I saw the strain it put on my mom, the bags under her eyes, the times she’d break down and cry because it all justgot to be too much. None of that is something to be ashamed of. My momma is a fucking fighter. I lift my chin. She taught me what it means to be strong.
“I don’t deem you less than, Shane,” he says quietly. “Trust me when I say this, because I grew up with more money than any one person should have.” He pauses, and the silence stretches between us. His nostrils flare, his unsteady breath loud in the quiet. “I have more money than I will ever need.” The whisper is torn from him, ragged and coated with pain. “I would giveevery single pennyaway if it meant I could have my dad back.”
My breath stalls. Shit.
He swallows hard and gruffly clears his throat. “So, yeah. No judgment. A lot of admiration and respect for you and your mother working against a broken system that benefits the rich and hurts the poor. But it’s easy to see, with the way you talk about your mom, that you have a rich life in the ways it counts.”
My eyes burn, and I roll onto my back as I blink it away. Damn. Everything just got real heavy.
“I didn’t miss the way you…never mentioned a father?”
“And you, a mother,” I throw back.
“Touché.”
I let my head fall to the side. He’s on his back now too, staring at the ceiling. “You also haven’t told me anything about your childhood. So, I think you’re up to the plate, Pebs.”
He meets my gaze. “I had a…non-traditional childhood. I didn’t grow up in a town or a city. I grew up in clubhouses and ballparks. Mom was sixteen, Dad seventeen, when they had me. Dad got drafted out of high school, first round. And to your point about growing up without money—that signing bonus changed everything for my teenage parents.”
The sliver of light in the room glimmers off his eyes, and his mouth hooks up in a sad smile. “But it didn’t take long for my mom to realize that being a mom wasn’t for her. That being a baseball player’s partner wasn’t for her. She liked Dad’s money, but she was lonely. Any spare time Dad had went to me. And we were moving all the time. She had no support, no friends.”
He blows out a breath. “He found out she was cheating on him, and that was that. They’d never gotten married, so he cut ties. I didn’t know until much later, but Dad had offered to pay her a child support of sorts. With the stipulation that she travel with us. She was free to live her own life, but she had to live wherever he was because he refused to be separated from me. She didn’t take the offer. I don’t think it ever bothered Dad that they didn’t work out, but I know it ate at him that she left me.”
“I’m sorry, Jed.”
He shrugs a shoulder.It is what it is. Isn’t that the truth?
“She got in touch with me after Dad passed. It took a lot of time and therapy for me to respond to her. But we keep in touch now. It’s weird—stiff, I guess? We’re strangers for the most part. But I already lost one parent, so I don’t have it in me to shut her out of my life. She hasn’t asked for money or notoriety. She just wants to get to know me.”
“That must be hard,” I murmur. “Confusing.”
God knows it would be for me. Joyous—finally having my dad in my life. But heartbreaking, old wounds ripped wide open again.
“I…don’t hold any resentment toward her,” he says quietly. “She was nineteen when she and Dad split and she left us behind.Nineteen. Already birthed a child and had arough go of it after I was born, apparently. Will I ever understand how she could leave me behind? No. But she left me with a father who loved me enough for the both of them.”
He turns back to the ceiling. He’s silent, but I can feel it—that there’s more.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is soft, an almost indiscernible tremor to it. “I had the best upbringing. Not one complaint. Dad was the best of fathers, and having had me as young as he did, we really did end up being best friends. We did everything together. I was there for batting practice—sometimes even getting to participate—hanging out in the dugout during Spring Training. My playdates weren’t at the playground; they were in the clubhouse with other players’ kids. I literally grew up surrounded by professional baseball players and coaches. It wasn’t normal, but it was a fucking dream.
“And as soon as off-season hit, it was me and Dad. Those fall fairs I was talking about. Joint costumes for Halloween. Burnt turkey on Thanksgiving. Matching pajamas on Christmas and a real fucking tree. None of that fake shit. We went out and cut down our tree every year.”
The smile in his words settles over me and leaves the most forlorn ache in my chest. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to lose that. If I lost Mom? I can’t even try to think about it or I’ll start bawling.
I reach over until my fingers meet skin. I wrap my hand around his arm and squeeze. “He sounds incredible—ballplayer. Father. Person,” I whisper.
He rests his hand over mine and grips tight. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. It’s fucking shitty as all hell. I don’t think that kind of loss is something you can ever truly get over, no matter how much time passes. I wishthere was more I could do. Move closer. Show more support. But I think those are lines we’re not supposed to cross. I also know when I’m trying to keep my shit together, I need a little space to build my shield back up. So I lie there and do my best to show support with the pressure of my hand and the soft brush of my thumb.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but eventually his grip loosens, and his shaky exhale fills the hotel room. “Your turn,” he says gruffly.
A breath of air puffs between my lips. “You don’t want to hear that sob-story.”
“Try me,” he says softly. “I gave you mine after all.”
“Seriously. How much crying in bed are two men supposed to do?”
His watery chuckle echoes around us. “Fine. Give me the Cliff Notes.”
“It’s…funny in a weird way. But even though our upbringings weresodifferent, they were the same in a lot of ways. My parents were teen parents too. My mom skipped college to take care of me and work. My father went with the goal of earning his degree to support our family. Or so he said.”
