“Carson, sweetie, please don’t be upset.”

  “What’s there to be upset about?” I ask, sarcasm laced with every word. “My dad had a stroke so I could be happy. How could I possibly be upset over that?”

  Guilt consumes me. I leave the hospital room and turn down an empty hallway where I crash against the wall and fall to the floor, knees propped up, my head buried in my hands.

  He kept sending me money when I didn’t need it.

  He kept working when he could have asked for help.

  He had a stress stroke trying to keep me happy.

  It’s too fucking much.

  Why the fuck did he do that?

  Had I been so fucking entitled that he felt he had no choice?

  I stifle a sob, but I can’t do anything about the tears that start to stream down my cheeks. Why, Dad? Why?

  And for the first time since my mom passed away, I cry.

  * * *

  Holt: Hey brother, I’m thinking about you. If you need anything, please let me know.

  Gunner: The team sent some flowers. I told them whiskey would be better, but Coach wouldn’t go for it. Thinking of you, man.

  Knox: Fucking hell, Carson. I can’t stop thinking about you and your dad. Please let me know if I can do anything. I’m stapled to my team right now, but even if you need me for a second, I’ll be on a plane faster than you can blink and back in time for my game.

  Jason: Badcock wants to send you a text. I told him to write you a card and gave him the address to a local Dunkin’ Donuts. You’re welcome. Miss you, man.

  Romeo: Room check. It’s all clear. No motherfucker has even stepped a foot near your door. I’m on the prowl, don’t worry. I got your back. Take care of Pops.

  Cory: It’s not much, but I sent some catering (Tex-Mex) to the nursing staff on your dad’s floor. I told them it’s for taking care of Carson Stone’s dad. Please make sure you grab yourself a plate. Hang in there, brother.

  Milly: How’s it going? I don’t want to bother you with texts, but I also want you to know I’m thinking about you. XOXO

  * * *

  Milly: The boys are prepped and ready for regionals. I caught a practice today thanks to Jason. Badcock wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t Carson Stone, that’s for damn sure.

  Jason: BADCOCK strikes again! The motherfucker hit me in the head with his bat in the dugout. Thank fuck I was wearing my helmet. Coach told him to pull his head out of his ass and pay attention.

  Milly: I miss you. All you need to do is give me the go-ahead and I’ll be there in a flash.

  Cory: Analysts have you in top ten draft picks for the first round. You’re going places, dude. Thought you might need some good news. Let me know if you need anything.

  Milly: I ate a package of pretzel M&M’s today. I know, sad face, but I can’t have caramel without you. Even though pretzel is good, it’s just not the same.

  Romeo: I saw a freshman look like he was approaching your room and I ran into his ankles with Gunner’s remote-control car. He screamed bloody murder and fell to the ground, saying he was going to the bathroom, but I didn’t believe him. He was going for your goods.

  Knox: Top ten draft pick! Fuck, I knew you’d make a great comeback from the injury. I’ll be watching like a hawk to see where you end up. Bobbies for life, baby!

  Knox: Also, let me know how your dad is when you get a chance.

  Jason: Matt has a wicked bruise on his ankle from Romeo nailing him with the remote-control car. I can’t stop laughing every time I see him getting it treated by a trainer. Missing you, man.

  Cory: How do you feel about playing for the Storm? I’m trying to convince the head office to make you an offer.

  * * *

  Knox: Haven’t heard from you. Everything okay? Give me a call, man. I’m off today.

  Jason: Headed to regionals. Tomorrow is the big day. Draft day! How’s your dad doing? Haven’t heard anything from you, just checking in.

  Milly: Hey, if you get a chance, just let me know that you’re okay. I can’t imagine what you’re going through but no one has heard from you and we’re all getting a little nervous. Just send one of us a text, okay?

  Jason: Dude, please let us know everything is okay.

  Romeo: Carse, man. You okay?

  Knox: Heard from Jason. Asking if I’ve heard from you. We love you, man. Can you just let one of us know if you’re okay?

  Milly: Regionals and draft today. Please let me know if you’re holding up. I’ve called a few times. I just want to make sure you’re not alone. I’m always here for you.

  Milly: Carson?

  Milly: Please call me.

  Milly: Carson . . . please answer.

  * * *

  The silence in the room weighs heavily on my shoulders as the beep of my dad’s machines are the only thing reminding me of what I’m facing.

  Aunt Carol sniffles next to me, her hand looped through my arm, her head connecting with my shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” Dr. Turnblad says, shifting on his feet. “I wish I had a better outcome for you.”

  My lip quivers and my stomach rolls as I try to hold it together, but I’m having one hell of a time staying strong.

  “I’ll give you some time.” Dr. Turnblad shoots us a sympathetic jut to his lip and then walks out of the room, leaving us alone. When the door shuts, Aunt Carol breaks down into tears, falling back into the chair as I stand there, motionless, the need to cry eating away at my throat and eyes, but nothing comes out.

  Brain-dead.

  Those two words keep vibrating through my mind on repeat.

  My dad is completely brain-dead and the only thing keeping him alive right now are the machines hooked up to him.

