Page 45 of Chasing Headlines
“Sure.”No, I feel like I'm starting to drown.
“That's good. I just . . .” A pause. Heavy and thick, it spanned the miles. I held my breath, waiting in the silence.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.” His tone stretched to the point of breaking.
I ducked my head. “Yeah, sure Dad, I'm here.”
“Today.It's just not a good day, ya know?”
I pressed my eyes closed. His grief crashed over me in a thick, violent wave.I can't handle this, too.Part of me screamed and clawed, begging not to be here. To be saved from having to listen to this man. My father.
“Had to call Goodson. It was just too much.” His voice rasped. “I don't know how to do this alone.”
Fuck Declan. He should be there.
“Goodson’s a good man. He took care of most of the chores. But I can't afford to keep paying him. Got another damned medical bill in the mail yesterday.”
So that's what set him off.A coughing fit sounded on the other end of the line. “Six months, son. It's been six God damned months.”
“I know, Dad.”
“And I don't know what I'm doing anymore.” A labored breath. “It just, it's like everything that was worth a damn is gone.”
A numb kind of heaviness brought me to the floor. I leaned my head back against the wall. Felt the painful squeeze, the compression, the weight on my chest. Crushing the air from my lungs.
“I don't mean—I just . . .”
“Yeah, I know.” I stared at the nightstand on the other side of the room. “I miss her, too.”Every damned day.I closed my eyes and pictured her face. Before she was sick. The way she smiled. I didn't look like her, but my hair, my eyes . . . My first name, Breslin. Was all her. And I was all she left behind in this world. Why?
She was warmth when you were distant and cold. And in truth, I don't feel like I even know you.
I stayed quiet for a time, as my dad continued to cry.
“I'll come home Saturday. I've got practice Friday till late and I have to catch up on community service hours, but I can work things out to spend Saturday . . . at home.”
“I know you've got a lot with school and practice. But the ranch is your future, son.”
I winced and ran a hand through my hair. The never-ending battle. I didn't have the energy to argue with him tonight. So I settled for: “Sure, Dad.” And hung up.
I buried my face in my hands.You and Mom never listened to me. Always thought baseball was something I'd grow out of.I struggled for air.But baseball is all I want as my future.
“And you're—”No, don't say it. Don't think it. Get up. Get going. Need fuel. Food.I rose to my feet. Trudged across my dorm room. Grabbed my ID card and cap from the table by the door. I made it to the elevator, pressed the button. Leaned my head against the wall and sighed.
Just a part of my past.The crushing pain began all over again.
The next day
Despite my better judgment, I found myself looking for that irritating, man-shaped debacle with the big mouth. Not finding him in the locker room (nor did I see any sign that the Rally Girl “filing show” would happen), I pushed through the exit door and stepped into the hall.
And was treated to one of the most nauseating sights I'd been subjected to in a while: a small crowd of girls around Meyers. One with curly dark hair and a crop top squealed and shook a colorful set of pages in the air.
“Ohmygosh, I saw you play in the finals.” She hugged on his arm. “I couldn't believe it when I saw your picture. That I get to go to school with you. It's so amazing. I'll be at every game.”
“Mer, you know the home games are sold out already.” A different girl studied her nails. Her pink-streaked hair hung down on one side. A hundred piercings lined her ear, several in one eyebrow.
“What? That's so unfair.” The one clinging to Meyers pouted. “You'll sign my copy of the article, though, won't you, Tanny-baby?” She turned quivering lips up to Tanny-baby, and that disgusting smirk slid into place as a third chick tugged on his other arm.
“Mer you know the rules of sharing. No public displays.”