I make the zipper motion on my lips. Since getting sober, I’ve been spending a lot more time with my family. Where I used to sleep until three in the afternoon and then wait for the dozens to hundreds of random friends or acquaintances to trickle into my house for parties, I’m now exceedingly lonely at home. My bachelor mansion used to be a revolving door of floozies, drugs, liquor, and reckless party tricks. Being there now, by myself, seems strange. I’m using my blank schedule to spend more quality family time and get out of my own head.
Because before Frankie showed up a week ago, all of the silence and alone time would be filled with her. I thought about her constantly in those five months and weighed why I was such a damn coward and couldn’t just call her.
“I picked up some wings on my way home. Come and get ’em.” Colleen sticks her head out the back door and waves.
“Yes!” Isaiah pumps a fist. “Mom is the best!”
I watch as Colleen’s face transforms into a puddle of tears.
“You called me mom.” She sniffles and pulls her foster son in for a giant hug as he bounds up the deck stairs.
They haven’t adopted him yet, but it’s all but final. There is no way these two are ever giving this little boy up, and they’ll fight through hell and high water if it doesn’t go smoothly.
Hayes joins their hug, nuzzling his nose into Isaiah’s blond hair.
And I look at what I could potentially have. A kid, a family. My heart is in my throat, and I have to focus on breathing correctly because the rest of my organs seem to not be able to function properly.
“Oh, Sin, hey.” She chuckles as she realizes I’m a witness to this precious family moment. “You want to stay for some food?”
“Is that even a question?” I laugh, but it used to be.
I used to rarely show up for family things, even small gatherings. But now I’m up their asses all the time, eating dinner at one of my various relatives’ homes almost every night of the week.
We all move around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine; I’ve eaten dinner so many nights a week here that I’m practically part of their little family. Isaiah grabs the napkins; Colleen handles getting the food to the table, Hayes carries in plates and cups, while I’m responsible for silverware. I eat a lot of meals at Walker’s house, too, and even bless my parents with my presence one night a week. Various aunts and uncles have me over for coffee or lunch, and all in all, I feel way more a part of my family than I ever have.
When we’re seated, everyone digs in. Wings are messy and require focus, so much of the meal is silent. Or we listen to Isaiah talk about what’s going on at school, which we’re all too happy to do. The kid is infectious, and it’s hard to believe he’s not been in the family since the moment he was born.
After we’re all full and bloated, Hayes offers to clean up and get Isaiah started on bath time.
Colleen and I sit back, sipping our ginger ale.
“How is work?” she asks, fishing for details.
I give her a sly smile. “Why does everyone in this family seem so interested in my job all the time?”
She returns the knowing smirk. “Because it’s the first one you’ve held down, especially in the organization. We’re proud, Sinclair. You can’t blame us for that.”
“I guess not. It’s good, at any rate. Learning a lot, showing up, and working hard. That’s what everyone wants, right?”
“I want what makes you happy. Truly. Uncle Daniel may not, but I do.”
We both know my father has been better about how supportive and understanding he is with me over the last two years, but he’s still Daniel Callahan. Dad is known for being cold, no-nonsense, and always working with a motive behind his actions.
Colleen and I lapse into silence, and I can’t help but bring up the subject of Frankie. I know I should leave it alone, especially since Colleen is the general manager. She’ll have to do something about the fact that one of her coaches is going to have a baby with, well, a part-owner of the team. Because technically, that’s what I am.
But per my history, I’m always bound to fuck things up in every possible way.
“You brought in a new strength coach.” I say this as a statement, and she definitely doesn’t register how salty I am about it.
Why would she? Barely a soul knew that Frankie and I were together during spring training, and Colleen would have been the last person Frankie wanted to find out. Not because she’s my cousin, because Frankie didn’t know that, but because she is the GM of the team. Fraternizing with another Pistons employee isn’t exactly frowned upon, but workplace relationships are supposed to be disclosed. Frankie would never want people in her business like that.
“You know Frankie?” Confusion steals over Colleen’s features. “Oh wait, I forgot you guys probably crossed paths down in Florida.”
“More than crossed.” My words are cryptic, and I add a raised eyebrow.
“Have you seen her yet? She’s pregnant, expecting a little boy in …” My cousin trails off as a lightbulb seems to half-spark in her brain. “Wait, what did you say?”
“It’s a boy?”
I can’t explain it, but my heart begins to race. My head feels light, and my fingers tingle. My son. I’m going to have a son. An image pops into my head of a little boy with Frankie’s curls and my blue eyes running into my arms. I’ve never, ever, considered having children. With my fucked-up past and the way I’m barely an adult myself, I just never saw it in the cards for me.
And here I am, on the verge of having a son.
A son. My son.
“Oh, Sinclair.” Colleen’s hand slaps over her mouth because my cousin is not dumb. “Oh, Jesus. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Colleen isn’t the speechless or overreactive type, but she can’t seem to say anything but oh my God. I trace the rivulets of condensation on my ginger ale glass, contemplating what to do from here.
“She didn’t tell me. All these months, and she never told me.”
