“And we can be beholden to certain people,” I warned.
“Well, duh, but it’s nice to have people in your back pocket who could help in a spot like this.”
“If such people exist.”
But Brett wasn’t going to change his position, and neither was I. It was just the way things went—two brothers could never seem to co-exist without each having to carve out a space for himself somewhere. I was the athletic stud, Brett the charming know-it-all. I was the guy who won over people by being calm; Brett could yak it up with anyone at any time. I believed our family had grown out of legitimate means through a real “American Dream” story, and Brett believed we had connections to the mafia.
I was sane, and he was crazy. It worked!
We chatted for about half an hour longer before I told him I had to go.
“Make that money!” he shouted as I left the vineyard. “Or go play for the Yankees. Just not the Dodgers. God, veto a trade if that happens.”
“I’m vetoing any trade!” I shouted, and with that, I headed back out to my Tesla, turned it on, and slowly drove out of the lot.
Now, with no more distractions along the way, all my thoughts turned to whatever had compelled the owner and GM of the Giants to meet with me and my agent. It had to be a raise, didn’t it? Athletes who got traded got informed over the phone. They didn’t get in-person meetings like this. Even legends who got traded were told like so, and while I was an All-Star, I was not old enough to be anywhere near Willie Mays or Barry Bonds status. Not even close.
It was the only logical answer. And yet…I wouldn’t believe it until I signed a dotted line confirming it. I refused to. Too much could go wrong between now and then.
And as it was, a little under ten minutes into my drive, traffic seemed to slow down significantly. Confused, I looked out the right side and saw an ambulance, about a half-dozen cop cars, and people outside looking tearful and hurt beyond comprehension. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought a mass tragedy of some kind had occurred.
In the slowdown of traffic, I searched to see if any breaking news was coming from the Sacramento-Oakland-San Francisco area, but besides the usual traffic reports and some sports talk about the start of the regular season, there didn’t seem to be anything too unusual or urgent coming out. Maybe someone had had a heart attack.
But the way people looked, the way young people were crying, this did not seem like a heart attack. This seemed like something bad…something like…
Izzy’s ex.
I refused to believe the thought at first. He was so far away, and even if something had happened to Izzy, she would have sent some sort of warning. She would have said she’d seen him following her.
But when I looked more closely at the building, which said it housed the same marketing firm that had gotten me the speaking gig at Fresno State—the one that I met Izzy through—a sickening feeling hit the pit of my stomach. If it was her, and I kept driving by, I’d never forgive myself. If it wasn’t her, but she was still suffering…
But on the other hand, all it took was one person photographing me there. If nothing had happened to Izzy, then her need for privacy would have gotten shit on. I would have ruined everything out of some false moral obligation to be there. And it would have put her and her son in a worse spot.
As it was, I was kind of damn lucky that my grandparents or parents hadn’t said anything about the one photo out there. I liked to believe they just didn’t read TMZ, but the honest truth was it probably embarrassed them so much to know I was dating a mother with a child out of wedlock that they just pretended to believe this didn’t exist.
Traffic started to lighten up. The speed of the vehicles began to resume.
And you’re going to let outside forces dictate what you do? You’re not going to listen to your conscious? Are you that image-aware that you’re not even going to stop to see what happened here? Worst case…
Not about worst case. About making sure Izzy’s fine.
I lurched into the left lane, ignoring the driver behind me honking for cutting him off. I waited to make sure the other side of the road was clear and pulled off an illegal U-turn. Yeah, there were cops there. With all respect to the LEOs, they could kiss my ass if they wanted to ticket me at a time like this.
I pulled into the nearest parking lot, jumped out of my car, and jogged slowly over to the chaos. Most people were keeping their distance, grieving at whatever they saw. I saw out of the periphery of my vision a few people staring at me, clearly recognizing me, but I was in no mood for fucking autographs or to talk about the season.
“Yeah, he’s with her.”
I didn’t know who said it, but my ears seemed finely tuned to pick up that line. Her…Izzy…
Before I had a chance to process it, I saw a gurney being wheeled out of the doors about twenty feet in front. There was a medic with her back to me blocking the full view, but she would have to turn before—
And then she did.
Izzy was on that gurney.
Her face was red and swollen and bloodied.
“Izzy!”
I tried to charge through, but two police officers cut me off.
“What the hell, man?” I said. “She’s hurt!”
“Sir, we’re taking her to the hospital; we need
