On Friday, one week after I left April, I went up to my cabin in the mountains, but the silence and solitude there no longer felt peaceful to me—they felt stifling. I couldn’t stand being alone with my thoughts in such a small space. The voices in my head argued constantly.

You did the right thing. She’s better off.

You’re a dumbass. Go get her back.

You’re a head case. Quit doubting your decisions.

You’re a chickenshit. If she doesn’t care what people say, why should you?

I left after just one night.

Back in San Diego Saturday afternoon, I swam fifty laps in my pool, and the physical activity helped a little. I was just pulling myself out of the water when I heard a voice.

“Good, you’re alive. You asshole.”

I straightened up to see my sister standing there on the patio. “Sadie?”

She ran straight for me, and threw her arms around my neck, soaking herself. “I was so worried about you. I thought maybe something had happened.”

I hugged her back, amazed at how good the human contact felt after a week of isolation. “Sorry.”

“You should be.” She let me go and stood back. “Now that I know you’re okay, I’m super pissed at you.”

“Look, I can explain. I—”

“How could you leave without saying goodbye?”

I frowned and moved past her, grabbing my towel off a chair. “I had to get out fast.”

“Why?”

I dried off and wrapped the towel around my hips. “It’s complicated.”

“Lucky for you, I’ve got all night.”

“You flew all the way out here for one night?”

“How else was I supposed to make sure you were okay? You weren’t answering texts or calls. I’m just glad I had the code to the privacy gate or I’d still be sitting out there in my rental car.”

“I’m okay,” I said. “I just needed some time by myself.”

“You mean you needed time to mope,” she clarified with a sniff. “What happened to your coaching job? What happened to a house on the water? What happened to red hair and dimples?”

“That was never going to work,” I said. “It was a stupid idea.”

“What happened to no more hiding out?” she pushed.

“What do you want me to say, Sadie?” I ran a hand through my wet hair. “I changed my mind about it. About all of it.”

“But why? There must have been a reason.”

“There was. There is.”

“Well?” She put her hands behind her back like a patient teacher. “I’m waiting.”

Exhaling, I shook my head. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But I’m not going back there, okay? So don’t try to convince me.”

“Okay,” she said. “I won’t.”

She followed me inside, and I went up to my room to throw on dry clothes. When I got back down, she was sitting at my kitchen island drinking a bottle of water. I grabbed a beer and sat next to her, spilling the entire story.

“Wow,” she said. “So you knew him the whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“That’s so crazy. A lefty pitcher.”

“And he looks just like me. I almost passed out when I saw that picture.”

“I bet.” She took a drink of water. “But I still don’t see why you left.”

I got off the stool and went to the pantry for a bag of chips. “Sadie, I just explained it. I left to protect them.”

“Really?” Disbelief colored the word.

“Really.” I opened the bag and leaned back against the counter.

“Protect them from what?”

I rolled my eyes. “From the media shitstorm. From gossip. From knowing what it’s like to be stared at and whispered about.”

“How do you know they care?”

I crunched on a chip while April’s words echoed in my head. I don’t care what people say. Let them talk. Would Chip have felt the same way?

No. What eighteen-year-old ball player wants to learn his biological father is a MLB pitcher . . . only to learn oh, it’s that one. The fuckup. The has-been. The choke joke. He’d want nothing to do with me.

“They would care,” I insisted. “Even if they thought they wouldn’t, they would. It’s embarrassing.”

“Hmm. Because I don’t think you left to protect them. I think,” she went on, “you left to avoid dealing with your feelings.”

“What feelings?” I snapped.

“The same ones you shut out your entire life. The ones you felt you could never show because they were a detriment to your macho reputation. Shit, there’s probably a little of everything in there by now. Love? Fear? Compassion? Vulnerability? Shame? A secret longing to be a dad?”

I squinted at her. “Are you fucking crazy? I don’t want to be a dad.”

“Maybe not.” She shrugged. “But you were the one who told me what an expert you were at shutting out anything you didn’t want to feel for thirty-odd years. And I’m not saying I blame you—that habit served you well in baseball, maybe even in life. And it isn’t just going to go away. You have to consciously decide to grapple with those feelings.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Although part of me was afraid she was making a little too much sense.

“I suppose I could be wrong. I mean, maybe you don’t really care for April.”

“I do care for her!” I shouted, gesturing so wildly that chips flew out of the bag. “I care a lot, that’s why I left!”

“You broke her heart to show her how much you care?” Sadie blinked at me. “Sorry. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but something about that is not making sense.”

I reached into the bag and grabbed another handful of chips. “You said you weren’t going to argue with me.”

“No, I didn’t. I said I wasn’t going to try to convince you to come back, but my fingers were crossed anyway, so it doesn’t count.”

I spoke slowly through clenched teeth. “I’m not going back, Sadie. I can’t. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She was making me second-guess myself. I hated that feeling.

She sighed. “Okay. Fine. You can stay out here eating chips in your castle with its fancy gate and high walls and security cameras and never have to let anyone in ever again. But it seems like an awfully lonely way to spend the rest of your life.”

“It’s my decision,” I said stubbornly, shoving the chips in my mouth.

Her smile was sad. “Yes. It is.”

We ordered dinner in, and after Sadie closed the door behind the delivery guy, she gestured to a large cardboard box sitting in the front hall. “Is that the box from my attic?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about it.”

“How’d you get it here?” she asked.

“Actually, this is kind of funny. I forgot it was in the back of my rental car until I got to the airport to turn it in. The guy at the desk happened to be the same one who was there when I rented it. Steve.”

“Oh?”