Forced Out (44 page)

"I love you, Kyle," she whispered, melting into his embrace.

"I love you, too."

Then, with no warning, he pushed her away. So roughly she stumbled backward toward the brownstone wall separating the park from the sidewalk. She didn't understand, couldn't comprehend why he'd do such a thing in the middle of such a romantic moment. She'd felt his passion, his love. It was unmistakable. She couldn't deny it. Neither could he.

As she lost her balance and fell backward, she saw a taxi veer off Fifth Avenue from behind a bus. It climbed the curb, completely out of control, and hurtled down the sidewalk. Directly at Kyle. She screamed for him to get out of the way as it closed in, but her warning was cut short when the back of her head hit the wall. She tried to scream again when the cab's bumper was only a few feet from his body, as the cab hurtled into him, but no sounds would come. Then everything went black.

* * *

Jack had been lying on the king-size bed in his suite, catching a little rest. Not really sleeping, just relaxing, trying to come down off the high of the past twenty-four hours. When the phone on the nightstand rang, he reached for it, then stopped suddenly. He hesitated for several rings, wondering why he didn't want to pick it up. Within the first few seconds of answering he knew why.

After several minutes of trying to bring Cheryl down from the ledge, he spoke to a kindhearted policeman who promised to bring her back to the hotel himself. When Jack finally hung up, he reached for the envelope the Kid had given him and stared at the words written on it: "To be opened in the event of my death only by Jack Barrett. The Kid."

Inside was a last will and testament, giving Jack every cent of the irrevocable signing bonus Kyle had just earned executing the contract.

Jack sank back onto the bed, his body shaking. Suddenly he and Cheryl had five million dollars. They'd never have to worry about money again. But the damn thing of it was, he would have given up every cent of that money if it would have brought the Kid back. MJ. Now the Kid. Hell, he would have given up his own life if those two could have stuck around longer, he thought through his tears. Sometimes life didn't make a hell of a lot of sense. This was one of those times.

* * *

Cheryl crawled on her hands and knees to the spot where the Kid had been standing when the cab hit him. The policeman was beside her, bent over, begging her to let him take her back to the Four Seasons. But she paid no attention.

She ran her fingers gently over the bricks when she reached the spot, but there was nothing. No body, no blood, nothing to prove that he'd even existed. Her tears fell on her fingers as she caressed the bricks. Impossible, she thought. There was no way he could have avoided the cab, no way he could have avoided his fate. He was dead, but there was no proof.

She looked slowly to her left and, for a fleeting moment, thought she saw something up the block. Something familiar, something moving away that might explain it all. But a second later it had vanished like an apparition in the fog, and she realized that it had been only her imagination. Must have been only her imagination.

Then her tears fell for real.

48

Y
OLANDA BILLUPS MOVED slowly down the front steps of her dilapidated home as a blazing orange sun headed through a clear blue sky toward the western horizon, casting long shadows on the few scraggly blades of brown grass in her front yard. She was carrying her youngest little girl, and the next two were trailing behind her, just barely off the dusty hem of her long skirt.

"Hello, Mr. Barrett," she called softly.

"Hello, Mrs. Billups."

"I told you to call me Yolanda. I meant it."

Jack moved toward her on his bad knees. Cheryl stayed behind, back by the car. "You did," he agreed when they were close, "but somehow it never seemed right." He smiled sadly. "How've you been?"

"All right," she said quietly.

Not like she meant it, though. "You'd never complain, would you? You'd never tell me how tough it's been." Jack rubbed his eyes. "Financially, I mean. I know how tough it's been without Curtis."

Yolanda brushed the little girl's hair for a moment. "You can call him MJ now, Mr. Barrett. I know you liked that name. I don't mind."

This was so hard. He wanted MJ to come walking out of the house with that wide, confident smile all over his face. He could only imagine how hard it had been for the woman standing in front of him. "I got something for you," he said, holding out a plain white envelope. He took the little girl from Yolanda so she could open it. Her hands began to shake when she saw what was inside, when she saw the amount.

"I...I...I can't accept this, Mr. Barrett. It wouldn't be right." Jack nodded. "It
is
right and you
will
accept it," he said firmly. "There'll be no discussion."

She swallowed hard, then her knees buckled.

Jack reached with his one free hand to steady her, but she waved him off. "I'm all right," she said, putting a hand to her forehead. "My God, is this for real? A million dollars?"

"Oh, it's for real."

She shook her head hard, then held the check out for him. "I can't take it," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "I can't profit from my son's death. The Lord would never approve."

