It’s late.
The lot is a ghost town.
I’m not sure how long I sit in the truck staring at the gray concrete walls of the parking garage to my building, but I can’t bring myself to go upstairs just yet.
So many goddamn lies I can’t wrap my head around them all. What to believe. What not to believe. How my mom can be so fucked up she still thinks my dad is going to come back for her. How I share the same blood with Santiago when I fucking despise him.
I climb out of the truck. The looks on my dad’s and Santiago’s faces etched in my mind. And then my mom’s. Her pitiful love for a man who’ll never come back for her. And my pathetic hope that this is all a dream.
“Easton.”
I’m halfway toward the elevator. I stand there in no man’s land—so close to home—and grit my teeth.
I don’t want to do this right now.
I don’t want to see him.
I don’t want to face this.
“Easton.”
I snap.
“You couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, could you? Big, bad, on-top-of-the-world baseball player had to fuck anything with two tits, a hole, and a heartbeat to keep your god complex at full speed.”
“It wasn’t like that. Can we go upstairs? Somewhere private?”
“Oh, of course. You want to keep this on the down-low so we don’t ruin the image you have of being Mr. Fucking Perfect . . . Well, you’re not so goddamn perfect after all, are you?”
He takes a step toward me. “We need to talk, son.”
“Don’t you son me!” I turn to face him for the first time, and just like my mom did, he looks like he’s aged one hundred years tonight. He looks old. Tired. Broken. And the fact that I care only pisses me off further and fuels my fire. “How many other siblings do I have, Dad? Maybe I have a sister in Dallas. And another brother in New York. Hell, maybe there’s one in every city you’ve ever played in. Lucky me.”
“It wasn’t like that, Easton. His mother never told me more than she was pregnant. I didn’t even know that there was a him to begin with.”
“Let me guess. She told you she was pregnant, and you wanted to get rid of ‘the little problem’ so you shelled out some cash to shut her up and for her to get an abortion. Anything to avoid ruining your reputation. And, lo and behold, she didn’t do what she was told.”
“Easton.” His eyes narrow as he takes a step toward me. “Who the hell do you think I am?”
“I don’t know anymore.” The words are the calmest ones I’ve spoken, but by his grimace, I know they cut the deepest.
“It wasn’t like that. I promise you it wasn’t.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks around to make sure we’re still alone. “She told me she was pregnant but didn’t want me to have any part of the baby’s life. That it wasn’t fair to my family and it wasn’t fair to her and the baby. For each of you to get half of me.”
“How convenient.”
“I’m serious. I didn’t even know about him until he sought me out earlier this year.” He’s known for months and didn’t fucking tell me?
“So what? You told Mom you had a baby momma on the side and you ruined our family anyway?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.
“Then what was it like? Enlighten me. Why don’t you tell me what it was like to throw away a normal life for your son because you were too goddamn selfish to put him before yourself.”
“I’m not proud of what I did, but—”
“Big of you to take some ownership, Cal.”
“I tried to hide your mom’s drinking from you,” he says, talking right over my sarcasm.
“She didn’t drink until after you left us.”
“You didn’t know she drank until then because I sheltered you from it. Hid it from you.”
“That’s a fucking bullshit cop-out, and you know it,” I shout at the top of my lungs.
He’s going to blame this on my mom? Fuck him.
“Think about it, Easton. Think back to when you were a kid, but look at it through the eyes of an adult.”
I stare at him and reject the words he’s saying, despite the random memories they trigger that never made sense. Surprise pickups from school where he and I would spend the night at a hotel even though it was a school night. The garbage can that clinked like glass bottles when I had to help drag it down to the edge of the driveway for the trash pickup. His only explanation being that they were beer bottles from the guys coming over to play poker, except I never remembered any guys coming over. Last minute road trips with the team when I was supposed to stay home because I’d already missed too much school.
I don’t want to believe any of the memories because that would mean he’s telling the truth, and right now, his truth is not something I trust.
“Your mom had two loves. You and her alcohol. She became married to the bottle and had no room left for me.” There’s hurt in his eyes that I refuse to acknowledge. “Maybe I’m the one who caused it. Maybe my traveling and leaving her with a young and energetic little boy was too much for her to handle. I’ll never know, Easton. But in a period of six years, we went from being this loving household to one where she shut me out. It’s no excuse, but I was lonely. My affair had to do with so much more than sex. It had to do with companionship. It was having someone to talk to at the end of the day. Was it wrong? Yes. Were there better ways of handling it? Definitely. But I held on to our family for as long as possible and then Maria became pregnant.”
So she has a name. “Maria,” I whisper, hating the way it sounds in my head.
“Yes,” he nods. “Your mom found the letter Maria had written, telling me goodbye and that she didn’t want me to ever contact her again or the baby after it was born. Your mom and I fought over it. I told her I’d make things right and earn her trust again and she agreed to get clean. We agreed to spend some time apart, but I promised I’d come back for her. Fight for her. When I did, it was obvious that our separation only served to strengthen her love for her alcohol.”
“But she loved you. She still does.”
“And I’ll always love the woman she was. The one I chose to see when I’d pick you up for my scheduled days. The sober one who’d get all dressed up with her red lipstick on to let me know she was still interested. And I did go back some nights after you’d fallen asleep. I’d beg her to go to rehab. To get treatment. And she tried—that summer you road-tripped with me and the team for two months—but in the end her addiction won.”
