I nodded sharply.
“They’re not working, then? You have to tell them.”
I huffed out a breath. “I’m not taking them.”
“What? Why on earth not?” His face scrunched up with confusion and I looked around at the green trees surrounding us.
“Because I don’t do that shit. I don’t do drugs. I’ve never taken a painkiller in my life and I’ve heard they’re addictive. What if I get addicted to them?”
Dean laughed. Full-out belly laughed, and I resisted punching him in the gut to shut him up.
“You’re not going to get addicted,” he said. “Just cut them in half. Whenever you start to feel the pain, take half of whatever they prescribed you. Soon, the pain will stop and you won’t need them. You’re not Superman, Jack.”
“Says you.”
“I say that because I know you, brother,” he insisted.
“And I say no because I’ve seen way too many guys get addicted to shit. I refuse to be one of them.”
He sighed, clearly more convinced of my own strength than I was. “Here.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and tossed it onto my lap.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s a letter from Gran.”
“You read it?” I asked, my tone defensive.
He frowned at me and snapped, “Does it look like I read it?”
I turned the envelope around, and ripped open the seal.
Dear Jack,
Sometimes life doesn’t unfold the way we want it to. You, of all people, have learned that lesson all too well. First with your parents, then with Cassie and that other horrible girl, and now with baseball.
Gramps and I are so sorry that your hand is broken. And we know how much you must be hurting because of it. But, Jack, I’m hearing things about your behavior and attitude toward your wife that I cannot condone. I did not raise you to be mean, rude, or disrespectful to the one person who has loved you at your worst.
I know you feel as though your life IS baseball, but the reality is your life is so much more than just your chosen profession. True, baseball is a part of your life, but it is only a part. No matter how wholeheartedly you think differently, you are not baseball, and baseball is not you. It will not last forever. Nothing does, dear. Nothing except love, of course.
Eventually your hand will heal, but if you ruin things with your wife, I fear your heart never will. Remember how it felt to lose her. And don’t let it happen again.
Remember who you are. You’re Jack Carter, the boy with the unbreakable spirit and resolve. The boy who doesn’t take no for an answer when it’s something he wants. You’ve been like that since you were five years old. And I know you haven’t changed. So stop throwing this little pity party of yours and get your priorities straight.
You know how I feel about flying, so DO NOT MAKE ME GET ON A PLANE AND FLY OUT THERE! I will if you leave me no choice, but I won’t be happy about it. The next time I talk to that wife of yours, she’d better not be crying.
I love you,
Gran (Gramps too)
“Fuck,” I breathed out, running my free hand through my hair. “Cassie cried to Gran?”
“What?” Dean asked, clearly as clueless as I was. I handed him the letter so he could read it himself and sucked in a long, slow breath. They were right. Everyone was. I was being a f**king ass**le to the one person who deserved it the least.
Cassie.
Shit.
My beautiful Kitten. My heart. My soul. The only thing in this world I loved more than baseball. Had I somehow forgotten that? I certainly acted like it. I owed her a million apologies, and a thousand explanations. And I hoped that they would be enough.
All I’d done since I met this girl was bring her grief. It wasn’t enough to have some good times when you overshadowed them with bad ones. I needed to stop being such a dick and get my head on straight.
“Remind me to never upset her, okay? I don’t think I could handle a Gran letter like this.” Dean’s eyes were wide as he handed the letter back to me.
I grabbed it and folded it carefully, then tucked it into my jeans pocket.
“We have to get out of here. I need to go home.” I rose from the rock and climbed back down it, trying not to fall on my ass and break my other hand.
I thought Dean might be disappointed, but he sat there looking at me with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. “Thank God!” he called out toward the sky.
“Now we’re religious?”
“If that’s what it takes, then hell yeah, I’m religious.” He hopped down and patted my back. “Let’s get you home to your wife.”
I hailed a cab the second my foot hit the crowded sidewalk outside the park. We scooted into the backseat and I gave the cabbie our address.
“So, do you want to talk about it?” Dean looked at me and the sympathy in his eyes made me cringe.
“I do,” I said with a nod. “But not with you.”
“Uh, thanks.”
I laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just need to talk to my wife first.”
Dean nodded his head in agreement. “Definitely. But then I want to hear about it, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks for coming out here.” I punched his thigh playfully, wanting him to know that having him here made me happy.
“I’m your brother. I’d do anything for you,” he said, and I knew he meant it.
“Same here.” Of course I didn’t need to say it, but I wanted to.