by Steph Nuss
I nodded, unable to speak. I knew for a fact that the Eichlers took him places whenever they watched him. Zane talked about it all the time. Hell, they went to see a movie just last week. Why couldn’t I take him somewhere?
Was it because of who I was?
Did she not trust me with him?
“Max, seriously, can you do that?” she pressed.
“Yes,” I answered, masking my concern with another nod. “We’ll stay home.”
“Thank you,” she said, relaxing back into the pillows. “I’ll let the hospital know I can work Saturday then.”
The nagging voice in my head begged me to ask her what the hell that was all about, to point out how that rule didn’t apply to his grandparents. But I ignored the damn voice instead, fully aware that right now was not the time to piss off the mama bear.
Chapter Thirteen
We’d survived the morning at home. I personally thought I’d done great so far at keeping him entertained. I’d brought the Secret Warriors 2 script over with me, and Zane loved reading lines together. It was less work and more play, even for me, watching him put his own twist on the other characters. We spent a few hours on my laptop searching for more comic books, and when he’d found a Marvel one he didn’t have yet, I secretly bookmarked the website so I could come back and get it for him for his birthday. When lunchtime rolled around, we’d had BLTs, chips, and juice, and I thought we’d spend the afternoon watching the Mets game on TV, but boy, was I wrong.
I’d made the mistake of telling him over lunch that I used to play baseball, and now he wouldn’t let it go. It didn’t matter how big a Mets fan he was, all he wanted to do was play catch.
“Come on, Max!” he begged, smiling eagerly at me. “Please! Pretty please!”
“Your mom specifically told us to stay home today,” I argued, shaking my head. “Why do you want to go play catch so bad anyway?”
He slumped back in the chair with his baseball glove resting in his lap. “There’s a little league team I want to try out for next year. They only take kids nine years or older, so next year, I’ll be old enough to try out. I only have two pitches I know how to throw right now—a fastball and a changeup—but I’ve been trying to learn how to throw a curveball. Besides my friends, Opa is the only person who plays catch with me. Mom and Oma aren’t that great of throwers, and Opa can barely get the ball back to me when we do play. You’ve played ball! You were even a PITCHER, just like me! I just want to throw with someone who’s actually played before!”
Goddammit, I thought on a sigh.
“Mom won’t even know that we left,” he continued, his blue eyes pleading. “We’ll be back home before she gets off work.”
I stared back at him, remembering what it was like being his age. I spent most of my summers outdoors, playing catch with my dad and foster brothers. I remembered mastering different pitches and learning how to read the batter. Baseball consumed me back when I was his age, and some summers we had enough kids living with Gordon and Annette and in our neighborhood to form a scrimmage team. We played in little leagues and traveled around the city to play other local teams. Zane didn’t have anyone in his life who could help him right now but me. He didn’t have a dad anymore, and he didn’t have any siblings. He had a grandfather who’d never played ball before.
I might regret this, but fuck it, we’re leaving the house.
Smiling back at him, I gave in, just like Whitley told me not to do with him, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t deny the kid the opportunity to learn how to throw one of the most common pitches in the game of baseball: the curveball. I couldn’t waste a perfect summer’s day, spending it stuck in the house watching baseball when we could be outside soaking up the sun and playing catch.
I stated firmly. “One hour. We’ll go to the park for one hour and play catch, and then we’re coming right back home. Okay?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. “You’re the best, Max! I’m going to go get my ball and hat.”
While he grabbed his stuff, I nervously called Manny and told him about our new afternoon plan. I asked him to bring my baseball glove and two more bodyguards with him, and to dress casually so they didn’t stand out at Washington Square Park with us. I took precautions, even for a simple hour of throwing the ball around in the park, because I refused to take any chances when Zane was with me. I never wanted to give Whitley a reason not to trust me with him.
“Ready!” he cheered, his Mets cap snug on his head. He had his glove on his left hand and a ball in his right.
And there it was again, that infectious smile of his that I’d do anything for.
“Let’s go.”
***
At the park, we found a secluded area surrounded by trees and far away from the park’s popular fountain that always attracted crowds and tourists. Manny situated himself on a nearby bench closest to Zane, Tuck rested against a tree a few feet away from me, and Eli meandered along the sidewalk bordering our section of the park. We all wore baseball caps and sunglasses, but despite the casual disguises and added protection, paranoia nagged me more than it usually did when I was out in public.
After showing Zane how to grip the ball for a curve, we practiced throwing it. I showed him how to rotate his thumb and snap his finger just right to get it to curve. It took him a while to get used to the abbreviated follow-through of his throwing arm, as it was shorter compared to the other pitches he already knew, but once he had it down, he released a curveball that could easily throw off any batter.
“Max! I’m doing it! I’m really doing it!” he exclaimed, catching the ball I threw back to him. “I can throw a curve!”
“Yeah, you can!” I shouted back, smiling proudly. “You’re doing great!”
I squatted back down into my catcher’s position and let him throw about twenty more pitches. With each pitch, his form improved and his throw became more wicked. His curveball spun and dove down once it got to the small branch we were using as home plate. He’d even switch it up and throw in a couple of fastballs and changeups for fun. For a youth player, he had good velocity and control of each one of his pitches, and that was important if he wanted to land a spot on that little league team.
