“I could be asking you the same thing.” She lowers her voice.
My head shakes back and forth. “Nope, not even thinking about that yet. We’ll do something small, though. I don’t care about any kind of dress or catering. I just … I want to be his wife.”
“Okay, if that isn’t the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. But I don’t know about my own. Honestly, I was never a girl who dreamed about her wedding, who had every detail planned out. Talk to me about budgeting and ownership rules in the major league, and I knew that from my eighth birthday on. But what color flowers and which bows to tie onto the backs of chairs? Nope, I’ve got nothing.”
“You’ll figure it out. Whatever feels right to you is what you’ll do. And if push comes to shove, I think Hayes will be peachy keen on a courthouse wedding.” I laugh.
“Don’t tempt him. He keeps talking about going to Vegas.” She rolls her eyes. “Hey, I never asked, you okay about Dahlia leaving?”
I look away, trying not to get emotional. “Yeah, sort of. I know it’s what’s best … we shouldn’t monopolize her life anymore. But I wish she would stay close. I worry about her, too. And the girls are going to miss her so much.”
My friend nods. “I get that. But she has a life, too. And you have one you need to start planning, with your man. I’m so excited we’re going to be related.”
I haven’t quite wrapped my mind around the fact that I’ll be part of the Callahan clan, but it’s a little daunting. There are so many faces, so much money, and a lot of implications to joining a family that powerful. But Walker hasn’t asked me to do anything I’m not comfortable with, and he is so open to me still going back to school and accomplishing everything I set out to do.
“What is he doing?”
Someone has spoken up, an incredulous tone coming from the crowd of women and family members gathering by the big glass windows.
I look down at the field, and Walker is leading off of third, like he might just make a break for home. He’s known for stealing bases, led the league in it two years running. Watching him run the bases is a thing of art, and I had to hear bitching from Shane for years about how annoyingly good Walker is at turning a single into a triple.
“He’s going to try and steal home.” Colleen shakes her head next to me, but there is a grin on her lips.
I grin just the same. Because this move is cocky, it’s risky, and in the end … he’s sure as hell going to pull it off.
The man is too sure-footed to fail. He’s the same way with me. For years, he took his time, honing his emotions and waiting for me to be ready for all he could give. He pursued me, patience being key in finally showing me just how good we could be together.
And when that last-second decision of fight or flight came, he buckled down and took the perilous chance. Which paid off, clearly, as I’m sitting up in the family suite, my heart going out to him all these balconies above the field.
Walker makes a break for it, sprinting toward home plate.
He’s going to steal it, just like he stole my heart.
And I can’t wait to watch him do both of those things forever.
Epilogue
Walker
Two Years Later
“You’re sure about this?”
Hannah asks me for the eleventh time this morning, and I just pleasantly smile at her.
I know she’s nervous, I am, too. But I’m not nervous about the decision I’ve made, or about what role I’m about to take on. I fully understand and relish those things. I’m just nervous that I’m going to mess all of my wording up in front of the judge.
“I cannot wait for Noelle and Breanna to be my daughters.” I smooth a curl off her cheek. “I just don’t want to say the wrong things.”
My wife leans into me, pressing a sweet kiss to my cheek. “This is all just formality, remember? We’ve already signed the documents, and the girls have given their statements. You won’t say anything to mess it up. I’ve seen how much you love them, the judge will, too.”
I twirl the ring on my left hand absentmindedly, like I always do nowadays when I need reassurance.
“How did I land such a smart woman?” I rub my nose against hers.
“Hmm, because I decided to give you the time of day.” There is teasing behind her voice, but Hannah leans into me, our lips grazing.
“All right, you two, stop making out. Your daughters are ready to be one hundred percent yours,” Dahlia interrupts us in the hallway, rolling her eyes.
We take a deep breath, clasp our hands together, and walk toward the courtroom.
It’s been about a year since we tied the knot, in this very building. Hannah didn’t want anything over the top, and would barely agree to a simple reception afterward. She said she’d had the full-blown wedding, and it was the marriage that had ended in shattered dreams. This time, all she cared about was going home with her husband, me, afterward and living the happiest life we could.
I think we’ve done a good job of that so far, but I also want to celebrate finally making this woman my wife. So we came down to the courthouse with our girls and closest friends and family to slide rings on each other’s fingers and promise to spend forever together. Then, we went back to my place, where I set up a big white tent with her favorite Hawaiian food, and we had a big party on the lawn.
