Whatever Life Throws at You (28 page)

Chapter 30

“
R
ookie of the Year or not, Jason Brody should come out of this game
.
”

And that’s how I find out that Brody was voted Rookie of the Year. Not from him, not from Dad or even Savannah, not from the internet or newspapers, because I’ve steered clear of those. The source of this big piece of news comes from an offhand comment the game announcers make during the seventh inning.

Over the course of the game, I’ve drifted from the couch, to the living room carpet, to sitting a foot from the TV like maybe if I get close enough I can teleport to the game.

“He’s struggling, Bob. Frank Steadman might have claimed this flu wouldn’t affect his pitching, but obviously it has.”

Flu? Is Brody sick?

“And this is not the kind of game you want to play at less than a hundred percent
.
”

I snatch my phone from the coffee table and quickly type in: Jason Brody flu. While I’m waiting for results, I watch Grams’s head fall to the side. Her trademark snoring rises above the announcers’ voices.

The headlines pop up on my phone, all stating the same thing: Royals pitcher and Rookie of the Year is down and out with a nasty flu bug during the biggest game series of his life.

My own grim feelings get pushed aside, while I lean in closer to the TV, studying Brody. He looks pale. The camera zooms in on his face as he winds up, showing the dark purple lines beneath his eyes. He looks miserable.

Brody walks another Yankee batter, and Frank calls a time-out. Frank walks toward Dad first, but Dad turns his back and heads to the bullpen. To an outsider, it probably looks like they made a decision about who to put in Brody’s place and Dad has gone to let the pitcher know, but I’m not sure that’s what happened. I think Frank tried to ask for Dad’s input, and he refused.

Because Brody is involved.

Now who’s being immature?

Frank joins Brody on the mound, claps him on the shoulder, and they duck their heads, exchanging words. The station goes to commercial for three minutes and when they return, Brody is in the dugout, now wearing a jacket zipped all the way up. His head is resting against the wall of the dugout like he’s not strong enough to hold it up.

I snatch the remote and crank the volume up so I can hear the announcers over Grams’s snoring.

“What most people don’t realize is the toll dehydration can take on your body. Especially when you’re playing a game this big. There’s no room for weakness
.
”

“Let’s just hope Brody gets the rest and hydration he needs before it’s his turn in the lineup again. The Royals owe much of their record-breaking season to this rookie
.
”

“Absolutely, Bob. Also, Frank Steadman and Jim Lucas have really done a great job turning this team around
.”

There is about five seats’ worth of space between Brody and the other players on the bench. One of the trainers squats down in front of him, exchanging words we can’t hear. Brody shakes his head, accepts the wet towel the trainer hands him, and then closes his eyes.

Dad is far away, in the bullpen. Frank is near the other end of the bench watching the game with a careful eye. And Brody is alone.

Miserable and alone.

I sink back onto my butt, putting some distance between the TV and me. Now that the shock of that morning in Brody’s Chicago hotel room has worn off, I’m able to process the words Dad said to him.

“I’ve spent practically her whole life keeping her away from guys like you
.
”

It’s what Brody feared more than anything. What had he said to me only a month ago when he first wanted to tell Dad about us?

“All I know is that I want to be the person you and your dad think I am. Maybe even more than I want to be a great pitcher
.”

If I had just let him talk to Dad right then. If we had marched straight over to my house and confessed to everything, maybe Brody would still be that good person in Dad’s eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting by himself on the bench, sick and miserable.

I reach for my phone, ready to text him, but I stop myself. No, that’s impulsive and immature. I promised Dad. I need to go about this the right way this time.

I have energy flowing through my veins for the first time in forever. And the problem—the feeling I’ve been carrying around for days that something was wrong—is suddenly clear. Choosing Dad had seemed like the responsible choice, but really, all it accomplished was to shut Brody out. Because no matter what, I’m always gonna be there for Dad. He always has me. And I have him.

I just need to convince him of this. And if he refuses to let me talk to Brody, then I need to convince him that he has to. Someone has to.

It’s late evening by the time Dad gets home. The game was tied after the ninth inning, and it took three more innings for the Yankees to score another run and take the win. I’ve showered and cooked Dad’s favorite pasta for dinner. The table is set.

