Game Changer, page 2
All of the emotions I felt when Matt collapsed on the field come rushing back. I can’t take my eyes off the screen as the trainer starts to work on Kyle, and I’m biting my lip when his teammates block him from view. I start to hyperventilate when I see that the video is ten minutes long and I’ve only witnessed the first ninety seconds of it.
After Matt nearly died on the field, he was forced to retire at the age of twenty-eight, right in the prime of his career. Kyle and Nate were examined shortly thereafter, both testing positive for the same ventricular abnormality. Doctors urged them to hang up their cleats, saying that it was too dangerous for them to keep playing. But being the stubborn, hot-blooded guys that they are, they didn’t listen.
Matt told them that he’d had chest pains for months beforehand, but Nate and Kyle said that they felt fine. They weren’t exhibiting any of the warning signs, but if they did, they promised to stop. However, playing the game is a part of their DNA and there was no way they were giving it up, not unless someone pulled them off the field.
It was reckless and stupid, a total bonehead decision.
But right now, all I know is that I can’t sit here and watch Kyle die. Not like this. Not by myself, in the dark, without any warning. I’m not strong enough… I’m not.
I’m just about to lose it when my phone rings. I scramble to hit the button, jumping at any excuse to get out of viewing the rest of the video.
"Hello?" I ask, closing my eyes and shutting out the world.
"Sasha, it’s Brooks."
He doesn’t have to identify himself. I know who it is as soon as I hear his voice. His distinctive twang fills the void, making me feel like he’s right here with me, like I’m not alone.
"Just tell me. Is he dead?" I blurt out, preferring to hear it from him—someone who cares about Kyle just as much as I do.
"No, Sasha. God, no," he exhales sharply. "I’m at the hospital. He’s stable. Nate’s been calling y’all night. He was getting cagey when he kept getting your voicemail, so he asked me to keep tryin’. He had to go in and talk to the doctors." He pauses for a moment, but when he continues I detect a hint of a smile in his voice. "But I had a feeling you’d pick up for me. What…were you on a hot date or something?"
I try to absorb everything he just said. Kyle is okay. He’s alive. Wait a minute…what? Hot date? Is he freaking kidding me right now?
"I’ll have you know that I was studying, thank you very much," I huff, getting over the worst of my initial shock. Even though I know he’s trying to relieve my anxiety, it annoys me that he thinks he has me wrapped around his little finger.
I haven’t spoken to Brooks since Kyle’s wedding. I thought we had really hit it off during those four days in Jamaica. I had expected him to keep in touch once we got back, but I never heard from him. When I asked Kyle about it, he said that Brooks viewed me more like a kid sister than anyone he’d consider dating. I’m not sure if that’s what Brooks actually told him or if that was just my big brother keeping his best friend away from me. I know that Kyle wasn’t exactly thrilled when he caught us sharing a six-pack on the beach after the reception.
Honestly, I don’t know what to believe. Brooks first met me when I was an awkward, gangly fourteen-year-old. Kyle had invited him to stay at our house during their first year in the minors. They were in town playing one of the neighboring teams, scarfing down my mom’s home cooking while making good use of our laundry room. I was just a kid with a mop of frizzy hair and a mouthful of braces. As far as first impressions go, it was pretty dreadful.
I recall hovering around while Brooks and Kyle watched SportsCenter, bragging about what they were going to do when they made it to the majors. The home runs they would hit would go farther. The double plays they would turn would be crisper. The throws they would make across the diamond would be stronger. Yeah, they were pretty full of themselves back then.
Looking back, I think they must have been feeling pretty insecure about their futures. The two of them were drafted right out of high school. They knew nothing about life except baseball. And that first year, they were both batting under .250 and stacking up a load of fielding errors between them. They were trying to find their footing being away from home, learning to survive on their own. Their outward display of cockiness shielded their doubts about being able to compete with the big boys.
