Game Changer, page 13
***
Jason’s been true to his word. He hasn’t left Sasha’s side all night. The two of them have been having a blast, spinning and twirling each other around. Sasha doesn’t care that she looks like a little kid out there. She’s living it up, putting Jason through his paces, and he’s obliging her like a love-sick puppy dog.
And Landry’s been overly generous by running an open tab. I’ve had way too much to drink, indulging in his good nature. It seems like every time I put down an empty bottle, a new one quickly takes its place. He knows this is rough on me, and he’s just trying to get me through it. We’ve played together long enough for him to know when something’s bothering me—and not being able to touch Sasha is really bothering me.
The reporters get up en masse and say goodnight to our table. I barely listen, too buzzed to pick up on exactly what they’re saying. I nod politely as they amble by me one by one, following them with my eyes until they file out the door and into the night.
The band announces that this is going to be their last number and to make it count. I kick the leg of the chair away from me and stand up.
"Brooksey, what are you doing?" The warning in Landry’s tone is evident, but I ignore it.
I’m a little clumsy on my feet as I stumble toward Sasha, like I’m caught in her tractor beam.
"Let him go, Mike," Julie urges when Landry reaches out to grab my arm, but he lets me pass.
Jason, now wearing Sasha’s hat, sees me coming and immediately steps back. Sasha, her back turned, puts her hands on her hips to reprimand him when I swoop in from behind, twirl her around, and press her into my body.
"Hello, beautiful," I whisper, resting my forehead against hers, our mouths inches apart.
She tenses for a brief moment until she realizes it’s me. Then I feel her relax in my arms.
"Sandy, we shouldn’t be doing this," she whispers back, her breath warm on my face.
"I know, but I want to." I pull her in even closer to my chest, running my hands down her back.
Her sigh is all I need to hear as I guide her through "Don’t You Wanna Stay," a steamy duet by Kelly Clarkson and Jason Aldean. The lyrics feel like they were ripped right out of my heart. I never imagined in a million years that the next time I’d be dancing with Sasha would be in a honky tonk in the heart of Texas. That night in Jamaica when Kyle went off on us, I thought I had lost her. I never thought she’d reenter my life like this. No way in hell was I going to sit back on my heels and not dance with her tonight. Consequences be damned.
Her fingers stroke the back of my neck, making me shiver. I should keep a proper distance between us, but I don’t want to. We must look all hot and heavy to everybody watching us, but I don’t care. She feels too good to stop now.
"It was driving me crazy all night, watching you with that brooding look on your face." Sasha tilts her head up at me, her eyes gleaming. "You look so sexy when you’re mad."
"Do I?" I jerk when she weaves her fingers through my belt loops, tugging my hips into hers.
"Because you never look angry," she says, her eyes never leaving mine. "You’re the sweetest, most compassionate guy I know."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "So I take it you like my dark side?"
"Tonight I do." She parts her lips and I lower my head.
But the music stops and the house lights come up before I can kiss her. The band starts thanking everyone for coming, giving the date when they expect to be back at The Pig’s Tail. Instinctually, I release my hold on Sasha and put some space between us—just in time too, as they give us a big shout-out from the stage. We wave sheepishly, blinking our eyes, as they shine a spotlight on us.
I grit my teeth, feeling her break away from me. I don’t know about her, but this being together without being together just isn’t working for me. I’m sick of getting so close then being pushed back time and again.
Something’s gotta give. It has to.
Chapter Fourteen
Sasha
After taking one out of three games from Texas, it feels good to be back in New York.
If only my brother weren’t stuck in a hospital room, things would be even better. But I’m not complaining. He’s alive. For now, that’s all that matters.
I made Brooks come with me the minute we landed. We didn’t even stop at the apartment building, taking a cab directly from the airport. Brooks knew I couldn’t wait another minute to see how my brother was doing, that I needed his support in facing Kyle, not knowing how things would play out. Yeah, over the phone, he seemed okay that I was taking his job, but after the brawl in Baltimore, I was too afraid to call him.