“It smells good in here,” Dad says after walking into the kitchen. He smiles at me, but he looks exhausted. Shutting people out of your life who you have to see or hear about every day is exhausting.

“Thanks.” I wait until we’re both seated and have our plates full of food before beginning the grown-up chat I have planned. “So…how’s Brody doing? He looked really sick during the game.”

Dad keeps his eyes on the plate in front of him and shrugs. “The flu is going around the team. Lots of the pitchers are coming down with it.”

“Yeah, but none of them had to play today.” When he doesn’t respond to that, I shift topics. “How come you didn’t mention that Brody got Rookie of the Year?”

He finally looks at me, one eyebrow lifting. “I think you know why.”

“Yeah, I do.” I set down my fork. “You know how you said that I would be really happy down the road if I decided not to…
be with Brody
?”

“Annie,” Dad warns. “I’m not changing my mind, so if moping around and then turning into Suzie Homemaker is part of your plot to get me to rethink this, I can assure you that my opinions aren’t going to change.”

“I haven’t been moping around!” I exhale and calm myself down. Yelling is a little too teenage girl, and I’m trying to not be that. In a week, I’ll be eighteen. A real adult. So it’s time to practice. “I’m not asking you to change your mind about that.”
Not yet, anyway
. “But I do think that what you’re doing to Brody is wrong. Have you even talked to him? Have you checked to see if he’s doing okay?”

Dad rolls his eyes. “He’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I’m glad
you’re
so sure of that.” I stare at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of guilt or remorse on his face, but he’s stone cold.

“Is this some kind of teenage rebellion?” Dad challenges. “It’s that why you were so off in the race this morning? Are you really planning on ruining your future over a boy who probably would have run all over you?”

“Dad, stop.” I close my eyes, fighting off the hurt. Why does he think I’m so impossible to love? Or Brody so incapable of loving? I know Brody never said he loved me, but we were right there hovering around it. It wasn’t meaningless. “You are not listening to me.”

Dad gestures with one hand, giving me permission to continue, but I can tell he’d rather I didn’t.

“I met his mom in Chicago—did you know that? She’s horrible. She won’t even acknowledge that her son might be a decent person. I gave her tickets to the game, but she didn’t come. He hasn’t seen her in years. He’s never seen his father…”

“What’s your point, Annie?” The words are sharp, but it’s obvious some of this information has surprised Dad.

“He hates everything about his past; he’s ashamed of it. And you were the only person who accepted him. He respected you. He needs you. I know you don’t really hate him, Dad.”

He pushes away from the table and stands up so abruptly that I jump. “I’m done with this conversation. Brody is work. It’s none of your concern.”

I look him right in the eyes. “It’s still Brody, Dad. He’s the same person he was when you first met him. And he doesn’t have anyone else but us.”

For a second, I catch a flicker of guilt in Dad’s eyes, but then he shakes his head. “I’m not choosing him over my own damn daughter, Annie.”

“Who says you have to choose?” But he’s already down the hall, walking toward his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

I lean my head against the table, my hands shaking from the built-up emotion. But I do feel a sense of resolve. Maybe I didn’t come right out and say this to Dad, but he has to know that if he’s not planning on being there for Brody, I’m sure as hell not going to leave him alone.

Chapter 31

“You shouldn’t be here.”

My stomach sinks. Brody looks even worse than he did on TV this afternoon. His useful shirtless-indoors look has been replaced with baggy sweatpants and a long-sleeve Royals T-shirt.

And oh my God, how have I gone this many days without seeing him in person? I’m hit with a tidal wave of emotions—panic, excitement, fear…It’s all there and relevant.

I ignore his suggestion and hold up the shopping bags in my hands. “These are really heavy. Maybe I can come in and set them down somewhere…?”

I’m trying to be all cool and casual, but as I look at his face a little longer, I’m thinking about the last time we were together and about all the things I said to Dad earlier…And before I can stop myself, I’m dropping the bags in the hallway and pulling him closer, pressing my cheek against his shirt.