But what stood out to me about Brooks, even then, was his heart. He’d help my mom clear the dishes. He’d ask my dad’s opinion on how to deal with a testy umpire. He’d tease me, but not like Kyle did. He’d tug on my ponytail to make me smile or wear my Wonder Woman shoelaces to make me laugh. He was such a goofball.
Of course, I developed this humongous crush on him. How could I not? He was this hot, older guy who was actually paying attention to me—a guy who was probably going to be a star baseball player someday and have women the world over throwing themselves at his feet.
I hadn’t seen him in years when I walked into the hotel where Kyle’s wedding was being held and there he was, standing in the lobby, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a pair of cargo shorts and a tee that accentuated his lean, trim body. It was only when he turned around and I saw the Star Wars logo on the front of it that I knew he was the same old nerd I remembered.
I was hoping something would happen between us on that trip. I had just turned eighteen, and my hair was finally as straight as my teeth. I wasn’t a little kid anymore and I wanted him to see that. When our eyes met, he immediately came over and gave me a big hug. It felt like heaven being held in those big, strong arms. I had watched him the previous summer when he’d filled in for Chase Whitfield, so I knew what great shape he was in, but seeing him in person was something else entirely. Just being next to him made me feel things I’d never felt before.
I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know if he had a girlfriend. I didn’t know if he was just being nice to me because I was his best friend’s sister. I didn’t know if he was trying to make the best of an awkward situation by being polite and hanging out with me as a favor to Kyle. But as far as I was concerned, those four days in paradise were just about perfect.
Brooks never made me feel nervous around him. I could open up and just be myself. He was like a walking encyclopedia on pop culture, constantly quizzing me with movie lines he had memorized and doing impersonations of his favorite cartoon characters. He claimed that he had a lot of free time when he was on the road so his Netflix queue got quite a workout, but I had a pretty good idea that he’d still binge watch Battlestar Galactica and South Park even if he didn’t spend an exorbitant amount of time on buses and planes or alone in hotel rooms.
I just wish Casey had picked a more flattering bridesmaid dress for me. It was a strapless, pink, satin number that got all wrinkled the moment I put it on. The skirt portion was super tight and I had a hard time walking in it, never mind the three-inch heels that accompanied my hideous ensemble. Between my pinched toes and crammed thighs, I felt like I was trapped inside a sausage casing.
Brooks told me I looked beautiful, but he had a mischievous glint in his eye when he said it. He was all suave and dashing in his tux, and I felt like the prom date from hell. He was Kyle’s best man, but we were partnered to walk down the aisle together because Casey’s maid of honor was on crutches. But I wasn’t doing much better when it came to making an entrance, taking baby steps and wishing the damn slit was high enough to make a difference. We were about halfway there when Brooks stopped, grabbed me, and swung me into his arms before running the rest of the way. He had everyone in attendance cracking up by the time he deposited me in the front row, giving Kyle a high five as he walked by.
Brooks was always doing silly things like that. He might have been a big-time baseball player, but he sure didn’t act like one. He loved clowning around and making people laugh. Being around him just felt good.
That’s why I’m glad he’s the one who called me about Kyle.
Even if it didn’t work out between us, I still like him. I can’t help caring about him. I want him to do well and succeed with the Kings. And yes, I’ve streamed more of their games than I care to admit. I’ll probably always fantasize about him as my secret crush. But that’s normal, right? I mean, what girl wouldn’t be attracted to Brooks Davison? He’s nice on the eyes. He’s sweet. He’s funny. He’s the complete package.
He’s just not into me.
It’s time I got over him and be an adult about it. Kyle’s in trouble. That’s what’s important right now—not my one-sided feelings for Brooks. I need to pull myself together and get past whatever I thought was happening between us.
But hearing that sexy drawl in my ear is making it so damn hard.
He laughs. "Relax, relax. I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re in college. I just assumed that’s what people do. Go on dates. Have fun. I wouldn’t know."
"Trust me, Sandy. You’re not missing out on much." I wince, thinking of John pawing at my chest.
