I press my fingers to my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath before looking at the hospice paperwork. The doctor said it was precautionary, but after another stint in the hospital this week, he handed me the packet with my dad’s discharge papers, and told me I needed to have a look at it. My dad’s health is only going to decline more rapidly, so I need to mentally prepare myself for the next steps.
I flip through the pages and skim over the dos and don’ts and how to know when it’s time to call hospice to come in. But it’s too much for me right now. I don’t want to accept this yet. I shouldn’t have to.
And yet the doctor gave them to me.
I close the folder and push it away. Out of sight, out of mind. Do I really want some stranger there with us in his final hours? Wouldn’t it be better if it were just Sally and me? Then again, death is a scary thing that I’m not sure I can face on my own. I’m petrified to admit it, but when the time comes, am I going to be able to hold his hand and talk to him as he takes his last breaths or am I going to want to run and hide and pretend it’s not happening?
Both terrify me.
Easton’s laughter rings through the condo. It’s a welcome sound—the sound of hope cutting through my silent despair—and one I’ve heard over the past few hours since Helen’s been here working with Easton.
“I’m heading out,” Helen says to me as she pokes her head into my office.
“It’s already that time?” I check my watch and can’t believe I’ve been sitting here procrastinating and doing little for two hours.
“Yes.” She lowers her voice, but her smile remains. “He’s different now with the sessions. He wanted to learn before, but now it’s like he has something to prove. When he gets frustrated, he powers through instead of wanting to end for the day. I’m pretty sure that’s because of you.”
“Thank you for telling me that,” I say and she nods and heads to the door. It’s exactly what I needed to hear. Tears well in my eyes and a lump forms in my throat. Her words mean more to me than she could ever imagine. I’ve spent hours dealing with something I have absolutely no control over or cannot influence in any way—my dad’s health—to being told my support has given Easton new legs to stand on.
“Hey, you.” Arms slip around my waist and pull me back against the hard length of his body.
“A good session?”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the back of my head. “I won’t bore you with the details but it was better than good. Breakthrough kind of good.”
The happiness in his voice warms so many parts of me.
“That’s great to hear.”
“Any news from Boseman yet?”
“No.” I link my fingers through his that are around my waist and try not to think about my upcoming meeting with the owner of the Aces. Currently they’re in the midst of reviewing all contracts Cory Tillman initiated in an attempt to figure out whether he wants to keep them or void them. And of course that includes mine.
“Hey.” He turns my shoulders so I’m forced to face him. “Boseman is a good man. Case in point, seeing the bastard that Tillman was and firing him even though he had a solid contract. I’m certain it cost him a fortune, but he knew it was the right thing to do . . . just like I’m sure he’ll know that giving you the team contract is the right thing to do.”
“I know. I just feel like the earth is continually shifting under my feet these days, and it’s only going to get worse with everything to come.” I think of my dad, of the hospice paperwork on the desk, and hate that I know this discombobulated feeling I have has nothing on what I’ll be feeling sooner than I’d like.
“Go get some fancy clothes on,” he says, shocking me to look up. I’m met with a wide smile and mischievous eyes. “Let’s go out.”
“But I thought you were still . . .”
“Screw the press,” he says, waving his hand in indifference. “There will always be an asshole somewhere with a loud mouth calling me a dumb jock. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself. Besides, since the Aces made the playoffs, attention has shifted gears.”
I love how this little bit of confidence he gained today has made him care less.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know, Scout, but we’re going to have some fun.”
And the minute I buy into his infectious mood and turn to go get dressed, the buzzer on the door rings.
“Buzz kill,” he says with a laugh as he heads over to it. “Go get dressed. I’ll get rid of whoever it is quickly.”
But for some reason, I don’t move. There are a select few who have elevator access to the penthouse. Security didn’t call to tell us there’s a visitor so it has to be someone on the list.
“Dad. Long time, no see, Derek. How long has it been, man? What are you guys doing here?”
Cal steps off the elevator and gives Easton a pat on the back of his good shoulder and greetings are given all around between the three. I stare from where I’m standing in the kitchen at baseball legend, Derek Penbrooke. The man known for his bat in clutch situations, his three thousand-plus hit career, and his ten Gold Glove Awards for fielding.
