Chapter 26

The day brought another loss to San Francisco. This one had more to do with a great pitching performance and stellar defense from the Giants than from any deficiency in the Dodgers' performance.

The team hit the ball hard a number of times but invariably it was right at one of the Giants' defenders. San Francisco turned a double, a sacrifice bunt and a long fly ball into a 1-0 lead in the second inning and made it stand up through three pitchers.

Brock went 0-for-4, with a line out, a strikeout and two ground outs. No one on the team did much better as the team managed only three hits on the night.

Still, his night got a little better when he arrived home. Meredith's car was parked behind his and she was sitting on the steps in front of his house.

"Tough one tonight," she said as he unlocked the door and welcomed her inside.

"Yeah, we just couldn't find an opening," Brock admitted. Meredith smiled.

"Care to try your luck now?" she wondered. She didn't speak. Instead she lifted her skirt to show she was wearing a pair of lacy black panties. She turned in a circle to reveal that it was, indeed, a black thong.

"If you're sure," Brock replied.

"Oh, I'm sure," Meredith said. "I am so very sure. I've waited, literally, eight years for this night. Do you need to do anything before I drag you to bed?"

Brock couldn't think of a single thing that held more importance, partially because Meredith was already disrobing.

Her bra matched her panties in color – and then in location as both found themselves discarded on the floor. A very nude Meredith Van Landingham took Brock's hand and led him through the house, up the stairs and into his room.

Brock started to undress but Meredith stilled his hands.

"Let me," she said. "I want to unwrap my present."

Brock allowed her to remove his clothing. She took her time, planting kisses on his skin as it was revealed to her.

"I have a bottle of wine," he told her as she circled around his torso to kiss his back. "Would you like me to get it?"

"No," Meredith said. "I know you told me once that you wanted my first time to be perfect. Do you remember what I told you?"

"You told me it would never be perfect," he said.

"Well, I suppose," Meredith answered as she kissed his shoulder blades. Her hand reached around for his belt and undid it. "But I also told you that it would be just what I wanted because it would be with you. That's what I hoped you would remember."

Brock felt Meredith's hands trace up his chest. He moved his arms behind him to touch her. They came to rest on her hips.

"I do remember that," Brock answered. He turned to take her in his arms but she jumped backward when the cold metal of his belt touched her warm skin.

She laughed as she pulled the belt from its loops.

"See, this is what I mean," she said. "In those romance novels, you never hear about things like that. Let me get the rest of your clothes off and we'll try that move again."

She unhooked the button on Brock's slacks and slid them downward. It was only when she had them at his feet did she realize he still wore his shoes. Again, her soft laughter filled the room.

But once Meredith had Brock unclad, the fumbling stopped. They kissed gently and then passionately. The dance they had begun in their teenage years finally wrapped up in their middle 20s.

There was no blood as Meredith had her hymen surgically removed years before. There wasn't even much discomfort because, although this was the first flesh object to find its way inside her, Meredith was no stranger to masturbation with a variety of toys.

Instead there were two people who seemed focused on nothing else except provide pleasure to their partner.

In the end, both got everything they had waited for. Meredith's first time was with someone she loved and someone who loved her. It was gentle and it was exciting. It was something she could look back on in 20 or 30 or even 50 years and recall with a smile and a quickening of her heartbeat.

"'Merie The Cherry' is no more," she laughed as she cuddled next to Brock afterward. "I wonder who had age 23 in the pool?"

The Giants swept the Dodgers to move within striking distance of first place in National League West. There was nothing obviously wrong with the Dodgers. They had a couple of bad games and a few unlucky breaks. But the lopsided nature of the losses had created a problem: the bullpen was starting to tank.

The relief pitchers had held up well through the hottest part of the season. The Dodgers starting pitchers were second in the league in Quality Starts and that meant the bullpen didn't have to come to pitch six innings every night.

But the three games against San Francisco had been the opposite. Only one of the three starters had gotten into the fourth inning. Even with an expanded roster the Dodgers hadn't dipped into the minors for relief pitching. They called up a starter to give the other five an extra day of rest each week but LaCross wanted to keep his relief pitching sharp.

Now the team had to go out and bring up some marginal players from Class AAA Las Vegas for the next couple of weeks or face the prospect of having tired relievers for the postseason. If the Dodgers had managed two of the three games against the Giants they would have been in good shape. Now every game mattered.

The only upside for the team was that Los Angeles was headed to San Diego for four games while San Francisco had to play a hot St. Louis club. San Diego still wanted to consider itself a small market ball club. It was one of the few teams in the league who hadn't managed to parlay a new taxpayer-funded stadium into a decent team – mostly because of mismanagement than from a lack of funds.

