Chapter 58

Brock found playing left field behind a ground-ball pitcher like Udo Jergens to be one of the least interesting things he'd ever done in his life. He didn't have a ball hit to him in the first five innings. In fact, he barely moved at all. He jogged forward a couple of times to back up grounders in the infield and moved to his left a couple of times on fly balls to the other outfielders. But mostly, he stood there. His highlight of the first half of the game was getting to play catch with the various children the team had to chase down foul balls that didn't make it into the stands. The kids rotated so Brock got a fresh one each inning to toss the ball back and forth with as Udo warmed up.

The sixth inning was a little more interesting, even if Brock contributed nothing to the team defensively in the end.

With one out, the San Diego batter popped the ball up into foul territory behind third base. Brock took off at a sprint as soon as the ball left the bat. He hadn't moved more than a dozen jogging steps since the game started and he was determined to make a play on this one.

"I go!" he yelled when he saw Josh giving chase as well. He was thankful to see the third baseman peel off but he really didn't have time to think about it. It was going to be a close race to catch the ball before it hit the ground.

Brock dived forward as he approached the flight path and wound up sliding across the grass until the dirt area in front of the wall brought him to a stop. The ball had glanced off his glove and rolled away, leaving him grass-stained and dirty for no reason.

He was about to curse when he saw he was only a few feet from two little boys sitting with their parents.

"Fu... ," he began before catching himself and starting again. "I should have had that one,"

He had pulled himself to a kneeling position and he slapped his glove hard against his thigh.

"Keep your head up!" one of the little boys yelled. "You tried your best."

"You'll get the next one!" the other added. Brock couldn't help the smile that crossed his face as he looked at the two young fans.

"You're right, guys," Brock said. "Thanks. Remember that when it's your turn."

"That's what our Daddy tells us when we miss a ball," the youngest one replied. Brock got to his feet and nodded at the guy with the boys. He jogged back to his position with a smile still etched on his face.

The batter struck out on the next pitch and Brock headed to the dugout. He took a seat beside Josh.

"I should have let you have that one," Brock said. "My bad."

"I couldn't have gotten it," Josh told him. "You had the only chance at a play."

"It's my bad," Driesbach cut in. "Last year, the shortstop would have made that play. That's mine and I didn't even try for it. Hey, you're bleeding, Brock."

Jim LaCross had noticed blood on his player's uniform as well. For him, it brought back a harrowing sight from six months before. He sent the trainer down to make sure it wasn't serious.

"I cut my chin, I guess," Brock said. He hadn't even noticed. "It's OK."

The training tilted Brock's head back and cleaned the wound.

"You got it pretty good," he said. "I'll bandage it for now but next inning I want you to go into the clubhouse and let me make sure there is no debris in there."

"Yeah, sure," Brock said. The bottom portion of the Dodgers' lineup did nothing and the team headed out to the field again. On the way out, Brock swung by the family along the left field line and dropped off a couple of Dodgers caps for the boys, along with a quick high-five and a game ball for the Dad.

It was the first time Brock had approached the fans sitting in the stands since the incident in October. He hadn't even wandered over to talk to his friends during Spring Training. The closest he had gotten to the seats was a few feet away. He definitely hadn't come close enough where anyone might be able to reach him.

He didn't think anyone had noticed his reluctance. But he was wrong. Many people had noticed – and not just those he was closest to.

"If you ever wonder why the fans love Brock Miller, there it is," the ASN announcer said over the airwaves. "We all know what happened to this kid last season. I spent a lot of time in Arizona this spring and there was a real reluctance on his part to interact with the fans."

"As anyone would understand," his broadcast partner cut in.

"Absolutely," the first announcer concurred. "Absolutely. No one could fault him in the slightest. He still waved and smiled to them. He still tossed them souvenirs. I'm not sure what those little guys said to him after his great effort at the foul ball last inning but it must have made an impression. He was angry at himself for letting it drop."

"It would have been a magnificent play if he'd come up with it," the partner put in.

"Totally," the main broadcaster agreed. "It would have been a highlight reel play for sure, particularly given his newness to the position. You saw the look on his face. We could all read his lips. He said he should have caught it. Then the little guys spoke to him. He looked up at them and smiled. We have our roving reporter heading down that way to see what transpired and we'll give you details as soon as we know. But whatever was said, Miller jogged back out to left field with a smile on his face. It must have had a profound affect because this is the first time he's venture near the stands since he was attacked."

"You only have to look at the kids' faces to see they were excited to get their caps," the second man chimed in. "That's the great thing about kids and baseball."

"That's also the great thing about having a guy like Brock Miller on your team," the lead announcer put forth. "I can't think of any other player who would make it a point to do that during a game. It took absolutely no time. It didn't take him out of his zone or make him lose focus. Those little guys helped him out and he wanted to make sure they knew he appreciated it. Here's Rick Simon with the details."

A third voice came through the TV screens.

"It seems that Brock Miller was a little disgusted with himself for letting that foul ball get away from him, Mike," the man said. "Our two fans, seven-year-old Sean Green and his nine-year-old brother, Clay, offered him a little bit of sage advice. Sean, what did you tell Brock Miller?"

"I just told him to keep his head up and that he tried real hard," a young voice said.

"And Clay, what did you have to add?" the man asked.

"I told him he'd get the next one," a new voice said. "It's what our Dad tells us if we drop one. Just keep trying our best and things will be fine."

