Sullivan shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, after I agreed to do a commercial for them.”
Time stopped then, and Clara only saw Sullivan there. Raw, trying so damn hard to do right by her.
“Wow,” Maisie said after a long moment of silence. “This is…well, totally amazing, Sullivan.” She closed the distance and gave him a hug.
Followed up by Amelia. When she stepped back, she added, “The exposure this gives us, it’s unbelievable. Thank you so much.”
Sullivan smiled like this was everyday business. “You’re welcome.”
But this wasn’t everyday business for Clara. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Not when he watched her with such adoration. Because she knew the truth. He had done this for her. To show her he was all in with making her life better. For her. And for Mason. Needing to express her gratitude, she closed the distance and threw her arms around him, holding on tight. He dropped his head into her neck and held her close as the heat of his body enveloped her. “My God, Sullivan, you have gone way above and beyond here.” She leaned away and met the warmth swirling in his eyes. “Thank you for this.”
“No thanks needed.” He released her, but she got the sense he didn’t want to. “I’m glad to do it.”
Something passed in the air between them—something that was raw, real, and felt so damn good that Clara never wanted to let go of it.
But, like most things, it didn’t last. “While I’m having a blast watching you two hug it out and talk sweet nothings,” Hayes commented with laughter in his voice, “we have a lot to do to get ready for tonight. How about we get to it?”
“Right,” Sullivan said, stepping away, looking like it was the very last thing he wanted to do.
Amelia studied the booth. “Did you bring enough merchandise?”
Hayes nodded. “I knew the drill and grabbed it all, plus as many kegs that weren’t labeled for shipment.”
Maisie squeaked a sound of pure happiness then threw herself at him. He kissed her wildly like no one was looking.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Now who’s talking sweet nothings to each other?”
Sullivan chuckled, but Clara couldn’t look away from him. Her heart pinged. The way Maisie grabbed Hayes like that, Clara realized she wanted that too. To kiss someone just like that, and she knew exactly who she wanted to kiss too. But then, reality hit. “Mason—”
“I took care of that,” Sullivan said with a gentle smile. “Penelope is picking him up after school. She’ll bring him home, put him to bed tonight, and will wait for us until we get back.”
“You arranged all that?” she asked.
Sullivan cocked his head, his brow wrinkled. “Is that all right? Still not overstepping?”
“No, not at all,” Clara said with a disbelieving shake of her head. “More than all right. Sullivan, I’m…” She glanced at her sisters, who wore matching beaming smiles, before adding to him. “I’m not used to having help like this. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.”
“Good thing you don’t have to thank me, then,” Sullivan said. “Better get ready, ladies. Time is counting down.” Then he turned and walked away like he wasn’t changing their very lives.
With Clara and her sisters busy serving customers from their booth, and having already endured a lecture from his agent about doing a commercial for free, Sullivan headed down the cement staircase toward the visitors’ clubhouse. The familiar scents of popcorn and grease followed him on his walk. He’d stayed clear of fans wearing Boston Red Sox’s jerseys and baseball caps, keeping his head down, wanting to keep out of sight tonight. The last thing he wanted was the press swarming him for their next hot story. Tonight was all about Clara, and Three Chicks Brewery, and he wanted to keep the focus there. He’d gone past three security checkpoints, but he’d already gotten a pass from security that allowed him through. He felt edgy since he was missing the action. Denver had always been a hard game for him to play, too close to home, but tonight, his edginess was different. He felt different. Above him, fans took their seats, and their loud voices nearly vibrated in the cement hallways.
When he opened the clubhouse’s door, he found the team doing what they always did before a game. Some guys were on their phone, a few others were putting golf, and four guys were playing Ping-Pong.
“Keene.”
The loud roar of his name came seconds before he was all but jumped by his teammates.
He was tossed around a bit before his good buddy Terrel jabbed him in the gut. “You’re looking a little soft, Keene. Have you worked out at all since you’ve been on suspension?”
Before Sullivan could reply that he’d jogged a little, but not nearly enough, another friend, Jack, yelled, “And we’re not talking about skin-to-skin workout.”
Sullivan snorted and grinned Jack’s way. “Why do you want to know so bad, Lawson? Want a skin-to-skin workout with me?”
More laughter erupted. Sullivan greeted more of the guys, who all asked the same question: when are you coming back? A good question that Sullivan didn’t have an answer to. Only one person did. “Where’s Coach?” he asked Terrel.
His friend gestured toward a hallway. “In the office.” He cupped Sullivan’s shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”
“Good to be back.” Sullivan strode toward the hallway, feeling like as much as he enjoyed being back in River Rock, his heart belonged here too. Baseball had been his savior after his mother passed away. His teammates had been his family when his father turned into a stranger.
He found the coach sitting behind a desk, studying paperwork. Sullivan could only list a half-dozen men who had his respect, but Coach was among them. A family man, he’d played pro ball for twelve years before hanging up his bat to coach. He still looked fit enough to play and worked as hard as anyone on the team. “Coach,” he announced.
