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“I went to every home game, skipping school when they were during the day, and I’d spend time in the dugout even though it really wasn’t allowed. Dad got away with it because he was Hank Stevens.
“I loved that field, the vastness of it, the smells, the atmosphere. Everything. It was my favorite place to be until that summer. That’s when my world started to fall apart.”
Josh’s arms tighten, his lips grazing my ear, whispering, letting me know it was okay to stop. But I know I can’t.
“I remember his fastball was on fire that day. He was striking out batters left and right. I was so freaking proud of him.”
Josh chuckles beside me as I smile at the happiness of that memory.
“It was the fifth inning, he threw a hundred mile an hour fastball that the batter hit directly back at him.” I take a shuddering breath as the tears start to form. I drop my head into my hands, the scenes replaying over and over and over in my mind as Josh’s hands aimlessly run up and down my back. “It hit him so hard that I swear I could hear the sound of the ball hitting his skull.”
My voice cracks with every word, my breath becomes erratic as the panic starts to set in. Before long I can’t take it anymore, so I get up and start pacing the kitchen, Josh’s concerned eyes continuing to follow my every move.
“I remember screaming. God, there was so much screaming. Then silence. Utter and complete silence. In all my life, even to this day, I have never heard thousands of people that quiet before. That emptiness still haunts me to this day…” I take another deep breath as Josh comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck.
“Harper…” he mumbles, and I can tell he feels my pain, it’s radiating off his chest and into my own skin. “Was that what you were dreaming about?”
I wish I could lie and say that it was, I shake my head, knowing I need to get this out before I chicken out.
“I thought he died that day. And in a way, I wish he had, because the world had another cruel punishment up its sleeve for me. Because instead of losing him that day, I watched my father disappear before my eyes.” I take a deep breath, trying to find the words to continue. “He spent months in the hospital, and they tried to figure out what happened and what the consequences would be. They said he had a traumatic brain injury and I remember rolling my eyes when the doctor said those words because it was so obvious. Even to me. But what came after that was just as traumatic as the ball hitting his skull.”
Josh’s breath is shallow as his arms tighten even more, pulling me closer to his chest, almost as if he knows that connection is exactly what I need to get through the next part.
“When they told my father he could never play baseball again, I think a part of him died. That, along with the lasting head injury, the man who came home from the hospital was not my father. He was angry, easily agitated, and hated everything that reminded him of the career he lost. Including me.” I close my eyes at the last memory I have of my father. I wish like hell it was a good memory, but instead it’s of when he told me he never wanted to see my face again. “I think that was one of the worst parts of all of it. Knowing my father hated me before he died.”
Josh’s breath cascades over the tender skin of my neck as he breathes me in. “Harper, your father did not hate you.”
I shake my head because he has no idea what I lived through and that’s my fault. I should have told him all of this sooner.
“Harper.” His voice is strong as his fingers pull my chin so our eyes meet. “He was just dealing with everything in a very unhealthy way.”
In part I know he’s right, but then there’s the little girl screaming inside, needing him to understand that he wasn’t there listening to all the vile words he threw at me.
“That’s the thing Josh, it wasn’t just him not playing baseball anymore that made him change. I think it contributed, but the doctors told us that his personality might change, that he could get agitated easily, get angry at the drop of a hat and all of those things happened. He became a different person. The father I knew never yelled, never said a bad word in my direction and yet in those last years of his life, that’s all I knew, and it slowly broke me.”
I unravel myself from his arms and make my way into the living room.
“What happened to him?”
Such a simple question, yet the one I find the hardest to answer. How do you explain something you don’t even really understand yourself?
As I sit on the couch, Josh sits next to me, taking up all the available space and taking my hands in his. “I woke up one night to screaming. I don’t know where it came from and a part of me doesn’t even think it was real, but it woke me up. I went into the hallway to see if there was anyone around, but the hall was empty. All I could see was the light coming in through his office door, and when I opened that door, my entire life fell apart.”
I take a steady breath before saying the next part because that memory is still lingering on my skin.
“When I opened that door, I knew my father was dead. He was slumped forward onto his desk, his eyes open and staring blankly at me and all I could do was scream.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, lightly pulling me into his lap as he strokes my hair.
“They said he died of hydrocephalus. Fluid buildup in the brain. He’d been having headaches for weeks and refused to go to the doctor and I guess he was working late that night and just… died.”
Josh pulls me toward him, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulders, saying nothing.
“I dream about the way his eyes looked that night. I dream about how pale his skin was, the way the room felt cold when I entered. I used to relive it every time I closed my eyes.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time as he just listens to me breathing.
“Thank you,” he whispers against the side of my head as he picks me up and places me on his lap where I now straddle his hips and wrap my arms around his neck.
