Chapter 90
“Idon’t know what I’m supposed to tell you.”
Dr. Ellison—he’d told Rhys to just call him Landon—steepled his fingers. Rhys had been lucky to get in so quickly, though it probably helped to have dropped Brady’s name. “You aren’t supposed to tell me anything. There isn’t one right way to handle therapy.”
“It would make it a lot easier if there was,” Rhys joked.
The therapist’s lips curled up. “That’s not the way life typically works. I’m sure you know that.”
He’d talked a little about his childhood in the foster system. Not everything. Even now, he found it hard to go into all of that.
Even if it was what Dr. Ellison was supposed to be there to help him with. “I messed up a really good thing because I couldn’t stop someone from my past using what we had against us.”
“You do know other people’s actions are not your fault.”
“They always said it was.”
“That is something that is on them, not a failing on your part.”
The therapist had said that at least once already. And rationally, Rhys did understand that. He would have told someone else the same thing. Hell, he told Brock that when he’d been dealing with his family.
Why couldn’t he apply it to himself?
That thought kept circling in his head, even as he set up an appointment for the next time they’d have an off day at home.
As he dragged himself out to his car. He didn’t know why sitting in a comfortable chair, talking—something he’d always been excellent at—left him feeling more drained than playing nine innings of baseball.
He should go home. Wash the misery off of him and be ready to play in the game tomorrow. Which would mean being alone with his thoughts, Yeah, no, he just couldn’t do that now.
He’d take some batting practice, see if one of the pitchers wanted him to catch for them. That would at least keep him out of his head for a little while. And figure out what he could say to Alfie and Mel if he couldn’t avoid him completely.
He couldn’t continue doing that. He just didn’t know how to make this right.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who decided to spend their day off here. Several of his teammates watched him walk through the lounge, and Turner narrowed his eyes at him. Did they all think he would lose it on them?
He really had some apologies to make. Before they left for Arkala in the morning.
Rhys headed into the locker room and changed. He hadn't seen any of the pitchers around, so he headed out to the cages. When he returned, sweaty and feeling slightly better, Turner waited there, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“You got your shit figured out yet? I’d like to be able to play you in Arkala. That's not going to happen if you’re going to come unglued on an umpire. Or refuse to come to us when you’re struggling.”
He dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m working on it.”
“Good. Keep doing that. In the meantime, there’s someone out there who wants to talk to you.”
Rhys’s head came up. For a moment, he thought Mel had come here. Why would they do that? When he’d completely ghosted them after the other morning. “Who?” The word caught in his throat.
“Said he knew you as a kid.”
Shit. “If it’s that douchenozzle, I told him he’s not getting anything from me. Hasn’t he already done enough?”
Turner shook his head. “Not him. He said he has something for you. He doesn’t want anything in return.”
“Right. I’ll believe that when it ever happens.”
Turner gave him a crooked smile. “There might be some people who’ll surprise you. If he lied, we’re all right here for you. Try not to forget that.”
Rhys swallowed hard then headed out into the lounge. He needed a shower, but whoever this was, if it really wasn’t Craig, could just deal with it. When he saw the head of auburn hair though his feet froze to the floor. “What are you doing here?”
Not a ghost. He was not seeing a ghost. He reminded himself of that as Brendan Molson turned to look at him.
A couple of Rhys’s teammates were lingering in the lounge.
No Alfie, though. They glanced toward him then away.
Most of them hadn’t cared about the pictures.
A few ribbed him, since apparently Rhys and Alfie hadn’t hidden their feelings for each other as well as they’d thought.
If only Mel hadn’t been caught in the middle of it. That was his fault, and he needed to make things right.
“Your coach let me in when I said I wanted to talk to you,” Brendan said. “And only after I assured him I wasn’t a stalker or someone out to try to extort you for money.”
“Then, what do you want?” Their one connection was Simon, and he’d been gone for years, so what did any of it matter?
Why would Brendan show up now? It felt like too much.
“I don’t have anything to give. I told my former foster brother that, but he didn’t believe me.
Apparently when he didn’t get money, he decided public humiliation was the next best thing. ”
He couldn’t believe he’d blurted that all out, although his verbal filter always had been defective. He didn’t say the things he should, and he always said the things he shouldn’t.
Rhys was sure a muscle twitched at the corner of Brendan’s jaw. “Love is nothing to be ashamed of. That’s exactly what I saw in those pictures.”
That was why he was here. Great. Just fucking great. “I’m really sure Simon wouldn’t agree with you. He’d be as disappointed with me as everyone else around here.”
