Whatever Life Throws at You (22 page)

A few months ago, I thought it was enough that he had me, but even while daydreaming about hooking up with Brody, I’d already started to understand the different kinds of people we need in our lives to love us. As much as I want to be enough for him and vice versa, I know it’s not the same.

I give Dad another squeeze around the middle, pressing my cheek against his sweaty uniform shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Coach Lucas,” a man says, standing in front of us with a camera crew and a microphone. “Mind if we do some post-game interview questions?”

Savannah magically appears behind the cameraman and nods. I let go of Dad and start to step away, but the interviewer says to the cameraman, “Let’s get the daughter, too?”

“Um…okay, s-sure,” Dad stutters. “If it’s okay with Annie?”

I can feel Mom’s glare as she stands off to the side, arms folded over her chest. Does she expect Dad to invite her into this interview as his wife if she’s taking off again? She’s mental.

Savannah gives me a thumbs-up, and then she rushes forward, cutting among the crewmembers. She grabs the hat that’s been hanging limply in my hand, arranges my hair over one shoulder, and places it on my head. Then she vanishes out of the picture, a quiet observer behind the cameraman.

I look up at Dad for help. Too much is going through my head right now to even think about plastering on a happy face for the cameras. Dad pulls me in front of him, his six-two body towering over my five-foot-five height. One of his arms wraps around my shoulders, holding me in place, like I might run. He leans down close to my ear. “Please no phony smiles like the London family.”

The interviewer guy is busy untangling his microphone. “Are you okay?” I whisper back.

There’s an obvious note of pain in his expression, but I’m not sure if that’s because of Mom or he’s actually in pain. Wouldn’t surprise me after standing for this many hours. He’s probably got some swelling in his leg, too.

“Just a little sore,” he says, shifting some of his weight onto me. “But I’m okay, I promise. About everything.”

I grip his arm and give him a squeeze just before the camera guy clips a microphone on both my shirt and Dad’s. I know he can’t be okay, but that’s so like him to make sure that I don’t worry.

“This isn’t live,” the cameraman tells us. “No need to be nervous.”

Both Dad and I tense up instantly.

“Coach Lucas,” he says. “Are you enjoying major league coaching so far? Is it strange to be back in this world after such a long absence?”

“It’s been a great season so far,” Dad says. “I never imagined I’d find my way back to baseball, but it’s like an old friend—you take some time to catch up, and then it’s like you were never separated.”

“What do you predict for the Royals this season?”

I lean into Dad and angle my head upward so I can see him. He seems so much like himself. I figured there’d be a false front for the cameras or a pre-transcribed media answer.

“I think the young guys are hungry and it’s giving everyone a boost,” he says. “It’s rejuvenating. Frank Steadman has put together a great team this season. He’s focused on technique, using our strengths, and developing younger players. There’s potential to snag a division championship, maybe even taking the American League title.”

“And let’s be honest,” the interviewer guy says. “By young and hungry, you’re talking about Jason Brody, right?” He looks down at me. “And I see you’ve got his number on today, Annie. Have you joined the Jason Brody fan club?”

Hell yes.

Luckily the heat is making everyone a little red in the face. “I make a point to join the fan club of any player who records a hundred-mile-an-hour pitch,” I say.

Dad laughs, and Savannah gives me two thumbs up for that answer.
Phew
.

“We’re mixing this clip with footage of your community service project in a one-hour special on major league players and their families for
Dateline
next month,” the interviewer says. “Can you tell me a little about your experience with helping a family build a house?”

So Savannah got that
Dateline
story after all.

Am I supposed to talk about why we’re doing that community service in the first place? Underage drinking and having two guys grope me at once in a nightclub isn’t something I want to mention on camera. But Savannah’s signaling from behind the interviewer guy for me to answer the question.

“Um…well.” I look down at my paint-splattered jean shorts and then lift my eyes again. “Today was our last day at the building site—we came right from there to the game, actually—and Lenny and I got to walk the family through the house. The four kids have always been crammed into one bedroom, and now three of them have their own space. They have closets and dressers, and they even picked out the paint colors. The organization made sure they had a table where all six people in their family could sit. The first thing they did when they walked inside the kitchen was sit at that table together. It was pretty awesome to see the results. I’m ready to do it again, and I know Lenny is, too.”

“What do you think of your dad’s new job?”

