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“Well, I don’t.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the window frame, staring out. How had he missed I changed the subject every time he mentioned the B word?
“Bullshit. Who had the most home runs in the league last season?” he grilled, refusing to drop it.
“I don’t know.”
“Why lie aboutthat?”
“I’m not lying. I haven’t kept up with any of it in twenty years,” I said, raising my voice as I spun around to face him. “How the hell have you not noticed that I don’t talk about baseball?”
He paused. I recognized the second he realized it was true. His face transformed to a mix of regret and sorrow. I didn’t want sympathy, but it made me fucking furious that he’d really had no idea. All. This. Time. “Is this about Erin?”
I bristled at the mention of my ex-girlfriend. “No.”
“What she did—”
“Is ancient history.”
He stared at me in disbelief. My college sweetheart was the first and only woman I’d ever loved. No one could ever accuse me of not learning from my mistakes.
“She shouldn’t have—”
“Well, she did,” I yelled, immediately snapping my mouth shut at the outburst of emotion. I didn’t need a reminder of what she’d done.
“You lost a lot in a short amount of time.”
Pain lanced through my chest. After all this time, I still wasn’t used to it, when I should’ve been numb.
“Baseball took everything I loved. She broke my heart, crushed my dreams, and left me in a heap on the mound.”
Easton blinked at me. “After your injury, you kept rolling on like it was nothing. I—I was in awe. We all were. Baseball was your life. When it was over, you moved right into your role at Carter Energy. You never looked back.”
It was my turn to stare at my brother incredulously. “What choice did I have? All I ever wanted to do was play baseball. So what if it’s a kid’s dream. It was mine, and my first love turned on me. None of you even cared. Hell, Dad seemed halfway happy he wouldn’t have to force me to choose the company.”
“We didn’t care? You’re the one who brushed it off, almost as if you’d never even played.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t just a dream. You were damn good. Just thinking about what you could have been . . . It’s such a waste you never had a chance.” He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “I honestly thought you were okay with how things turned out.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” I said, turning away from him. “I’ll never get over it, and not one of you said you were sorry. Never asked me how I was. If it had been you, I’d have looked for another doctor. Got another opinion. It probably wouldn’t have changed things, but if something was that important to you, I’d have done everything in my power to make it happen for you.”
Horror struck his features. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Our eyes locked on one another’s, the truth a rope between us. “I—I didn’t know what to say. You’d lost everything, and nothing I could do would get it back.” He dropped his chin to his chest. “And we did look for every damn specialist we could find. Remember how Dad was traveling a lot back then? He took your medical records to every doctor who would listen to him.”
My bum knee went weak. It couldn’t be true, but Easton wouldn’t lie. Not about this. “Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“We didn’t want to give you false hope. How many letdowns could you take? You didn’t deserve that.”
My head spun. I’d been so angry at the world. I thought none of them cared, but had I been too blind to see it?
“That’s why you destroyed the company.” Light seemed to dawn in his brain. “Because it’s important to me and Dad.”
“That company means more to both of you than I ever have,” I spat, the lid containing all my bitter feelings pried open. It had been almost twenty years. Even though a part of me could look at this through Easton’s eyes and see how the lengths I went to were ridiculous, I should be beyond the . . . hurt. Surely, my anger and planning had blocked any emotion. Yet there I was, furious. I hated that it had been my constant state for so long.
Easton was on his feet and in front of me in a nanosecond, his hands on my shoulders. “How can you say that? It’s not true.”
“Itistrue. But it doesn’t matter now,” I said, resigned to the fact they weren’t changing, and neither was I. “I’m going to check on Mama.”
“Drew, I’m—”
“Save it. What’s done is done.”
The space had grown smaller the longer we’d talked. I had to get out of there, so I stood and walked toward Mama’s room.