“The third degree I got from your coach would say otherwise. I’ve suffered burns that left less of a mark.”
“I’m bringing a bad image to the team once again. Just because those pictures got twisted.”
“That isn’t your fault. Simon certainly wouldn’t have thought so.”
“Right,” Rhys said again, with a snort. “Like he wouldn’t have thought it as bad enough I’m with a man. Two people? I must be greedy and selfish.”
Brendan laughed. “You can’t actually believe that.”
“Why wouldn’t I? He was so upright. Always did the right thing. Trust me, I know what people thought was the right thing about queer people. The guy who took those photos? He beat me because he saw me kissing a boy when I was fifteen. Our foster parents said I deserved it.”
“They deserved to be beat, and Simon would have thought the same.”
Rhys wanted to believe it, so much. Even Simon hadn’t cared enough to keep him around. Why would he have? Rhys wasn’t worth it.
“Do you remember Simon’s friend, Jake?” Brendan opened the envelope he had with him.
Rhys shook his head, but Brendan flipped through some photos then handed one to Rhys. The memory hit him. “He’d meet us at the park sometimes. Throw the ball around. He taught me to catch.” How could he have forgotten that?
“He’d played in the minors for a while. Didn’t make it farther before coming home to take care of his family.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“I was going through my grandparents’ attic the other day, and ran across these pictures of Simon’s they’d kept. Look at that one.”
Rhys did and saw Simon standing with his hand on Rhys’s shoulder, he’d been maybe 5 or 6. Simon was looking right at Jake. A small smile curling up the corner of his mouth. Rhys recognized that look.
“Simon’s parents tried to keep Jake from coming to the funeral. They were afraid he’d make a scene and tarnish Simon’s reputation. As if dying a hero wasn’t enough. My grandparents overrode them. They accepted Simon even when his own parents barely tolerated him.”
“He was in love with Jake.” Rhys couldn’t take his gaze off the photo.
“Why do you think he wasn’t ever able to adopt you?”
Rhys’s eyes were burning, but he couldn’t look away. “I didn’t think he wanted to. His life wasn’t set up for it.”
“The courts already wouldn’t grant custody to a single man who held a dangerous job with long hours. And a gay man? Not that much progress had been made yet. But, trust me, Rhys, he wanted you. He did everything he could to make sure you had a decent life, for as long as he could.”
“Where’s Jake now?” Rhys still stared at that damn picture. That could be him looking at Alfie. Or Mel. He’d thrown that away because what? Someone else didn’t think he was good enough?
“Married,” Brendan said brightly. “He actually lives not far from here. I’m staying with them while I’m here.
Jake and his husband adopted a couple of little boys they’d fostered since they were newborns.
The state made them jump through hoops, but the adoption is finally official.
I have a picture.” He took out his phone and showed it to Rhys.
Maybe three years old, blond hair, green eyes.
“Twins,” Brendan said. “No father on record. Their mother didn’t have a support system, and she was struggling even when pregnant.
She couldn’t take care of them. Twenty years ago, Jake and his husband wouldn’t have been able to give Simon and Reese a home. ”
“I did not just hear you right.”
Brendan let out a laugh. “You did. Jake didn’t forget about you, either. Hell, he’s the reason I knew you were a baseball player. He’s followed your career. There’s more pictures in there. They’re yours to keep. Simon would have wanted you to have them.”
Brendan walked away, and Rhys heard the door open and a murmur of voices. One deep, with that Venezuelan accent he loved so much. He couldn’t let himself look up. Not as he dumped the envelope out onto the table in front of him. Not that Alfie probably wanted anything to do with him now.
Photos scattered as well as an old homemade card.
He picked up the folded piece of construction paper.
‘Happy Father’s Day’ was written on the front.
He opened it up with a shaking hand to see badly drawn stick figures, one taller than the other but holding hands.
Another drawing of what he assumed was supposed to be them playing catch.
Under it, in a child’s scrawl was ‘Love, Rhys’.
He set that aside and started flipping through the pictures, each one causing a memory to crash through him. He looked up when he sensed someone standing next to him. “He loved me.” His voice caught on the words as he saw Mel standing beside Alfie. “He wanted me with him.”
“I do not understand why you think he wouldn’t,” Alfie said.
“We want you with us, too,” Mel said. “If that’s still what you want.”
Tears burned his eyes. “I stink.”
Mel made a face. “You do not. There is nothing wrong—”
He let out a watery laugh. “No, I was in the cages. I reek, Mel.”
A smile cracked their face. “Then, it’s a good thing I have a shower. Come home, Rhys.”