“Migraines again, bro?” Kody asked. “Too much of your brain is spent on us and family. You need to get back to working on cars or something other than worrying about loved ones.”
Lacey’s head whipped around toward Kody. I’d give anything to be in her head right now.
“I have to run,” Chloe said. “Thanks for helping.” She placed her hand on mine. “I’m sorry about your headaches. We’ll talk soon.”
Lacey winced when Chloe touched me.
Then Chloe turned to Lacey. “It was nice meeting you. When we have a chance, we’ll get together. I’d like to get to know my cousin. If that’s okay with you?”
Lacey smiled through the hurt and anger that shone in her eyes. “I’d like that. Maybe by then I’ll be in a better mood. Sorry for all the questions.”
My gaze shot to my brothers in search of some clue to what had transpired between Chloe and Lacey. None of them gave me any signs.
“One thing my daddy taught me about men,” she said to Lacey. “The protectors are the hardest ones to tame, whether they protect your feelings or your life.” Then she hugged Lacey before dashing for the door.
Lacey appeared to be mulling over that piece of wisdom. Hell, I was too.
“Come on, Lacey. I’ll take you to get your car,” Kelton said.
She hesitated before she followed Kelton. She flashed a weak smile at me. “I’m glad you’re okay. Can I stop by later on? We need to talk.” She looked past me to my father then back to me.
“That should be fine,” my father said.
I gripped the arms of the wheelchair, holding back my urge to vault out of it and cocoon her in my arms and make all her anger, hurt, and pain go away. But if I did, she wouldn’t listen. Sorry wasn’t going to be enough this time. I was certain of that.
The ride home with my father had been deathly silent, which was a welcome relief. The medication the doctor gave me was just kicking in, and my head no longer felt like someone was beating it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.
After a shower, I went down to the theater room, a perfect place for migraine sufferers. No sooner had I sprawled out on the couch than the stairs squeaked.
Lacey padded in with her arms crossed over her chest as she chewed on her lip. “Has your headache gone away?” she asked in a flat tone.
“It’s waning.” I debated whether to launch into my speech or let her say what was on her mind. “You’re upset. And I’m to blame.”
“I am upset and confused.” She sat down on an ottoman on the side of the TV. “How come I didn’t know about Chloe and your tutoring job? Did you know that she was Pitt’s daughter?”
In one week our lives had turned to shit. I explained everything, starting with the boxing match and ending with, “I am a dick for not telling you any of this. Your father’s adoptive family wasn’t my story to tell. In no way is this an excuse, but I was taught not to come in between a family’s problems. So I waited for your dad to tell you. I’d planned to tell you about Chloe after school today. You were busy.”
Her knee bounced up and down. “I’m not even sure I know who you are. You keep so much from me. Time and time again I’ve asked you not to. To let me decide what I can and can’t handle. Yet you continue to choose what you tell me and when. Am I that fragile and pathetic that you think I’d break into a million pieces?” She got up and paced in front of the TV. “I’ve lived through finding the dead bodies of people I loved dearly. I’ve pushed hard in the last year to get where I am. I’m not perfect.” She stuck her hands on her hips and pinned a death look on me. “I’ll always have memories, nightmares, and symptoms of PTSD.” Her face reddened. “How can I heal or face my fears when the one person I love, who’s supposed to support me and help me, chooses to make the choices that are not his to make?”
I hopped off the couch and moved toward her. She backed away.
I was about to lose it. I hated that she wouldn’t let me touch her. I grabbed my hair with both hands. No matter what I say, she isn’t going to believe me. Sorry isn’t going to help either. I’ve said that a few times. Yet I continue to lie or keep things from her. Trust is huge for her, and I’d broken that sacred vow.
“And you haven’t even told me about your migraines?” Her voice broke.
“Lace.” I shoved my hands in my jean pockets. “Tell me something. Are you allergic to anything? Did you have the chickenpox when you were a kid?”
“Huh?”
