Game Changer, page 25
"Exactly!" Andy exclaims, taking the steps with a jaunt in his stride. "I’ll see you out there."
"See you." I wave as he departs, joining all of those on the field who are getting ready for the big event.
My eyes immediately travel back to Brooks, who’s trying to remain stoic in the face of all the impending emotion. My heels click over the dugout floor as the guys on the bench smile at me and draw up their knees to let me by. Andy’s right. They don’t know how to act around me now. I was their teammate, and now I’m not. I used to look like a tomboy, and now I don’t. I can see why they’re confused.
I fist-bump Pedro, and Landry gives me a high five. Jilly nods and Chase rolls his eyes, making me laugh. They have to know that I’ll always be their teammate no matter what. I’m still the same person, even if I’m no longer at second base. I care about them too much to just walk away. It’s not like I had a choice.
I reach Brooks’s side and his eyes light up. We agreed that we wouldn’t get all touchy-feely today, considering how we ended things the last time we were on the field together. No smooching. No hand-holding. No public displays of affection. That kiss will live on forever, and that’s about as much of our private life that we’re willing to share with the masses.
"Are you ready for this?" he asks, knowing that I didn’t get much sleep last night, anticipating what would happen today.
"As ready as I’ll ever be," I respond, joining him on the top step while we wait for Andy to announce us.
"I don’t know whether to be happy or sad." He shrugs, looking to me for advice.
"Me either," I admit, gazing at him, loving the way he looks in his uniform, all man with just a hint of the boy I fell for all those years ago.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Kings Stadium welcome to Brooks Davison and Sasha Roberts." Andy nods at us and we begin our march onto the field, the crowd rising to its feet to give us a standing ovation as we walk out side by side.
I feel my heels sinking into the grass, and I adjust my stride to keep up with Brooks. It seems so surreal to be out here with him again but under such decidedly different circumstances. I have to agree with him. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
"As you may know, we’re going to kick things off a little differently in terms of the way we would usually conduct a Ring Day ceremony here at Kings Stadium because today also marks a special milestone in the journey of this championship team. We’re here not only to honor their achievements, but also to pay tribute to one of this organization’s most beloved players, number twelve, Kyle Roberts." Andy continues, and I already feel my throat begin to tighten up.
I break our aforementioned pact and reach for Brooks’s hand. I’m going to need his strength to get through this. I can’t do it without him. I know I was foolish to even try when I feel the warmth of his fingers wrap around mine.
"I ask that you turn your attention to the screen in center field for a special video message from New York Kings owner, Arnold Heimlich." Andy steps away from the podium, and the fans clap when he appears on the Jumbotron—not in his wheelchair, but sitting behind a desk.
"I received a tape in the mail from a cameraman in North Carolina," Arnold begins, but his voice is clear and strong, not clipped, indicating that this must have been shot prior to his stroke. I step forward, my heart beating, anxious to hear what he has to say. "His name is Bo Rendell, and he got ahold of an interview with Kyle Roberts before a minor league game that never aired during a local news broadcast. Bo was a fan of Matt and Nate Roberts and figured that their little brother would make a name for himself someday. Bo joked that he wanted me to have this for the day I’d eventually retire his number. Take a look."
Brooks glances down at me, questioning me with his eyes, but I know as much about this as he does.
The setting switches to a tiny stadium with Kyle standing against the outfield wall. He looks so young, so healthy, so alive, but still maintaining his trademark seriousness as the reporter addresses him.
"How do you handle being compared to your brothers?" The predictable first volley is launched at him as a microphone is held under his chin.
"No question, my brothers have set the bar high." I can’t take my eyes off of him as he responds. It’s like going back in time. "Anything less than carving out a successful career in the majors would be viewed as a failure, and I don’t intend to fail. You could say that I’ve already one-upped them."
"Why’s that?" the reporter quickly follows up, eager to pounce on even the tiniest hint of controversy.
