42. Chapter 42
Chapter 42
Zack
“What did you just say?” I ask the random person standing in front of me, who I’ve never met in my entire life, claiming to be my brother.
“I know it sounds bizarre, and us running into each other like this is a complete coincidence. But you’re my brother. My half-brother.”
He’s speaking English but it feels like these words don’t belong together.
“I think you’ve got your lines crossed. I don’t have a brother. I have a sister—”
“Riley. Yeah. I know. Chris told me.”
Chris . My dad.
I put my hands on my hips and stare at him. Now, this is information someone could get from a Google search, but why? What’s the angle?
“This isn’t bullshit. I’m telling you the truth. I’ll tell you everything.” He waves as he takes a couple steps forward.
My brain can’t compute what’s happening. The gaps can’t be filled in.
When he realizes I’m not following, he stops. “Let me guess. Your dad just got a hold of you about needing to talk when you’re back home, right?”
How the fuck does he know that?
“If you’re fucking with me—” I say, rubbing my hands together.
“Why would I do that? I’m not fucking with you. Come on. ”
I look to the beach and then back at this guy. Brooks. I take him in, and it’s hard to not notice the similarities. My stomach turns into a pit, a mile deep, because all I can think about is my dad and how he’s been acting.
He’s not sick but he does have a secret he’s been keeping.
“I’m Brooks Pittman. I play for the New Jersey Jaguars.”
“Did you follow me here?”
He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “What? No. Fuck no. It’s the opening week for the NBA, and they’re trying to tap into some international markets. Our first two games are in Mexico. I didn’t know you were here until I legit saw you walking around five minutes ago.”
I follow enough about the NBA to know he’s telling the truth about the markets.
Brooks continues. “Listen, I know this is shocking, and I fucking get it. I didn’t sign up for any of this either.”
The waves crashing on the beach remind me of Emilie, waiting for me. If anyone would understand, it’s her. I’ll listen to whatever Brooks has to say, and then I’ll find her. Fuck, I’ll bring him with me if I think I’ll need it.
I pull my phone out to text her but it slips out of my clammy hands, face down paired with a terrible cracking sound, on the paved walkway. Shards of glass sparkle in the sunlight—a bad fucking sign for me. I hesitantly pick it up, praying to anyone who will listen that the glass was already there and not from my phone. When I turn it over, it’s nothing but a black screen with a corner completely missing, showing me the inside of my phone, something you shouldn’t ever see.
“This isn’t fucking ideal,” I groan, shaking it out enough to put it in my pocket.
Brooks watches me and tries to help. “You can use mine. ”
I don’t know Emilie’s phone number. Fuck.
We walk in silence together and find a café. I don’t know if I’m making the right call, my stomach thick with knots and doubt. We slip into a booth, almost hidden and tucked away from the rest.
I refuse to talk first.
Brooks takes a long drink from his glass of water. “I grew up with a single mom. She never dated and never talked about my dad, no matter how many times I asked. I thought maybe she didn’t know? That I was the product of a one-night-stand or some shit. A few months ago, I was helping clean out her house to move her into a new one. Contract money, you know?”
I do know. It’s the first thing I tried to do for my family when I had enough.
“I was cleaning the attic and found a box. It had a few pictures of her and this man. I didn’t think it was anything until I read some of the letters that were in there.” He clears his throat before looking up at me, his fingers playing with the straw wrapper. “They were in envelopes, not sealed, but with a stamp and an address. Like, she was going to send them but never did. I read a few of them, and it was her telling Chris about me.” Brooks gets his phone out, looking for something. After a few seconds, he places it down in front of me.
No fucking way.
It’s my dad but from another lifetime—at least twenty years ago—with a woman. My eyes fill with tears, out of surprise or maybe fear for what this means.
“I told my mom I found the box. She came clean. Told me that he was my dad, and he didn’t know I existed. Apparently, they met when he was on the outs with his wife before he was married. When they met up, he told her he worked things out, and that he couldn’t see her anymore.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand .
“It was easy to find him, considering he still lives in the same house.”
He shows me his phone, a picture of an envelope with my address on it.
“You’re my brother,” I say mostly to myself.
“I called him, we set up a time to meet, and at first he was so upset. Like pissed off. Angry. It doesn’t matter that I had a great life and did well for myself. I don’t hold it against the guy for not knowing, but I would like to know him now. He sort of panicked. We were supposed to meet up when he came to one of your away games, but he bailed last minute.”
The night we went to dinner comes roaring back. He was anxious in the hotel lobby because he thought Brooks was going to show up.
Fuck .
“Do you believe me?” he asks, his voice smaller than before.
