Chapter 13

Chastity found Brock sitting at the table, half asleep, staring at a glass of milk.

"I'm sorry this has gotten so out of hand," she said softly.

He looked up and gave a half smile.

"It's no problem," he told her. "I'd just be sleeping until noon and playing video games all day if this wasn't going on."

"I promise I'll keep everyone out of your hair as much as I can today and tomorrow," Chastity promised. "I know you need a break as much as anyone. You've been on the road for half the season and I can see you're tired."

"It'll be fine," Brock assured her as Chastity sat down opposite him.

"I have another favor to ask," she confessed.

"Sure, but I think we're out of room here," he told her with a smile. "Unless everyone wants to double up like Jen and Susan did last night, I don't have room for any more of your friends."

"It's not that," Chastity said. She didn't even chuckle at his attempt at levity. "There are more players leaving who have no way to get home. Do you think you can help some more of them? I hate to ask..."

Brock cut her off with another disarming smile.

"If you recall, I haven't helped anyone get away," he said. "Al and Esmi took care of the first batch and J.C. paid to get Tia out here. I have about a billion Frequent Flyer miles from traipsing all over the country to visit the rest of them. I'm pretty sure we can get everyone home. How many are left, about a dozen?"

"Some of them have a long way to go," Chastity said. "I know you have money but I don't want you to think, I don't know, that I won't love you if you don't want to spend it on people you don't know."

"It's fine," Brock assured her. "I have a couple of errands to run today – things I scheduled well before I knew anyone was going to be here, a haircut and an appointment at a suit shop. I'll leave my credit cards here. I'll have my cell phone handy if any of the companies wants to check."

"You're sure?" Chastity confirmed.

"I'm positive," Brock said. Before he could speak again, Chastity was hugging him fiercely.

"No matter how this works out, I'm never letting you go again," she said. "I am so sorry that I let my world get turned upside-down."

"Nothing is upside-down," Brock said as he patted her gently on the back. "We are in different places, that's all. I'm glad we still get along after everything. I'm sorry I was such a dick about things. I guess I could see we were slipping apart but I didn't know how to stop it. Maybe that's because there was no way to keep it from happening. We'll see how things go after you get back to Miami. We could find ourselves in the same spot a month from now as we were a month ago."

"No!" Chastity said firmly. "If it looks like that's going to be the case, I won't go back. Soccer is going to end for me one day, Brock. Just like baseball is going to be over for you, too. I will not be like Louisa. I will not look back in 10 years and wonder when my kids grew up and when my husband stopped loving me. I will not be like some of the others and have absolutely nothing in my life when my career is over. I finally stepped away from the adulation and the pressure long enough to see what my life is going to be like in a year or 10 years.

"Look at almost everyone on the team. They have nowhere to go and no way to get there. They have given their entire lives to a sport that has given them nothing back. I finally understand what you were saying about that, Brock. There is no money and no future in playing for the national team. If someone gets hurt, too bad. They pay for the initial surgery but after that, you're on your own. If someone blows out an ACL and has trouble five years after they leave the team, it's 'tough luck, sister.' If a husband or a boyfriend or a girlfriend gets fed up with the distance they expect us to soldier on like nothing is wrong. They have no trouble taking but they refuse to give. I will not let one of the few good things in my life slip away while I kick a soccer ball."

"It's going to change, Chas," Brock said. "The federation can't continue. They can't replace everyone they've lost. Some of the people they're trying to bring in have already turned them down. Pretty soon, they are going to be left with a bunch of high school kids to take on Norway, Japan and Brazil. That won't be pretty. So they'll give in, maybe not this week or even this month. But by the next friendly, you'll all be back on the team."

"Maybe," Chastity replied. "But I mean what I said. If they just pay lip service to our complaints and things go back to the way they've always been, I'm done."

Brock managed to spend a relatively restful couple of days with his friends. While Chastity and the soccer group traveled across the city to appear on talk shows and tape interviews, Randi took the rest of the group on a tour of a couple of studios where she worked.

Brock's haircut went uninterrupted but his trip to the tailor didn't go as planned. He had just wanted to pick out a couple of new suits to wear on road trips. He rarely went anywhere in Los Angeles that required more than a shirt and tie (and he avoided those if at all possible) but on the road, the players were expected to dress "as befitting a member of first-class organization."

Brock only owned three suits. He had never needed more than that – and, he surmised, he probably could have gotten by with a couple less if he'd really put his mind to it. He bumbled along through the first part of the season mixing and matching until Al had threatened to go around and take up a collection from the veterans to help the poor boy pay for some nicer clothes.

Brock had taken the hint and set an appointment with Al's tailor to get fitted for "at least 10 new suits," as Esmi had insisted. He decided that 13 would be unlucky so he elected to settle for nine new ones. At least that was his resolve until he saw the prices.

He had purchased all of his clothing off-the-rack. He wore a normal size in jacket (44 long) and a normal size in trousers (33 waist-32 inseam). Even his neck size (17—) was available at any J.C. Penney in America (and probably in several other countries). He had never experienced the sensation of going to a special person to dress him. He found he didn't like the experience if was going to cost him a kidney to pay for it (and that didn't include the necessary accessories, such as tie, shirt, belt, socks, shoes and overcoat for each ensemble).

A fastidious-looking man met him at the door to show him to the "private collection" section of the store so Brock could browse. To Brock, all the suits pretty much looked the same. There were only a few colors to choose from and he already had a black, a charcoal and a tan suit in his closet. He didn't really think he needed more than one of any color.

How wrong he was.