"Because I’ve been drafted by the winningest team in baseball, the New York Kings," Kyle states proudly, sticking out his chest. "They weren’t so lucky."
The reporter chuckles. "Do you think you could create a new dynasty of the future?"
"Most definitely," Kyle responds, certainty etched across his face. "With guys like Brooks Davison coming up through the ranks with me, I know we can make the team a contender again."
Brooks hangs his head, squeezing my hand. I know how much hearing Kyle say that means to him. They battled through the minors together, brothers in arms, if not by blood.
"Umm, Bo?" The reporter turns around to the cameraman. "Can you go over there and tell that girl to clear out of our shot? Sorry to interrupt, Kyle, but we’ll cut this out later in the editing room."
Bo walks over, still rolling, the camera presumably positioned on his shoulder. "Hey kid," he calls out as he nears the fence. "Scram, all right? We’re filming here."
The girl comes to a halt, lowering the book she was reading. "But, mister, that’s my brother, and I’m waiting to tell him something."
The crowd in Kings Stadium lets out a gasp when they realize that it’s me.
Things only get more bizarre when Brooks enters the frame.
"C’mon, Sasha," he calls, his drawl more pronounced than ever. "You wanna play catch with me until he’s done? Help me keep my arm loose before the game starts?"
"I guess." I watch my fourteen-year-old self try to look disinterested but failing miserably as the crowd behind us starts to laugh.
"This is who you should be talkin’ to. This girl right here," Brooks enthuses, winking at the camera. "She’s gonna be a big star someday."
My younger self rolls her eyes while tossing the ball to Brooks before the frame sweeps back to my brother, witnessing the exchange.
"Us boys might have gotten all the brawn in the family, but my little sister got all the attitude," Kyle chuckles, "and all the heart."
The screen fades to black, and I’m left feeling like I was just given the most precious gift in the world. I vaguely remember that road trip with my parents to watch Kyle play that summer. He was struggling, calling my dad every night, asking if we could come down and see him, but somehow I retained no memory of the TV crew until seeing them just now. I didn’t even know that footage existed. I feel nothing but gratitude to Bo Rendell for salvaging it and sending it to Heimlich. Its value to me is beyond priceless. It’s something I will treasure from this day forward—that little slice of life, featuring all three of us frozen in time. It gives me the chills just thinking about it.
"Please put your hands together for the general manager of the New York Kings, Mr. Terry Bloom," Andy says, bringing me back to reality as he steps aside so that Terry can take his place at the podium.
"That clip you just watched is a special piece of baseball history. Mr. Heimlich told me about it last year, saying that he wanted to hold on to it for a day like today. It’s no secret how much Mr. Heimlich admires the drive to win that Kyle Roberts brought to this team. The professional way he handled himself and how he came to the ballpark to play each and every day. He was a grinder, never giving up an at bat, a warrior, always coming through in the clutch. Kyle was well on his way toward becoming a player for the ages." Terry pauses and looks around, letting his words sink in.
I lean into Brooks, he slides his arm around me, and we cling to each other. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I see people in the stands dabbing their eyes and sniffling. I watch my former teammates try to maintain some semblance of composure. I spy Tony trying to hide under the brim of his cap, lowering it as far as it will go.
"And as much as we’ve come to love Sasha, we still miss him," Terry carries on, not missing a beat. "It’s why she did what she did in the first place—to save her brother’s spot on the team."
I acknowledge the crowd as they cheer for that, nodding my head and raising the hand I have interlocked with Brooks’s in gratitude.
"So without further ado, I invite her to come over here and say a few words on behalf of her brother." Terry is all smiles as Brooks leads me over.
No one would know it by looking at him, but Terry’s not exactly thrilled that we ended up together. Under the surface I think he still resents how we flouted his rules. But today’s not about him, or me, or Brooks. It’s about Kyle.