"There you have it," the man said with a laugh. "I'm not sure Jim LaCross has any better advice than our young fans have to offer. Back you, Mike and Eric."

In Chile, Tara Wyatt was sitting in a room with Chastity Durant, Tia Barnett, Louisa Bond and three other women from the U.S. National Soccer Team. Their big game was a day away but they wanted to watch their friends play baseball. The only way for them to do it was via the internet but no one minded.

"That was pretty cool," Tia said.

"He is a really sweet guy," Tara put in. "There are so many different sides to him, so many layers. A lot of people think he's a tough guy because of what's happened in his past. In some ways, he is. I mean he's physically tough. But underneath, there is a lot of insecurity."

"I didn't get that impression," Louisa said, sitting forward. "He struck me as a guy who would stand up to anything."

"That's the first impression a lot of people get," Chastity said with a frown. "When I first met him, I had no idea who Jordan DeVoe even was."

"I still don't," Tia said in confusion. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"That's the name Brock was born with," Tara said. "I'll fill you in later if you absolutely have to know. Well, maybe on the flight home after you win the Cup."

Tia nodded her agreement.

"Something happened to Brock when he was just a kid," Chastity continued. "He got screwed by the system pretty badly. It left a lot of scars that very few people get to see."

"Because of people like me," Tara said.

"And me," Chastity added. "The thing is, he lost a lot of his childhood. When I first met him, you know what he was doing? He was coaching a girls game in a youth basketball league in Buffalo. Those kids were having so much fun it was contagious. You could not watch those kids play without smiling at them. And they loved it. He taught them to love the game for the game. I'll bet you a dollar that if we were in Buffalo this winter, every one of those girls from his team was playing. And I'll bet you another dollar that half of them won't play again because they wound up with a coach who isn't anywhere near as good with children. I remember thinking a dozen times that Brock would someday be the world's greatest father."

"I've had that thought a time or two," Tara admitted.

"I saw him with my kids and I figured he had a bunch of brothers and sisters younger than him," Louisa put in. "Al Perez's daughters think he's the best thing since sliced bread. My kids would trade me and their dad even up for him."

"That's why he was willing to put aside his fears and speak to that family," Tara said. "He wanted to thank the boys. That's part of it. But I think a lot of it was to congratulate the Dad on how he was raising them. Brock never had a real male influence in his life. I think that's why he tried so hard on the football field."

"Don't you mean baseball?" one of the players asked.

"No, he was a star football player in high school," Tara remarked. "We started in school not too far from Los Angeles."

"So you've been friends since you were young?" another put in. The game was forgotten for the most part. They would focus their attention from time to time but most were more interested in the conversation.

"Sort of," Tara said. "When Jordan, I mean Brock, got dicked over, I deserted him. We were dating and I just walked away. I didn't even officially break up with him. I just completely left him. It was a couple of years before we found out what really happened to him. The next time I saw him he was already Brock Miller. He had moved to a new school and they played us in a football game. I have never had someone look at me with more disgust in their eyes than I saw in his that night. Well, maybe his Mom a couple of years earlier. But it's close. We were still only teenagers at the time. My friend Susan and I followed him home. We drove 300 miles in the middle of the night and showed up at his house. He hated me and it killed me to see it."

"But he doesn't now," Chastity said. "He loves you now."

"Part of him still hates me," Tara asserted. "I know it's true because a part of me still hates me. I had a rough time when I found out what happened to him. It was six or seven months from the time I found out what had been done to him and when I saw him again. I went into a real tailspin. I, well, I tried to kill myself because of how I treated him."

Only a few people in the room gasped.

"You have to understand," Tara said. "The things they said about Jordan couldn't possibly have been true. I was with him every day. I knew him better than anyone. Instead of standing up for him, I let them do it."

"What did they do?" Tia asked, unwilling to wait until the plane ride back to the United States.

"They put in him prison for rape and murder," Chastity answered. "He was 14 and he was tried as an adult in California. He spent a year and a half in a maximum security prison before the truth came out."

Everyone who hadn't heard the story gasped.

"He was in prison when he was 14?" Tia asked. "You mean juvenile hall, right?"

"Prison," Tara said. "California has a special system for youthful felony offenders. They classify anyone younger than 25 as a youthful offender and throw them all in there together. We're not talking guys who got caught joyriding or smoking weed at school. We're talking about guys who have been in gangs since they were 12 years old and who have murdered people. We're talking about rapists and arsonists, guys who have killed their parents, attacked their sisters and tried to burn their bodies.

"That's what his first cell mate had done, Brock told me. He tried to sexually assault Brock the first night Brock was in the cell. Brock hurt the guy pretty badly. The scars on Brock's back came from when someone tried to kill him while he was in there. It got so bad that Brock took a swing at a guard just to get moved to solitary confinement."

"That's where he was when his mother died," Chastity told them. "He was locked away in a six-by-eight cell with one six-inch window that was so scarred that he couldn't even see into the yard. They wouldn't let him out even to go to her funeral."

"That's fucked up," a woman said. "I know people who have lived through some shit but nothing like this. I mean, Jesus, that had to screw him up big time."

"It did," Tara said.

"Not really," Chastity countered.

Tara looked at her strangely.

"That's the thing about him having so many sides," Chastity said. "He told me about you – all of you. I already felt like I knew you when we first met because Brock spoke of you all the time. He doesn't hate you, Tara. He doesn't hate any of you. I thought it was ridiculous that he could be friends with you. Sorry."