Brody leans into me and sighs, his strong arms squeezing me like bands of steel, like he wanted to lock me in place and never let me go. “Does your dad know you’re here?”

“Not exactly,” I admit, and then reluctantly pull away, snatching my bags off the floor. He’s sick enough to be a little slow today, and I duck under his arm and enter the apartment before he can stop me. “I’m not
intentionally
going behind his back.”

“Really? ’Cause that’s what it sounds like.” Brody closes the door behind him and locks the deadbolt.

“I gave him a proper warning. He won’t be surprised to find me here.”

Brody walks across the apartment and then seems to get dizzy, because he stops and leans against the wall right beside his bedroom door. “I wish I could stand here and chat with you, but I’m not really up for it. And you should go, Annie. You’re going to get sick.”

I carry the bags over to him and nudge him from behind until he starts walking toward his bed. “They have these things called flu shots. It’s this really advanced medical breakthrough…”

He sits down on the side of his bed and flashes me a halfhearted smile. “I missed this. You pissing me off.” He holds my gaze. “I miss
you
.”

My heart is breaking and piecing back together all at the same time. I want to go to him, hold him, reassure him that he’s not lost me forever, but I need to stick to my plan. First, get him well again so he can kick ass in the series… “I brought Gatorade and soup and Jell-O…and cold medicine.”

After I place all the supplies on the nightstand beside Brody, he stretches out across the bed, pulling the thick blanket up to his neck. I sit beside him and try not to think about kissing him again. My head turns in his direction, but I keep a good two feet between our mouths. “Did I forget anything? Do you need anything else?”

He fumbles around underneath the covers, finally pulling out his hand and lacing his fingers through mine. “Just you. This sucks. Everything sucks right now.”

“I’m only staying a few minutes,” I blurt out before I change my mind. I’d forgotten how warm his hands are, how well they cover mine. “Give me some time. I’m gonna try and fix at least some of this mess, okay?”

Brody closes his eyes, like they won’t stay open any longer. “He’s right. Jim is right. I’m not the kind of guy someone would want with his daughter. What kind of guy sneaks around and…” His voice fades away, but we both know the end of that sentence.

The lump returns to my throat. I hate that Dad said that to him. “No. No way. He’s wrong. He knows he’s wrong. It’s just me— He doesn’t want
me
with anyone. And the way he found out…”

Brody flinches. “God, I was such an idiot.”

“We both kind of were. But I should have listened to you. We should have told him sooner. If we did it your way, we would have.” I rest my free hand on his forehead. It’s burning up. “You should get some rest.”

Brody lays his fingers against my cheek. “If I text you, will you answer?”

I grip his fingers, keeping them on my skin. “Yeah, I will. I mean, I don’t really have a choice. If my dad isn’t going to talk to you, then it’s got to be me. You’re in a pennant race— you need moral support.”

He smiles with his eyes closed. “You are absolutely right. I need moral support. And emoticons. Lots of them.”

I lean forward and kiss his forehead. “Promise you’ll stay hydrated and call Savannah if you get worse? She’s a mom. She knows all kinds of sick-people things, probably way more than me.”

I only hang around about fifteen more minutes before Brody is fast asleep. Even with him out cold, it’s hard to leave.
I love him
. That’s not something I can turn off just because Dad asked me to. And it isn’t just him I love, it’s his scent—something this apartment is engulfed in—his being around me, the texting, knowing that he’d come over if I were sick. Probably even during a pennant race
without
a flu shot. But none of those are the real reasons I came over tonight. I came because he needed someone. Even if he wasn’t willing to ask for help, he needed someone. That’s why I don’t care if Dad knows.

I creep quietly out of Brody’s apartment, leaving the lamp on and locking the door behind me. I need to talk to Savannah now. And I can get her to check on Brody. Or Frank, maybe. I want Dad to trust me, so I
do
need to limit the home-nurse visits myself. Especially considering the fact that it took nearly all my self-control to
not
crawl under the covers with him.

“Annie,” Savannah says after opening the door to her apartment. “What’s wrong?”

I spot Lily at the dining room table in her pajamas with a full cup of hot chocolate. I look back at Savannah and keep my voice low. “Remember how you said you could have spun the Annie/Brody story to be positive…?”

