Page 85 of Fair Ball

“What was that about?” Brett asks as Dad says, “Seems really unprofessional.”

That is what makes me stop in my tracks of going after Millie. I whirl around on him. “You don’t know her, so don’t talk about her.”

“And you better watch your tone. I told you tonight is my night. I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit.”

I shove his hand away from where he’d dug his index finger into my chest. “You’re lucky I even showed up tonight.”

He huffs, stepping back. “I’ll be lucky if you can keep your shit together and not embarrass me again.”

“Come on.” Brett hands his baby to Kira, so he can step between us. “Let’s cool off.”

“I don’t need to cool off. I’m not the one who started it,” I say, and even though I know it’s childish, that’s how I feel. Every time I’m around him, I turn into a knocked-down child.

Dad plants his hands on his hips. “That’s your biggest problem—you never take any responsibility for your actions.”

My vision blurs for a second as my heart beats too hard in my chest, and I raise my hands to my head, trying to breathe deeply. Closing my eyes, I say to no one in particular, “I am the only one to take responsibility for my actions in this family.”

And when I open my eyes once again, Brett’s in front of me. “Is that a dig at me?”

“Of course it’s a fucking dig at you.”

He folds his arms. “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”

“Why would I?”

“So we could talk about this. Like responsible adults.”

I yank at the ends of my hair, a way to keep me tethered to the present and not sink down to the floor in a ball. “You fucked my girlfriend. Knocked her up with your baby while we were still together.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kira recoil, but I don’t care. Especially when my brother says, “That’s my wife. Don’t talk about her like⁠—”

“Like what? Like she cheated on me?” I turn to her, even as I speak to my brother. “Like she didn’t have the decency to come to me, had you fight all her battles?”

She blinks watery eyes. “I was afraid to tell you.”

“You were scared? Well, I was devastated.” I throw my arms out, finally hurling the weight that had been bearing down on my chest. “I had a ring, Kira! I bought you a fucking ring. I wanted to marry you, and the whole time, you were cheating on me with my brother. Of all people.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and Brett steps in front of her to block whatever else I was going to say to her, but it doesn’t matter because I’m done with her. I’m done with all of them.

I sniff and rub the back of my hand across my mouth. “I knew you were my competition, but I at least thought you’d have a little bit of respect for me. We are brothers after all. I thought that would mean something.”

“It does.” He steps toward me. “I love you, man.”

I wave him away. “You don’t know the meaning of that word. You never once protected me, you never once stood up for me, you never once chose me over Dad, over baseball, over your career. You’re just like him.” I point at our father. “You’re my big brother, but you don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself. And if you, for one second, put yourself in my shoes, maybe you’d understand why I didn’t want to talk to you, why I didn’t want to meet your baby.” I cough out a dubious laugh. “The one you named after him. I mean, my god, Brett, do you do anything without checking with him first? Do you ask him if you can take a shit too?”

“Maybe if you were more like your brother, you wouldn’t be in the position you are now,” Dad says, placidly smiling as if he’s passing on some essential life advice. “Out here making a fool of yourself by screaming and yelling. But once again…” He shrugs like it’s no skin off his back. Like I am of no importance. “Maybe if you were more like Brett, Kira would have chosen you instead of him.”

Blinded by rage, I grab him by the collar, but before I can hit him, Brett catches my arm. I vaguely recognize Kira yelling at me to stop and the baby crying. But all I see are moments frozen in time: the cuff on my ear, telling me to do better when I was eight; forcing me to walk it off and keep playing when it turned out I had a hairline fracture in my ankle; the stiff shake of his head and silent treatment when I didn’t play as well as he wanted me to. All of this pent-up fury and painful humiliation need to go somewhere.

And for once, I’d like him to pay the price. I’d like him to feel the shame and nausea. I’d like him to know what it feels like to be a disappointment to his family. Forcing my grip to loosen, I let him go, and he shoves me like he was the one who had me in a hold. I don’t care. I don’t care what he thinks he can prove anymore because he will never be satisfied.

Instead, I dig in my pocket for the crumpled piece of paper with my speech on it and push it into his chest, ignoring the onlookers who’ve assembled at the noise. “You want me to take the fall again? Fine.” I meet all of their eyes, my father’s, my brother’s, and my ex-girlfriend’s. “But I’m done. With all of you.”

Then I stride out of the convention center and turn the closest corner so I can fall over without anyone seeing. With my hands on my knees, I bend, panting like I’ve run a few miles, eyes stinging, lungs on fire.

I should feel better after that.

I should finally feel free, cutting ties with the people who’ve continued to hurt me over and over. But I don’t.