“Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Go talk to your brother.”
“Thank you,” I say, kissing Everly on the forehead.
I brace myself, not sure what to expect as I approach the man who wears a bewildered expression, repeating “Princess Papaya,” like he’s not sure where he is, no less who he is.
I take to the field, ready to win no matter what I have to do for my brother.
“Bran?” I ask.
His eyes land on me and I search for a flash of recognition. “Bran,” he repeats.
“It’s me, your brother.” Emotion bubbles to the surface when he doesn’t answer.
He blinks slowly.
If he had a brain injury or experiences some type of amnesia, I’m guessing there’s a way to do this that doesn’t involve being in the middle of a food fight, but I need my brother right now. Likely, he needs me.
“Remember camping with Mom and Dad? That eagle would always fly overhead in the morning. You’d always talk about joining the Air Force—the logo for that branch of service has an eagle on it. Well, you served bravely, heroically. Then you went missing. We thought—” It feels like I’m breathing through a straw.
I can’t help it, I pull Bran in for a hug. Mom is going to be beside herself. Sonny gets to have an uncle.
“Bran,” I whisper. “If you’re in there. I need you right now, buddy. I don’t know how to do this.”
The metal of his dog tags that I’ve worn all this time press against my chest and I pull them out. “These are yours.”
He takes them in his hands and turns them over a few times. “Branson Adams,” he reads.
My eyes fill, hearing his voice. Mine shakes when I say, “That’s you. Branson Adams.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I fear he’s going to ask me who I am.
But a piece of cake with blue frosting lands at our feet. We both laugh. Another comes and then another. I pull him toward a table to take cover.
There, I find Everly and a bowl of mashed potatoes that she hurls with a spoon like a mini catapult.
“It’s war.” Then her face pinches. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s okay. At least he’s here and not wherever he was. If the most danger he has to face today is getting beaned off the head with a, well, a string bean,” I hold one up, “I think we can live with that.”
A large figure in a black suit and gray hair jumps behind the table with us. “Hey, Grey. Good job completing the Blancbourg training. Sorry, I had to do that to you, but next time think twice about going along with those guys and their pranks.” Coach Hammer jumps to his feet and chucks shrimp rapid-fire.
“I will, sir. But?—”
He drops to a crouch again. “I know I don’t have to worry about you. You’re the most strait-laced player on the team.”
My mouth works, but no words come out.
“I hope everyone learned their lesson and look forward to only seeing you guys in the news when you’ve done a good deed. Although, did you hear about the commissioner?”
I grunt. “Talked to him earlier.”
“I imagine you’ve been up there at that cabin of yours, living the good life.” The coach chuckles and chucks the rest of the shellfish before taking cover once more.
“Coach, doesn’t this seem a little?—?”
He waves dismissively. “With you boys all passing the Blancbourg program with flying colors, we couldn’t let anyone think the Bruisers lost their mojo.”
“Am I in an alternate reality?” But my surroundings are in focus. My pulse is steady.
