Home Run: A Novel (8 page)

“It’s okay, Cory.”

“No. I’m not—I don’t know.”

“It’s fine. We’re all alone.”

“I know. It’s just—”

“Just what?”

“I’m just not sure.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“It’s just—I don’t know.”

“Cory Brand.”

“What?”

“Why are you the one being shy?”

“I’m not being shy. You know—you know how I—Emma, you know.”

“I know. So come here.”

“I just—”

“Suddenly you want to be a gentleman after we’ve known each other four years?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“Then what is it?”

“I just—”

“You already said that.”

“I don’t want you to feel like this has to happen.”

“I want this to happen. Are you saying you don’t?”

“Em—”

“Well …?”

“You make me—I can’t stop—all I have ever—you just don’t get it—”

“Cory? Just hush and come over here.”

Chapter Ten

Brushback

Some things get buried not because they’re too painful to remember but because they’re too precious to forget.

Emma Hargrove had discovered this the hard way.

She sat quietly in the shadows in her truck, breathing in and out and trying to get control of her emotions. That face from the past was the last thing she’d expected to see as she walked into the hospital with the Bulldogs. With Tyler. And while the reporters had thankfully broken up a possible reunion, Emma still had excused herself to go to the truck and freak out.

She wasn’t sad or happy or angry or shocked. Those emotions had withered up in the dry heat of exasperation long ago. Cory had left this town and everybody in it for bigger and better things. And Emma had moved on and gotten over him.

So why am I hiding out here?

She couldn’t leave because she still needed to take Tyler back home. They had all come to see Coach Clay, but Emma knew she wouldn’t be going into that room. Each question churning in her mind gave way to a dozen more.

What was Cory doing in the car? Is he going to be in trouble? Is he staying around here? What does that mean for them? What does it mean for Ty?

She wanted to take Tyler out of the hospital and make sure he stayed fifty miles away from Cory. She wanted her son to stop loving Little League and get into science projects. She wanted him to stop growing and stop being so stinking cute and charming.

She wanted him to stop being a walking and talking picture of his father.

These fears deep inside of her had drifted away after she met and fell in love with James. But then she lost him.
They
lost him. Baseball took Cory, and a war took James. Now it was just Emma and Tyler, with the help of the good people of this town who had welcomed them back.

We’re doing fine on our own because God’s taking care of us.

But if she really believed that, then what was she doing hiding out in the parking lot, afraid of seeing Mr. Fireworks himself back in there, afraid of hearing him ask about his son, afraid of all the awful things that could happen? Cory had never bothered keeping in touch, never asked about Tyler … but what if he suddenly woke up and wanted his son in his life?

I lost James. I can’t lose Tyler, too. I won’t.

Cory had made his choice long ago, when neither of them realized the consequences of choices like that. He had gone on his journey and she on hers. And whatever might have been and could have been between the two of them, that was long gone.

Yet Tyler was here, and he was more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Out of heartache and mistakes came a blessed baby who was growing up to be a fine young man.

Lord, don’t take him away too. Please, God, don’t let anything happen to him. To us.

The room was silent as Cory opened the door and peeked inside. He hoped that Clay would be the only one there, now that the little monsters on the Bulldogs team appeared to have left the premises. But he could see Karen standing there by Clay’s bed.

“Sorry to interrupt. I just—”

Karen walked over toward him, her face registering a lot more than simple disappointment or anger. Her stern jaw and expressionless eyes clenched the fury just beneath the surface.

“He’s awake,” she said tersely. “Concussion. Broken arm. Broken ribs.”

All because of you, big brother. All because of you.

“Clay wants two minutes, and then I want you to leave.”

It wasn’t a request or even a demand. The statement came across as a threat.

Cory could hear her steps as she left the room and walked off down the hall. He went up to the bed rail and felt a bit like the tractor they’d struck. Seeing Clay there, in this bed, all bandaged up and aching, made him want to throw up. To say he was sorry wouldn’t even begin to express what he felt.

“Hey.” Cory’s voice came out soft and weak.

And even though Clay was the one resting in bed in a hospital gown, looking like a fighter who’d lost in the ring, his eyes seemed to stare at Cory in pity.

“So do you usually try to get soused before sunset? Bit early in the day for a DUI.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so—”

“So don’t. Don’t even try.”

Cory gripped the rail on the bed and wished he could just squeeze this messy picture away.

“I did what I could to help you legally,” Clay said in a matter-of-fact way. “You’re lucky Murph was the one who came out. God forbid it was Pajersky. You’d be in a lot worse trouble then.”

“Yeah. Never thought my kid brother would be bailing me out.”

“I didn’t bail you out. I vouched for you. You still have to … don’t be skipping town okay …?”

It probably took Clay all the energy he had to say those words to Cory but not to tell his brother how he really felt. Cory watched his brother drift off to sleep, succumbing to the sedatives he’d been given.

