Chapter Thirty-Eight
Taylor
I’m sitting in my car, trying to get the energy to go up to the apartment after a three-game series in Indiana, when two sets of headlights fly into the parking lot behind me. I get out, curious, and Jacob charges toward me.
“I need to talk to your sister.”
“Did she call you?”
“I’m sorry, Taylor.” Todd jogs up behind Jacob. “I messed up.”
I turn to Jacob. “He told you?”
“She hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts, and I can’t wait anymore—I need to know what’s going on.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “It’s late. Come back in the morning and I’ll get her to talk to you.”
He hesitates, his hands clenching at his sides, then says, “All right—but I’m not taking no for an answer tomorrow.”
He gets back in his car and leaves, and I look at Todd.
“It just slipped out,” he says.
I squint at him. “Are you drunk?”
“No, just tipsy enough to loosen my lips.” He rubs his nose. “How was Indiana?”
I start walking to the door and he falls into step beside me. “Good—we took two out of three.”
“That’s . . . that’s great!”
“I didn’t expect you to be drinking when you’ve got the first round coming up.”
“We were going over videos, and it just happened.”
When we get inside, it’s mostly quiet, just Chase on the couch with a law textbook and ESPN on in the background.
“Welcome home, slugger,” he says, barely looking up. “Todd, you look like hell.”
“Is Emma still up?” I ask.
“No, she’s been in your room since dinner.”
I shrug off my jacket. “Jacob’s going to come by tomorrow—he wants to talk to her.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, she’ll love that.”
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’m going to bed.”
I start stripping as soon as I’m in Todd’s room—which is basically my room at this point—and then flop onto the bed. Todd joins me a few minutes later.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” I sigh. “I’m just tired.”
His fingertips brush my cheek, and I open my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s fine—let’s just go to sleep.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I let the dark take over from there. I drift in and out of half-dreams where I’m straddling a pitcher’s mound, the red clay powdering my shoelaces, and there’s a crowd with no faces.
The next morning comes sooner than I would like, and I drag myself out of bed to get some caffeine in my system before it truly begins.
I find Chase already up and reading, the glow of his laptop making his cheekbones look severe.
We don’t talk about the looming Emma-Jacob showdown, or what will happen if she refuses to talk to him.
I pour two mugs of coffee and hand Chase one, then stand at the window and drink mine while the world wakes up outside.
There’s a sharp, insistent knock on the door half an hour later, the sound slicing through the apartment. I set down my mug and pad over, glancing through the peephole. Jacob’s standing there, just barely moving, his whole body coiled and tense, like he’s rehearsed this confrontation since sunrise.
I unlock the deadbolt and open the door; he doesn’t say a word, just stares at me until I step aside and let him in.
“Emma?” I call, walking over to my room, where she’s holed up. “Jacob’s here to see you.”
She flings open the door. “You told him?”
“I didn’t—”
“Taylor had nothing to do with this,” Jacob says, cutting me off. “You haven’t been answering my calls—”
“That’s ‘cause I don’t want to talk to you!”
She tries to slam the door in his face, but he shoulders it open. “All I need to know is if it’s mine,” he says.
They stare at each other, waiting for the other to give up, but in a battle of brute force, Emma’s no match for Jacob. She finally releases the door, and he follows her inside.
“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” I say, turning away.
“Wait!” Emma’s strained voice stops me in my tracks. “You promised me you’d stay.”
“You still want me to?” I ask.
She nods, so I follow them into my room. Emma and I sit next to each other on my bed, while Jacob sits at my desk.
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Um . . . well, the thing is I don’t know if it’s yours or not.”
“Okay, when will you know?”
“There’s a test we can do before it’s born—it’s not legal or anything, but it’d at least give us answers.”
He rubs his hands over his knees. “Then let’s do it. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I’ve been trying to get used to the idea that I’m pregnant.” She swallows hard, the muscles in her neck contracting. “I’m sorry—I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”
“Well, it’s not like you signed up for it either, right?”
Out of nowhere, she buries her face in her hands. “I missed a pill that weekend and I didn’t realize it until the day after we—”
She breaks off, sobbing, and I wrap my arm around her. He draws a hand down his face and then joins me, taking a place at Emma’s other side.
“I know if it’s Tony’s, he doesn’t care what I do, but if it’s yours . . .” she says through her tears.
His eyes widen. “You’re asking me what you should do about it?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know!” She wipes her face.
“I honestly can’t imagine being a mother—I mean I’m such a fucking screwup—how could I possibly take care of a baby?
