Home Run: A Novel (13 page)

The question is: the love or the dream.

Cory knows they’re a world apart.

The dream of playing professional baseball isn’t just an idea that’s never going to happen. It’s there. It’s reality in his hands. It feels as real as holding a bat and belting a home run. It’s as real as hearing and seeing the world applauding around you. Of cracking that bat and knowing. Just knowing.

But what about love?

Love can conquer all, right?

There is no rule book to show him what’s right or wrong. There’s no parent to show him the way. All he knows are his gut and his instincts. All he knows is the now.

There is something blinding and crazy about the world out there. And he wants it. He wants to escape. To go far from Okmulgee.

Is it the right decision?

Maybe he should be asking that, but he doesn’t.

He just wonders how to tell Emma he’s leaving.

How to make sure she’s going to be okay when he knows she won’t be.

No one else can understand. Because they aren’t him. They don’t have this gift that he has. To be able to stand there and face the fears head-on. To launch the unlaunchable. To hit all those balls the pitchers don’t want hit.

That is a talent.

That is something.

And Cory is leaving knowing he has the talent and that’s something and he’s going to go far and that’s okay and if love can survive then so be it.

Chapter Eighteen

Stolen Base

Driving this beat-up Ford truck reminded Cory of his father and the steady supply of useless vehicles he went through. Sometimes Dad would total a truck and need to find a new clunker for the road. They all learned you got what you paid for.

Being in the pros had been one of the easiest ways to forget about Dad and everybody else around here in Okmulgee. It wasn’t just playing baseball, which was a relentless sport that took your time and took your energy and sometimes took your soul. It was the money that came with playing, especially if you were good. Once the money really started to roll in, Cory could spoil himself with fancy cars and gadgets and toys and whatever else he imagined.

It was hard to imagine much while driving in the country in this jerky truck and listening to country music.

When Cory arrived at the baseball field, parents and kids were already filing onto the field. He could see Karen walking with Carlos as he parked the truck and climbed out.

“Hey, Cory. Did you have some huge boxes delivered to the house?”

No how are you or how’d you sleep or how’s life treating you.

He ignored her abrasive tone. “Oh, yeah. They arrived. Great. Hey, Carlos.”

The two of them walked onto the field while Karen followed behind. Cory much preferred the peppy little guy to his mommy. He wanted to tell Carlos that sometimes his mommy seemed to be crabby for no reason. He wanted to add that all women at some point were going to be crabby for no reason; it was just a fact of life. But something told Cory that Karen might not appreciate this … wisdom.

“So how’s your daddy?” Cory asked.

“He went back to work today.”

“Good for him. Did you join him?”

“No,” Carlos said. “I’m only ten.”

“What? Only ten? Come on, I thought you were at least twenty-seven.”

Cory knew the juvenile humor was lame, but Carlos indulged him. Soon they were joined by Tyler, who came sprinting up behind them.

“Hi, Coach.”

“Heeeey, Tyler.” Cory knew he was overdoing it a bit, so he scaled back. “Ready to work hard today, guys?”

They both told him yes. Cory liked watching Tyler right next to him, literally walking in stride with his father.

“What are we going to work on first? Sliding?” Another kid joined this group. For a moment, Cory struggled to remember the kid’s name, and then it came to him. Stanton. The know-it-all of the team, the one who was never going to be much of a player because he acted like he was great when he wasn’t exceptional at all. Acting the part of a great player only made you an actor.

“We need to work on our hitting,” Tyler said. “We suck. I mean stink—”

Cory only smiled at him.

“We could work on winning,” Stanton said. “That’d be nice.”

Cory was glad that this smug, sarcastic kid wasn’t his son. He liked the fact that Tyler was the nicest kid out here. And among the best players on the field.

Just like his daddy. A nice guy and a great player.

He wanted to tell Stanton that winners didn’t talk, but he kept his mouth shut. Stanton would learn that the hard way, like all kids.

At this age everybody played the game. Then year by year, play by play, the game weeded out the weak and the worthless. Soon only the strong played the game, and even they couldn’t play it very long.

Cory wondered how many years he had left to play professionally.

Not many, if I keep coaching Little League and never get back to home base.

The two mothers followed Cory and the boys at a slower pace, watching them converse as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“How weird is this for you?” Karen asked.

“Weird.” Emma just watched Cory and Tyler and how they both walked the same way. There was the big version and the little version. The more she thought of this, the more her head hurt. “Actually more like—scary.”

“Are you feeling anything for him?”

“Well, now that you brought it up, I have to tell you—he came over last night and spent the night. It was the most amazing night of my life. Until, of course, he burned down our house.”

Karen laughed.

“You can’t be serious,” Emma continued. “Yes, I’m feeling like he’s in my space and needs to go back to his big faraway life.”

“That big faraway life might not take him, you know. There are rumors about whether he’ll be able to go back to the Grizzlies.”

“I don’t pay any attention to those things. Never have.”

“I can’t help it,” Karen said. “Clay does it for me. I call him obsessed.”

“He called me wondering where Cory was.”

“He told me.”

“I’m not Cory’s caretaker. I have one boy to take of, and that’s enough for me.”

“Amen,” Karen said, putting her arm around Emma as they walked out onto the baseball diamond.

Emma assumed this wasn’t going to be any ordinary practice, not with Cory being around. But this time it wasn’t Cory’s fault that the practice got off track from the very start.

It was Wick’s fault.