I smile up at Dad and then back to the camera. “It’s awesome. I’m so proud of him. Not that I wasn’t proud of him before; he’s always worked hard at whatever job he had, but this is where he belongs. He knows this game so well, and he’s still got a lot more to contribute to the team.”

Take that, Larry Johnson. Let’s see that next-season contract.

“Did you put her up to that?” the guy jokes with Dad.

“Absolutely,” Dad says. “We’ve been rehearsing that answer for weeks.” He lets out a short laugh and then turns serious again. “Honestly, Annie’s the reason I’m here. She talked me into accepting Frank’s job offer. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s in charge most of the time. Very bossy girl.”

“Hey!” I give Dad a shove, and then reach out to grip his arm again after remembering that his leg is sore.

Savannah produces a director’s chair and places it behind Dad. “We’re going to do some solo questions, too, right?”

The camera light shuts off and the interviewer lowers his microphone. “Thanks, Annie,” he says to me. “This will be a nice addition to our special.”

Savannah removes my tiny microphone and hands it back before steering me away, leaving Dad alone to answer more questions. At least he’s got a chair now.

“Great job,” Savannah whispers. “I about died when he asked about the community service. Sorry I couldn’t prep you for that.”

I laugh, relieved it’s over. “Yeah, I was so not wanting to discuss our newspaper fame.”

“Johnson had us negotiate this TV special, and we’re not supposed to have any mention of the community service being a punishment. He said that we made the statement during the press release in May and that would be the only mention of it ever.” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, we’ll have plenty of footage of Carl London in Brazil at the children’s home. Don’t even ask me how much work we had to do to make that look authentic. At least you and Lenny actually got your hands dirty and did the work.”

I pull out a strand of hair speckled with paint to prove that the dirt extended even beyond our hands. Savannah gives me another grin, and then I move off to the side, giving her room to work.

I’d planned to stand and listen to the rest of Dad’s interview, but something catches my attention in the bullpen. Brody still in uniform pitching to a stand, just like he’s done so many times in my front yard. I walk in that direction but keep my distance. Something’s going on with him, and I haven’t figured out what yet.

At least I know it isn’t Dad finding out about us.

A few of the Royals players walk past Brody. I hear one of the guys say, not nearly low enough, “Show off much, kid?” and another adds, “I don’t know, haven’t seen him on the cover of
People
yet…”

“I’m just counting the days until his arm goes out,” a third player says—a relief pitcher for Christ’s sake! Have some respect, dude! It could be your arm going out just as easily.

I’m about to flip them off behind their backs, but I spot too many cameras nearby, ready to catch me in the act. But seriously, they deserve it.
Assholes.

A group of little boys hangs from the railing and asks Brody for an autograph. He saunters over, tucks away the melancholy face, and climbs up to their level, signing balls, gloves, hats, and T-shirts. His smile looks genuine as he asks their names and what positions they play, but the second the moms usher the boys away, he’s on the ground again, throwing more pitches and ignoring the commotion around us.

I keep an eye on him and another eye on Lenny, who’s retreating further into her own shadow with each passing minute. Her dad is alive with excitement after hitting two homeruns today. I want to talk to Brody, but there’s no way I’d risk one of the many cameras turning our way and catching us standing too close.

After about ten minutes, Dad appears and heads straight for the bullpen. A noticeable limp—well, more noticeable than usual—plagues him. He watches Brody throw a few pitches without saying anything, his back against the fence. I inch closer but still stay a good distance away.

“Frank told me to come over here and apologize,” Dad says. “He thinks I was too hard on you.”

Really? Did he tell him he needed to record a hundred-mile-an-hour pitch?

I glance around and see that the field is quickly clearing out. Brody’s drenched in sweat, his blue hat pulled low over his forehead to block out the sun. Dust from the mound is all over his white pants.

“You weren’t too hard on me,” Brody says. “I choked.”

Choked? How? He was amazing.

“Wipe the slate clean,” Dad says. “Next game, get it right.”

Brody squeezes the ball in his hand and turns to Dad. “Sometimes I get out there ready to throw, and I can’t get myself to deviate from my fastball. I’m comfortable with it. It’s gonna do exactly what I want it to.”

Oh, maybe he was supposed to do a different kind of pitch?

Dad bends over to pick up a loose ball from the dirt and tosses it to Brody. “You’re a rookie. You can throw some bad pitches and be forgiven. But the second your arm starts to give out, they’ll get scared and dump you. And if you throw hundred-mile-an-hour pitches for long enough, you’re done by thirty. Maybe even sooner.”