“Yeah. I do. I just, my brain. It can’t focus on one thing and—”
“I’ll cut to the chase. I’m not going to tell anyone. Not the press. Not anyone else. I’m an only child. I do want to know him now, if that’s an option.”
“How old are you?” I ask, trying to put a timeline together.
“Just turned twenty-five.”
That means he was born between Riley and me. Fuck . I was born before my parents were married, but I wonder if my mom knew my dad met someone else. I mean, the timeline isn’t a secret. My blood runs cold but my heartbeat beats hard and fast.
“That makes you my younger brother.”
“I guess so,” Brooks replies, focusing on the condensation of the glass.
I don’t know how long we sit there in silence. I think about my dad the last few months, the erratic behavior. How this must be killing him. If he truly didn’t know, this would be devastating to hear.
My brain runs from one thought to the next .
“Well, it’s good to meet you… I think.” I reach for a handshake. “I don’t know what the rules are for something like this.”
“It’s good to meet you. I promise I didn’t know you were going to be here but I couldn’t let you walk by.”
“So, what now?”
“I’d like to meet up, not at a random resort on my way to shootaround, but for dinner. A drink? I’d also like to meet Riley. I don’t need to infiltrate your family or anything like that. I just want to know a little bit about where I came from.”
This all seems reasonable. I don’t know if this is how I’d be if the tables were turned.
I crack my knuckles. “That seems reasonable. But to be completely honest, my brain is kind of like scrambled eggs at this point. It’s like I hear you but I’m trying to process.”
He laughs at my choice of words and puts his hands up. “I get it. I’ve had lots of time to think about this. Take as much time as you need.” He grabs his phone. “I’d offer to exchange numbers but yours is kind of busted. Do you want to give me yours?”
Such an easy question but the answer feels so much more complicated. Before the silence stretches into being completely unbearable, I reach for the phone and put in my number.
I’m still sitting in this booth, an hour later. Brooks left, needing to get to practice, and I’ve been staring at the wall. It’s like putting together a puzzle but you only have some of the pieces.
I need to get to Emilie.
I have to call my dad .
I need a phone but the café is technically closed, there’s no one working. I run to the resort lobby, which is closer than my room, to use theirs.
When I reach the front desk, I’m sweating and breathing heavily. Yes, I’m a professional athlete, but running in dress pants and a button up shirt, in Mexico, is different. I awkwardly ask if I can use their phone. They set the phone on the ledge, turning it toward me.
I walk to the side of the reception desk; luckily, there’s no one needing anything right now. I dial his number and my heartbeat feels too fast. It rings and suddenly I’m lightheaded and my chest is tight. I try to get further away from the desk, and when I think the corded telephone is going to pull tight, I’ve found a perfect spot in the corner.
My dad answers after a few rings. “Zack, is that you? I think this is the resort you’re staying at—”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m not physically hurt or anything.”
A sigh fills the other line.
“Dad, is it true?” It’s the only thing that I can think to ask.
“Is what true?” he asks on the other line, his voice hesitant.
“Brooks. Is it true?” It feels odd saying his name.
My dad takes a deep breath and sighs it out, the silence stretching thousands of miles between us.
"Yes.”
My stomach drops, and I rest my head on the cold tile of the wall.
“Did you really not know?”
“No!” he practically yells on the other line. “Things would’ve been much different if I had known. I’d never have just left him without a dad—” His voice crackles with emotion, and there’s a lump in my throat to match.
“I told Mack last week. I needed to tell her before I told you and Riley. ”
I can’t believe how small his voice sounds—like pebbles where boulders used to be.
“How is Mom?” I ask the question I’ve been nervous to spend too long thinking about.
“Incredible. Like she always is. She’s pissed I kept this secret to myself for so long. When I didn’t need to.” He pauses, and I sit in the wave of relief that’s hit my body. “After you were born, there were a few months where we broke up. We co-parented, but we weren’t together. I went out with the guys one night and met someone, which Mack knew about, and I think you get the rest.”
This isn’t the first time I’m hearing this. They’ve mentioned it in passing but when they brought it up, it always felt much smaller than this. I looked at my parents and thought they’d meant a fight, or a few days, or a week. Their love always felt so big that it couldn’t be much more than that.
I guess love like that can make it through something like this.
My stomach clenches as I think about Emilie being on the beach, alone, waiting for me.
“Dad, I love you, but I have to go. My phone is trashed so you won’t be able to get a hold of me, but let’s have dinner when I’m back.”
“I love you too,” he says in a way that hits the inside of my rib cage.
I hang up the phone, thank the front desk worker for letting me use it, and then I start running.