“Tell me,” I said in a hardened tone.
She huffed. “I’m not allergic to anything I know of. I had the chickenpox when I was three.”
“Tell me everything else about your life as a kid.”
“I see what you’re trying to do.”
I stalked up to her but didn’t touch her. “We both have a past. We both have things in them that we haven’t shared. We’ve only been in a relationship for six months. We can’t get mad at each other when something from our pasts surface, like my headaches. I’m not apologizing for not telling you about my migraines. The Pitt and Lorenzino saga—that’s a different story. So be mad at me for that. Punch me if you have to.” Just not in the balls.
Her nostrils flared as her eyes narrowed into slits. “I’ll do you one better. We need a break. I need a break.” She stomped out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lacey
I rushed out of Kade’s and came home. Crash, bang, and boom, the walls were tumbling down. At least that was the way I felt. The weather matched my mood. Lightning lit up the sky as I sat in my sunroom, gazing out into the night. When the thunder rumbled, I shuddered. I hadn’t stayed in the house since the break-in. Even though the automatic lights had been on when I arrived, I’d asked Hunt if he wouldn’t mind checking out the house before I ventured in. Then I’d asked him to stay inside with me since he was my bodyguard at night. His partner stayed in the car, watching over us from the outside.
I let my mind wander over everything—Dad, Lorenzino, Rob, Aaron, baseball, ASU, and Kade. I was frightened that my dream of baseball and attending ASU could be in jeopardy. How could I concentrate on the game when every time I turned a corner I had a fast pitch flying at me?
If I was building a relationship with Kade, I wanted to be his partner. I wanted him to confide in me, ask me my advice, and let me make my own decisions. I never once doubted his love for me. I couldn’t keep going if he kept shutting me out. Maybe we weren’t cut out for each other. Maybe he needed someone who accepted his way of protecting a loved one. Lies might protect, but they can certainly destroy, and he was destroying our relationship more than protecting me.
I also worried about Dad’s and Rob’s safety, as well as my own. I was on alert with Aaron, and I’d been wracking my brain about where that ledger could be. The box of keepsakes. I uncurled my legs from the chair.
“Lacey?” Hunt called.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, and Hunt’s reflection shone in the glass of the sunroom.
“Your dad has been trying to call you. Here.” He came into the sunroom and gave me his phone.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked. “Where’s your phone?”
“Nothing. My phone is up in my room.” I was upset with Dad, too. He could’ve told me sooner about Lorenzino, his mom, his adoptive family. Maybe we could’ve put our heads together earlier to uncover the ledger. Plus, we could use more family members around us. I surely could. Whether Dad was home or working, I felt alone. Friends were great to have, but they didn’t replace family. Kade was the closest person I’d consider family.
“Are you sure you want to stay in the house tonight?”
“Yes.” No. “I’m a big girl. Hunt is here.” Kade must’ve called him and tattled on me.
“I’d prefer if you stayed at Kade’s,” he said.
“That’s not happening.” Kade needed as much space to think as I did. If we were in the same house, it would be difficult to think straight.
“Sweet Pea, please reconsider.”
“Dad, I have to live here. I can’t let fear drive me. I promise if I feel I can’t stay, I’ll have Hunt bring me to Kade’s. Besides, you’ve met Hunt. He’s a monster of a guy.” I winked at Hunt.
He puffed out his chest.
“Oh, and I talked to Gloria today. I invited her, Jeremy, and Chloe over for dinner after your game next week.”
“Really? That sounds great.” It was the first piece of good news I’d had in a while. I’d like to get to know his family, including Chloe. She seemed nice and bubbly, a trait I could use to rub off on me, although I wasn’t sure of her intentions with Kade.
“I got to run. Love you,” Dad said.
When I hung up, Hunt’s phone rang. Kade’s name came across the screen. I handed it to him. Despite my anger with Kade, I was also concerned about him. I’d never experienced a migraine. My mom had had them. They’d knocked her down for the count. It wasn’t only migraines; stress overall wasn’t good for anyone’s health.