I’m literally wringing my hands, anticipating the rare, stern, yelling Savannah’s return. And really, it’s justified. I should have told her. She would have been professional about it on her end.

She rests a hand on her hip, swinging the door open for me. “Just couldn’t stay away from each other, huh?”

She’s trying to be sarcastic, I can tell, but I don’t miss the amusement in her voice. Maybe she knew all along we’d be back in this place. Maybe she’s just doing her job and dealing with what’s handed to her.

She settles Lily down in front of the TV, warning her three times not to spill the hot chocolate, and then we both sit at her dining table.

“This isn’t about dating,” I explain, and her eyebrows lift. “Not only about dating, anyway. My dad won’t even talk to Brody, won’t look at him. I went over to his apartment to check on him, and Dad should have done that.”

She covers her face and groans. “Seriously, Annie?”

“I only stayed a few minutes, and he was barely coherent.”

She drops her hands. “He looked terrible during the game today. I felt so bad for him. It’s an off day tomorrow, so I’ll stop by and check on him.”

“Good.” I nod. “So what should we do? You know my dad doesn’t really hate him. Should we force them into a room together until he comes to this conclusion himself?”

Savannah stares at me for a long moment. “You two really are…you know, serious? It’s not just a temporary crush?”

“I think so.” My cheeks warm, and I drop my gaze to my hands. “I know
I’m
serious, but I can only speak for myself. You can ask Brody what he is.”

“You didn’t give Jim much of an opportunity to ease into the idea,” Savannah points out. “Maybe you tell your dad that dating is off the table right now.” I open my mouth to protest but she waves a hand for me to stop. “For now. And you give him some time, at least until the series is over, to get used to you talking to Brody again. And maybe he’ll follow suit. In the meantime, I’ll work on the story. Who knows, you might have him warmed to the idea before the season is over.”

I doubt that, but whatever. I’ll take it. It’s way better having this plan than feeling all helpless and depressed like I was this morning.

I stand up, preparing to leave, and another idea pops into my head. “Can Lenny and I go to New York with you and Lily next week?”

“Oh,” Savannah says, mocking me. “You mean game four of the series when Brody will pitch again?”

“Please,” I beg. “We’ll watch Lily for you, and you can go see the Empire State Building or whatever. We’ll sit with you and all that. Adult supervision. And we’ll do whatever you say…Well, I will. I can’t speak for Lenny.”

She laughs and glances at Lily, who has a mouth full of cocoa but gives her mom two thumbs up.

“It’s my birthday next week…”

“Your eighteenth birthday,” she concedes. “Guess I can’t really say no. And we do have two doubles in our hotel room…” She narrows her eyes. “But you have to break the news to your dad.”

“Got it.” I head for the door for real this time. “Thanks, Savannah.”

She waves away the thank-you, saying, “Any time.”

When I get home a few minutes later, I bust right into Dad’s room, flipping on the light. He must have been asleep because he sits up, looking confused.

“I went to Brody’s apartment to drop off some soup. Nothing happened,” I blurt out. Dad’s mouth falls open, but I don’t let him get a word in. “I’m going to go along with your wishes partially, and I’m not going to date him. But you can’t keep me from talking to him. Or watching the games. He’s my friend, and I’m his. And I think he used to be your friend. So if you’re going to keep ignoring him, then I can’t do the same. I’m turning eighteen next week, in case you forgot, so it’s time you start thinking of me as an adult—capable of making adult decisions about my own life and who I love.”

Dad scrubs his hands over his face. “Annie—”

I hold up a hand to stop him again. “I don’t need to hear your thoughts again. I’m doing the right thing, and you know it.”

I flip off the light switch, leaving him in the dark. “Also, I’m going to New York with Savannah next week to watch Brody play.”

I’m out of his room fast and behind the safety of my locked bedroom door before he can protest. I might be bolder today, but I’m still shaking and not wanting to continue the confrontation.

And I’m so not willing to be “just friends” with Brody indefinitely. We’re more than that. We will always be more than that. But all I can do is cross my fingers that Savannah is right. That Dad needs time to digest it slowly, in bits, with all clothing intact.