The Sweetest Game(21)

“Nah. It’s cool,” he said with a smile. “Plus, you were actually nice to them.”

“Fuck off.”

“See? What’s your problem, man?”

“Don’t start with me,” I said through clenched teeth. I didn’t want to talk about this. My thoughts alone caused me enough grief. The last thing I wanted to do was actually talk about them.

“I will start with you,” Dean said harshly. “You’re being a real dick. And to Cassie, of all people. Do you want her to fucking leave you?”

I stopped walking. Mid. Fucking. Step.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” I glared at my little brother, my heart fucking pounding out each beat against my chest.

Dean hardened his expression. “She won’t put up with this forever. Eventually she’ll leave you. And it will be your own fault.”

I moved to shove him but he dodged me. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare fucking say that.”

“What? You don’t want to hear the truth? You’re unbearable right now. I’ve never seen you like this. And heaven forbid your hand not heal right and—”

I cut him off, not wanting to hear the next fucking word that came out of his mouth. Right now all I wanted to do was punch him in it. “Shut up, Dean. Shut the fuck up right now. You don’t know what it’s like. You have no idea how I feel.”

“Then tell me! Tell someone!” he shouted and I swore the entire city stopped moving so they could listen.

“Keep your goddamned voice down,” I demanded and resumed walking. His fingers wrapped around the sleeve of my shirt and he pulled me back. “What the hell?”

“We’re talking about this,” he said as he leveled his gaze to mine. “So figure out someplace we can go to do it. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

My stubborn nature refused to let me respond. Instead I marched forward, heading in the direction of the park. Central Park was massive. There were plenty of places we could go to talk and not be surrounded by prying ears.

As we crossed over Fifth Avenue, I turned to Dean and pointed. “That’s the Plaza Hotel. It’s Cassie’s favorite, she’s absolutely in love with it. And that fountain.”

Dean looked in the direction of the hotel. “I can see why. It’s fantastic.”

“Come on. The park’s right there.”

I could tell Dean still didn’t get it. He didn’t know how grand this park was. I’m sure he assumed that the park would be the size of one of our parks at home. I should have told him that Central Park was more like Griffith Park, only more awesome.

Entering through the southeast corner of the park, it didn’t take long until the sounds of the outside world started to fade. The park was alluring in that way. You could cross the street in front of screaming cabs and tourists, and before you knew it you’d entered a world where birds were chirping, people were jogging, and the only other sound you heard were those of horseshoes clacking against the pavement. Submersed inside this world, it was easy to forget anything existed outside of it.

A few more steps and we were at the pond. “Wow,” Dean said with a smile. “So this is Central Park, huh?”

I laughed. Shit. I hadn’t laughed in days and my face knew it. It hurt. “This is barely Central Park.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, this is the pond. There’s a lake, a merry-go-round, an ice skating rink, baseball fields, a zoo, the meadow where they have concerts and shit. This place is huge. I still haven’t seen the whole thing.”

“That doesn’t sound like a park. That sounds like a city.”

I shrugged. “It sorta is, like a city within a city.” Spotting some large boulders in the distance, I sped toward them as Dean followed behind. I climbed up on the largest one and sat on top. Dean climbed up next to me.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Does what hurt?”

“Your hand. I see you tucking it against you every now and then, and I wondered if it hurts.”

I looked down at the cast covering my pitching arm. “Do I really do that? I didn’t notice.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said.

I hadn’t admitted it to anyone. Not even to the team’s doctor, but yes, my hand hurt. It fucking killed me. As far as they knew, I was taking their prescribed painkillers. But the truth was that I wasn’t.

“Yeah, it hurts,” I admitted.

“How bad?”

“It’s a constant pain. I can feel my heart beating in my fingertips. It fucking kills me.”

Dean’s head tipped to one side as though he were confused, or worried. “That can’t be good. They gave you painkillers, right?”