Brody takes his stance again and pelts another baseball at the stand. “It’s hard to think about being thirty when I’m up there trying not to screw up
this game
. Hard to think about anything except right now.”

“Then cut off your leg, so to speak.” Dad laughs darkly at his very bad joke. “Convince yourself that you’ve got nothing but your change-up or slider, whichever applies.”

Brody nods but looks unconvinced. I decide it’s safe to approach them and quit eavesdropping. I’ve made a bad habit of it lately.

“Game’s over, you know?” I say, getting both of their attention. “We won.”

Brody gives me a half smile. “Nice shirt.”

I return the smile, trying to converse silently with him. “Publicity made me wear it.” Seconds later, I’m pulled away by Dad and Lenny, and all I can do is give Brody the we’ll-talk-later look before walking away.

Maybe he’s planning on dumping me? Why does that scare me so much? It shouldn’t.

Chapter 23

Lenny London:
is seriously considering studying abroad senior year. I see many advantages to getting away from my life. Worked out well for
Carl London
.

20 minutes ago

Jason Brody Royals Pitcher:
Extremely proud to be part of a record-breaking Royals season! We are on a roll, so watch out, American League, Kansas City is climbing to the top!

5 minutes ago

When Lenny drops me off at home, I’m surprised to see Dad’s SUV in the driveway. I figured he’d have more interviews and post-game work to do. The sound of raised voices causes me to stop in the yard, my stomach already doing flip-flops.

Mom kicks open the screen door, her big pink suitcase rolling behind her. I exhale and close my eyes. Here we go again.

I charge up the porch steps and stand in front of her, blocking her way out. “Why do you keep doing this to him? Just divorce him or something. Let him go.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I’m grateful for the fact that hers are brown and mine are blue like Dad’s. “You can look at me like I’m terrible all you want, Annie, but let me tell you something about your daddy.”

“What are you doing, Ginny?” Dad shoves open the screen door and steps outside.

Mom’s gaze bounces between the two of us and finally rests on me. “You know, he didn’t even want you. He tried to get me to have an abortion. Even drove me to the clinic, but I refused. Jimmy only cared about me and baseball. You didn’t even make his priority list back then.”

I can’t breathe. It’s like she kicked me with her high heels right in the gut. There’re no words forming in my head, let alone falling from my tongue.

Dad grabs her arm, forcing her to spin around and face him. “You’re pissed at me? Fine. Do
not
take this out on Annie.”

Mom jerks her arm away. “I’ll take it out on whomever I goddamn want. And she deserves to know the truth about her perfect father.”

Both of us stand there watching her walk away and toss her suitcase into the back of the beat-up blue truck. After another minute, she drives off. The sting of her words clings to my skin like a permanent scar.

“Annie,” Dad says finally, his voice full of a dozen different emotions.

I swallow the lump in my throat and lift my eyes to meet his. He takes two tentative steps in my direction, then rests his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me, okay?”

His eyes are swimming with tears. I have no memory of my dad ever crying. I’ve seen him drunk and depressed. I’ve seen him pissed off. But I’ve never seen him cry.

“I wish I could tell you that I was just young and scared,” he says. “And believe me, I
was
petrified, but also very self-centered. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of my goals. I wanted your mom by my side and I wanted to be a star—not a father. Remember when you asked me if I was anything like Jason Brody when I played ball?”

My head moves up and down, answering Dad’s question. It feels like years ago when I stomped into the house, pissed off at Brody, thinking he was nothing but an arrogant pig-headed rookie.

“I was bigger than life then. No one knew better than I did, and I didn’t answer to anyone—not coaches or trainers. I threw the pitches I wanted to throw—” He stops, shakes his head, and then starts talking again, “I can’t change the past or take back what I said or did, but I’m so glad that I have you.”

The reason behind his concerns finally clicks into place. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’m going to feel rejected because you…” I can’t use the words Mom said out loud. “Because you considered other options when Mom got pregnant?”

Some of the fear in his expression shifts to confusion. “Don’t you?” he asks. “You’re feeling something, I can see it on your face.”

I wiggle out of his grip and sit down on the porch swing. This seems to be the spot where important things are revealed. “How old were you?”

He shuffles sideways and wraps a hand around the chain on the swing for balance. “Eighteen.”

