Home Run: A Novel (10 page)

The moment she walks into the room, Emma bursts out crying.

“Hey—come on—I’m not dying or anything.”

He still feels drunk and surely sounds the same. She walks over to the side of the bed and puts her head against Cory’s chest.

“If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” he continues to joke.

“The cops aren’t going to file any charges.”

“I know,” he says.

The bar fight was stupid. Cory knows the only guys who would’ve been arrested were the two who helped make his pretty face look ugly. He could’ve gotten a drunk-and-disorderly, but they’re letting the baseball star of OU go.

“They just wanted to take a look at me,” he says. “It’s just a concussion. First one I’ve ever had.”

Emma looks at his right hand, which is bloodied and cut up, especially around the knuckles.

“Good thing I’m not a pitcher.”

“Cory.”

“It’s all good,” he says. His way of apologizing.

Chapter Fourteen

Infield

Cory looked like a bona fide Little League coach, dressed in his red Bulldogs polo shirt and matching baseball cap, all thanks to Helene. She had stopped by his motel shortly before the practice to give him the gear. She’d also told him to clean himself up and look like the Cory Brand in the magazines and not the Cory Brand in the tabloids.

Now he was back on a field, though this one was a little different from the one he was used to playing on. Helene was directing everything; she shuffled and moved photographers around as Cory greeted his nephew with Karen by his side.

“Hey, big man,” he said, smiling and greeting the kid like he was his own. “Looks like you’ve got your nose on straight.”

Carlos was still wide-eyed and excited to see him, though the same couldn’t be said about his mother. She forced a polite smile on her pretty face. It was just for show, like everything else going on.

There were a couple of duffel bags full of Denver Grizzlies swag that Helene had brought for Cory to give to Carlos and the rest of the team. Right now, she was making sure that the shots of Cory greeting Carlos were just right. Cory knew that they were being watched, not just by the photographers, but by the other parents. He made a big deal of stepping up to Carlos and offering his hand to shake.

“I am
so
sorry about that.”

“Aw, that’s okay,” Carlos said in a voice that was a little more audible than last time.

Cory smiled and shook the kid’s hand, and the clicks of a hundred photos being taken went off. Helene, who looked dressed more for a night on the town than for a Little League baseball field, nodded approval.

“I got some Grizzlies gear for you and some other stuff you might like,” Cory said as he opened one of the duffel bags.

“Awesome,” Carlos shouted as he took the T-shirt Cory handed him. “Thanks!”

Karen still didn’t look impressed. Cory had casually asked her how Clay was doing and received a very short and cutting “Fine” in reply. He hadn’t asked her any more questions.

“Okay, Carlos, let’s see that famous thumbs-up for the camera,” Helene called.

Carlos eagerly complied, embracing his role as a celebrity for a few extra moments. Cory followed suit, smiling shamelessly for the cameras.

Emma deliberately arrived late. As she walked onto the field and saw the commotion by the pitcher’s mound, she let her son carry his bag and follow her. The bag was almost as big as he was. She hadn’t told Tyler the news she’d learned this morning from Karen. The news about Cory being at practice today. Hopefully she could keep it from him just a little while longer.

You mean hopefully you can keep Cory away from Tyler just a little while longer.

She slowed down by the dugout as she saw half a dozen photographers taking shots of Cory giving Carlos hats and jerseys and other bribes. He looked different from the guy who’d left ten years ago. Not just older but bigger, fuller.
Stronger
was the word that came to mind, but nothing about the man standing out there represented strength to Emma. Not anymore.

A man scrambling to keep his squadron alive, that represented strength. Scrambling to buy drinks for everybody in the bar was stupidity.

Tyler kept trudging along with the duffel bag over his arm. Emma signaled to Karen and mouthed the words
Come here!

She couldn’t go out on the field. Not just yet.

Karen walked up beside her with a serious look on her face. “You ready?”

“Does he know yet—”

“I don’t think so.”

Emma sighed.

“Like I told you, things are going to be fine,” Karen said. “You’ll get through this. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Karen was the sister Emma had never had. She was the picture of strength, a woman who had gone through so much and yet remained optimistic and giving.

Emma glanced back out to the crowd and noticed a glamorous African-American woman talking to the cameras, making some official statement. A publicist for the Grizzlies, or someone official from the league? As soon as the lady was finished, Carlos started talking Cory’s ear off once again.

“I can’t believe you’re our coach. We need major help. You’ll see. We’re not even close to as good as the Roughnecks. They can hit the ball so far. Like as far as that building over there. Which is where you get the best ice cream ever.”

Karen couldn’t help smiling as she glanced over at Emma.

“He just adores Cory,” Emma said.

“I know,” Karen replied. “Scary, huh?”