But then I think about who they might be in ten or twenty years, and it actually looked more like a baby on the ultrasound than I expected.
So I don’t know what to do! Maybe if you tell me what you want to do, it’ll help me decide. ”
He blows out air, his cheeks puffing out. “God, I don’t know either. I thought the biggest thing happening to me this year was the draft.”
Emma’s snort of laughter explodes into the quiet, and all the heaviness in the room lifts for the span of a heartbeat.
The sound startles even her, as if her feelings have just caught her off guard, and she clamps a hand over her mouth while a half-hysterical giggle escapes through her fingers.
I can’t help but join in, and then even Jacob’s stony face cracks with a tired, grateful grin, the kind that’s half embarrassment, half relief that this is finally happening in words and not just dread.
Once the laughter dies, a new, more honest quiet fills the space. Jacob takes a deep breath, speaking first. “If you keep it, I’ll support you—I wouldn’t want to wonder who they’ll be either.”
Emma wipes her eyes with the heel of hand, sniffling. “So you’d actually want to be in their life?”
“Yeah, my parents don’t plan to leave Cleveland, so whenever I visit I’d like to see them.”
“That’s fine—but I don’t want you popping in and out of their life. You’re either all in or all out.”
He pats her leg. “Then I’m all in if you are.”
She nods. “Then let’s get the test done and see what happens.”
It guts me, seeing her so painfully honest and vulnerable, but part of me is also kind of awestruck.
The whole conversation is laced with uncertainty, but she’s still doing it—taking responsibility, not running or lying.
I’m so used to taking care of her—covering for her—that I’m stunned to see her own her life.
The lump in my throat tells me I could cry, but I don’t.
Instead, I slip out of the room, muttering something about needing more caffeine, and let them sort out the rest of the details by themselves.
“How’d it go?” Chase asks when I rejoin him in the kitchen.
“They’re going to get the NIPP test,” I reply, putting fresh grounds into the coffee pot.
“That’s good, then.” He sits back on the stool, biting his bottom lip. “I heard from Dad.”
“And?”
“He convinced Mom to go to rehab.”
I straighten, my spine lengthening to its full height. “How’d he manage that?”
“He told her it’d be better for her career to voluntarily admit herself rather than to be sentenced if the store owner presses charges.” He brushes some dust off his keyboard. “You know how Mom is about her job.”
“Yeah . . .” I lean on the breakfast bar. “It’s just a shame this is what it took.”
“She’ll be in there for a month, so she should be out in time for your graduation.”
I scoff. “As if I even want her there.”
“Let’s just see how she is when she’s sober.”
The coffee maker hisses softly behind me, and I fill my mug. I hug it with both hands and let the heat work its way into my skin, pretending for a moment that my insides are as calm and controlled as this kitchen.
“Dad’s going to be staying at the house while Mom’s away, so I’ll take Emma back there before I head back down to school.”
“Is Emma even willing to live with him?”
“He’s our dad—her official guardian—she should live with him.” He squints at me. “Why aren’t you grateful that he’s taking the responsibility off your shoulders?”
“Because you’re acting like he’s some kind of savior! I had everything under control—”
“Did you? Because, from where I’m standing, you were throwing your life away just as much as Mom or Emma.”
“That’s easy for you and Dad to say when you aren’t in the thick of it. I’m the one who’s been spending every free moment I have going back and forth to Cleveland for Mom and Emma.”
“But you didn’t have to!” He clenches his jaw. “You put that on yourself—if you had called one of us, we could have helped, so if Dad’s a savior, then you’re a martyr.”
My jaw drops, and I just let it hang there for a moment. The words are so raw and on target that I have a half-second’s urge to swing at him. I stare at my cup and press my nails into the ceramic until my hands go numb.
I want to argue, I really do, but suddenly I’m too tired to even fight with my own brother. The exhaustion is less about sleep and more about the kind that seeps into your marrow—the kind that builds up over years of fixing, running, and tackling everyone else’s emergencies before your own.
I fill my lungs with hot, bitter air. “You’re really laying it on today, huh?”
He doesn’t soften, but his eyes are less harsh. “I didn’t come here to coddle you. I came here because you’re my sister and I want you to get a fucking chance. Go to Texas. Or wherever. Just don’t make excuses for not doing it.”
I continue to glare at him, but there’s a tiny thrill in my chest because I know he’s right.
I have spent so long as the default caretaker that I don’t know what it means to not be in charge of the mess.
The idea that I could just offload Emma and Mom onto our dad and walk away to build my own life is almost as terrifying as keeping them tethered to me forever.