"I like hearin’ you call me Sandy again," he whispers, making me shiver. "You’re the only one who does."
"I better be since I’m the one who gave you that nickname. It belongs to me, you know." I smile into the phone.
I was a little tipsy after my third beer the night we spent together on the beach. I had a killer buzz going on and I was feeling good—too good. I teased him about our conversation the day before when I said that Brooks was a name that didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. He laughed and said that it wasn’t his fault. His parents had made the decision for him. When I asked him what his middle name was, he said that it was Sanderson, his mother’s maiden name—another mouthful. So I shortened it to Sandy. It’s what I’ve called him ever since, even though it drives him crazy. He thinks it sounds like a girl’s name or a name people give their dogs. But I like it. It sounds nice and huggable, just like him.
"Are you coming out to see Kyle?" Brooks asks out of the blue.
Wow. Is he serious?
"I wasn’t planning on it," I mumble, gathering my thoughts. "As long as he’s okay, I’m sure he doesn’t want me there getting in the way." I love my brother, but whenever we’re around each other, we tend to bicker over the stupidest things. My being there would only aggravate him.
"That’s the thing, Sasha." The way Brooks says my name fills my stomach with butterflies—the kind I only get from him. "I don’t think he’s okay. Not really."
"What do you mean?" I sit up on the bench, vaguely aware of the goose bumps spreading across my arms.
"Nate mentioned something about Kyle having to go on a transplant list. It doesn’t sound good." Brooks takes a deep breath. "I think you should try to make it in. There’s a lot of stuff I wanna talk to you about."
I swallow, wondering what he’s referring to. Does he mean about the two of us or about Kyle? Maybe it’s better that I don’t ask. I’ll find out when I get there.
"I have an exam at eight o’clock, but I’ll leave right after. Let me talk to my professor. I have two more classes before the summer session ends. If I explain to him what’s going on, I’m sure he’ll let me out of them." I blabber on, figuring things out in my head as I go along.
"I’ll be in the city for the next few days until the team goes on the road again. I’d really like to see you before I leave." That’s as close to an admission as I’ve ever gotten from him. "There’s a lot of behind-the-scenes shenanigans going on, what with the trade deadline and all. I wanna fill you in, so you can give Kyle the scoop when he’s up to it. He should hear it from someone he trusts."
And just like that, he deflates any hope I had that he wanted to talk about us. Because let’s face it. There is no us.
Chapter Three
Brooks
I pace outside Kyle’s hospital room like a caged tiger.
"Brooks, you coming in here or what?" Kyle yells out to me. "Dude, you gotta chill. Seriously, how many cups of that God-awful coffee have you had today? Give the vending machine a rest before you break the damn thing."
I know he must be feeling better if he’s already getting on my case. They’ve built him up on a lot of meds, but it’s only temporary. If he doesn’t get a new heart within the next few weeks, he’s not going to make it.
I try not to think about how he’s been short of breath lately. I chalked it up to fatigue since we’re entering the dog days of August. Everyone’s burnt out, waiting to catch their second wind. But Kyle’s also had a pesky cough that won’t go away. It’s common for guys to pick up something from all the traveling we do. Planes are notorious for harboring every germ known to man. Somebody’s always coming down with something. I didn’t think anything of it.
But I should have.
Kyle’s my bro. Shit, I was the best man at his wedding for crying out loud. I should have paid more attention. I should have noticed that something was wrong. He’s been avoiding his regular checkups, shying away from any in-depth exam since our mandatory team physical in spring training. But coming off of our last road trip, I should’ve let his wife, Casey, know that he’s been struggling. He’d never listen to me to go get checked out, but he’d listen to her. He always listens to her.
For a while now, Kyle’s been thinking that any day could be his last. After he married Casey, his fatalism subsided a bit, but maybe just outwardly. There was probably a lot churning underneath the surface that he didn’t let anyone see—not even me. I should have sat him down over a couple of beers and got him to hash it out with me instead of ignoring what was right in front of my face.