He looked around this room and knew it would forever be one of those ugly snapshots he carried around with him. A photo album of shame, courtesy of the great Cory Brand.

Cory sits in the shadows of the barn with the night purring around him, feeling like a Roman candle with endless amounts of fiery shells to blow off.

He’d always known this moment would come. And always dreaded it.

All he can think about is Emma.

Should he take his dad’s truck and go tell her? He’s been wondering that since the call came around eight. Some guy named Stan from the Denver Grizzlies “expressing his interest” in Cory. Arranging a meeting to talk about the upcoming draft.

Cory doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he graduates high school.

Another kid—a better kid—might be sitting in this barn praying. But Cory is sitting here going through his baseball cards, arranging them, organizing them in a different way. He’s got these cards memorized by now. He knows the names and the faces and the stats of every one.

It’s crazy to think that he might one day be among these guys.

But that’s not the craziest thing.

All he can think of is Emma.

He doesn’t want to leave her. He won’t leave her. But how’s that going to work out? What will he say?

He’s not sure about anything except these cards in his hands. The players and their numbers and their cards.

It’s a simple reality he can focus on. For the moment.

Chapter Eleven

Backstop

The silence in the motel room felt louder than a full stadium screaming his name. For a while Cory drained the remaining juice from his iPod, listening to Kings of Leon, but now he was bored and thirsty. Helene had found this dump and brought him here only to leave him once again. This wasn’t a place meant to spend a lot of time in. There was no place to work out, no main lobby for meeting people, no room service. This was a one-story, off-the-highway motel with bare-bones rooms for people who simply needed a bed and a bathroom. God only knew what usually went on in this small space. Cory certainly didn’t want to try to imagine.

He was sitting there on the bed, tossing an empty glass, mindlessly waiting for Helene, when she burst into the room using her own key. This wasn’t the first time a pretty woman had torn into his hotel room, but the circumstances now were quite different. Her arms were full, and she dumped their contents on a nearby table. Cory just watched her, knowing she had something to say and a plan in motion.

For a moment Helene looked around the room. “Ugh. Just looking at those polyester bedspreads makes me itch.”

“You should check out the bathroom,” Cory joked.

She ignored his wisecrack as she pulled a fifth of vodka out of a brown bag, along with some plastic cups. Cory noticed the expensive brand and liked what he saw.

“Okay, listen up …” she said as she dropped a brochure on his lap. She grabbed the ice bucket on the table next to him. “I found you a twelve-step program.”

Cory looked at the pamphlet in his hand as Helene disappeared outside.

What the …

It didn’t say AA or Rehab Central or Destination Margaritaville. It said
Celebrate Recovery
.

Helene returned at her regular galloping pace, carrying two full cups of ice.

“You couldn’t find me a normal twelve-step?” Cory asked.

She gave him a smirk as she poured their drinks, then handed him his cup as if they were commemorating a new contract or a three-homer game.

“It is a normal twelve-step. Just … with Jesus.” She emphasized the last word for effect.

“I’m not doing church.”

“You’re doing whatever it takes to get back on the roster. Besides, it’s the only game in town.”

Cory opened up the brochure. “Celebrate? Recovery?”

This was turning into something far worse than a nightmare. He was in his own personal
Twilight Zone
episode.

Helene gave him her trademark smile, almost as phony as his. “If your career recovers, I
will
celebrate.”

She took a sip, then set the cup down, clearly finished with it. Now
that
was alcohol abuse, in Cory’s opinion. She picked up her purse and car keys.

“You’re leaving?”

Her eyes scanned the room as if a glowing plague was starting to cover the walls. “Staying in Tulsa. I’ll drive back here tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“An apology to the kid? A press event?” She sounded more than fed up. “The whole reason we rode into this one-horse town.”

“How am I getting around?” His drink was already empty.

She stood by the open doorway as the sound of vehicles rushing by on the highway mixed with the hum of crickets. “You’re a big boy. You figure it out. See you at the field tomorrow.”

He sighed and glanced at the bottle on the table. Helene still stood there.

“If you’re smart, you’ll come ready to coach. Just remember, you’re
happy
to be doing this for your brother and the children.”

He was about to ask where he could find the nuns, but Helene was gone. She closed the door without tucking him in and saying good night.

For a moment, Cory sat looking at the empty wall with the off-white paint. Just a couple of nights ago he’d been at this wild fund-raiser and had hooked up with this amazing girl whose name he still couldn’t recall. Now he was suspended and staying in a roach motel with a television that had ten channels. No ride, a license still under probation from the last DUI he got a year and a half ago. Another DUI and he could have kissed his driving privileges away for half a decade or more.

He got off the bed and refilled his cup. At least he had a bottle to keep him company. And at least there was something other than ESPN that he could watch.

He was tired of hearing about Cory Brand.