing something to Jilly as they stand next to each other on the pitcher’s mound.
I don’t even notice when our third baseman, Drake Schultz, comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. "C’mon, Brooksey. Snap out of it." He jabs his finger into my arm. "You should be over there protecting your boy instead of letting all these people gawk at him."
I can’t stand Drake. Nobody can. But he’s right. Kyle shouldn’t be on display. If Liam thinks it’s okay to move him, we need to get him off the field as quickly as possible.
I whistle sharply, drawing the attention of my fellow teammates. I signal for them to follow me, as I move toward Kyle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the outfielders jogging in, too. If nothing else, at least we can shield Kyle from the gaze of fifty thousand curious bystanders.
The closer I get, the more surreal it becomes. Liam has Kyle lying on the ground, as he presses his ear to his heart. I gulp when he abruptly sits up and starts doing chest compressions, going into full CPR mode. Shit. Did Kyle stop breathing?
This can’t be it. It can’t be. There’s no way I’m going to lose my best friend.
A buzz runs through the crowd since those in the upper deck are getting a bird’s-eye view of what’s going on. Word quickly filters down to the field-level seats as speculation erupts over Liam’s actions. The fans want to know what’s wrong with their second baseman. Things like this don’t happen at Kings Stadium. They just don’t. It’s a place where people come to forget their troubles for a few hours, not see tragedy unfold before their very eyes.
In that moment, time stands still. I don’t feel Scott’s and Pedro’s shoulders pressed against mine as we form a makeshift honor guard. I don’t notice the stench of sweat rolling off of us as we huddle together after slogging through nearly an entire game. We should be headed to the showers right now, not staring down at Kyle as Liam tries to breathe some life back into his body when he starts doing mouth-to-mouth.
"I’ve got a pulse!" Liam exclaims, his face red from exertion. "Help me get him out of here. There’s no way I’m waiting for a damn stretcher."
Nate steps forward, as do I. Everyone knows that Nate is strong enough to carry him on his own, but he slides his hands underneath Kyle’s arms and I lift his legs. I walk backward toward the dugout, and the crowd starts to applaud when they see Kyle’s eyes flicker on the big screen. I can feel the collective sigh of relief run through my entire body. I look over my shoulder to see where I’m going as Tony, our manager, grabs ahold of my jersey, guiding me forward.
I stare over at Nate’s blank face before looking down at Kyle’s. He seems groggy, like he’s half asleep, and I’m careful not to jostle him as I lower him down the steps and into the clubhouse. I hear Liam say that there’s an ambulance crew waiting inside to take him to the hospital, and I nod to show that I’ve heard him.
That might be the next logical step, but it gives me little comfort because I have no idea what’s going to happen now. The course of Kyle’s life has changed in the span of one pitch.
I just hope Sasha isn’t somewhere watching this.
Chapter Two
Sasha
I stare across the table at John, wondering for the millionth time why I agreed to study with him.
We’re in the coffee lounge on campus, and I have a sneaking suspicion just by the way he’s looking at me that he thinks this is a date. We’re both taking this boring-as-hell environmental science class during the summer session, and we ended up sitting next to each other in the lecture hall, cracking more jokes about Dr. Kramer’s comb-over than taking notes on what he was saying. When John asked me to study with him for our exam tomorrow, I didn’t think anything of it.
But he seems a little too psyched to be spending some alone time with me as he angles his chair closer to mine. It’s not that he’s repulsive. He’s just not my type. He’s too sweet, too earnest…too good. I remember being at a bar with a bunch of people last semester. Everybody was flashing fake IDs, and he ordered a Coke…with no ice. I think the bartender took pity on him, telling him that it was on the house when he pulled out his Velcro wallet.
I try not to concentrate on the two red marks that are on both sides of his nose when he takes off his glasses. I shouldn’t talk. The same thing happens to me after a 3D movie. Maybe that’s why I’m so ultra-aware of it. I feel embarrassed for him because he can’t see what he looks like. He thinks he’s being all sexy, letting me see his eyes, but it’s so not working for me.