“I need a drink,” he said, running over to me.
“Okay.” I reached in the bag we’d brought with us and pulled out two Gatorades. I handed him one and opened one for myself, and we both relished in the cool sensation replenishing the electrolytes we’d just lost playing catch.
“This flavor is my favorite.” He looked at the blue-colored sports drink. “It’s really hot out here today.”
“Yeah, it is,” I said, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
“Maybe we can just play catch now?” he asked, peeking up at me over his drink. “Take a break from pitching.”
“Sure. We can do that,” I said, nodding.
The sound of a kid arguing with his parents pulled Zane’s attention away. The parents were trying to get the kid to come with them, but the boy’s gaze fixated on me.
Paranoia settled in the forefront of my mind again as I looked around at my security team. All of them were aware of the situation but were letting the kid’s parents handle it.
“I think that kid recognizes you,” Zane pointed out with a smile. “We should go over and say hi.”
Of course, Zane didn’t understand the consequences of doing that. If we went over there, we’d bring attention to ourselves, making everyone think they could get a picture with me, or an autograph. If I were just by myself, I probably wouldn’t mind as much, but I had Zane with me today.
“Let’s just get back to playing catch.”
“But that kid is your fan,” Zane continued, waving at the boy. “You could totally make his day.”
Zane was a fan himself, so he could relate to the kid. He had no idea why we had security with us today or why I was hesitant to greet a fan in public, and I didn’t want to be the one to explain to him how scary the world cou
ld be.
“Come on,” Zane urged, setting his Gatorade on the bench. He took off toward the small family and waved for me to follow him.
Goddammit, Zane.
Thankfully, the family was near Eli on the sidewalk, meaning Manny and Tuck didn’t have to make a scene by following us.
When we got up to them, Zane smiled at the boy and asked, “Are you a fan of Max’s?”
“Uh, yeah!” the kid exclaimed nervously. “I’ve watched the Secret Warriors movie at least twenty times.”
“Me too,” Zane added.
The kid’s parents looked both embarrassed and elated that we’d come over.
“We’re so sorry to interrupt your afternoon, Mr. Waters,” the mom said, shaking her head.
The dad placed his hands on his boy’s shoulders. “Luke is a big fan, and when he spotted you in the park—”
“It’s okay,” I interjected, smiling at the three of them. “It’s always great to meet another fan.”
“Could we maybe get your picture with him?” the mom asked, showing off her iPhone.
“Of course.” I squatted down between Zane and Luke and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. The three of us smiled up at the woman’s phone and she quickly took the picture.
“Thank you,” she stated, showing the picture to her son.
“Awesome!” Luke mused, grinning up at me. “Thanks so much, Max! It was nice to meet you. I can’t wait for the next movie!”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Luke,” I replied. “Thanks for loving the franchise so much. It’s always great to hear from our fans.”
I eyed Eli over the kid’s shoulder, and he motioned for me to wrap it up. Too much time spent with an excited fan meant more exposure that I didn’t want or need right now.
“Have a great afternoon, guys,” I added politely.
“See ya!” Zane said, waving back at the family.
He buzzed as we walked back over to our equipment, almost as giddy as Luke, even though he’d just met a fan of mine, not another celebrity. “Day made for Luke! He was so excited to meet you.”
“Yeah,” I said, handing him his glove.
“Thanks for letting me be in the picture,” he stated. “That was pretty cool.”
“Let’s play catch now,” I insisted, tossing him the ball.
He ran back over to his spot and threw me the ball. We fell into an easy pattern of tossing it back and forth, allowing his pitching arm to cool down. Sunrays poked through the trees, and the slight breeze in the air helped break up the heat radiating down from them. But I couldn’t fight off the paranoia from before. It wired through me like part of my nervous system, alerting every part of my body. I felt like we were being watched by more than just Manny, Tuck, and Eli, but whenever I looked around for any other fans or paparazzi, I didn’t see anyone.
Ten minutes into playing catch, the feeling only intensified. I wasn’t sure if the heightened emotional stress was solely because I had Zane out of the house when I was directly told to stay home with him, or if my senses were right and we were actually being watched. So, I pulled my phone out of my shorts and dialed Manny’s number.
“I feel like we’re being watched.”
“You are,” he said calmly. “There are three paparazzi about ten yards away from Eli taking pictures, and a group of guys at Tuck’s three o’clock that have been contemplating whether or not it’s really you or someone that just looks like you.”
I tucked the phone against my shoulder and threw the ball back to Zane. “Jesus Christ.”
“Do you want to go?” he asked.
Gazing across the park at Zane, I shook my head and hung up the call. The happiness plastered on his face stopped me from pulling the plug on our afternoon. We hadn’t been out here an hour like I’d promised him.
Another ten minutes went by, and I felt my phone vibrate in my shorts. I caught the ball from Zane and waved at him to come to me as I answered Eli’s call.
“Pack up your shit and casually make your way over to where the truck is parked.”