And yes, I knew this already. Math is a concept I’ve managed to grasp just fine, but I needed to hear him say it. “I’ll be eighteen in October, and if I got pregnant, if I couldn’t go to college or run track…” I shake my head. I don’t want to open the door for safe-sex lectures. “Almost everybody in your situation would at least consider other options.”

“Then why—?”

“Because she said it to hurt you,” I interrupt, not able to keep the waver out of my voice. “She just threw those words at me without any hesitation. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know that her priorities don’t include me, but…” I draw in a shaky breath. “But that’s the first time I’ve been presented with such concrete evidence.”

“Annie.” Dad falls into the spot beside me and lifts an arm around my shoulders.

I quickly wipe away the two or three tears that fell without permission and attempt to laugh. “Guess I know who she’d offer up to the Nazis if they made her choose between me and you.”

Dad gives me a blank stare. “Huh?”

I laugh again. “
Sophie’s Choice
…” Dad’s face is still blank. “It’s on my summer reading list for senior lit.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t seen you with a book all summer.”

My head rests comfortably against his arm. “That’s because I watched the movie.”

“Cheater.” Dad plants a kiss on the top of my head. “And you’re allowed to be angry with me, Ann.”

“I’m not angry.” I look up at him and exhale before saying, “I just want you to let her go.”

He gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I did.”

I lift my head and turn to face him. “Wait, did you tell her—”

“To leave,” he finishes, carefully concealing a small trace of pain on his face. “Yes, I did.”

I’m fighting a strong urge to throw my arms around his neck and then leap up to perform a celebratory dance, but I know better than to believe it’s really over for good. “You deserve more,” I say carefully, thinking through each word.

He gives me a sad smile. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot. Maybe it’s time I let it sink in, right?”

Savannah. She told him that. If I hadn’t been eavesdropping during that conversation, I’d call her up right now and thank her.

“So, like, you’re gonna get divorce papers and all that?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I should have held that question off for tomorrow.

He scrubs his hands over his face and then finally says, “Yeah, I’m going to get the ball rolling this week.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Is this the same man who yelled at me a few days ago and basically called me a selfish brat for wanting her to leave? Maybe shouting those words at me, speaking them out loud, showed him the situation from a different perspective.

We both relax again and sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I thought she’d come around eventually,” Dad says. “I hoped at least that she’d appreciate having you and being part of our family despite everything that she went through with me. And Annie, I’m not going to lie, your mom held it together for a while and me…I put her through hell after my surgery.”

The idea of Dad being selfish and wallowing in pity is pretty much unfathomable to me. I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I think you’ve made up for it by now.”

He nods, staring straight ahead. “Maybe I have.”

I sigh. “I can’t help thinking that this is how it is for Lenny, except it’s both of her parents. They care about her as much as Mom cares about me.”

His silence confirms my theory. Instead of Mom’s abrupt departure being on my mind tonight, Lenny and the way she disappeared into the shadows of her life after the game today is what sits with me as I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. Which is ironic, because the second my eyes close, she sends me a text.

LENNY: Hanging out in pool with your bf. Want to come over?

“I climbed out my window.”

Brody and Lenny both laugh, taking in my pajama shorts and tank top. The lights in the London house are dimmed, but the backyard is illuminated, the pool glowing blue and yellow. They’re sitting beside each other in the full-length pool chairs, both in swimsuits dripping wet. I bite back the tiniest hint of jealousy at the idea of Brody and Lenny swimming together late at night. But if they wanted to hook up, I doubt they’d invite me to join them.

I’m still on an emotional roller coaster myself, but I haven’t forgotten the mood shifts both of them had earlier, so I tentatively take the seat beside Brody. Lenny gives us a sly smile and then hops up from her chair, wrapping a towel around her waist. “Be right back. I’m getting drinks.”

I watch Lenny disappear into the guesthouse, then spit out the truth. “She knows.”

Brody’s eyes widen, water dripping from his forehead and chin. “How?”

“I told her,” I admit, looking down at my hands. “She would have guessed anyway, and I needed her to cover for me last night.”

Last night…boy, could I use a repeat of that right now.

Brody exhales and then nods. “Yeah, okay, I get it. It’s just that rich kids make me nervous.”

“You know Lenny isn’t like that.”