Brooks was antsy from having to sit on the bench for the Texas series. He’s not used to being an observer. When he comes to the ballpark, he expects to play, end of story. But he served out his suspension, and he can’t wait to get back on the field tonight. This is the first time the hometown crowd is going to get a good look at me, and he wants to be out there with me, helping me shine.
The barrage of New York fans followed us from Baltimore to Texas, and the level of hostility from the opposing crowd was somewhat toned down a bit. But I still felt like crap when I muffed a double-play opportunity in the first game and had a throwing error in the second. I didn’t feel as comfortable with our utility infielder, Troy Howard, at short. Brooks and I have already developed a rhythm out there, and try as I might, I just couldn’t get in sync with Troy’s playing style. He made me feel rushed, like I never had enough time to plant my feet before he wanted me to deliver the ball. Brooks is always there in plenty of time, so I never had to hurry my throws before. He always makes me look good, playing harder than he has to.
I just want my happy, goofy Sandy back. I think the attention I’ve been getting from members of the opposite sex is really starting to get to him. When we were walking through the airport on our way home, a group of soldiers, all clad in fatigues, spotted us when we got off the escalator. They shouted down proposals of marriage from above as Brooks stood by, pretending he found it just as hilarious as the rest of the team. Scott didn’t stop teasing me from the back of the cabin the entire plane ride, alternately humming "Here Comes the Bride" and "Going to the Chapel" at various intervals until Tony yelled at him to knock it off.
While all of this was going on, I snuck a quick glance back at Brooks and he seemed absorbed in whatever he was watching on his iPad, earbuds firmly lodged in his ears. I wanted to go back and check on him, but Chase nixed the idea, directing me to use the restroom at the front of the plane. He knew what I was up to, and while rumors are swirling about what went down between us at The Pig’s Tail, it was too dark in there for anyone to get off a decent shot, even though they tried. Someone posted a pic online of what they claim is the two of us cheek to cheek, but we just look like one nondescript blob. The picture could be of anybody. It doesn’t prove anything, yet in a matter of hours, it went viral anyway.
To help ease my mind, Chase kept me entertained the whole flight home, telling me about a prank he pulled on Brooks during the spring training of his comeback year, the year the Kings won the World Series and Brooks was sent back down to the minors. In Florida, players from all levels of the organization are mixed together when they play squads throughout the Grapefruit League. So it wasn’t unusual when Brooks found himself at shortstop and Chase was assigned as the designated hitter. But it was momentous enough because it was the first time the two ever shared the same field. Chase knew that Brooks was nervous. He had heard from Kyle that Brooks had admired him for a long time and that he was cheering on his recovery even though it meant he would face a setback in his own career.
After the game, Chase invited Brooks out with some of the guys. They went to a pretty exclusive yacht club, and Brooks wanted to make a splash in welcoming Chase back to team, offering to pick up the check. Chase heard Brooks make the announcement while he was at the bar, but he pretended like he didn’t, moving on to the restroom instead, intending to let it fully play out.
The other guys at the table kept urging Brooks not to do it, to let Chase take care of it. He had millions while Brooks was still scraping to get by. But Brooks insisted, wanting to be a big shot. When the waitress handed him the check, Brooks nearly had a heart attack when the total was over four figures for a couple of bottles of gin and scotch. The tip alone would be several hundred dollars.
Needless to say, Brooks started to sweat when he reached for his credit card, realizing that he was about to drop a whole month’s rent on a night out drinking with the guys. That’s when Chase decided to rejoin the group, thanking Brooks for welcoming him back to the team and telling him how much he appreciated it, laying it on real thick. Brooks tried to play it off like it was no big deal when the waitress brought back his copy of the receipt to sign. Apparently, he took a deep breath, ready to bite the bullet when Chase burst out laughing, calling his bluff. The rest of the guys joined in, slapping the table and roaring with laughter.
Chase said that he’d never seen anyone look as relieved as Brooks did in that moment.