The Padres were on pace to lose 100 games for the third time in four years and were content to fill their roster with has-beens and never-will-be's after trading away any player making a decent salary at the trading deadline in late July.

For Brock, it brought a trip to the last of his former lovers. Unlike Tara and Mel, the tryst wouldn't be in a hotel room. Brock had secured permission to stay at Susan's apartment for the weekend. LaCross had almost rescinded his agreement after the Giants' debacle but finally let it go. It hadn't been Brock Miller's fault that the starting pitching had been awful.

Susan was more subdued than the rest had been when they met Brock. She had worked on Friday so she didn't see him until after the game – an 8-2 Dodgers win. When he did walk out of the players exit at Petco Park, she barely smiled.

"You ready?" she asked as he neared.

"Well, it's good to see you," Brock replied, taken aback by her reception. "Do you want to grab a late dinner?"

"I ate before the game," Susan said. "We can pick up something if you're hungry or we can fix a snack at home."

"A snack sounds OK," Brock told her as she led him to her waiting car.

"I can stay at the hotel if I'm putting you out," Brock said.

"No, it's fine," Susan replied.

"Then what isn't fine?" he asked. "Because something is bothering you."

"This whole thing, I guess," Susan said. "I know what I told you in the summer. But it shouldn't be this way. It certainly shouldn't end up where Meredith is the one who wins."

"It's not a matter of winning," Brock pointed out. "It was never a competition. I was never the prize and neither were any of you."

"I sure feel like I've lost something," Susan confided.

"I think we've won more than we've lost," Brock said. "We get to move on with our lives. We're no longer stuck in neutral."

"Is that how you feel?" Susan asked with an edge to her tone.

"It is," Brock said with a soft sigh. "I've felt that way for a while, like I was spinning my wheels, like I couldn't make a decision for myself because of how it might affect my friendship with each of you. Susan, from the very beginning it was always going to end up this way. We got more out of our relationships than most people do – we're still friends."

"I guess," Susan grumbled.

"You guess you got more or you guess we're still friends?" Brock asked. "I mean, you're going to be in L.A. for good in two weeks. I'm really looking forward to having you there full-time. I'm looking forward to being able to see you and spend time with you more than once or twice a year."

"But we won't be together," Susan protested. "It won't be me and you spending time. It will be you and Meredith and me."

"Sometimes," Brock admitted. "Sometimes it will be me you and Tara. Sometimes it will be all of us. Do you know what's really nice about having Tara up there now?"

"No," Susan admitted.

"We go to lunch a couple times a week," Brock said. "If she's bored and wants ice cream, she gives me a call. If there is a movie I want to watch, I call her. Sure, there are times we see each other when Zoe or Emmy or Meredith or Randi are around. But there are also plenty of times when it's just the two of us."

"For sex," Susan said.

"No, not for sex," Brock said with frustration evident in his voice. "That ended when I left Chicago last month. We get together because we truly enjoy spending time with the other person. Susan, for all we've been through, that's always been the case. When we were kids, I didn't hang out with you because of some sense of honor or because you needed to be protected. I spent time with you because I liked you. I have always liked you, Susan. Even when very few other people did, I still liked you. That friendship survived some pretty terrible times. Tonight, I am here in your car because I enjoy sitting with you and laughing with you and even arguing with you."

"You're here because we're going to fuck," Susan replied. "Meredith is still holding out and I've got a hole I'll let you use."

"You're wrong," Brock said. "In fact, if that is what you think, just take me back to the hotel. I have no intention of spending my entire weekend arguing with you. I have no intention of spending my entire weekend worrying about saying or doing something that will hurt your feelings. I've done that too much. It's as much my responsibility as it is your parents that you've turned out so screwed up."

"I am not screwed up!" Susan shouted.

"You are," Brock said quietly. "You take every action or reaction as a direct indication of someone's feelings about you. You feel justified in doing whatever it is you want to do or acting however it is you want to act if it gives you an advantage. You learned that from your parents. I see that now. But I'm just as much at fault because I never let anyone correct you. That's going to change. I'm going to stop intervening when you piss someone off. I'm going to stop stepping in front of the daggers that Jen, Tara and Mel shoot at you with their eyes. You need to understand, Susan, that your actions have consequences."

"I've always understood that!" Susan yelled.

"You haven't always acted like you do," Brock shot back. "You've acted – the whole time I've known you – like you could say or do anything because either your parents would protect you or I would. Well, it's time to start protecting yourself. And you can start by watching what you say and do."

Susan glared at the road as she drove to her apartment.

"Do you really think that?" she asked when they pulled into a parking space near the door.