And now I might lose him.
Turns out, Kyle was right all along. He was living on borrowed time. The rest of us just didn’t want to admit it.
I can go on and on about how he should’ve quit the game when Matt did, but it would be pointless. He could have added some time onto his fading ticker, but he would’ve been miserable. If he couldn’t play, he wouldn’t be living. Not really.
Sure, he has Casey in there holding his hand, guiding him through this. She’s his world, the one keeping him together. Otherwise, I think he’d spiral off into a million different pieces, focusing on the bleak side of things instead of fighting for his future.
And I’m no dummy. I know that’s what every man needs—a woman to stand by him and help him through the rough patches. No one is strong enough to go it alone. Life’s too hard to navigate solo. Everyone needs a copilot to keep them from going off the rails.
I’ve been feeling the lack of not having someone more and more lately. There aren’t many single guys left on the team. Yeah, I’m one of the youngest. I’m only twenty-three, but a lot of players settle down early in order to create some sense of stability in the midst of a pretty chaotic lifestyle. The baseball season is a whirlwind. Half the time when I wake up, I don’t even know what city I’m in. It all starts to blend together.
That’s why I kind of insisted that Sasha come out here. It wasn’t purely a selfless request on my part. I really want to see her again. It’s been about a year and a half since Kyle’s wedding. I’ve heard bits and pieces about what she’s been up to. How her high school softball team made it to the state championship but didn’t win. How she didn’t receive any scholarship offers and had to settle for a liberal arts college that wasn’t her top choice. How she decided to major in women’s studies even though her parents questioned what kind of job she’d be able to get with that degree.
Kyle always seemed to call her when we were on the road, usually when we’d be eating in a restaurant after a game. I don’t know if it was because he wanted me to hear him talking to her or what, but I never came right out and asked how she was doing and he never told me. Not after he chewed me out for getting her drunk that night in Jamaica. He told me in no uncertain terms to stay away from his little sister, and I had to respect his wishes. I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship over something I wasn’t even sure of myself.
Let’s face it. I’m in New York. She’s in Connecticut. Six months out the year, I’m traveling nearly every week, while she doesn’t leave campus even for her summer break. How could we ever make something like that work? We’d never see each other. Add to the mix that I’m a semi high-profile figure in the world of sports and it’s a recipe for disaster. Long-distance relationships suck. One random pic of a fan throwing herself at me and it’d be all over.
Not that I hook up with groupies or anything. It’s not how I roll. The guys tease me a lot because I don’t tend to go out that much. Sure, they set me up with girls that their wives think would be good for me, but it never goes beyond one or two dates. They soon get tired of waiting around for me to get back into town or annoyed when I call after a game and wake them up when they have to get up early for work the next morning. I always forget that regular people keep different hours than we do. It’s hard making something out of nothing.
But with Sasha, I didn’t feel that way. I wasn’t trying so hard. Talking to her felt easy, natural. I’m not going to lie—it helped that she knows a lot about baseball. Most women don’t, but she grew up around it. Her father was her brothers’ Little League coach, and he even put her on his all-boys team when she was old enough to play. She even cussed like one of the guys, but I liked it. She wasn’t trying to impress me. She felt comfortable around me. I was just the guy who stayed over at her house one summer. She wasn’t flustered about being around some big-time baseball player. She was used to being around them. To her, I was just her brother’s good friend. Someone I hoped she might be interested in.
That night on the beach was priceless. She was loaded, and I’d never laughed so hard in my life. Not because she was making a fool out of herself—quite the opposite, actually. Her guard was down. She was being one hundred percent herself. She wasn’t trying to say something cute or witty or mind-blowing. Instead, she ended up giving me her own scouting report on most of the top players in the league. Her projections were scarily accurate. She knew her stuff. The following season, I even made some adjustments to my approach, remembering the comments she made about certain pitchers, and lo and behold, I wound up achieving some positive results. I’d say she’s just as good a coach as her father.