I kind of wish some of that relief would rub off on me as I stare at my brother. He’s lost weight, and his breathing seems labored. Time keeps slipping away and the doctors are no closer to finding a donor than before we left on the road trip. There’s no set timetable. When it comes in, it comes in. There’s no telling how fast Kyle will move up the transplant list. It all comes down to luck.
"Well, if it isn’t my thief of a sister and my cutthroat of a best friend, here to rescue me," Kyle greets us when we walk through the door.
I’m glad he’s slinging wisecracks even though he looks terrible. We spelled off Casey, letting her go back to the hotel to rest for a while, and Kyle doesn’t seem to be as concerned about trying to pretend like he’s better without her around. He’s doing his best to remain optimistic around her, but it has to be hard. His fighting spirit is still there, which is all I can ask for. In the past, we’ve gone months without seeing each other, so I’m surprised by how much I’ve missed him when I walk in the room.
"Rescue you? Are you kidding? You’re going to have to pry that number twelve off my back with a crowbar." I reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze, careful not to disrupt the IV lines connected to his arm.
"And I kind of like turning two with this Roberts. She just makes it look so much better than you," Brooks chimes in, bumping fists with him.
"I had to laugh the other night when Andy Rader called your leap ‘balletic,’ Sasha. Doesn’t he know there’s no ballet in baseball? I mean, what the hell?" Kyle wheezes, trying to even out his breathing.
"But it looked cool, didn’t it?" Brooks grins, determined to get Kyle to admit it.
"I could never get my legs to stretch that far apart, in midair or otherwise. Ask Casey when you see her. She’ll confirm it," Kyle chuckles.
"I’d rather not," Sasha groans, scrunching her nose.
"But seriously, Sasha. I swear to God, as soon as I get out of this bed, I’m going down to Baltimore and beating the living daylights out of Orlando Martinez." Kyle’s eyes burn in determination in the hollow recesses of his face.
"I already took care of it, bro." Brooks winks at him with his bruised eye, which is now only slightly discolored.
"You call that taking care of it?" Kyle grimaces, fidgeting his legs under the blanket. "I’m not talking about in public, dipwad."
"Oh okay. You mean how you’re gonna go all Fight Club on his ass in some back alley." Brooks rolls his eyes. "Good luck with that."
"You’re too down-home and honest, my friend." Kyle whistles through his teeth. "It’s all about the element of surprise."
"At least when us country boys land a punch, it’s a good one." Brooks grins, enjoying the back-and-forth BSing they’re giving each other.
"Now you know that’s not fair. I was going to level Drake that time and you know it. I can’t help it if the guys intervened." Kyle’s cheeks flush, giving them a hint of color.
"Well then the same goes for me. It’s kind of hard to hit someone when your arms are being held behind your back," Brooks huffs, jutting his chin at Kyle.
"All right, I’ll give you that," Kyle responds grudgingly. "You did get in a good blow before that."
"Guys, can we please talk about something else? It’s not exactly my favorite memory to relive," I jump in, having had my fill of their debate over who’s more macho.
"Speaking of memories, Brooks, open that drawer and take out what’s in there," Kyle urges, sitting up straighter.
Brooks does as instructed before groaning loudly. "Oh my God," Brooks chortles, holding up what appears to be a photograph. "Where did you get this?"
"My parents brought it in when they found out what Sasha was up to. They thought it would cheer me up. Get my head in the right place," Kyle admits, stealing a glance in my direction.
I know he’s being a good sport about this and that my being a part of the Kings can’t be easy for him, but he’s taking it in stride—seemingly a whole lot better than I imagined possible. I thought he wouldn’t speak to me for weeks, but it appears he’s gotten over his initial shock quickly enough.
"What is it?" I ask, my brow furrowing when Brooks can’t tear his eyes away from the picture.
"Don’t tell her. Make her guess," Kyle urges.
I’m dead tired after flying all night, and the last thing I want to do is play one of Kyle’s guessing games. I love my brother, but he can be such a pain in the ass sometimes.
"Kyle…" I whine like a little kid. "C’mon…"
He just laughs as Brooks studies me from behind the picture.
