Chapter 28

Jen had listened to the Dodgers finale on Internet radio from Atlanta but had turned off the feed when the game ended. She was sitting down to work on her final master's project when her cell phone buzzed. If the call had come a minute later she would have let it go to voice mail but since she hadn't really started yet, she picked it up when she recognized her sister's number.

"Sure, rub it in," Jen answered with a laugh. "It's raining here and 80 degrees there."

"Jen," Mel said in a hoarse whisper. "Brock's been attacked."

Jennifer Miles was instantly alert, her project forgotten. She fumbled with her TV remote until she found live footage on one of the 24-hour news channels. The words "Breaking News" flashed across the bottom of the screen.

"I'm on my way," she said.

"Jen, wait," Mel cut in. "There's nothing you can do here that you can't do there."

"And there isn't a God damned thing I can do here that I can't do there," Jen hissed. "I'm on my way."

Chastity Durant hadn't been happy for many months. She was satisfied to be back in Miami with her friends and teammates. She was gratified that the team had a new coaching staff. She was impressed with her new salary, $200,000, per year pro rated through February.

But she couldn't call herself happy. She was positive that Brock was gone forever. She had seen the gleams in the eyes of the females when they were together in July. She knew that each and every one of them wouldn't mind finding themselves as "the last one standing," as it were.

She learned through her calls and e-mails with Brock and, surprisingly, Esmi and Emmy Perez that everyone would soon be in Los Angeles. She learned about Brock's sister not from him but from Emmy. He learned of the burgeoning relationship with Meredith from Esmi. Emmy had filled her on the new addition to Brock's bed, Randi.

It had been Meredith who called to tell her about Brock. It was Friday evening and Chastity had wrapped up practice for the evening. Her phone rang while she was goofing around with some teammates in the dining hall.

The news had caused Chastity to drop the phone and sit down on the floor. Louisa and Tia had watched their friend's face turn white and caught her. Louisa picked up the phone and listened to Meredith's explanation of the situation and her offer to fly Chastity to Los Angeles if she could get away from the team. After making sure Chastity was in good hands, Louisa went to the coach. The coach wasn't thrilled to have his star miss practice but she was also smart enough to know that Chastity wouldn't be worth anything to the team in the shape she was in.

So Chastity and Louisa flew back across the country, just as they had done four months earlier. This time it was Sam Van Landingham who met them, along with Jen, at the airport. Jen, Louisa and Chastity arrived at the hospital to hugs from a host of people. It was after 10 p.m. in L.A. (or one a.m. in Miami) so Louisa headed home to hug her children.

The Cleveland Indians were at the airport in Chicago when they heard the news. News spread across Major League Baseball, which increased security around all the teams. America was filled with copycats and one attack could lead to more, particularly with the playoffs starting in two days. J.C. was going to start Game 1 for the Indians against the Red Sox on Monday afternoon. He couldn't very well fly across the country to Los Angeles then to Boston.

Still, he called Brock's cell phone to leave a message. He didn't recognize the voice that answered it so he introduced himself.

"It's Emmy Reyes, J.C., he was told. "I'm Al Perez's niece."

"I've heard a lot of good things about you, Emmy," J.C. mentioned. "But I was hoping to leave a message for Brock. How's he doing? I'm sure he's still shaken up from the whole thing."

J.C. was met first with silence and then with tears. When a voice finally spoke it was no longer Emmy. He recognized Al's voice and Al gave him a report on the situation. At the time, there wasn't much to report but none of it was good.

"I'm on my way out," J.C. said firmly. His time around Tia Barnett and women's soccer team had shown him that there were things more important than a sport.

"You've got to be in Boston Monday," Al pointed.

"And I will be," J.C. replied. "Or, maybe I won't be. In all the years I've played this game, I've met a half dozen people I'd call friends. Now one of them needs me and I'm going to be there. If it were me, where do you think Brock would be right now?"

"I'll see you when you arrive," Al answered. He knew where Brock would be if something happened to J.C. Michaels. In fact, Al would probably be right there beside him, playoffs or no playoffs.

Stan Balsam, the agent shared by J.C. and Brock, had an office in New York. He handled only professional athletes so he didn't feel a need to be in Los Angeles. Plus, he enjoyed New York. He was sitting down to dinner with his wife when he got word of what had happened to one of his players.

