Chapter Twenty-Two

Trig

Monday I get a text from Wes, asking me to come to the baseball fields that evening. Michael’s team is practicing. I assume he needs an extra person to help run things. Maybe the assistant coach couldn’t make it. When I walk up to the field, I can tell right off, my brother doesn’t want me helping. He’s pissed. At me.

He meets me in the outfield.

“Something I need to know about, between you and Maggie?” He bristles with rage. Wes almost never gets mad, so it takes me a moment to reply.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“One of the boys saw you holding her, hugging her yesterday morning.”

I already carry a lot of guilt for my feelings for Maggie, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve treated her the best I could, trying to keep her from wrecking her life. The girl was on her way to fucking Vegas last year. I’d like to point that out to Wes, but I won’t. I don’t want him asking Maggie about the details. If he knew he’d probably think worse of me.

A cold wind blows out of the north and Wes hunches his back and shoves his hands in his pockets. I’m too irritated to feel the cold. I clench my hands, curling them into fists, reminding myself I can’t hit Wes. Not because he’s smaller than me, and not because he’s my brother, but because I don’t want the team to see their coach get his ass handed to him.

“She was upset. I hugged her. That’s all. There’s nothing going on. Jesus, Wes, she’s just a kid.”

He blinks and I can practically see the wheels spinning as he’s trying to work out what he thinks. “There’s nothing more important to me than these kids. I take an oath to protect them. Both me and Jane do.”

An oath? I don’t really know what he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not a danger to Maggie. He doesn’t need to protect her from me.

Michael jogs across the field, waving his mitt. “Hey Uncle Trig, can I pitch to you?”

“He’s not staying. Go ask one of the boys.” Wes snaps at him and Michael’s eyes widen with surprise. Wes and Jane never raise their voices with the boys, or speak roughly to them.

“Okay,” Michael says.

“Next time, buddy,” I call to him as he jogs back to the infield.

Wes watches him return to the team and then turns back to me, his expression softened somewhat. “Maggie’s fragile. Fragile-strong, if that makes sense.”

Fragile-strong. That sums her up perfectly.

“I know. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her or lead her astray. I care about her too.”

Wes thins his lips and the hostile look returns to his features.

“Yesterday, I told her that me and you and Jane, we’re her family. We’ll help her with whatever she needs. She was worried about her scholarship. I told her I’d pay her tuition, and that I want what she wants.”

My words sound pretty heroic to my ears and I can see that they have an effect on my brother. He nods, but doesn’t reply because he’s still weighing my words. I meant everything I said yesterday. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Maggie, because I’m in love with her. Probably won’t bring that up today, but one day I just might.

Wes looks off to a distant point on the horizon and draws a heavy breath. “Jane and I had to go to a series of classes for foster parents with teenaged girls.”

“Yeah, I remember something about that.”

“They told us that some of the girls come to the program…” His words fade and he lifts his hands to air quote his next words. “With a past.”

My gut clenches. Anytime Jane or Wes use air quotes it’s about something sexual. I’m not sure I want to hear more. “Did someone hurt her?”

Wes shakes his head. “We don’t think so.”

My thoughts spin. I can’t think of anyone harming Maggie without feeling sick to my stomach. “You haven’t asked her?”

“You can’t just come out and ask a question like that. Besides, she might not even remember. Kids repress memories like that out of self-preservation.”

I’ll admit I know nothing about psychology. Nothing. A primitive part of my brain springs to life, snarling and raging. All I want to do is find her and demand to know if anyone hurt her. If she had, I’d hunt down the motherfucker and kill him. Slowly.

All day I’ve been thinking about Maggie’s situation. Theft. Possible deportation. I’ve never imagined all the things she might have gone through before she came to live with Wes and Jane.

“I think someone should ask her,” I manage to say.

Wes shakes his head. “The counselor said she wouldn’t tell us and that it might only come up when she entered a relationship. That if she shared it with someone it might be her boyfriend. Or whatever.”

Talking about this has Wes more upset than I’ve seen him in a long time. I’m ready to lose it right here. All I can think of is hurting someone right now.

Wes goes on. “Even if she hasn’t had anything untoward happen, she’s too good for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I always felt sorry for your girl-friends.”

“What girl-friends?” I snap.

“Exactly. You just take women to bed for a night. Maybe two. Maggie deserves better. Not to mention you’re ten years older.”

I can’t really say much to defend myself. He’s right. About everything.

“Trig, you’ve got to think about how this would make me look. If you two were to start something, it would make me look like I hadn’t done my job.”

Wes has always cared about how people view him. I could give two fucks how people see me, but I do care about Maggie. More than anything else.

“I gotta get back to practice,” Wes says.

“Right.”

Without a word, I turn and walk back to my truck. Away from the playing field, I unleash my fury on the side panel, driving my fist into the metal. The blow leaves a dent and makes my knuckles bleed. Blood drips down my hand onto my jeans as I drive home. The sun is setting by the time I get home. Sitting in my parked truck I stare at my phone, fighting the urge to call her. I toss it aside. I can’t fix everything for her and there’s a chance I’ll make matters worse.