The coach’s head lifted, his Boston Red Sox hat atop his head, covering his clipped salt-and-pepper hair, his brown eyes wide. “Well, damn, Keene, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
“I hadn’t planned to come,” Sullivan said, taking the client chair. “A friend needed a hand.”
Coach leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak beneath him. “Oh, yeah? Do tell.”
With the laughter and loud voices of his teammates echoing down the hallway, Sullivan quickly caught the coach up on Clara: who she was to him, his surprise kid, her growing brewery, and everything else in between. The coach knew Sullivan’s history. He knew all the pain and heartbreak, every injury his father gave Sullivan, every single tragic detail.
When Sullivan finished, Coach rubbed his jaw. “Damn, Keene, a kid might just be good for you. Kids change you, make you a better man.”
Sullivan nodded. “Now, that I believe.” He’d only known Mason for a short time, and he felt like he’d already been changed, wanting to do better, be better, not only for himself. For Mason too.
“And this lady of yours, Clara, she sounds like a good woman,” Coach said.
“One of the best,” Sullivan agreed.
Coach leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “You need this in your life, Keene. Stability, it’s a good thing. Staying out of the tabloids is even better.”
“Yes, sir, we’re in full agreement there,” Sullivan said.
Someone called the coach’s name, which meant the game was about to begin. He rose, approaching Sullivan with his keen eyes. As Sullivan rose as well, Coach stopped in front of him and gave him a look over. “Yeah, I’m liking what I see here. Got a clear head, Keene?”
“I do, sir.”
The coach cupped his shoulder, offering a rare smile. “About time, kid. Good to see you’re looking so solid. We’ll see you when your suspension is up?”
Sullivan nodded. “You will.” But as the coach headed off, something about that didn’t feel right, either. It occurred to him then that leaving River Rock this time wouldn’t be as easy as last time, and last time had nearly kill
ed him.
When the team headed out for the match, and having already been shooed away by all three Carters sisters, Sullivan watched the game next to Hayes. He missed the comradery, the energy from his teammates. He loved the game. Especially as he watched his team win from the sidelines.
By the time the crowds cleared and they made it back upstairs, Sullivan found Clara and her sisters looking exhausted, big smiles on their faces. Popcorn littered the cement floors, alongside spilled beer and plastic cups.
“I take it everything went well?” Sullivan asked, sidling up the booth they’d already begun dismantling.
“So well,” Clara said, finishing packing up a box.
“Crazy good,” Maisie agreed, as Hayes took over the box she was taping up.
“Oh, my gosh, I think I’m going to fall over,” said Amelia, sliding onto her butt in front of the booth.
Sullivan chuckled. It had been a long day. “What can I help with?” he asked.
Clara gestured to the dozen boxes. “All these need to go out.”
“On it.” Sullivan grabbed what he could, and in no time, the Three Chicks Brewery truck was packed up, and Hayes, Amelia, and Maisie were on the road driving back together. When Sullivan walked toward Clara’s car under the beams of the parking lot lights, he asked, “Want me to drive home?”
“Yes, please,” she breathed, handing him the keys from her pocket. “Everything on my body hurts right now.”
He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist for support. They’d worked hard tonight. Considering they weren’t bringing home any kegs meant they’d sold out.
Once inside the car, Sullivan fastened his seat belt as Clara said, “I don’t think you know what today did for us. For days now, I’ve been stressing if I had enough leverage to ask for more demands in our contracts.” She glanced his way, expression soft and warm. “Without any doubt in my mind, you got us that today. You did more than any distributor could do for us, and you did all that without asking for a thing.”
His chest expanded to its fullest as he spotted the Clara he had always loved in the depths of her eyes. Feeling like nothing lay between them, he said, “Whatever I can do to help you, Clara, I will.”
The lights from the dashboard lit up her face as her eyes searched his. “Why are you doing all this?”
Only the truth would keep them moving forward. “To gain your forgiveness. To earn your trust.”
Emotion filled her eyes as she leaned in closer then, the air heating up between them in the car. “You don’t have to keep doing these amazing things for me.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said then cupped her warm cheek, heat flooding his groin at her nearness. “Because you did amazing things for me too, including raising our son when I wasn’t well enough to.” He brushed the softness of her cheek, lost in the way she watched him so eagerly. “So, yes, Clara, I do need to do these things. It’s about time someone looked after you like you’ve looked after others.”
Her soft smile was his greatest reward.
Captivated by her, he dropped his mouth to hers, and he let himself enjoy the slow kiss, not allowing it to heat up, not building desire, simply giving them this moment. And there, in the sweetness of her embrace, he found something bigger than himself or his past; he found another purpose than baseball. Making Clara happy and taking care of her felt as good as any home run he’d ever hit out of the park.
When she leaned away, she said with a laugh, “I hope you don’t expect more than a kiss, because my body is not capable of even moving right now.”
He reached across her and fastened her seat belt. “I expect you to sleep while I get us home safe.”
“Thank goodness.” She yawned and shut her eyes but reached for his hand first, twining her delicate fingers with his.
Soon, they were on their way, leaving the city behind for the quiet country roads, and for the first time ever, he realized his suspension was the greatest thing to have ever have happened to him. Because it had brought him back to her.
