Page 77 of The Game Changer
Except…the Thunder doesn’treallyneed me. At least, not in person. I can join meetings via video conferencing, and Dom can manage anything here. My parents are good. And leaving would be for Charlie, so surely he and Isla would understand. Besides, it wouldn’t be forever. Once I have the basic design sorted out, I could try and set something up on the West Coast to continue the work.
I’m so lost in my spiral of planning that I don’t realize Charlie’s still talking until he taps my arm.
“Dude, you okay?”
“What? Yeah. Sorry, I was thinking about something,” I say, giving myself a mental shake.
“No kidding,” Charlie agrees, then he looks down,scuffing the ground with his foot. “So, um, did you hear what I asked?”
Shit. “No man, sorry. I didn’t. Can you ask me again?”
I watch his throat bob up and down as he swallows. Whatever he asked, it’s important. I make sure I’m giving him my full attention.
He sucks in a breath and says, “There’s a preseason exhibition game coming up in a couple weeks and Coach said I could pitch an inning. I’ve been working a lot on my left-hand pitching, and it’s getting pretty good. Will you come watch?”
I’m sure I’m grinning like a fool when he stops talking. “Charlie, that's awesome. Of course, I’ll be there. I’m honoured you asked.”
He ducks his head down again, and I see his cheeks darken. “Cool. That’s cool. Thanks.”
“Hey, you two, dinner is ready.”
The moment is interrupted by Isla’s voice. I turn and see her standing in the doorway, backlit by the glow from the house. And I’m taken aback by the simple beauty of the moment. I want more of this. So much more.
“Coming,” Charlie says before looking back at me. “Thanks again, Luca. For, like, tonight and um, you know. The game.”
We move toward the house and I say, “Any time. And I mean it when I say that if you ever need to talk about your arm, or your prosthesis, or any of that stuff with someone who gets it, just call.”
Charlie screws up his face in a grimace. “Old people call. How ’bout I text?”
I nudge him with my shoulder and growl, “You calling me old, kid?”
He laughs as we enter the kitchen. “I mean, your hair. My nana says only old people have grey hair!”
“Nana said what?”
I move over to Isla and kiss the side of her head. “Apparently your mother would think I’m very old.”
Isla bites her lip, her eyes dancing. “I mean…”
“Brat,” I mutter teasingly.
“I’m gonna go take off my arm,” Charlie announces, hurrying out of the room.
As soon as he’s gone, I spin Isla into my arms, dipping my head and kissing her properly for the first time all evening.
“Thank you for spending some time with him,” she says after we break apart. Except I’m not done, and I close the distance, kissing her again.
“You don’t have to thank me. I like Charlie. He’s a great kid.”
She leans back, and I chase after her lips, needing more. “I know he is. And I want to thank you. Because you’re giving him something I can’t. Someone who understands what his life is like. And that means more than I can say.”
That sobers me instantly. How many times when I was growing up did I wish I had someone who understood how hard it could be, missing a limb? The idea of being that person for Charlie fills me with so much satisfaction, it surprises me. I never wanted to be anyone’s hero. I’m not some inspirational story. But maybe I could be some kind of role model, or at the very least, a supportfor Charlie. Someone who gets it, who’s willing to listen, not with sympathy, but with understanding.
And maybe I can use my knowledge and resources to help him do everything and anything he wants in life.
That’s even better than being a hero.
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