"It isn't like that," Jack assured, pushing her hand gently away. "MJ earned it. It's his share of everything. Believe me. He earned it fair and square." Yolanda stared at Jack for a long time. "Bless you, Jack Barrett," she finally whispered.

"Bless you." She pointed at Cheryl. "And bless your daughter and her unborn child. May God watch over them."

Jack smiled. "Thanks, Yolanda. That means a lot. At least coming from you it does." He handed the little girl back to her mother, then kissed Yolanda on the cheek. "Call me. I'll help you figure out the best thing to do with that money. Okay?" Yolanda nodded and gave Jack a strong hug. Then he limped back toward where Cheryl was standing, her hands resting on her growing stomach. At least life made a little more sense now, he thought.

"That was a wonderful thing you just did, Daddy."

He smiled. Cheryl was so beautiful, the most beautiful thing in his life, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She always had been, and he should have told her so many more times. He could feel his upper lip begin to tremble, and not long ago he wouldn't have been man enough to say the words.

"I love you, Princess. So damn much. I wish I'd told you so much more, but at least I--"

"I love you, too, Daddy," she interrupted, her voice trembling, too. She hesitated.

"There's something I need to tell you."

"What?" he asked, looking down as he pressed moisture from his eyes. "What do you need to tell me?"

"I know you think this is Bobby Griffin's child," she said, rubbing her stomach gently,

"but it isn't."

He glanced up, his eyes narrowing.

"It's Kyle's. We made love the night after he threw Bobby out of our house. This is Kyle McLean's little boy."

Jack's hands began to shake, and slowly Cheryl's image blurred in front of him. Suddenly life made sense.

Epilogue

J
ACK CLOSED HIS eyes and inhaled those deliciously familiar scents. Freshly mown grass, cigar smoke, and those sizzling hot dogs all blending together on the crisp sea air. Fifteen minutes to game time, and he was in heaven.

He opened his eyes slowly. But he wasn't in the stands anymore, he was on the field. He was in heaven.

Mitch Borden had fired Lefty Hodges at the end of last season and made Jack the manager of the Sarasota Tarpons. They'd won seven of their first ten games this year, and most important, they had a new star. A kid named Trent Forester, who was a pure hitter, like the Kid. Not as good, but then, no one ever would be. Still, Trent reminded him a lot of Kyle. Which was good and bad. It was a ball watching him play, but the pro scouts were already circling. Trent probably wouldn't be around very long. But that was what happened in Single-A. That was the whole point. To get the really good ones to the Show as fast as possible.

"Hey, Granddad."

Jack smiled as Cheryl moved toward him. Rosario was peeking out from behind Cheryl's dress. She was growing more beautiful every day.

Cheryl held Kyle Junior out for him to take as they came together. "Someone wanted to see you."

Jack took the little boy in his arms and hugged him gently, bursting with pride. Junior was wearing a tiny New York Yankee cap, just like Cheryl used to do so long ago. It was the first time she'd brought him to the stadium. "Hey, Junior. Welcome to the greatest game in the world."

As he whispered the words, Jack touched the shirt pocket of his uniform. Inside there was the ticket stub from the first night he'd watched the Kid make that spectacular catch and smash that huge home run. It had never been out of his reach since that night. When Junior was old enough, Jack was going to give him that ticket stub. And make sure it was never out of the boy's reach.

Acknowledgments

S
PECIAL THANKS TO Cynthia Manson, Peter Borland, Judith Curr, and Louise Burke for making
Forced Out
possible. For allowing me to take this new direction which I am enjoying so much.

Special thanks to Dr. Brett Shannon for giving us peace of mind during Ellie's challenging time.

To Ellie, Courtney, Ashley, and Christina.

Also to Matt Malone, Andy and Chris Brusman, Kevin "Big Sky" Erdman, Jeanette Follo, Jim and Anmarie Galowski, Richard Green, Steve Watson, Nick Simonds, David Brown, Kathleen Rizzo, Bill Drennan, Skip Frey, Jack Wallace, Barbara Fertig, Jeff, Jamie and Catherine Faville, Bart Begley, Chris Tesoriero, Bob Wieczorek, Scott Andrews, Marvin Bush, Pat and Terry Lynch, Mike Lynch, Mark Tavani, Aaron McClung, Bob Wake, John Piazza, Chris Andrews, Bob Carpenter, Gordon Eadon, Gerry Barton, Mike Pocalyko, and Baron Stewart

Table of Contents

Book Jacket

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4