Several other parents were beginning to walk up around Cory now. Emma knew it was almost time.

You can do this. You have nothing to worry about, not a thing.

Just as she was drumming up the confidence, still feeling like the shy high school girl that the handsome and popular Cory Brand decided to ask out, Emma glanced over to see Suzanne Fairchild standing by the side of the field, refluffing her hair.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Emma looked back onto the field and noticed the striking businesswoman next to Cory commanding everybody’s attention. Perhaps she’d get some competition now in the form of a blonde bombshell about five years past her prime. Not that Suzanne knew that, since every man around her still managed to look her over. Perhaps it was because of her tight clothes or the fact that she had enhanced that already shapely figure of hers. Everybody knew it, and Suzanne didn’t seem to mind that they knew it. It was impossible
not
to notice.

“Oh, please. Suzanne’s here?”

“In heels,” Karen added.

“Haven’t seen her all season.”

This was pitiful. Emma standing there afraid to go onto the field, afraid to go face the kids
she
helped coach, afraid to face a man who was the coward and ran away.

Enough, Emma.

She had a job to do. So she walked over toward the team—
her team
—and called out to them. “Let’s warm up. Come on. Take a lap!”

They were typical ten-year-olds, taking their time, distracted, moaning about having to run. Even her son wasn’t immune.

“Aw, Mom.”

“No way.” That was Wick, a tiny mouse of a boy with chocolate-brown skin and big glasses.

They began to run while Emma awaited the inevitable intersection of her past with her present.

As the team began running, Karen urged her son to join them.

Her son
, Cory thought.

It was amazing to think that Karen and Clay were parents now. This bright-eyed kid was their son. Carlos headed toward the rest of his teammates, then turned back to Cory.

“Do we get to call you Coach?” he asked.

Cory knew the cameras and reporters were still nearby, still waiting for any and every opportunity, good and especially bad.

“Of course,” he said. “Just don’t call me late for dinner.”

As the obligatory laughs came, Helene urged Carlos to leave as she stepped forward to bid farewell to the reporters. “We’re done here, everyone. Thank you.”

But of course, you don’t tell reporters you’re done.

You’re
never
done with the media. It’s if and only if they’re done with you.

“Cory, your suspension hit the wires today,” a young guy in his twenties began. “How long do you think you’ll be doing community service?”

Before Cory could even try to answer, Helene cut him off.

“Thank you, everybody.” The way she said it sounded like a president, or the father of a family of five.

Helene was finished. Cory knew to just remain silent and go his way. No small talk and no eye contact and nothing between him and the media. He stood with Helene and acted like he was debriefing on how the session with the media went, but really they weren’t debriefing about anything.

Emma still didn’t know who the lady in the fancy suit and even fancier heels was. “Who is that woman?”

Karen shook her head. “His agent.”

“Since when do agents look like that?”

“Well, she is representing Cory.”

Emma tightened her lips together, glancing across the field. “Ugh, I gotta do this. I have a stomachache.”

“Breathe,” Karen told her.

“I haven’t breathed this much since having Tyler,” Emma said, straightening up and walking toward the outfield.

Helene was already working her phone and ignoring him. It always fascinated him that in front of the rest of the world, she would take a bullet for him. But one-on-one it seemed like she never stopped and looked him in the eye or stayed around long enough to be considered a partner or a friend or anything.

“My work here is done,” she said without looking at him while she texted.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” She glanced up and ignored his needy look. “We’re good. I’ll call you in a few days.”

“A few days? What am I supposed to do now?”

The Energizer Bunny began walking again, always walking, always on the move, always ignoring the obvious. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled. “Start coaching.”

Helene said he sometimes acted like a baby, but it was because she treated him like one. He watched her walk off the field and then turned to go see the kids and try to figure out what in the world he was supposed to do.

Then he saw her.

Walking toward him.

For a moment he turned back around, but Helene was gone. She couldn’t help him anymore or protect him from unnecessary questions.

His buzz was already wearing off, and he had summoned all his energy and goodwill for the reporters. For a moment he felt like a trapped animal with nowhere to crawl to.

“Cory Brand.”

She still looked the same as she did when he fell in love with her. Sweet, innocent, with eyes that never ceased to make him smile. Yet she wasn’t smiling back at him. She wasn’t trying to be sweet or innocent.

“Hey there, Emma Johnson.” He tried to be his usual confident, casual self.

“It’s Hargrove,” she said in a softer tone. “I mean—it’s been Hargrove for the last ten years.”

This was an invitation to say more, but Cory never responded to invites like that.

“Right. I’m sorry. Wow—great to see you.”

He said it as though he had run into her on the street corner in some big city. But this was her home.
Their home.