"All right, fine." I cave, just to get it over with. "How many people are in the picture?"
"Three," Brooks responds.
"Well that’s easy. Is it of you, me, and my juvenile brother over here?" I stick my tongue out at Kyle as Brooks nods his head. "Is it from Jamaica?" I inquire, sure of the answer.
"Nope," Brooks responds as Kyle laughs even harder.
For a moment, I’m stumped, narrowing my eyes when Brooks starts to laugh along with Kyle. I feel my stomach drop when I consider the alternative. There was only one other time when the three of us were together, and I don’t even want to think about what’s causing the two of them to crack up the way they are.
Kyle picks up where I left off questioning Brooks. "Does Sasha have Chia Pet hair?"
"No comment," Brooks responds, lowering his eyes as my cheeks flare up.
"Which means yes," Kyle explains, "even though he’s too nice to admit it."
"Shut up!" I exclaim, reaching for the photo.
Brooks holds it above my head, barely keeping it out of my grasp.
"What’s going on in here?" A nurse enters the room with a stern look on her face, intent on scolding us for getting out of hand. She doesn’t care that she’s in the same room with superstar baseball players Kyle Roberts and Brooks Davison, never mind the girl the whole country is buzzing about. This woman couldn’t care less. She probably doesn’t even like the Kings.
"Sorry, ma’am." Brooks hangs his head, handing me the picture.
"That’s better," the nurse responds, somewhat appeased by Brooks’s Southern charm. "Make sure you keep it down in here. I can’t have the patient getting all excited."
"Yes, ma’am," Brooks responds again.
She checks Kyle’s vitals, staring each of us down before exiting the room.
"That twang of yours gets them every time," Kyle groans, but not as loudly as I do when I finally get a good look at the picture.
Brooks and Kyle are sitting next to each other on my parents’ front porch. They’re dressed identically—crew-neck Under Armour shirts, pinstriped pants, navy caps. The memory of that day comes flooding back when I see it in front of me. I remember picking them up with my parents right after the minor league game they were in. They didn’t even wait to change and shower with the team. They just booked it out of there. They were all sweaty and gross, and I had to sit in the back with them the entire way home. I was too mortified to look at Brooks then, so I kept gazing out the window since Kyle was like a motormouth in between us, explaining play by play what had happened in the game.
When we got back, my dad wanted to take a picture of the two of them, bragging that Cooperstown would be calling him for the right to display it in their museum someday, claiming that he had two future Hall of Famers sitting in front of him. But after a few shots, my mom encouraged me to get in there too. I recall accidentally stepping on Brooks’s hand when I went by and my dad yelling at me to be careful. But Brooks didn’t even wince. In fact, he steadied me when I thought I was going to tumble backward.
But by then, I was desperate to shake off the moment and flustered from Brooks touching my arm that I did what any frazzled fourteen-year-old would do. I gave them both bunny ears, making sure to plaster a cheesy, overextended grin on my face. In terms of all-time photographic moments, it was my ultimate worst. I thought I had destroyed every copy, but my dad must have had another one stashed away somewhere that I hadn’t known about. Crap.
"So is that enough to convince you to break it off with her before this goes any further than it has to?" Kyle looks at Brooks imploringly.
"You’ve got to be kidding me!" I spit out. "You think that, by showing Brooks some ugly picture of me, you’re going to scare him away?"
"On the contrary," Kyle responds calmly, making it look like I’m overreacting big time and that he’s the voice of reason while I’m just flying off the handle as usual. "I want to remind my dear old friend how much is at stake. Like it or not, you’ll always be that little girl to me, Sasha, and I know Matt and Nate feel the same way. Brooks, you have to see where I’m coming from, man. She’s just a kid. This fling or whatever it is, you have to hold back before she gets hurt."
"Fat chance, bro," Brooks says, shaking his head, visibly showing his disappointment. "Are you going stir-crazy in here or something? You must be cracking up if you thought this would do the trick and send me packing. I don’t mean to dash your hopes, but this isn’t some fling. I’m in it for the long haul."