My cousin’s mouth can’t seem to form anything other than a surprised O-shape, and I’m glad that Hayes and Isaiah are occupied. I don’t need everyone knowing about this. Not yet. Having not answered Walker’s texts in nearly four days, I knew I was due for a visit from him.
But Colleen was the most level-headed person I knew. If she didn’t have the answers, I was screwed. Maybe it was why I found my way over here tonight.
“You … you guys were close?”
I nod.
“Okay, so how did you leave it? When you came back to Packton, were things still on good terms?”
I shrug sheepishly. God, I’m a fucking coward. “They kind of just tapered off. By my doing. I-I really liked her. And I guess I just got scared, so I didn’t ask her to continue whatever we were doing. And I didn’t stay in touch. But I thought about her every day. Then, this …”
Colleen’s expression is a mix of understanding and disappointment. “Well, how about now that she’s here? That she’s pregnant with your child. Gosh, that sounds so weird to say. Sorry, but it does. Anyway, what do you want now?”
That’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself all week.
“I want to be a part of this. Her pregnancy. I want to know my … shit, I’m having a son. Of course, I want him. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her.”
We only had the two confrontations. The first, when I discovered she was pregnant, and she discovered who I really am. And the second when I hunted her down in the weight room. While I’d been pissed, and then apologetic, the overwhelming feeling was yearning. Aching. Need. I want to be with Frankie more than I ever have, and not just because we’re going to be bringing a child into the world.
It’s everything. It’s like the moment she snapped back into my vision, the moment I saw her in that hallway in the bowels of the stadium, I knew exactly what I wanted.
“So, if you want, make it happen.”
Colleen’s advice is simple but effective.
There i
s a lot of shit I’m going to have to trudge through, a lot of feelings to be fixed, and a lot of communication to be hashed out.
But it’s worth it. She and our son are worth it.
22
Sinclair
The noise, smells, and scenery from Hudson’s make me feel at home instantly.
Probably because I’ve spent my fair share of nights here getting wasted to the point of Mary, the bartender, calling one of my family members to come and safely take me home.
It’s a different era, now, with everyone in town knowing how I wrapped my car around a tree, almost died, and then got sober. But it’s not like I’m trying to sneak drinks anyway. But everyone knows what happened the night I left here because it was after walking out of this bar and how I’d almost not lived to tell the tale.
No, I come here for the familiarity. Even before it became the pre-scene of my worst crime, Hudson’s was the place my parents took us after every little league game, every A plus on a quiz, every pizza date with friends. That, and it’s the only place in town with a decent jalapeño burger.
“Okay, the fries are pretty good. Not as good as these big ol’ fat steak ones we have at the barbecue place by my meemaw’s, but pretty good.” Garrett Chester’s twang hits me square between the eyes.
“You really do sound like some country western singer.” I laugh, because he’s so foreign from the people I grew up around.
“Texas roots run deep, man.” He winks.
The hulking rookie sits on the opposite side of the booth, chowing down on a twenty-ounce ribeye and the infamous Parmesan fries. We’ve been to dinner occasionally ever since he moved to Packton nearly the same time I rolled back into town. We get along, and he’s the first genuine friend outside of my family circle that I’ve had in a long time. After I got sober, all of my so-called buddies mysteriously disappeared. And yes, you’re detecting copious amounts of sarcasm.
I like Garrett, but he’s also young. Impulsive. He’s already gotten charged with a drunk and disorderly during the season and almost punched a photographer outside a hotel in Portland before Walker grabbed him. I know exactly who Garrett is because I used to be him. He’s a hotshot, with too much money for his own good and no idea how the vices of the world will turn against him. No one can tell him shit because he thinks he already knows it.
I hope that with my friendship and a little gentle guidance, I can help show him the error of his ways. Not because I think I’m better than him or that I’m all that changed from who I used to be. But because I don’t want to watch this guy screw his life up the way I did mine.
“Are your parents coming up for the games this week?”
The Pistons won the wild card game and are now in round one of the playoffs.
“Naw. Mama and Daddy have never been on a plane. Even though I keep telling them I’ll spring for a private jet, they won’t leave our small little town.”
Something in his voice sounds awfully close to disappointment, or maybe anger, but I don’t push.
“They’ll make it here sometime. You have a ton of seasons left in you, that’s for sure.”
“You coming to the game? I need you to do another kick-ass ‘get to know the player’ interview. That shit killed on my Instagram, got so many likes when I posted it.”
“Glad to know my hard work can be used to gain you social media DMs.” I roll my eyes.
“The Instagram THOTs were all over it.” His grin is so cocky, I have to chuckle.
“You really shouldn’t call them that.” I may only be a few years older than him, and have a checkered past with women, but I do respect each one of them.
He points a fry in my direction. “When a chick sends you a fully nude photo of herself, right off the bat, on a social media app no less, then she’s a THOT. I even get these girls coming in my messages.”
“Doing what?” I figure he didn’t finish the sentence.
“No, literally, coming. I’ve gotten multiple videos of THOTs full on playing with their pussies, coming in videos just for me.”