“Hey, dude.” Hunt answered the phone then left me alone, his voice trailing down the hall. “She’s fine. Man, get some rest. Stop worrying.”
I trudged up to Dad’s closet. His bedroom was simple, with a bed, a dresser, a chest at the foot of the bed, and an old worn-out red chair he cherished. It was the first piece of furniture he’d owned. In our California home, the red chair had been tucked in a corner in Dad’s office.
I dug my feet into the soft white carpeting of his walk-in closet. Like the bedroom, the closet was sparse. Shirts and pants hung from the rods, another dresser lined the back wall, and four pairs of shoes sat on the top shelf.
I snooped in all the drawers in both dressers and came up empty. I set my sights on the chest. Mom had always stored blankets in it. I opened it, and the scent of lavender filtered up—Mom’s favorite fragrance. Aside from the nice smell, several items were neatly packed inside—Mom’s jewelry box, our baby albums, old car magazines, music CDs, my parents’ wedding album, and a shoe box. But no ledger. I sifted through the jewelry box and flipped the top off the shoebox. In it were greeting cards that Dad and Mom had exchanged over the years along with some keepsakes—Dad’s old watches, cuff links, and an engraved bottle opener with Dad’s name on it. As a last resort, I did a once-through on the entire room.
Disappointed, I padded over to my room and flopped on my bed. Dad was right. How could we produce something we didn’t have? The book of nursery rhymes sat on my nightstand. I snagged it and flipped through the pages. The book’s cover was shiny and thick, and the pages were made of a cardboard like the cover’s, only of a thinner gauge. The pictures beneath the rhymes were raised slightly off the pages. I found “Humpty Dumpty” and read as I traced the outline of the colorfully dressed egg boy. Tears burned my eyes as I thought of reciting the rhyme to Kade at the airport. As I stared at the page, my dam of emotions opened and I let the tears flow.
* * *
* * *
I stood on the mound waiting for the batter, who was talking to his coach, to pony up to the plate. Over a week had gone by. I’d been sleeping in my own bed with Hunt babysitting me. The first night, I’d cried myself to sleep. The nights following got a little easier, although I wasn’t so focused on someone breaking in as I was about Kade, the ledger, and baseball. I’d seen Kade in school. He’d tried to talk to me a few times. I brushed him off. I wasn’t ready yet. Aside from the disappointment of not finding the ledger or any clues in Mom and Dad’s keepsakes, I was excited to meet Gloria and spend time with Chloe. Maybe Gloria would open up more about Dad’s mom and whether she’d missed something that belonged to Dad. Through all that, baseball had been first and foremost as I got ready for our first game of the season.
We were up by one run against Kennedy, and I was hoping to close the game with a win. The stands were packed with kids shouting and whistling. Since it was a home game, most of the school was watching, including the media. A local station was lined up on the sidelines with their camera pointing at us. I couldn’t say I was surprised. Renee and I were the first two girls to play again since Mandy’s death, and we were the only two on any of the teams we were playing this season.
Mark Wayland, our catcher, came running out to the mound. “Okay, three outs. That’s all we need to win this game.” His red hair stuck out of his ball cap.
The infield joined us, huddling close.
Finn, who played first, tapped my glove. “You got this.”
Tim, our second baseman, did the same as Finn then said, “What he said.”
Both returned to their positions.
“Let’s win this, Robinson,” Aaron said. “Maybe I won’t harass you so much.”
Kelton pushed Aaron. “Watch it, Seever.”
“Stop it, both of you.” I glared at Aaron then Kelton. This wasn’t the time to compare who had the bigger penis.
Mark gave me the ball and trotted back to home plate.
“In and tight,” Aaron said nicely before returning to third.
I turned the ball over in my glove, confused as to why he was acting like my best friend. I discarded the thought. I had to concentrate on my pitching and striking out the next three batters.