“What’s going on?” I asked harshly, tossing both of our gloves and the ball into our bag.
“Two more paps have showed up a few feet away from the truck, and the guys have figured out it’s you because of the cameras. There are also three women who have spotted you and are coming this way.”
“Okay,” I said and then hung up. I gathered up our drinks and threw them in our bag, and then knelt down in front of Zane. “Look, we have to go home a little earlier than expected because more people have recognized me.”
“Okay?” he asked, confused.
I swallowed around the knot of regret in my throat. “I’ll explain it to you later. Right now, we need to head back to the truck so we can get home. I want you to hold my hand as we leave, okay?”
He nodded and took my hand as I stood back up.
Manny joined us, walking ahead of me as we made our way over to the truck parked at the curb. Tuck followed close behind us, and Eli stood by the truck, ready to execute our quick escape.
We weren’t even to the edge of the park and the cameras had nearly doubled, shouting at me for pictures, yelling out questions about Zane.
It was fucking insane.
“Max! Who’s the kid?”
“Max, look this way.”
“Waters, over here!”
I tightened my grip on Zane’s hand and pulled him closer to me as we kept going. Fear put me in a chokehold; I’d never been this scared out in public and I knew why.
Zane.
It wasn’t just me I had to think about today.
I subjected him to the demanding attention fame put on me, and it was scaring him. He shied away from the cameras and the yelling by using my body as a shield from it all.
“Please back up!” Manny said, waving the cameramen back. “We’ve got a child with us. Please move back!”
Eli shoved one guy out of the way, which resulted in the guy complaining about damage to his camera.
It only worsened when the fans caught wind of our exit.
“Max, can I get your autograph?”
“A picture! Max! Can I get your picture?”
“One selfie, please!”
“Max, I fucking love you!”
Tuck’s voice became louder. “A CHILD IS WITH MAX! Please DO NOT curse in front of the kid!”
“Waters!”
“Maxton!”
“Max! Max! Max!”
I heard my name coming from all directions, and they’d closed in on us so fast that we could barely step one foot in front of the other. Manny paved the way for us to move, but once we hit the sidewalk, shit hit the fan.
Two guys attacked from behind. One attempted to shove Tuck out of the way, while the other pushed Zane away from me, knocking him down to the ground. His small hand slipped from mine, and I heard him cry out and skid across the cement.
“Zane!” I shouted, shoving pedestrians out of the way.
“Ow! My arm!”
“MOVE BACK!” Manny and Eli shouted.
“The kid is down!” Tuck yelled, holding back the two assholes that’d attacked us. “Get out of the way! He’s hurt!”
They physically moved people out of the way for me to get to Zane. When I found him on the sidewalk, he was clutching his bloody forearm and wincing from the pain.
“Hey,” I said in an anxious tone, grabbing his cap that had fallen off. “I’ve got you.”
“It hurts,” he cried.
“I know.” I lifted him up and carried him the rest of the way to the truck. Eli already had the back door opened for us, so I climbed in with Zane in my arms and then proceeded to buckle him in. “Get the first aid kit before we head to the hospital.”
“You got it,” Eli said. He opened the trunk and then tossed the white box up to me in the backseat.
The three bodyguards loaded up and then we were off to the hospital, blocking out all the chaos that ensued outside of the truck, and focusing on
ly on the hurt boy next to me.
“My arm hurts really bad, Max,” he said, resting his head back against the seat.
“I know, bud,” I said, applying the gauze to his cut. “I’m so sorry.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the one who pushed me.”
“I know, but he shoved you to get to me.” I shook my head as I mentally chastised myself for agreeing to leave the house today. “You should’ve never had to experience that. Now deep breaths, okay? It will help with the pain.”
He nodded and then exhaled again. “Is it always like that wherever you go?”
“No,” I answered, “but let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s just focus on getting you fixed up. How’s the cut look?”
He pulled the rectangular piece of gauze away from his arm and smiled. “I think it’s stopped bleeding!”
“Good,” I said, relieved. “You probably won’t need stitches then.”
“My arm hurts so bad though.”
“We’re almost to the hospital.” I glanced up to the front of the cab. “How far away are we?”
“ETA is five minutes with traffic,” Manny answered.
I relaxed back and Zane rested his head on my shoulder.
“Hey, Max?” he asked.
I met his innocent gaze.
“Thanks for playing catch with me today. Opa definitely doesn’t have the arm that you do, so it was fun getting to play catch with someone who’s actually played baseball before.”
After everything that had just happened, he was thanking me.
“I mean, the end kind of sucked,” he added with a smirk. “But I’ll probably have a pretty cool scar at least, right?”
I laughed. “Right.”
***
We met Whitley in the ER, and Zane explained to her in detail what happened at the park. The entire time he rambled on, I could actually feel her growing more and more pissed at me. The doctor came into his room and informed us that she thought Zane’s arm was broken, but they needed an X-ray to confirm. They wheeled him away to the radiology department, and I prayed it was just a broken arm. A broken arm healed easily, especially in kids. He’d love having a cast he could have family and friends sign. It wouldn’t be the ideal way to spend the next few weeks of his summer, but it could have been worse.