I try to digest everything he’s telling me. “What about Maria? You just let her walk away without a fight?”
“No. I tried to find her but she was gone. Picked up and moved without a forwarding address.”
I’m at a loss what to do here. My stomach churns and my chest hurts from the anger eating me whole. There’s so much more I need to know but am too afraid to ask. In the hour it’s taken to get from Mom’s shitty trailer, so many things have crossed my mind.
“I have a shit ton of questions. So many my head’s fucked up, but I need answers. Can you give me that? Can you be the man everyone else thinks you are and answer them?”
He cringes at my dig, but fuck decency. “Yes.” His voice is barely a whisper and I know he fears what I’ll ask next.
“Did you know Santiago was your son before he took me out?” I clench my jaw and wait for the answer.
“No.”
He starts to say something and I raise my hand to stop him. I need to get through these to keep my calm and fight back the rage.
“Is he blackmailing you?”
His eyes flash to mine, the question startling him. “Not really.”
“Yes or no, Cal. You can’t sort-of blackmail someone.”
“He was distraught over his mother’s death. Angry at the world because he lived a life trying to make ends meet without a father. Everything was a struggle for him, and then he found out he’s my son. And while he was struggling day-to-day, you, the guy whose stats he chased for years, had it all. He felt robbed. He questioned why you led a life of privilege when he’d lived one of poverty . . . yet you both share my blood.”
“That’s not my fucking fault.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. And I tried telling him that, but resentment is a hard thing to let go of.”
It’s no excuse. That’s all I think over and over as my dad talks. None of this is a valid excuse for fucking up my career.
“Blackmail, Dad. Yes or no?”
“All he wanted was the same privileges and opportunities you had.”
“And all you wanted was to keep your dirty, little secret quiet, right?” The sarcasm falls second to the disbelief as he hangs his head momentarily, eyes looking at his feet.
Who the fuck is this man? I don’t even know him anymore. How many other lies have there been?
“What was I supposed to do, Easton? What? Deny him something I had no control over his whole life? Wouldn’t you think less of me if I walked away from him? I’m struggling to figure out how we go from here.”
“We? There is no we, here.”
He nods. “I meant me and Mateo.”
Mateo? I don’t want to think about him being on a first name basis with him. And fuck if that correction wasn’t what I wanted but at the same time only makes the sting a little stronger.
“Did you have any influence, play any part, in bringing him to the Aces?”
The sudden slump of his shoulders makes me take a step away from him. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Every part of me begs him to say no.
But he doesn’t speak.
“Yes or no?” I shout.
“Yes.” I can barely hear the word. It rings in my ears.
He knew.
He organized for the asshole who ruined my career to play for the Aces. With his fucking son. His fucking first son.
“You were never supposed to be traded. I didn’t have a clue what Tillman had up his sleeve. Not a fucking clue.”
“Convenient.” I snort. “You felt the Aces could give him the same thing I had? What he wanted? Just to ease your guilt?” What about me?
“I know you have no reason to believe me right now, but please, believe this, it wasn’t intentional. Tillman was looking for a back-up catcher—at least that’s what he told everyone. He said he wanted to bring someone on board to help ease your transition back. Of all of the available catchers, Santiago had the best stats of the lot.”
“You can sugar coat it any way you want to make it easier for you to swallow, but let’s face it, you talked the asshole GM into bringing the guy who fucked up your son’s arm to the club he plays for out of guilt.”
“Yes. No. I was desperate, Easton.”
My laugh is anything but humorous as I try to wrap my head around everything. As I try to put myself in my dad’s shoes but know they reek of bullshit.
“All he wanted was my time, Easton. A chance to get to know the father he never knew—”
“He got a contract that doubled his goddamn salary. You can’t tell me money wasn’t a motivating factor here, Pops.”
“He only wants more—”
“Spare me your excuses, Dad.”
We stare at each other. The fury coursing through my veins makes it impossible to listen to any more of this.
“When you were traded,” he says after a moment, “I went to Boseman and told him what Tillman did. I told him about the rumors going around about what he did to other players. I’m the one who helped to get him fired—”
“You expect me to thank you for that?” Jesus fucking Christ. “He’s an Ace. And I’m not. He took my position. My team. So fuck that, Dad. Fuck you. Fuck this whole fucked-up situation.”
“It was a perfect storm of coincidence between Tillman’s and Santiago’s—”
“He’s the one who fucked up my shoulder,” I shout at the top of my lungs to break through the fog he seems to be operating under. The sting of betrayal real and raw and unwelcome. “Why can’t you acknowledge that? Santiago purposely took me out and singlehandedly ruined my fucking career.”
“It’s far from ruined, Easton.”
“Don’t you dare defend him.” My shout thunders across the concrete space and echoes back to us. “He wanted what I had and you gave him the keys and opened the fucking door for him to take it.” I chuckle condescendingly. He may have stopped playing baseball years ago, but he’s still playing a game, now it’s with people’s lives. “You two deserve each other.”
“Easton . . .” He takes a step toward me.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” His eyes plead with me to understand him while my heart and head riot with rage from his betrayal.
Why did I ever want to be like him?
Fuck this.
Fuck everything about it.
I need to go home.
I need Scout.