Page 98 of Fair Ball

“I haven’t spoken to my mom in years. She divorced my dad and never looked back. She left me and my brother alone with him, and he didn’t hit us, but he might as well have.”

I don’t have the guts to lift my head and meet Camden’s or Nico’s gazes, so instead, I drop to my elbows. It’s easier to breathe like this anyway. “And then I met Millie, and suddenly I stopped caring so much about my past. I felt good for the first time in a long time, but I also didn’t want any of that to affect her. I didn’t want them to be near her. I tried to protect her, from them…from me.”

Before I know it, my vision’s blacking out, and my knees are hitting the floor. A moment later, I’m hemmed in by two bodies on either side of me. One of them says, “I do this box breathing… My therapist taught it to me. You inhale for four seconds, hold it for four, exhale for four, then hold that for four. Do you want to try it with me?”

I can’t answer since all the air is stuck in my lungs, but he’s sitting so close to me that his shoulders rise as he inhales and lifts his palms, demonstrating how to breathe and hold it. It’s stupid, but I do it anyway.

Then the other one says, “My therapist told me to anchor myself. Look around and remind myself where I am. You can think to yourself… I’m home. I’m safe. I am not in danger. This will pass.”

I roll my head back on my shoulders, holding the exhale when I’m supposed to. Think the words. I’m home. I’m safe.

I inhale and hold it. I am not in danger.

Exhale and hold it. This will pass.

Eventually, I open my eyes, to find Camden Long of the Philadelphia Founders and Nico Tremblay, left-winger for the Philadelphia Iron, blinking at me like what just transpired is totally normal. As if we do this all the time.

“How about some water?” Nico suggests, and I nod my head, though it feels wobbly.

“Let’s get you up.” Camden throws his arm around my back and hauls me to standing, waiting to let go until I’m steady on my feet, then, as one, we all move to the kitchen.

I plant myself on a stool at the counter while Nico finds bottles of water and Camden explores the other cabinets. “You’ve got bags of Skittles sorted by color, trail mix, protein bars, and a huge bag of Veggie Straws. What do you want?”

“Protein bar.”

I catch it as Nico holds his hand up. “Ooh, I’ll take red Skittles.”

Camden lifts the Veggie Straws, but I stop him. “Those are Millie’s favorite.”

He puts them right back and goes with the trail mix instead, and we eat in silence for a few minutes, until Nico says, “So, you don’t think you need therapy, huh?”

I roll the bottle of water between my hands. “I can do it on my own. I can…”

Can what? Fix myself. I can barely fix my mouth to admit that there is something wrong with me; how can I expect to fix whatever is wrong with my head?

Camden leans against the island as he explains, “I didn’t want to go to therapy either. I thought going would somehow make me weak. I thought it would make my coaches and teammates think worse of me. After all the stupid shit I did, after my parents dying, I was still in denial that I could pretend everything was all right, but I eventually realized seeking help only made me stronger.”

I stare at the man on my right, taking in his clean-cut appearance, hair trimmed and gelled, his plain white T-shirt, shorts, and bright-white Jordans all but screaming money. I don’t know much about him except he likes the finer things and he had a career comeback after a career low when he lost the championship for his team and both of his parents tragically passed away in an automobile accident. He seems like someone who has it together at all times, so it makes me feel marginally better that he doesn’t.

Then Nico pipes up. “I don’t know how much you pay attention to the news or whatever, but I was sexually assaulted as a kid.”

I’d heard something about that. A press statement and tour to bring attention to the problem, a charity to support victims. But, like Millie, he seems so happy all the time, it’s impossible to imagine he’s ever had a bad day in his life. But as he tells me, it’s all a facade. “I don’t know what you experienced, but for me… It was easier to pretend it never happened and ignore it than face all the darkness. But, man, it will eat away at you. It’ll affect every corner of your life, in ways you don’t expect, and, like you, I thought I could do it by myself too. I thought if I kept smiling, if I kept telling myself I was all right, I would be. But that’s not how our brains work. It’s not how our bodies work, and you will never be all right until your nervous system can reset. And you can’t do the work on your own. It’s not possible. Believe me.”

I clear my throat, push my words past the restriction that threatens to steal my breath again. “So you both went to therapy?”

“We go to therapy,” Camden corrects.

Nico smiles. “Aside from asking Jo to marry me, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“What if…” I cough to hide the tremble of my voice. “What if they can’t fix me?”

Camden clamps a hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing to be fixed. You aren’t broken.”

“Yeah.” Nico tosses a Skittle into his mouth. “And even if you are a little cracked, Jo told me a story about how there is this form of Japanese art, I don’t know the name, but they fill the cracks in pottery with silver or gold.” He grins obnoxiously. “Only makes you more beautiful.”

Camden scoffs. “You are insufferable.”

Nico clucks his tongue. “That’s all the gold, my friend.”