After a few seconds, his face relaxes, and he slides his chair over, pressing it up against mine. I stretch out on my chair, resting my head against the back, and breathe in the chlorine and perfect Jason Brody scent wafting into my air space.

“Thanks for posting exciting exclamation point statements for me on Facebook tonight.” He reaches for my hand, flipping it palm up and drawing circles against my skin with his thumb.

Heat drifts from my hand up my arm. “I figured you weren’t feeling the exclamation points, but I thought your fans might be.”

Brody keeps his eyes focused on our hands. “That’s why it has to be you.” He lifts his head, meeting my gaze again. “You know, for the Facebook page.”

A grin slides across his face, and I feel my own smile forming. “Right. For Facebook.”

Lenny returns, handing both of us some fancy red drinks garnished with a pineapple slice and a little umbrella. Brody lifts the drink and looks it over like he’s just been handed an infant with a dirty diaper. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Yep.” She takes her seat again and holds up her own glass. “To me, deciding to run away to Spain in October and avoid suffering through the off-season with the birth parents being around all the time. You’d think baseball season would be worse, but if I have to see my dad, I prefer to do it with an entire stadium between us.”

I give Brody a weary glance, but we both raise our glasses anyway. “To Spain,” I say. “An awesome excuse to run away.”

Lenny turns to me and smiles. “I’m so glad you feel that way, Annie, ’cause I’m totally planning on convincing you to come with me.”

I choke on the red syrupy drink I’d just gulped that went down the wrong pipe. I cough until I can speak again. “What? I can’t go to Spain. You know my Spanish is terrible.”

“Emersion is the only way to truly grasp a foreign language,” Lenny says. “And I need a roommate, or else I’ll get stuck with some crazy girl…or worse, a baseball fan. It’s only four months.”

My apprehension betrays me, and my eyes flit in Brody’s direction. The off-season is something I’ve secretly been looking forward to because Brody will be in Kansas City all the time, no more on the road five days a week or whatever. “I have track…and my dad a-and Grams,” I stutter.

“We’ll leave after cross country and before track starts,” Lenny argues.

I don’t get a chance to counter that because the back door swings open. Brody’s back straightens, and he looks at Lenny, alarmed. “You said nobody was home.”

First Base strides out onto the patio, heading straight for the steps leading into the pool. All three of us sit frozen, waiting for him to notice us or for an escape route to materialize. My heart is pounding, but for a split second it looks like he’s about to dunk his head underwater and we might have a second to hide.

No such luck.

He angles his body in our direction and finally lifts his gaze. His eyebrows shoot up immediately. “Well, well, can’t say I didn’t call this one months ago.”

I hold my breath as he emerges back up the pool steps, grabs a towel, and stands in front of us. Brody’s hands clench around the towel beneath him. We’d let go of our hands the second the door opened, but now I’ve slid toward the far side of my chair. Lenny’s eyes bounce between the two of us, probably taking in the panic on both our faces. Then she launches herself into Brody’s lap.

He’s obviously startled but doesn’t move or push her away. First Base stops, his mouth falling open, the smirk dissolving from his face. I pull my knees to my chest and hug them tight.

“You and…” First Base points between Brody and Lenny, tangled in a tight, wet, half-naked embrace.

Lenny rolls her eyes. “Relax, Dad. We’re just fooling around. No big deal.”

Several different emotions cross his face until he finally says, “If this shows up in the media, I’ll kick your ass back to triple-A.”

“Got it,” Brody says, clearly pissed off at the threat, but not enough to tell the truth.

“And if you knock her up,” he adds, “I’ll hire someone to kill you.”

Those are probably words my dad would use if he knew about Brody and me, but the reason behind them would have nothing to do with public image. The hurt on Lenny’s face is clear even in the dim lighting.

First Base must have decided against the swim, because he shakes his head and goes back inside. Lenny moves back to her chair and gathers up her phone and other items. I plant my feet back on the ground, scrambling to think of something to say. “Thank you…”

“It’s fine,” she says, bending over to grab something under her chair.

“Len?” I ask. “You okay?”

She swallows hard and nods, forcing a tense smile. “Yeah, just tired. I’m heading inside.”

I stand up and reach for her arm. “Want me to stay over tonight?”

She shakes off my grip. “I’m fine, Annie,” she snaps.

I open my mouth to argue, but Brody shakes his head. After she’s inside, he stands up and takes my hand. “Let her go. I’ll walk you home, okay?”