“My mom would be so happy if we won.” Kelton skimmed the stands behind home plate.
“Your mom is home?”
I’d wanted to meet her, but I’d never pushed the issue. Mr. Maxwell had said in due time. He’d been apprehensive about how she would react to strangers. I was okay with that. I didn’t know a great deal about mental health issues, except my own, and when I did meet her, I wanted it to be a warm and happy experience for her.
“Just for one night. If you would talk to my brother, you would know. He may be stubborn, but he does”—his face twisted in pain—“love the crap out of you.”
“Did he tell you to tell me that?” Kade had instructed Kelton to tell me that during tryouts last fall to help ease my nerves. I was more focused on his mom and that I hadn’t known she was home. This wasn’t the time for family matters, or love, or anything else, even though a pang of hurt was stuck in my chest.
“Fuck no. You two have to work out your own shit.”
I looked to the bleachers. Kade, Kody, and Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell were sitting in the second row. Mr. Maxwell brushed his wife’s long black hair away from her face. She leaned into him and said something. Mr. Maxwell grinned from ear to ear like a little boy who was flirting with his first love. Then she sat up straighter, adjusting her large dark sunglasses. She reminded me of a movie star who was hiding from the paparazzi—beautiful, elegant, and poised.
“No pressure,” I mumbled, wishing my own mom was here. She’d cheer for me louder than anyone.
As Kelton slipped back to shortstop, I stole one last glance at my dad, who was sitting behind the Maxwells with Tyler and Becca. He’d invited the Pitts to the game and dinner, but they hadn’t been able to make the game. My dad touched the bill of his Kensington High ball cap, a gesture he always did to let me know he was cheering for me.
I dug my cleat in the dirt around the mound then set my sights on home plate. The top of Kennedy’s line-up was batting. The lead-off hitter had gotten a double off my first pitch in the first inning. I stretched my neck as the batter got into position. Finally, Mark gave me a signal for a curveball. I went through my routine, checking the infield and outfield, making sure everyone was ready. Satisfied, I relaxed my shoulders, placed my index finger on the ball, aimed at my target, and threw.
“Strike one,” the umpire called with his right thumb up in the air and his index finger pointing outward as though he was shooting at someone.
On the next pitch, the batter swung and missed. The crowd was on their feet, shouting. One more strike. Kicking one foot out of the batter’s box, the lanky batter rolled his neck one way then the other, looked down to his third base coach, then stepped back into the batter’s box. Mark gave me the curveball signal. I readied the ball in my glove, wound up, and fired the ball into Mark’s glove.
/> “Strike three,” the umpire’s voice boomed before the home crowd roared.
The batter stormed away, banging his bat against the ground.
I got in a groove, my confidence and zone tightly reined in, and repeated the same pitch three more times. Now, with two outs, my heart raced with excitement. One more batter, and the first game would be in the record books—my first full game pitching for Kensington High. For a second, I couldn’t believe I was standing on the mound, pitching again.
Mark jogged out while the next batter took practice swings. “We got this. You got this. We win and the other schools will get wind that a girl struck out ten batters in a game. They’ll be running scared.” He placed the ball in my glove then tapped my shoulder with his catcher’s mitt. “Three strikes.” He trotted back.
If I could strike out the short stocky guy at the plate, then it would be my all-time best. Stocky Guy crouched low, back elbow high in the air, and waited. I tossed a glance over my right shoulder. Aaron punched his glove. I checked on Kelton. He nodded. Tim and Finn did the same. Kross was in left, Renee in right, and Dave in center. All three of them pounded their fists in their gloves. My stomach churned with a nervous excitement in anticipation of winning. A sense of warmth spread through me knowing we were a team. At that moment, I felt like I belonged there.
The crowd was on their feet, chanting my name. Mark gave me the signal for a slider. Back in September when I was trying out, my slider had been horrible. I’d had no control over it. Six months later, it was better than my curveball.
Dare to Dream: The Maxwell Series Page 15