He’d brought an old yearbook to show his fellow teammates. A yearbook that just happened to have Cory Brand smiling like he always did as a hunky senior in high school. Then there was the skinny and big-haired Emma Johnson, who happened to be in a lot of pictures with Cory Brand.

Especially the infamous “Cutest Couple” picture.

When Emma and Karen arrived at the dugout, they saw the mischievous grins and the secretive conversation going on with the team. Right away, Emma knew this wasn’t going to be good.

“Mom. Why didn’t you tell me?”

For a moment her heart stopped beating, knowing there was no way Tyler could know, yet wondering how he did. Then she saw the yearbook in his hand.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Wick brought it.”

She snatched it out of Tyler’s hand and glared at little Wick.

He shrugged. “My dad got it out for me last night.”

“Really. Remind me to thank him.” She held the yearbook up like a trophy. “I’ll keep this until after practice.”

The team giggled and groaned and continued talking about the photos they’d seen.

Cory stepped into the dugout looking curious. “Keep what?”

“Nothing,” Emma said.

She hid the yearbook behind her back and suddenly felt like that senior girl again, looking at Cory in a playful way. She knew he would go overboard once he found the memento of their teen years.

“Let’s see.”

“No.”

For a moment Cory played it cool, then he quickly reached around her and snatched it. Emma couldn’t believe how fast he was for such a big guy. When he saw what she was hiding, Cory laughed in amazement.

“Oh, this is classic,” he said as he opened up the yearbook.

“We need to get to practice.”

He immediately found one of the first few pictures of her, a smiling shot by her locker. “Look how cute you are.”

She knew this was just Cory being Cory. A guy being a guy. A jock being a jock.

He pointed at another picture and couldn’t help bursting into laughter. As he did, Karen stood behind Cory and did her bug eyes while Emma smiled.

We’re seriously still acting like we did back then.

“Those clothes are classic.”

She glanced at the page and saw the two of them, high school kids during the era of grunge—Emma in her floral dress and boots while Cory looked like a Kurt Cobain wannabe with his flannel shirt and long hair.

It still felt like yesterday to her.

Just a decade and a ten-year-old son later …

Carlos couldn’t resist sticking his nose in the fun as well. “Hey, Coach, does this mean you and Coach Emma K-I-S-S-I-N-G-ed?”

The rest of the team howled and gave a chorus of “ewwws.” Emma knew she needed to get control of this situation fast.

Cory grinned and glanced over at Carlos. “How about I K-I-C-K all you Bulldogs’ B-U-T-T-S-es out onto that field. Now.”

The kids all started to run onto the field, laughing and joking while Cory followed them, slapping the rears of the slower ones. Emma glanced over at Karen again, disbelief and humor and horror all mixed into one expression on her face.

She could only mouth the words
Oh my gosh
.

As she followed, she couldn’t help smiling. The yearbook thing could have gone down a lot differently. Been a lot worse. But they’d been laughing and joking about it.

She couldn’t help feeling a bit of relief.

The girl with the french braids was undeniably cute, but she could also play some ball. During the practice game, Cory decided to give her a few pointers before she went up to hit.

“You’re a lefty, kid, like me, so that gives you two extra steps to first on the drag bunt. I promise you—”

“There are two outs,” Kendricks said with disbelief.

“Trust me, think like a gazelle,” Cory assured her. “Lay it down and don’t look back.”

She went up to the plate and went with the bunt on the first throw. Everybody was surprised, just as Cory had said they would be, and Kendricks easily made it to first base. Cory clapped and cheered her on as he beamed over to the pitcher, who didn’t even have time to field the bunt. Emma picked up the ball and gave Cory that look he remembered. She hated losing, and she was a fierce competitor.

“Nice bunt, Kendricks,” Emma shouted.

Kendricks wasn’t her competition. But Cory knew he was another story.

Near the end of practice, the team sat around third base while Cory took the stage and gave them a new set of batting signals. Some of the kids, like Tyler and Carlos, listened attentively while others, like Stanton, seemed bored, or, like Wellsey, seemed in a slight daze. Even though the signals were a bit too complex for the kids, Emma couldn’t help being impressed. Cory kept surprising her moment after moment, whether it was something he did for one of the kids, or some ridiculous display of talent, or simply by making her and everybody else laugh.

Why are you so surprised?

This was just Cory being Cory.

So what about that guy who went ballistic during the home game? Or the guy who nearly got his brother killed in a car accident? Or the wild party animal in the tabloids?

It was so easy to be swept into the whirlwind that was Cory Brand. But Emma knew that tornadoes were beautiful but also furious, leaving only wreckage and destruction in their wake.

Cory was still talking. “Back of my hat means we’re going to bunt, double steal, suicide squeeze.”

Most of the kids sat cross-legged and watched with confused looks on their faces. Emma knew they had no idea what Coach Cory was talking about.

“Anything goes,” he said. “We are going to smoke ’em, shock ’em, scare ’em. We’re gonna fart in some runs if we have to.”

Obviously Cory had noticed they were beginning to fade out, so he used the good old fart trick. But it worked, getting their attention and making them wake up and laugh. Wellsey, the redheaded kid who was usually off in outer space, particularly liked this joke and couldn’t stop laughing.

Cory glanced at Emma, and she caught herself smiling at him. Giving him one of those grins she gave him years ago when they still wore grunge clothes and listened to Pearl Jam.

What are you doing, Emma?