Brock Miller was among the lowest-paid players on Stan's list. In fact, he was the last person Stan had agreed to represent because his roster was growing faster than he could accommodate them. His talent pool consisted of an NFL quarterback making $22 million a year; an NBA point guard bringing in $39 million in salary and endorsements. A rookie shortstop earning $420,000 a season shouldn't have been high on his list of priorities.

Still, he and his wife were on the first flight to Los Angeles before they even knew of the severity of Brock's injury.

"This is insane," Mallory Balsam had remarked as she was hurriedly packing items in their Manhattan townhouse.

"Probably," Stan replied with a shrug. "But there is something about this kid I like."

"I know you like him but to fly halfway across the country is silly," Marjorie countered. "I could see it if it were the Lakers power forward. He's been with you for a decade. He probably paid for this apartment. I never understood why you signed Brock Miller in the first place."

Stan frowned. He and Mallory had been married for 30 years. They had two children, neither of whom visited frequently – which was fine by Stan.

"Because I always hoped our kids would turn out the way this guy did," Stan said flatly. "The fact is that I don't have to worry about this kid. He understands right from wrong and he does what's right. I won't have to worry about a rape trial or a DUI homicide. I don't have to go on TV to defend him because he demanded a trade or made a stupid comment. I don't have to worry about settling lawsuits from baby mamas or because one of his posse shot up a nightclub. The guy from the Lakers may have paid for this place but I earned every damned cent I was paid. Right now, I have two clients who are pure profit for us. Two guys I have to put in very little work and I reap a good amount of money – J.C. and Brock."

"You make $20,000 a year from Brock," Marjorie pointed out.

"For now," Stan said again. "In a couple of years, he'll pay for a new place in Aspen if you want. You'll like him then, I suppose."

"I don't dislike him," his wife replied. She smiled suddenly. "Which I guess is high praise from me. Most of your clients, I don't like. And I like Hollywood. This will give us a chance to extend our summer a little bit."

"You'll like him once you meet him," Stan said firmly. "Just like you like J.C. Which reminds me: I need to call J.C. I can picture him saying to hell with a playoff start and heading out to Los Angeles."

But Stan was too late to stop his client from flying west to Los Angeles instead of east to Cleveland and then to Boston.

St. Vincent's Medical Center was not equipped to handle the madhouse that erupted when Brock Miller was admitted to its facility. Not only were there two dozen television vans parked nearby but the waiting room was a veritable "Who's Who" of the Los Angeles sporting world.

The majority owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers, a woman in her late 60s, had arrived and refused to leave. The team's manager and general manager were there, along with three or four players and the head of team security. A television star was there and so was the newest sports broadcasting sensation. There was a member of the U.S. Women's National Soccer team and a pitcher from the Cleveland Indians. There were several men who were obviously bodyguards and a man who was even bigger than the bodyguards but who appeared to be someone's father. Then there were the half dozen or so attractive women who had arrived as a group. None showed the slightest sign of being willing to depart any time soon.

And more seemed to arrive every minute.

Finally, the hospital administrator had to step forward. She was a good businesswoman who recognized the possibility of a public relations nightmare that this situation showed every sign of becoming.

She finally decided to select a few people from each group and explain that her hospital's waiting area couldn't accommodate any more people and that it might be best if the ones who wanted to be nearby would do so in shifts.

Of course, despite her soothing tones, she was met with angry glares and stony silence.

"She's right," one of the young women finally said. The largest man in the room had his arm around her, so she suspected she might be his daughter. Of course it was Los Angeles, so she couldn't really be sure. He could be her husband for all the administrator knew.

"We all need to get some rest," Meredith said. "We can't stay here for 24 hours a day. First off, the smell would eventually cause problems."

A few people smiled but no one laughed at Meredith's attempt at levity.

"I have Brock's keys," Emmy said. "I'm sure we can use the house for those who flew in. J.C., do you see a problem with that?"

J.C. shrugged.

"It's not like Brock is in a position to tell us no," Jen joked. Of all the people in the room, Jennifer Miles was the only one who seemed to believe Brock was invincible. She had steadfastly refused to listen to anyone who tried to tell her that everything might not turn out OK.

The others grudgingly agreed but then the argument became who would stay and who would go. It was Meredith who stepped forward again.

"Randi and I will leave and come back in the morning," she said. "Dad can come with us."

"I'm still on East Coast time," Chastity added. "I'll go with them."

"I'd like to stay," Zoe said.

