“Cory, I don’t want to—”
“I sent a text to Cheryl. She’s already buying you a ticket. Get your ass here, sis, and we’ll talk. Don’t tell me you have anything else to do because that would be a lie and you don’t lie to your brother, right?”
I sigh and say, “I hope you don’t mind crying, it seems to be my new thing.”
“Bring it on.”
He didn’t have to fly me first class.
He also didn’t have to have Cheryl pick me up.
And he didn’t have to have my favorite crab cakes delivered to his apartment the minute I stepped through the door.
But he did, because he’s the best brother in the entire world.
The game is over and from his text, I know he’ll be here any minute.
His high-rise apartment that overlooks the bay is a dream. Decorated with a homey feel rather than the clean lines you usually see, his walls are full of pictures of him and our family and all the friends he’s made along the journey of his career. His couches are plush and comfortable, his colors soothing and earth tones. I’ve been to his apartment many times and each time, it feels like I’m welcomed back home.
How he doesn’t have a girlfriend is a complete mystery to me.
And as we all learned, it’s not Cheryl.
The door rattles, and I don’t have to turn my head away from the skyline view to know it’s Cory. He went two for four tonight with a diving double play at first, super impressive. It was on replay forever, the announcers talking about the amazing wingspan and length Cory has as a lefty over at first base.
Cory blows through the door, sets his bag on the floor, and comes straight to the couch where he sits next to me with a cake box and two forks. I would recognize that cake box from anywhere and without lifting the lid, I know it’s a ten-layer chocolate cake from Smith Island Baking Company. On my first visit to Baltimore, Cory took me there on a whim, not really knowing anything about it until we walked in and took a big whiff. We were hooked. For special occasions and especially on my birthday, he’s had cakes shipped to me.
He hands me a fork and flips the lid open. An entire cake, just for us. Things are about to get serious.
“What happened?”
“You don’t want to talk about your game first?” I ask, avoiding his question and prolonging the inevitable.
“You know I don’t. Spill it, Mills.”
I scoop up an entire bite and let the double chocolate flavor dance on my taste buds before answering.
Remembering the look in Carson’s eyes, I say, “He seemed so dead inside, like he was just going through the motions. He kept saying he needed to get to Phoenix to train.”
“He doesn’t have to report yet.”
“I know, so I was confused, but I thought maybe he was called in early or something. I have no idea. And when he kept trying to leave, I stopped him, begging him to talk to me. That’s when he said it was over and that’s putting it nicely.”
“What do you mean putting it nicely?” Cory asks, his eyes sharpening.
“Basically, he said he didn’t have time for this bullshit, for us, for me. He ended it in a few short words with zero regret crossing his face. Honestly, there was no emotion coming from him whatsoever and when I tried to talk about his dad, he shut me down.”
Cory thinks it over, chocolate cake swirling in his mouth when he says, “He’s hurting and pushing away everyone and everything.”
“But to sneak in and not say anything to me? Cory, he was dead set on making us happen. How could he possibly just end things like that? Without batting an eyelash?”
“When you’re in a grieving state like he is, nothing makes sense. Cheryl told me when she was with her husband in their early years, he suffered a devastating loss of losing his parents as well. I turned to her for advice, knowing this and she said her husband did the same thing as Carson, pulled away, put himself in his own little bubble, and focused on his work and nothing else. She just had to wait it out with him. Eventually he came around.”
“But they were married, right?”
“Yeah,” Cory says, scooping up some more cake. I know he’ll be on the treadmill first thing tomorrow, working off the calories. “But you two have a strong bond.”
“Not strong enough,” I reply. “He could barely look me in the eyes, or spend five minutes in the same room, so how am I supposed to help him if he won’t let me?”
“Well, you can’t wait until he’s ready, so you have to remind him that he’s not alone in this world. That there are a lot of people who love him. I mean . . . you do love him, right?”
I bite my bottom lip and flop back on the couch. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Cory says. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Because he just broke my heart, why would I want to admit it?”
“You can’t change how you feel about him, but you can change how you approach him. It might be hard and you might want to quit at times, but if you really love him like I know you do, then you need to show him no matter how hard he pushes, you’ll always be in his life.”
“And what if he doesn’t respond? What if I’m a broken record, talking to someone who never wants to talk to me?”
“Then he’s the biggest moron in the world.”
I roll my eyes, a light laugh coming from me. “Helpful.”
He shrugs and then nods at the box between us. “At least I brought cake.”
“Which makes you my favorite brother.”
“I should be your favorite no matter what. I did listen to you the most growing up.”
I wave around his apartment. “And look where it got you.” Jokingly I say, “You’re welcome.”
He chuckles and then grows serious again. “You know what to do, Mills, right?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I just hope it works.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
CARSON
JUNE
“Hey,” Knox says, coming up to me in the cages that belong to the Bobcats Double-A team, the Phoenix Studmuffins—fucking stupid-as-shit name. “Were you planning on saying hi?”
I drive my hands through the strike zone and smack the waiting ball off the tee and straight back up the middle.
Without looking at him, I say, “Hi.”
I place another ball on the tee just as Knox lets himself in the cage. I get ready to swing but he steps in front of me and puts a hand to my shoulder.
“Dude, what’s going on? You’ve been in town for three days, but I didn’t even fucking know until one of the guys told me. Were you going to tell me? Do you need a place to stay?”
“I’m good. Now move so I can hit these balls. I have ten more buckets to get through.”
“Ten?” Knox asks, his voice cracking. “Your hands will be raw after ten buckets.
“Don’t care. Move.” I don’t even recognize my voice, it’s robotic, stiff, and rude. But I can’t muster up enough fucks to give. All I care about is training. Feelings are set aside, emotions are useless, because all I have is my talent and a promise. Three years.