Page 39 of Fair Ball

“One of the coordinators for All-Star Week reached out.”

Philadelphia is hosting this year, which doesn’t mean much for me, but the Thunder as a whole will be more involved with different activities. It’s a league-wide showcase, with an exhibition game, Home Run Derby, and parties, among other events hosted by a chosen city. It’s also the halfway point in the season, so it always works to reenergize teams battling it out for play-off positions.

I plan on doing the least amount of “engagement” possible.

Which is why I grit my teeth when Malcolm says, “Since your dad will be inducted into the Hall of Fame this year, the committee decided to extend an invitation to you and Brett to speak about him at the closing night’s dinner. Brett has already agreed, and before you say no, I want you to just consider it. You are not obligated to attend or speak, but I do want to point out that everyone will assume you won’t. Since I know how fond you are of telling everyone to fuck off, your showing up and speaking will show them all how much you’re unaffected by what happened. You’d be telling them to fuck off.”

“No, me telling them to fuck off is telling them to fuck off. Me going to this thing is giving in.”

Malcolm is the only other person outside of my family to know what happened. I had no intention of confessing it to anyone, especially a public relations manager, but he found me a few whiskeys deep on a particularly low day, and it all came tumbling out before my dinner did.

“I disagree. They all think you’re the spare. They all think you’re an asshole. You telling them to fuck off is proving their point. You going in with your head held high? That’s proving them wrong.”

I rub at the back of my neck, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. A rising tide of anger, resentment, shame, and envy making it hard to breathe, and I tug at the collar of my shirt, wishing like hell these goddamn windows opened so I could get some air.

“I, of course, am leaving it up to you. But, Austin… You deserve respect. Give yourself a chance to earn it.”

Earn respect from my father? Impossible. I’m the fuckup. I’m the son he’s forgotten about. I’m nothing more than half his DNA and a long-forgotten memory since he hasn’t spoken to me since I broke his favored son’s nose.

And my brother? At one point in time, I might have cared about having his respect, but that desire is long gone. Disappeared about the time I returned the diamond ring to the jeweler after Kira admitted she had been cheating on me with Brett. That she loved him and wanted to be with him. She was having his baby after all.

My brother was lucky it was only a broken nose and not his fucking princely reputation. He begged and pleaded for me not to tell anyone—not for his sake, but for Kira’s and the baby’s. He didn’t want any negative attention to harm them.

And he said this all with my father standing there. Arms crossed. Glaring at me like it was my fault. Like I forced my own brother to put his dick in the woman I’d been dating for years.

The woman I wanted to marry and have children with.

Worst of all was that I’d seen a future with her. I was ready for it, and my brother stole it from me.

But he’s the Prince of Baseball. He is the gentleman, the golden god.

I am the bad-tempered “crazy” bully who can’t throw a consistent pitch to save his life.

I’m unworthy. Of my father’s attention, my brother’s loyalty, Kira’s love, all of it. I’ve never been good enough, even before I came down with the yips.

“Think about it,” Malcolm says, and I tip my head back to my seat, closing my eyes to concentrate on breathing.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll think about it.”

“Good. I’ll check back in with you in a couple of days.”

I hang up without another word and rest my forehead on the window, the glass cool enough to offer some respite to my temperature.

It’s not that I want to be this way. I don’t like feeling…all of this all the time. But I don’t know how else to be. I don’t know how to stop all of the emotion, and I work hard to push it down.

Like I’ve been taught to do my whole life.

Don’t disappoint.

Don’t show the pain.

Don’t admit anything is wrong.

For the family.

For the sport.

With nothing left for me.