10
“So, you have a son,” the chief stated, sitting across from Sullivan a week later in the hotspot restaurant in downtown, The Kitchen. The space was as fancy as any place in Boston with its wooden beams on the ceiling, dark stone on the walls, and sleek metal tables. Every table and booth was occupied, a telling sign the food was top-notch. The aroma in the air was a mix of freshly brewed coffee and perfectly cooked bacon, but the company was better. For the last half an hour, Sullivan had caught John up on the bar fight, the suspension, the reason he came home, and now, the most wonderful surprise of all, Mason. This great kid that radiated happiness and reminded Sullivan of his once-happy childhood.
“That must have been a surprise,” John stated when Sullivan finished.
“That’s putting it lightly,” Sullivan said, cutting into his over-easy egg with his fork. “But it’s a good surprise, and I think that surprises me most of all.” Years back, before everything went to shit, Sullivan had wanted to be a family man. A good father, unlike his own, but that dream had faded.
John studied Sullivan over the rim of his cup before he took a sip of his coffee. “I asked Hayes once if Mason was yours. He looks like your mother.”
Sullivan agreed with a nod. “He’s got her eyes.”
“Yup, that’s what I thought too.” John reached for his toast. “I take it Clara had a good reason to keep such a big secret.” He took a bite.
“Just protecting him,” Sullivan said, knowing he wouldn’t need to say more. John knew every aspect of Sullivan’s life, more than anyone else since he had worked his case. He’d seen every bruise, every stitch.
Once John swallowed his toast, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Listen, Sullivan, you know I’ve never been good at beating around the bush, so let’s get to it.” He leaned forward, setting his arms beside his plate. “You’re a damn good ballplayer. Your mother would be immensely proud of all that you’ve accomplished, but there is more to life than playing ball. It looks like you’re finally seeing that. You’ve got far more of your mother’s loving nature in you than your father’s hot temper, and you’ll make an incredible father to Mason. Just have to get out of your head and believe it, is all.”
Sullivan snorted a laugh. “That simple, huh?”
“Life typically is that simple when you are your worst enemy,” John said.
“I suppose that’s true,” Sullivan agreed. John had been the solid ground in Sullivan’s life when he needed that. He’d been the shoulder to lean on and the listener when he needed that too. “You know, I never thanked you for what you did for me.”
John set the fork he’d picked up back down. “You never needed to thank me, Sullivan. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you doing well.” And obviously done with getting the thank you he deserved, he said, “Now let’s talk sports.”
By the time they parted ways, Sullivan’s head swarmed with thoughts. The plan had always been to come home, face the shit he’d been running from, and get his head together. But he was more confused than ever. Because what he’d been running from, now looked perfect, and he didn’t want to leave. He had friends in River Rock, chosen family. He had Clara and Mason. So, when Sullivan arrived for his therapy appointment, he suspected the doctor would see right through him.
Elizabeth looked as buttoned-up as always. She sat across from him, light spilling in from the window off to her right. “Let’s talk about your suspension. Has this happened before?”
He shook his head. “The press follows me more now. It’s not an ideal situation since my actions are caught on camera. That’s all this was. A few too many drinks met with an arrogant prick who pushed his girlfriend and deserved a shot in the face.”
Elizabeth made a note then raised her brows at him. “It doesn’t sound like you deserved a suspension for that.”
He leaned back in the comfortable couch, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Sometimes, it’s easier to take the punishment than deal with a long, draw
n-out investigation. They had me on tape, hitting the guy. The coach recommended I take the month off. I’d stirred up enough shit that I just took the suspension.”
She made another note. “Why is the press following you more now?”
He noted how she asked questions without judgment, and he liked it. “I had a good year playing, matched with a couple high-profile women in my life.” One was an actress. The other a singer. “Apparently, I’m good for gaining readership on social media, so they’ve upped their invasion of my life.”
“I did read an article after the altercation,” Elizabeth said. “It didn’t paint you in the best light.”
“Of course it didn’t,” Sullivan countered. “Rags never do. But the damage was done, and the coach couldn’t overlook it, nor could the owner of the team. I’m a role model for kids, whether I like it or not, and I displayed bad sportsman-like behavior.”
She made another note before looking back up at him. “You didn’t mind the punishment, then?”
“Of course I minded it,” he countered. “But I understood it. They had to make an example of me. I didn’t realize the paparazzi had gotten so close. Now I know. It won’t happen again. Besides, things are different now.”
“Why is that?”
He paused to consider how he should explain this. “I found out I have a son.”
She froze, statue-still. “Here, in River Rock?”
He nodded then answered her unasked questions. “No, I didn’t know about him, and no, I’m not upset my ex didn’t tell me. I walked out on her, a complete mess of a man, and didn’t answer her call when she tried to tell me about our son. If I were in her spot, I would have done the same damn thing. She protected her child; I won’t ever fault her for that.”
Elizabeth studied him. Sullivan got the impression his response surprised her.
“So, you have a son,” she eventually said. “That must have been quite a shock.”
Feisty Red: Three Chicks Brewery #2 Page 10