"I'll stay with Zoe," Emmy added, looking directly at her aunt. Esmi gave a sad smile but nodded.

"I think I have to stay," Mel said softly. "At least until, uh, we know for sure."

It took a half hour but everyone finally agreed that no more than eight people would show up at one time. They would stay for four hours and then a new group would take their place.

"I'm not leaving," Susan announced. "The rest of you can go but I will be here when Brock wakes up."

No one tried to stop Meredith when she stalked forward and stood only inches from Susan's face.

"If you stay, it will be because you've been admitted," Meredith hissed softly. "Get over yourself and stop making a spectacle. We can't all stay. Now pick when you're coming back or I swear to God, I will put you in intensive care. I have too much on my mind to play your silly fucking games, Suzie."

Susan was taken aback that Meredith would speak to her in such a manner – and more surprised when no one made any move to defend her. In fact, she saw harsh looks on the faces of all of her friends.

"Fine," she said. "Jen, can I come back with you?"

"If you stop acting like an asshole," Jen said. "You're not the only one who's worried, you know."

Tara had been watching from the side, having agreed to leave and come back whenever it worked best for everyone. She noticed there was one person who hadn't said anything, Zack Duffy.

"Can you find your way back here?" she asked. Zack turned to see Tara standing next to him. He knew who Tara Wyatt was. You couldn't exist in Los Angeles without recognizing her. In the two months since she arrived in Los Angeles, her face had been seen on television almost nightly – not to mention on the hundreds of billboards around the city and the hundreds of internet sites that had arisen to showcase her beauty (and probably her talent, too).

"I'm in the way, I'm sure," the man said in his soft Texas drawl. "You folks don't know me anyhow."

"But Brock does," Tara pointed out. "He was really glad when you stuck with the team. He told me it gave him someone to hang out with on the road since Al and Josh are such old farts."

"He's a good fella," Zack said. "Too damned good a fella to have something like this happen to him."

"His is," Tara replied with a nod. "Are you still staying at a hotel?"

Zack nodded. He was certain that Tara wasn't suggesting they head back there.

"Well, I happen to know from Brock that you tend to get lost in L.A. if someone doesn't lead you to where you need to be," she said with a smile. "He told me about the call from the freeway. How many times did you miss your exit?"

Zack's face reddened. He had decided he needed a car to get around and he drove to the stadium one afternoon. Or he tried to drive to the stadium. Instead he found himself driving around the Los Angeles freeway system until he finally pulled off and called the only person he could think of who might help him: Brock Miller.

"A few," Zack admitted. "I'm surprised that didn't wind up on the air. I'm sure a few people would have gotten a chuckle over a dumb hayseed who couldn't even find his way off the interstate."

"Brock told me it wasn't for use on the air," Tara said. "I wouldn't have used it anyway. It's not my job to embarrass you."

"I do just fine all by myself," Zack pointed out.

"Brock, too," Tara said. "So, tell you what. Here's my number. Call me when you're ready to come back and I'll swing by and get you."

"You haven't been out here any longer than I have," Zack pointed out.

"Ah, but I have this nifty thing called GPS," Tara joked. "I heard it hasn't made its way down South yet. Don't worry; all the guys in this room are too stubborn to use them, too. If I haven't heard from you by noon, I'll track you down."

The two exchanged numbers as two-thirds of the people who had occupied the room filtered out to head home or to Brock's house for the night.

Brock fully intended to return to sleep after the medical personnel departed. Instead he found himself staring at the ceiling. A hundred thoughts flashed through his mind but he couldn't seem to chase them to completion.

He was frustrated and he was scared. Mostly, he was angry. Melanie caught the brunt of his mood when she sat down beside him and took his hand in hers.

He pulled his hand away roughly.

"Don't touch me," he hissed. "My whole God-damned body feels like it's on fire and you want to run your stupid fucking hands over it."

"I'm sorry," Melanie said, tears coming to her eyes. She had been on the verge of an emotional breakdown all day. She held Brock's medical power of attorney and the thought of having to use it to ensure his treatment had almost overwhelmed her. Then there was the sense of relief when she felt him regain consciousness. That relief was short-lived when the doctor informed her that he was still suffering the effects from the strong paralytic compound in the snake's neurotoxin.

The fact that Brock's voice sounded thick and slow made things worse.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" Brock said. "I don't feel like dealing with crying females right now."