I like John as a friend, so why can’t he just keep it that way? Why do guys always have to make things complicated? We were fine up until now. I thought he just wanted to cram together and stuff meaningless facts about hydroelectric power into our heads. But I guess I was wrong.
"You have such pretty hair," he says, fingering a strand before caressing my earlobe with his thumb.
"Umm…thanks," I mutter as I lean back in my seat, cringing at the weird turn my night is taking.
But that doesn’t deter him. His fingers brush my shoulder and I wish to God that I weren’t wearing a tank top. His sweaty hand feels clammy against my skin.
It’s a Thursday night and there’s nobody around. Not surprising, considering the vast majority of students won’t be back until the fall. Even the barista closed up early when she saw that we were the only two left. It’s getting late. I should really take off before things get out of hand and someone’s feelings get hurt.
"Listen, John. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but I’m not looking for anything serious right now." I shoot him down gently. Every guy reacts differently in these situations. I hope he doesn’t act like a dick about it.
"Oh, I’m not either," he replies a little too quickly. "But we can still…I don’t know…hook up…if you want."
He lowers his hand onto my boob and just leaves it there. He doesn’t squeeze it, fondle it, none of that, his lack of experience evident in his clumsy attempt to seduce me. I’d slap him if I didn’t feel sorry for him. It sucks being a guinea pig that guys like John think they can experiment on. Right now, I’d kill for a real man who knew what he was doing.
"I’d rather we just stayed friends," I respond, politely removing his hand off my chest. "If that’s cool with you."
I act like I’m leaving it up to him even though the decision’s already been made. I’ll have to tough out the few remaining classes we have left before I can put him in my rearview mirror and pretend like this never happened. It’s sad because we were getting along so well up until this point. It figures he’d have to go all sleazeball on me.
"I…guess," he stammers, not sure if he’s being rejected or not.
"Great," I say a little too cheerfully. "Listen, I gotta run, but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, okay?"
"Yep," he replies, his voice clipped when he realizes that I can’t wait to get away from him. Unfortunately, I’m not that great of an actress. My true feelings always bleed through my politeness.
I shove my notes, textbook, and iPad into my bag and hustle out the door and into the balmy night air. I don’t turn around because John is undoubtedly sitting there with a hangdog look on his face over the suddenness of my departure. He seriously thought I was going to hook up with him tonight. I don’t know if I should be amused or insulted.
I root through my purse for my phone. I can’t believe I turned it off so that no one would interrupt our study session. What was I thinking? I wait for it to power back on as I walk along the tree-lined path leading to my dorm. But I come to an abrupt halt when I see that I have six voicemails and eighteen text messages. WTF?
The first text is from Brian, a guy I went to high school with. I haven’t seen him in months. What could he want?
Oh man, Sasha. I’m so sorry. That’s some scary shit.
His puzzling message is followed by a YouTube link.
I click on it, wondering what the heck he’s talking about. I sit down on a nearby bench when I see that it’s a clip of Nate at the plate. Oh no. Did he get hit in the head with a pitch? I cover my mouth, afraid of what’s going to happen as I continue to watch, but Nate smacks the ball right at the shortstop. That’s when I realize that he’s playing the Kings…because there’s Brooks. But the camera doesn’t stay on him; instead, it pans over to Kyle, who’s crumpled on the ground, grimacing in pain.
And that’s when the sick feeling of déjà vu hits me. My mind races back to an eerily similar scenario in Cincinnati three years ago. I remember watching TV. My oldest brother, Matt, was playing on ESPN, so of course I had to tune in and see what he was up to. Everything was fine until he turned on the jets to snag a fly in the outfield. He stopped short and dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. Just like Kyle’s doing now.
It turns out that, while Matt, Nate, and Kyle are three exceptionally talented ballplayers, they all have one major flaw—a congenital heart defect.