"How we doing, New York?" I ask, taking my place behind the podium, and the fans roar back in approval. "It’s been a while since we last saw each other. A lot has happened since then. But being back on the field today, it seems like only yesterday that we were spraying each other with champagne and hoisting that championship trophy in the air."
I look up and realize how quiet it is as everyone strains to catch what I’m saying. Old habits die hard. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having people stare at me. I fiddle with the heart pendant around my neck, pressing my thumb up against the K in Kyle’s name.
"Can you hear me now?" I ask after stepping closer to the microphone, smiling when the crowd starts to laugh, breaking the tension. "I gotta admit, when Mr. Heimlich asked me to say a few words about my brother, I didn’t think it would be this difficult."
I pause again, fully realizing the gravity of the situation. "He went through so much last year, but even confined to a hospital bed, he never lost his sense of humor, and even when his heart started to fail him, he never let it chip away at his spirit. He never gave up. He kept fighting."
I glance up at the suite behind home plate. "Mr. Heimlich, if you’re here today, or wherever you are, I want to thank you for providing Kyle with the best medical care imaginable. You did everything you could to help my brother, and for that, I will always be thankful."
I let my gaze travel over my teammates one by one. "Thank you to the best group of guys I could ever wish to be a part of. You took me in, accepted me as one of your own. We battled through the trenches together, and it’s an experience I will never forget. You made K-Rob’s little sister feel like one of you."
My eyes come to rest on three guys in particular.
"Chase, you set this all in motion. Without your willingness to put your trust in me, this never would have happened. You’ll always be my favorite New York King." Several women in the audience hoot in appreciation.
"Tony, you believed I could do the impossible, but more importantly, you made me believe I could do it, too. You’ll always be like a second father to me." My words cause him to lower his cap even farther over his eyes.
"And, Jilly, without your willingness to do something crazy, we wouldn’t be standing here today. To me, you are the best pitcher in baseball whether you want to admit it or not." That gets a rise out of the fans, since everyone knows what a perfectionist he is.
I smile into the stands before turning my attention to the man at my side. "But this guy over here has been my everything." There are some whistles from the crowd, and he starts to blush right on cue. "There aren’t many guys in the world like Brooks Davison. He’s one of the special ones, willing to do whatever it takes to help a friend, no matter what. He’s the kind of guy you want by your side when the going gets tough because he’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it’s difficult."
Even though I’m speaking to an entire stadium full of people, it feels like it’s just the two of us. I look at him the whole time I’m talking and he looks back at me. It’s nothing new. He always makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room whenever I’m with him, like his entire world revolves around me. He listens. He pays attention. He notices the little things that most people fail to pick up on. He knows me well enough that he can read my moods, always ready to give me whatever I need from him—a nod of encouragement when I’m unsure, a hand on my back when I’m scared, a goodnight kiss when I’m restless. He knows me better than anyone because he wanted to know everything there was to know about me. For some reason, I captured his interest. He liked me before I was Sasha Roberts, second baseman of the New York Kings. He liked me when I was just Kyle’s dorky sister.
"That’s why it’s about time I made his life a little easier"—I can’t help grinning when he tilts his head, wondering what I’m going to say next—"and let him be the one to share the good news I was tasked to deliver. I think it would be a lot more meaningful coming from him."
I reach for his hand and drag him to the podium. He hates speaking in public, but he’s hiding his reluctance well. He knows what a big deal this is. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it. He’s just shy. He was more than willing to let me tell everyone, but this is his moment, too. He deserves to be the one who gets to do this.
"Hello, everyone," he says stiffly into the microphone, his voice booming around the stadium. He chuckles at how loud he sounds, moving his mouth a little farther away. "I’m not good at these kinds of things, but I’ll give it my best shot." He rubs his hand anxiously over his jaw. "As y’all know, I’m just a country boy from Oklahoma, but when I met Kyle Roberts back when we were just two scrawny teenagers, he made me feel like I could do this. That I could play in New York one day, that I was strong enough to withstand all the pressure that comes along with it."