"I've thought about you a lot over the past couple of weeks," Brock said. "And yes, I do think that. A lot of things I put away in my head have come up – things like you throwing a rock at Tammy Tolliver and then running behind me when she was going to pound you flat; things you'd say to people in school or even to Mel and Jen's Mom that they let go because they knew I'd be pissed off if they called you on it. And, yes, things like feeling it was OK to leave me to fate because you got to get away from Wilkins and everything you hated."

Susan was walking beside Brock to the elevator. He was surprised when she took his arm.

"I didn't mean to be that person," she said sadly.

"I know," Brock replied, slipping his arm around her waist. "And most of the time you weren't. Even when you were, I still liked you. You're not the only one who acts that way. We all do. We all have forgiven each other a thousand times – for things big and small. Think about that, Susan, and it will make sense. Friends don't often forgive the things we've forgiven. It's families that stick together no matter what."

Brock and Susan shared a bed on Friday night. They were intimate but they didn't have sex. Susan spent a large portion of the night thinking about what Brock had said to her. The only thing she couldn't come to terms with was Meredith.

She decided she would have been fine if Brock had ended up with Chastity. Chastity was so different from the group, there was no history. But Meredith was supposed to have wound up just like Mel, Tara, Jen and Susan. She wasn't supposed to be on the inside looking out. She was supposed to be standing beside the others on the outside looking in.

The worst thing was that Susan was certain that Brock would wind up getting hurt. If Brock thought Susan had problems with consequences, she was sure that Meredith was worse. She resolved herself to remain friends when she came north to Los Angeles. In some ways, she had started to regret her decision. It would be nice to be near her friends again but she would also be forced to watch from a seat in the front row as Brock moved away from everyone.

She found Brock watching her sleep when she opened her eyes on Saturday morning and smiled involuntarily.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"About what?" he asked.

"A lot of things," she admitted. "About last night. This is harder on me than I thought it would be."

"It doesn't have to be hard at all," Brock told her. "We just accept that there are things outside of our control. This is one of them. My feelings for the four of you are so interlaced that I can't separate one from the other. You've read 'Sophie's Choice?'"

"Saw the movie in college," Susan said. "You're not going to give one of us to the Nazis are you?"

"No," Brock said. "But the choice would be the same. I'd have to single out one of four people I care about greatly. That would cause hard feelings and resentment from her friends, not only toward her but toward me. Even then, there is no guarantee things would work. Then where would we be?"

Susan offered a lazy smile.

"Fucked," she said.

"Pretty much," Brock said.

"No, I mean that's what we should be doing," she said. "I brought you down here to give you something to miss on those long, lonely nights when Merie the Cherry is holding out on you. So, Mister, prepare yourself for the weekend of your young life."

Brock and Dodgers left San Diego on Monday evening after taking three of four from the Padres. Brock had also taken two of three from Susan. She insisted he drive to her apartment after Sunday's game. Then she went down on him on the freeway. He was thankful for the GPS in her car. She gave him a slow, gentle going-away ride on Monday morning before she left for work. Brock caught a taxi to a nearby mall and left her something to find when she got home.

He left her a dozen roses in a vase with a card. He told her that he had been her friend from the first day he saw her and he would be her friend as long as she let him.

He hoped he got his sentiments across but her cell phone went to voicemail when he called her after the game. He thanked her for a memorable weekend and told her he loved her before he boarded a plane with the rest of the team for the flight to St. Louis. It would be Friday before Brock slept in his own bed again.

The team had been in St. Louis early in the season. Al had shown Brock the city and Brock had found the atmosphere pretty nice. St. Louis was a baseball city, of that he was certain.

The NFL Rams, stolen from Los Angeles in the 1990s, were horrible and had been for many years. So the Cardinals ruled the landscape. One of the best days Brock had spent on the road was hanging out at the Arch and taking a sternwheeler ride down the Mississippi. The menu at the Stadium was pretty much custom made to Brock's liking and even the small bar he and Al had visited after one of the games was nice. The people there knew who the players were but they didn't feel the need to hassle them or say stupid things. It wasn't that way everywhere, Brock had found out.

In the five months since the season started, he'd had a waitress practically throw his food at him in a restaurant in Cincinnati. He, Josh, Wade and Al had stood at a bar for 10 minutes in San Francisco because the bartender refused to serve them. A cab driver in New York had tried to drive them 20 blocks out of the way and would have succeeded if Al hadn't known the city – all because he played for a baseball team located in a city that wasn't their own.

It had been different in the minor leagues. He was anonymous. Even hardcore fans of minor league baseball would find it difficult to pick the players out of a lineup. But in the Majors, the hometown fans often acted like a simple gesture toward an opposing player might be seen as treason.