Melanie made it outside the doorway before she burst into tears. Zoe and Emmy wrapped her in a hug. There were still holding a sobbing Melanie when Meredith and Randi joined them in the waiting room.

Meredith listened to what Melanie related and started down the hallway to Brock's room.

"He said to leave him alone," Zoe said.

"Yep," Meredith said, not looking back. "You figured he'd know better than that by now."

She pushed the door to Brock's room open and saw him staring at nothing. He didn't turn her way when she entered the room.

In fact, he ignored her until she spoke.

"You're a real tough guy, aren't you?" she spat. "I hope you're happy."

"I am fucking ecstatic, Merie," Brock said. "My entire body feels like I've been dipped in acid. I can't formulate a single thought and when I manage to speak; my tongue feels like it's a foot thick. Oh, and have I mentioned that I can't feel my fucking hand? I mean, I can't even tell you I've got a right hand. So I am just great."

"And how much of that is Melanie's fault?" Merie asked harshly.

Brock was silent.

"Answer me, asshole," Meredith said, stalking up to his bedside.

"Fine, none of it her fault," Brock said bitterly. "But it's not my God-damned fault, either. And a lecture from you, Meredith, is just way past ironic."

"You're right," Meredith said. "It is. A lecture from any of us would probably fall into that category. Yet here I am and you don't appear to be able to leave so I guess you'll have to listen. You need to hear this before you fall too deeply into your own mind. Brock, when I was hurt, I lashed out at the people I love. I lost you and I almost lost my dad. I did it because I was too caught up in my own situation to keep a little perspective. I did it because no one pulled me aside and told me to get my head out of my ass until it was too late. So I'm here to tell you, get your head out of your ass. You have a waiting room full of people who care about you. Do not let your frustrations cause you to push them away. That's all I'm asking."

"Sounds more like you're telling than asking," Brock said.

"Maybe," Meredith admitted. "But I don't know how else to get your attention. It's been 14 hours since it happened. You got the easy part. You were asleep. The rest of us had to wait and worry. We're the ones who had to call the others who love you. Your agent and his wife are here. They got in about two hours ago. Jen dropped everything and caught the first flight. Chastity flew in from Miami as soon as she heard the news. J.C. came straight over."

"Wait," Brock said. His mind was still putting together what Meredith was telling him. "Why are they here? Jen has a master's thesis to defend. Chastity has practice. I think I remember that the Indians won and made the playoffs. J.C. should be getting ready to play."

"They're here because of what you mean to them," Meredith said firmly. "There was no one who could have kept Jen away. She said she would rather have to rewrite her thesis than be somewhere else when you needed her. J.C. said he realized while he was out here that some things are more important than baseball. Your friendship is one of them. Chastity said the same thing. Stan said he came out because he wished he had raised his son to be as good a man as you are and he had never gotten the chance to tell you that."

Brock felt tears in his eyes.

"Was it... ," his voice faltered. "Was it really that bad?"

Meredith pulled a chair close to his bed.

"I want to touch when I tell you this," she said. "Can I hold your right hand? Will that be uncomfortable for you?"

"I can't feel it," Brock admitted. "It's about three times its normal size."

"Good thing she didn't stab you in the pee-pee then," Meredith said with a laugh as she took Brock's deformed fingers in hers. "Randi would have really been walking like a cowgirl."

"You're bad," Brock said.

"I'm scared," Meredith admitted.

"Me, too," Brock replied. "I don't get scared very often. I don't understand what happened. That bothers me as much as anything."

Meredith nodded slightly. She knew the feeling of having something terrible happen and not remembering it or understanding it.

"Do you remember a woman named Evilyn Maynard?" she began.

Brock thought hard. The name was there but he couldn't find it.

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "Merie, my brain is like molasses. I think I know something and it just goes away. I think I know the name but I don't know why."

"She said she babysat you when you were a kid," Meredith told him. She waited for a response but Brock only shook his head.

"Why are you telling me about her?" Brock asked. "Did she show up here, too?"

"No, love," Meredith said softly. "She is the reason you're here. She is the woman from the ballpark."

Brock closed his eyes. It made absolutely no sense to him. Why would a woman he hadn't thought of in a dozen years and hadn't seen in probably 20 want to harm him?

"She drove up here from Wilkins just to follow me?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Meredith replied. "There was some sort of scandal involving her. From what I've heard, she was dosing the children she watched to put them to sleep. One of the children got really sick from it but they could never prove anything. She left town and moved up here a while ago."