He scans the crowd and I know he’s looking at individual faces, letting his eyes linger like he’s talking directly to each and every one of them, making what he’s saying personal and heartfelt.
"And I thought, if he had faith in me, it was legit, considering the type of baseball family he came from. Our first year in the minors, everyone expected me to fail and for him to succeed. When we both pulled through, I thought that maybe I might be able to do this thing, and I never stopped feeling that way mostly because of Kyle. Even when we were separated and I was in Triple A and he was up with the Kings, I never lost sight of that. He’d call me most nights and ask how I was doing, not afraid to tell me what I was doing wrong and how I could improve, not because he was trying to get my goat, but because he cared."
Brooks grips both sides of the podium, the wind rippling the back of his uniform. "When he got sick, that’s the first time I began to doubt myself, and think that maybe I couldn’t do it without him. That game when he was carried off the field was the worst night of my life. I thought I had lost him and that he had finally gone somewhere I couldn’t follow. He always was a step ahead of me, but this was different. This was final, permanent, and I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye."
Brooks’s eyes find mine in that moment, and he regains his courage. "I know a lot of you must have felt the same way that night—that Kyle was taken from you suddenly and you never got to see him again. I understand what that kind of loss feels like, and I wouldn’t want anyone to have to experience it, not if there was anything I could do about it."
A murmur of excitement runs through the stands, the anticipation building about where Brooks is going with this.
"I think it’s pretty darn apparent how much I enjoyed playing with Sasha." He holds my gaze for a beat. "But we both knew it wouldn’t last forever. She said from the beginning that she was only here until her brother was able to play."
Again, he’s interrupted by the buzz coming from the crowd.
"And I’m thrilled to say that today is that day," Brooks says dramatically. "Please join me in welcoming back the original number twelve, Kyle Roberts!"
My eyes shift to the dugout steps as Kyle trots out in his uniform and the crowd rises to its feet in shock and disbelief, like they can’t believe it’s really him, that he’s not sick, that he’s alive, and more than alive—he’s ready to play the game.
When it starts to sink in, I watch people jump up and down. Some high-five each other. Some give each other hugs. Some raise their plastic beer cups in the air, saluting my brother. The wave of jubilation hits me and I can’t stop the tears of happiness from running down my face. When he was hanging on by a thread, I never thought we’d make it to this day, but he’s here. He made it. He’s right back where he belongs—beside Brooks on the field at Kings Stadium.
I clap along with everyone until he comes over and does a very un-Kyle like thing. He embraces me for all to see. I hug him back as tight as I can. He still hasn’t recovered one hundred percent, feeling thinner in my arms than he used to, but he’s getting there, and that’s all I can ask for.
"Thanks, sis," he mumbles against my ear.
"Any time," I respond, patting his back.
He releases me, striding over to Brooks, giving him one of those one-armed ‘guy hugs’ that I’ll never understand but makes me cry even harder to see. Brooks and Kyle together again, right where they should be. What a beautiful thing.
Yeah, I’m sad to be giving it up. I know a lot of women viewed me as a trailblazer, breaking new ground in such a male-dominated environment, and a lot of them are mad at me for walking away after all that I’ve accomplished. And I understand where they’re coming from. I really do. It’s not like I haven’t had offers from other teams or Terry hasn’t begged me to stay, saying that he’d find a place for me somewhere, anywhere, if I’d just reconsider. I could see the dollar signs flashing in his mind when it came to having the three of us on the team together for Kyle’s comeback season, but I said no.
Now is the time for this part of my journey to come to an end. I could never play for anyone but the Kings—that’s a given—and I don’t want to put any added pressure on my brother as he adjusts to finding his footing again. He’ll be fine once he gets back into the rhythm of things, and he doesn’t need me breathing down his neck if it takes him a while to get in the groove. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do to him.