“Derek was in town, so we had a late lunch together to catch up. We talked about the club, about that asshole Tillman, and then he asked how your arm was doing so I thought we’d stop by and check on you.” Cal looks every part the proud father. I hate that I question if it’s an act or if it’s the truth.
Easton glances my way, an apology written all over his face and I just shrug. It’s not exactly how I thought our night would unfold, but the smile on his face is sincere and I love seeing it there.
“Oh, Scout, I didn’t see you there.” Cal walks over to me, voice booming, chest puffed out. “Derek, are you familiar with Doc Dalton?”
“Very much so.” He smiles. It’s warm and genuine and draws me to take a step toward him. “He worked on my shoulder way back when.”
“You mean back in the Ice Age?” Cal asks.
“If I was playing then, so were you, Wylder,” Derek says with a laugh.
“This is Scout,” Easton interjects. “Doc’s daughter.”
Derek narrows his eyes as he stares at me for an odd moment. “Well, what do you know? That is you. Last time I saw you, you were about this tall,” he says, holding his hand at about three feet high. “You were chewing a wad of bubble gum too big for your mouth, had a bunch of freckles on your nose, and were giggling like mad with that brother of yours. Scout Dalton. My how you have grown.”
“Good to see you again, Derek,” I say with a smile and warm shake of his hand.
“How is that old man of yours? Rumor has it he hasn’t been working much lately. Has the retirement bug gotten hold of him?”
“Something like that.”
“Scout’s taking over the business if and when he does,” Easton says, saving me from having to add one more white lie to the mountain I’m making.
“Come on in, gentleman,” I say with a smile. “Can I get any of you a drink?”
“So there was a purpose to his little stop by.” Easton laughs before bringing the bottle of beer to his lips.
“Your old man had ulterior motives,” Derek says with an unabashed shrug. “Like that should surprise you. Two surgeries on this cuff, Easton, and the second was definitely harder to bounce back from, but once I did, wowee, it was perfectly fine. I won a Gold Glove and smashed forty-something homers that next season.”
“Is this your way of trying to tell me it’ll be okay, Dad?” Easton asks with a roll of his eyes as he taps the neck of his beer against Derek’s.
“Just trying to give you a little positive reinforcement is all. Let you see that if you do what you’re supposed to do, you’ll return next season and kick some serious ass.”
“Pushy fucker,” Easton says but his lips are all smile.
“Someone’s got to be.”
I stand in the kitchen and listen to them drone on and on. The laughter is rich and continuous as the three men talk baseball and club politics and the upcoming match-ups for the playoffs. It’s the most at ease I’ve ever seen Easton with his dad, and it’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk baseball outside his teammates.
I pour more wine in my glass and when I turn around, Cal is standing on the other side of the island, head angled to the side, blatantly studying me.
“Did you need another beer?” I ask, suddenly nervous under his scrutiny.
“No. Thanks.” He glances back to where Easton and Derek are laughing about something and then back to me. “So, Scout, are you living here now?”
I purse my lips as I contemplate how to answer, because for some reason, I feel like I’m being judged. “I have my own place still, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But this thing between you two is serious then?”
What’s with the fifty questions?
“I’d say so, yes.” I watch and wait for a reaction but his expression remains stoic.
“That’s good. I’m really glad he has someone like you to help him through this tough time. Between the shoulder being reinjured and the damn broadcasting blunder, he needs someone supportive on his side.”
Exactly. It’s not like he can count on you, Cal, to be that for him.
I stare at him for a beat, hearing the words he’s saying. However, I get the sense that he means something else. “He’s a good man,” I finally reply following Cal’s glance to the family room where Easton listens intently to a story Derek is telling him.
Every part of Easton’s smile is worth a missed night out with him.
“I know the next few months are going to be difficult for him. Itching to start rehab. Mentally readying himself so he doesn’t fear injuring his shoulder again.” He takes a sip of beer. “And whatever else life throws at him.”
I murmur a noncommittal sound, wondering what that means. There can’t possibly be more life can throw Easton’s way to shock him after the year he’s had.