I nearly choke on my Dr. Pepper. “Are you fucking serious?”
Of course, I’m no stranger to sexting, porn, or even making a few raunchy tapes with a willing partner. But that just seems insane. These girls don’t even know him.
He shakes his head. “Dead ass. That’s why I’m never settling down, Sin. Too many options, too much temptation. There is enough Garrett to go around, and I’m spreading it for as long as these THOTs will have me.”
“Stop referring to yourself in third person.” I have to laugh at it. “And come on, you’re never going to settle down? At some point, you’ll find a girl who is worth it.”
“Says the eternal bachelor.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
I guess he has a point. But he doesn’t know all of the shit that’s currently on my plate and eating me alive from the inside.
The talk I had with Colleen keeps echoing around my head. It’s been three days since she gave me the advice and a week since Frankie and I had our last talk. Well, it was more like a dressing down of me, in particular. I want so badly to reach out, to talk to her, to explain more, and get a grasp on how she’s feeling and how the baby is doing.
But she laid out the rules. She would be the one to make the next move. I have to wait, trying not to pull my hair out or drive all over creation to find her and dig myself a deeper hole when it comes to her good graces.
At the end of the day, I did meet the one woman who makes me want to give up all women. And at the end of the day, I’m the one who fucked it up. Now, that woman doesn’t want me.
I’m hoping that, in time, she comes around. By some miracle, I hope she comes around.
Sometimes you just have to give things time. Like sobriety, like recovery.
Every time I leave Hudson’s, I’m struck by the fact that just about two years ago, I left here and almost killed myself. My memories of the car accident are shaky at best; that’s what brain trauma and a week-long coma will do to you. But I remember the pain afterward. I remember the EMTs dragging me from the car, the crunching of metal as the jaws of life shredded my BMW in two.
We finish up our meal, pay the bill, and move to leave the bar. All of those memories stare me in the face now, of that night so many nights ago.
“You okay, brother?” Garrett slaps me on the back as I stand staring at the front door of Hudson’s.
Of course, he has no idea why I’m pausing. Maybe someday, I’ll tell him the story. But not tonight.
“I’m good. You need a ride?” He had two whiskeys.
“Hell no. If it’s not four whiskeys, it’s practically water.” He laughs my offer off, but I hope he’s okay.
Maybe I’m just over-sensitive to drinking now, to people getting drunk around me. Maybe it’s because I’m at Hudson’s. Whatever it is, my heart fills with anxiety as I watch him walk to his car.
And my heart beats even faster as I get into mine, buckle my seatbelt, and check all of my mirrors three times over.
The moment I park in my driveway at home, I let my white knuckles off the wheel and thank the universe for delivering me safely. I’ve learned in the last two years that some things are in my control, but most things are out of it.
It seems that with Frankie, I have to let go of the reins and hope I get where I’m supposed to be going.
23
Frankie
“Noelle, come on. Pop is waiting for us.”
I hear a woman’s voice echo down the hall as I come out of the weight room.
It’s been a successful day. I had a training session of my own with Seth and the nutrition staff, where they worked with us on how to advise players on their meal plans paired with their workouts. Then I met with the pitching coaches to go over where they thought their players needed more muscle or agility.
And now, I’m headed home early to put my feet up, watch Jeopardy, and dive into the homemade bacon macaroni and cheese I whipped up last night. The little ranch
house on one of the winding side streets in downtown Packton isn’t my apartment back in Florida, but it’s cute. I miss the sea outside my window, but the cozy fireplace is a nice touch.
The promotion is likely permanent, but it doesn’t mean this end of the season isn’t a test. If I don’t do well, they could send me back down to the minors. Or get rid of me altogether. Which is why I’m just renting up here. I’ll know by the end of this season if it’s solidified, and there is still the problem of having half my furniture still in transit from my Florida apartment. When they called me up to the big leagues, it was rather sudden, and I didn’t have time to pack everything.
If I’m still in Pennsylvania by March, I’ll buy a house. My new salary affords it. Something for me and baby boy that is quaint, with a nursery with lots of natural light and a backyard he can learn to run in. The idea brings a smile to my face.
My belly leads the way, protruding even more from my body than when I arrived in Packton just weeks ago. I have my twenty-week anatomy scan coming up. That was another fiasco, having to change my ob-gyn halfway through my pregnancy, but I think I found a good one. Being a Pistons employee comes with benefits, like dropping a few names and getting an appointment with the best doctor in town. It’s not something I’d typically do, but I’d do anything for this kid already, and giving him the best care possible is top of the list.
As I near the exit to the employee parking lot, I come across a petite woman with curly black hair and two little girls who look identical to her.
The woman looks up as her little girl spins around in a circle and smiles at me.
“Hi, I’m Breanna!” Her black curls fly everywhere.
My heart warms. “Hi, I’m Frankie.”
“Isn’t Frankie a boy’s name?” The older girl makes a face of disgust only a child can make cute.
“Noelle!” Her mother admonishes her, then flashes me an apologetic look. “Sorry, we’re still working on our manners. Clearly.”
Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3) Page 10