  It’s time, the doctor said, time to turn everything off, to say our goodbyes and yet, I don’t know what to do. Do I really just tell the doctors to shut off the machines that are making my dad’s heart beat? End the breath of air going to his lungs? Do I tell the doctors to call it quits when my dad never ever quit on me?

  I know there’s nothing the doctors can do. There is no miracle in the works that could help me hear my dad’s voice one last time telling me he loves me, or seeing his eyes shine bright with pride when I walk into a room.

  This is it.

  I have no other choice than to say goodbye.

  With a shaky voice, I say, “Aunt Carol, can you give me a second?”

  “Of . . . course,” she answers, looking as pale as I feel. I help her out of the chair and she places a gentle kiss to my cheek before walking out of the hospital room and quietly shutting the door.

  Instead of walking over to the hospital bed right away, I stand from a distance, observing the breathing tube inserted down my dad’s throat, the IVs poked in his cracked and crinkled hands, and the liver spots scattered across his arms. He’s so young and yet looks ancient . . . because of me.

  I take a step forward, my legs feeling weak, my chest heavy with torment, and my mind berating myself for the thousands of practices and personal trainings my dad paid for to give me a chance at becoming something.

  All for a dream.

  A life lost for my goals.

  Taking a seat on the bed, I stare at him and take his hand in mine, the feeling of his calluses across mine nearly sending me into a tailspin, the truth of what those calluses stand for splitting me in half.

  On a sob, I lie across my dad’s chest and hug him. Cheek to his frail frame, I cry into his hospital gown. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t meant to leave me.

  “I’m so . . . sorry,” I say, my throat so tight it feels next to impossible to speak. “I wish you would have told me, said something to me. I would have worked while training, I would have helped. I wouldn’t have . . . fuck.” I let out an ugly sob. “I . . . fuck, I wouldn’t have asked for so much. That new bat? I didn’t need it. Those replacement batting gloves? I could have used the ones with holes. I didn’t need the team sweatshirt in high school, nor did I need the spending money in college. I needed . . . you.”

  I break down, my chest rattling, my shoulders shaking, my tears falling one right after the other. I can feel it, the numbness taking over. I can hear the cracking of my breaking heart.

  “Instead of the latest bat on the market, I wanted you at my games. Instead of saving to send me and my friends to the amusement park over the summer break, I wanted to be on a lake with you fishing. Instead of you working two jobs, I wish you’d explained that it’s not about the brand glove or newest technology available to perfect your swing, because I would have gotten where I am with or without it. But I can’t go where I’m headed now without you.”

  I never had him in the stands, but he’d always been a phone call away. Now, I won’t even have that.

  No more replaying the game with him.

  No more short emails, sharing an article he read about me.

  No more random texts telling me how proud he is of me . . .

  I wipe my face and lift up to look at my dad. I stroke his thinning hair to the side, evening out his part. “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I whisper. “If I’m drafted, who will they show in the stands when I have my first major league game? Who’s the camera going to pan to when I get my first big league hit? You weren’t in the stands growing up, but I was hoping you’d be there when I could finally provide for you. But you won’t be there." I sob. Fuck, I hate this. “You won’t be there . . . because of me.”

  I take his hand in mine again and cover it with my other, the coldness of his fingers a stark reminder of what’s about to happen.

  “I realize you worked your ass off for me, because you loved me and wanted the best for me. That hasn’t gone unnoticed, and because of that, I promise you”—a sob escapes my lips as more tears fall down my cheeks and onto my sweatpants—“I’m going to repay you. Your hard work is going to turn into my hard work. Your sweat and long nights will turn into my countless hours of practicing. And the dream you worked for, the time you put in for my future will become my endless task. I will not let you down. I will not let you die for an unattained goal. I swear to you, on this bed, that I will be one of the greatest ballplayers of all time . . . because of you. Nothing will distract me from that goal. Absolutely fucking nothing.” I lean down and give him another hug, letting my arms stay wrapped around him longer than I expected.

  I can’t let go.

  Not yet.

  Just a few more seconds.

  Just a few more moments of pretending we’re at the ballpark and I’m hugging him in the stands.

  Just a few more daydreams of him wearing my major league jersey, pride breaming from ear to ear.

  Just one more fleeting thought of what it would have been like to see him in the stands, giving me a curt wave, while I give him a tip of my cap.

  Heart weighing in my chest, my entire body a complete wreck, I squeeze my dad tight, my tears pooling on his hospital gown. On a harrowing breath, I say, “I love you, Dad.” Sniff. “Thank you for everything, for giving me every last piece of you. Be happy with Mom now.”

  * * *

  Aunt Carol’s cry splinters my heart as I hold on to her with one hand and then my dad’s with the other as the doctors slowly move around us, disconnecting the machines.

  There’s no use in putting on a strong face, or trying to keep it together for Aunt Carol, because I don’t have it in me, not as I watch the final machine be switched off. Dr. Turnblad somberly holds my dad’s wrist and counts his pulse, his face becoming sadder by the moment. The nursing staff stands by the door, a wall of support as Dr. Turnblad presses his lips firmly together in a look of bleakness and gently rests my dad’s hand back on the bed and covers up his chest with the blanket.