The most distressing part was that nothing had a price tag. He looked in every conceivable spot on the garment and found nothing to let him know how much it would set him back. The man who was tasked with assisting him seemed to take personal affront that Brock would deign to ask the price of something before he agreed to purchase.

"If you need to ask, then you can't afford it," the man had huffed.

Brock shrugged.

"Then I can't afford it," he said, heading toward the door that led back to what must have been the "public" section of the store.

"Sir, I apologize," the man behind him said. The owner himself had taken the calls on this buyer's behalf. The owner would not be pleased if the potential sale walked out the door. "Depending upon the amount of alteration necessary, the suit you were looking out would run between $2,000 and $2,400."

"For a suit I'll wear once a month?" Brock asked incredulously. "That's insane!"

"It's about the image you want to present," the man tried.

"That I have entirely too much money and I should be relieved of most of it?" Brock wondered. He shook his head. He knew the man was just doing his job and he doubted if the clerk had been the one to set the prices. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not your typical customer. I can afford this but I can afford this because I have always been careful with my money. Do you think we can find something a little less pricey?"

The man frowned slightly. He was not opposed to showing the man things from other sections of the store, but his instructions had been clear: this man was not to leave the store looking anything less than his best. Those instructions had come from two sources: the man's boss and from the wife of the store's best customer. The second admonition had come just the evening before.

"Let's find what looks best on you and then we'll figure out the price," the man tried. "I'm sure I can speak to my manager and we can find a way for you to leave here looking like a million bucks without spending that much. Now, tell me about your wearing habits."

"My what?" Brock asked. "Oh, you mean when will I wear these? To and from the airport a few times each year. That's about the only time I can be forced into a suit and tie."

"You do not attend formal functions?" the man asked. He had been instructed to make sure that one of the suits this man bought would be appropriate for a red-carpet function.

"Not unless someone holds a gun to my head," Brock answered. "Then I might just take the bullet depending upon where they wanted me to go."

The man's lips pursed unconsciously.

"It my impression, sir, that you would need formal attire for a late-summer function," the man said.

Brock was puzzled for a moment.

"Oh, that," he said. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm supposed to escort my neighbor to an awards show next month. I had forgotten. I'm glad you reminded me."

He paused for a moment.

"Hey, how did you know that?" Brock asked.

The man glanced at the door, perhaps seeking an escape.

"Mr. Miller, a customer's wife has taken a great interest in your appearance," he confessed. "She called the store yesterday to ensure that you would leave with everything you need. She was very specific in that you would need formal attire."

"Esmi," Brock muttered.

"Yes, sir," the man agreed. "And I have found it best just to agree with her. Now, sir, if you will allow me to assist you in your selections."

Brock knew when it was best to simply cut his losses. He did as he was bidden.

Three hours, and $31,000 later, Brock Miller left the store empty handed. Although everything he had tried on had fit to his satisfaction, the man assured him that with a few simple tucks, the garments would fit even better.

He would return for his purchases following the team's next road trip – assuming Esmi didn't take it upon herself to pick them up for him.

With a sigh, he got in his vehicle and headed back to the house.

The house was pleasantly quiet when Brock returned home. Everyone was off doing something else – and Brock hoped it would last for at least an hour or two. He fixed a sandwich, grabbed a glass of lemonade and ventured to the back to sit and relax.

The returning throng of Jen, Mel, Susan, Tara, Randi, Merie and J.C. found him asleep in the lawn chair, head back and mouth open. He was snoring slightly. The women's first thought was to do something to wake him in the cruelest manner possible.

"Let him sleep," J.C. urged. "He came home from Miami expecting three days of sleeping late and lazing around. Instead he's been running like crazy."

"Should we move him to a softer spot?" Jen wondered. "I hate for him to go on the 15-day DL with a stiff neck from sleeping in the sun."

"We'll let him sleep for a little while longer," Mel decided. "If he's not up in 30 minutes or so, we'll wake him and see if he wants to come inside and lay down."

"He looks cute," Randi opined. She blushed when she realized what she had said. "I mean, I've never seen him this way. He's always seemed so serious to me. Even when he's joking around and laughing, it's almost like his heart isn't in it."

"He is a serious guy," Tara said. "He didn't used to be. When I first met him, he was this funny, crazy person. He would always be doing something to make you laugh."

"That was when he was Jordan," Susan put in sadly. "He and I have been friends since we were four years old. Well, I was four. He was five. Sometimes, when I see a look of happiness cross his face, it's all I can to keep from crying. Because as soon as it appears, it's gone. I did that to him. Sometimes I'm amazed he ever put up with us. But I'm more amazed that he puts up with me now."

"I've heard parts of what happened," Randi admitted. "I read some from old newspaper stories and stuff. I heard it mentioned when he was first traded out here but I didn't know him then so I didn't pay much attention. I can't imagine what that must have done to him."

"No one can," Jen said quietly. "I met him probably the first week he was out of that awful place. He didn't tell anyone. That's why he changed his name. He didn't want anyone to know about his past because it would taint their perceptions of him."

"And you proved him right," Mel said bitterly. She still begrudged her sister's reaction to the news. She knew it was one of the pains from the past few years that had no chance of healing.

"Yeah," Jen confessed. "Mel was in college where Brock grew up. She is the one who sort of forced his hand."

"It was that damned football game against his old school," Mel put in. "I never would have said a word to anyone but him about it if he hadn't had to go back to that stupid place for a stupid game."

"That's where Susan and I ran into him again," Tara added. "I was Jordan's, Brock's girlfriend when it happened. I just completely abandoned him. God, I was such a selfish, stupid girl."