  “He’s gone,” Dr. Turnblad says just as a wave of vibration hits my leg like a tidal wave. He looks at the clock on the wall. “Time of death nine thirty-five.”

  My phone. Text after text as my father takes his last breath. And then it hits me.

  The draft.

  The constant vibration against my legs tells me one thing: I was drafted. But instead of calling my dad immediately to celebrate, I’m standing above him, his limp hand in mine, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to be the man he raised me to be without him here in this world. How the fuck can I do that?

  I watch the staff move around us, Aunt Carol presses a final kiss to her brother’s head and leaves, giving me one last moment alone.

  Unable to hold myself up any more, I sit on his bed and reach into my pocket, taking my phone out. I glance at the first text message I see.

  Knox: Bobbies, baby. You and me, together again. We got this, brother.

  I don’t even bother to look at any of the other texts, instead, I set my phone down and glance at my dad, remembering him one last time without the breathing tube and other monitoring devices.

  “It’s the Bobcats, Dad. Bobbies for life.” Tears stream down my cheeks as I squeeze his hand. “Three years, that’s all it’s going to take me. Three years, and I’ll be starting in the big leagues. I promise you. Time to work.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  MILLY

  Standing outside, looking up at the Division One training sign that hangs outside the facility, I take a deep breath and adjust the blouse I chose myself when shopping for the perfect outfit to impress my brothers with.

  Shane and Jerry think I’m crazy, as if my brothers wouldn’t hire me, but that’s not what I’m looking for, a job. I’m looking for a partnership and even though I have money from Cory, I don’t want to sit on it, because I want to make something of it. I don’t want a handout. I want to prove myself.

  It doesn’t help that I haven’t heard from Carson since he left two weeks ago. The only reason I know his father passed is because my mother has been watching the obituaries like a hawk, keeping me updated every day. Morbid, I know, but when your boyfriend goes radio silent on you, there’s nothing else you can do.

  I spent many nights wondering if I should fly down there, to at least stay in the waiting room so Carson knew someone was there with him. Cory offered to fly me more than once but every time I got the nerve to do it, I texted Carson and he didn’t respond. A part of me kept asking, what if he doesn’t want me there? What if he needed this time to himself, alone with his dad?

  After no one heard from him, it became quite clear Carson was spiraling and closing himself off to the entire world. So when I’m through with this meeting, I’m going to head to the loft, grab a few more pieces of clothing for Carson, and then fly to Topeka to be with him.

  With my mind elsewhere, on the boy who stole my heart, I take a deep breath and clutch my presentation folders closely to my chest before taking the first hopeful step to a new future.

  When I told Sean and Rian I wanted to meet, they wanted more details but I didn’t want to get their minds working, so I told them to just carve out some time with me and come to the meeting with an open mind.

  Now that the time has come, I’m feeling more nervous than I anticipated.

  On shaky heels—yes, heels—I go to open the door to the facility when my phone vibrates in my hand. I let go of the handle to the door and quickly check the screen, my hope falling flat when I see Cory’s name span across the screen.

  Cory: Carson doesn’t need to report for a few days. Good luck today, sis. You’ve got this.

  Even though I was hoping it was a text from Carson, I shoot Cory a thank you and then take another second to gather myself.

  I watched the baseball draft closely, listening to Carson’s name getting mentioned over and over again until the Chicago Bobcats picked him as their first round draft pick. I screamed out loud and then started crying. Crying out of joy and sadness. So happy that he was drafted and will be reunited with his best friend, but also sad because . . . was he watching? Did he celebrate? It was probably the biggest moment of his life, and I’m desperate to know how he spent it. Was he at least holding his dad’s hand when he found out?

  Grief clogs my throat and I reach for my water bottle and take a sip. Okay, I need to focus. Meeting first, then I can give all my attention and energy to Carson.

  Once collected, I make my way through the training facility to the back offices where both Sean and Rian are waiting for me at the small round table in the office they share. When they see me, they quickly jump to their feet and give me a hug.

  “How’s Carson?” Rian asks, concern etched in his brow.

  We all take a seat and I set the folders down, trying not to get emotional. I should have known they’d ask. I let my family know about Carson’s dad through our group text, and they’ve been checking in every once in a while, Cory more than anyone because he felt a connection with Carson. He’s been sending food to the nursing staff as well as food to Carson’s dad’s room to make sure he was eating.

  “Um, I’m really not sure, still haven’t heard anything from him,” I say, trying to make it past the lump in my throat. Two weeks and nothing; it doesn’t sit well in my stomach. Not one bit.

  “Still? Shit.” Sean grips the table and leans back in his chair. “Is that like him?”

  “Not really, but then again, his world was rocked two weeks ago. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. He already lost his mom, now his dad. It can’t be easy. I plan on going to visit him after this, at least just trying to be there for him. Which I’m grateful you guys could fit me in before your big trip to California for the sports training expo. Are you excited?”

  “Yeah,” Rian answers, his voice changing to a business tone. “We have quite a few meetings with some sponsors that would drastically help with the new build. Top-of-the-line equipment from the best, and I think Sean’s drooling at the prospect of carrying some of the equipment in the facility.”