It was perfect. And next to that day, this one will go down as the most perfect day in my life.
There was a bit of drama surrounding our engagement at first. Dad was up in arms, especially since he thought Hannah was distracting me from baseball or my future as a Callahan. But Mom and Sinclair had whipped him in line after a few particularly heated fights between the four of us.
Plus, Mom is obsessed with Noelle and Breanna. She found the grandmother gene none of us ever knew she had, and she was in the courthouse today loaded down with gifts and promises of a trip to Disney World. The girls also have Sinclair wrapped around their fingers, which is hilarious to see. But considering how far he’s come from that fateful night years ago, it isn’t a surprise.
That doesn’t mean our journey to the altar, and to me adopting the girls, aside from my family issues, has been without its hiccups.
After his prison sentence, Shane got out and barely contacted Hannah about the girls. The selfish prick went to Philadelphia, the only place in the state he could find to party, and went on a bender that was well-documented by the tabloids. The last two years of his life has been a lot of the same. He’s attempted to avoid violating probation, but he’s been in and out of the trashy magazines for hiring prostitutes, trying to sell his own memorabilia, and generally just being an asshole.
He ended up having to settle the divorce with Hannah by providing her with a lump sum of three million dollars, which is chump change in comparison to what he made over the years they were married, if you ask me. Hannah, however, was more than happy with it … and to wash her hands of him.
I begged her a couple of times, while he was still in jail, to just walk away from him with nothing. I would take care of her, Noelle, and Breanna. But she didn’t want that. She said their biological father owed them something, college funds, and she couldn’t just waltz from one rich husband to the next. I never saw it that way, but I know she’s self-conscious about it. So I let her duke it out with him in divorce mediation, and she came out the winner.
I also worried, at times, that my schedule would remind her so much of what her first marriage was. I was still on the road a lot with the team. Last year, we won another World Series, and this year, we are on track to make the playoffs.
But Hannah would have told me if she was distressed, and we always communicate. She’s doing incredibly at the salon; after finishing cosmetology school during the first year we were engaged, her work began to speak for itself. She’s now the most popular hairdresser at Siesta, the salon she started at all those years ago. With both girls in school full time, she gets to work during the day doing what she loves, and then come home
to be a mom. I take on a majority of the parenting duties when I’m home, and whenever they can, my girls join me on road trips.
“Mommy! Pop!” Noelle cries when we come around the corner. “Watch my dress twirl!”
My heart practically codes in my chest at her and Breanna’s nickname for me. Pop, because I wasn’t their daddy, but I was the special father who had chosen to be there for them. In my mind, and I hope in theirs, that’s even more special than them being born to me.
“Show me, real quick!” I say, lending her my finger so she can do a ballerina twirl.
She does, her special purple dress ruffling around her, and Breanna runs up to try to imitate her sister.
“Pick me up, Pop!” she demands, her cuddly personality coming out even as she’s about to start kindergarten.
“Let me take that rascal.” Sinclair steals Breanna up into a wrestled hug, and she laughs.
“Uncle Sin! We have to go,” Noelle bosses him.
He salutes with his free hand, Breanna wriggling in his other arm. “Yes, drill sergeant.”
My entire family seems to be lining the halls as we walk to the courtroom, along with Hayes and Colleen. They are going through the adoption process as well, although their situation is more complicated with all of the foster requirements and their eight-year-old soon-to-be son being a ward of the state. But they knew the minute they met Isiah that he’s supposed to be a part of their family. They’re here to support us, but also to be given some hope. They still have months to go before their day in court comes, but it’s nice to be able to give them a reason to smile today.
The four of us, Hannah, Noelle, Breanna, and me walk into the room together, hand in hand. After a short introduction, reading of the adoption laws, and some questions for me, the judge declares us a family. Our friends and family whoop and cheer, tears all around the room, and I pull my women in for a tight, long hug.
After, when we decide to go out for ice cream on Breanna’s suggestion, I steal Hannah away for a moment.
“Now that we’re a family, do you feel like adding to it?” I whisper in her ear, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“You better be talking about a puppy.” Hannah laughs sarcastically.
“Hmm, think about how fun it will be. Practicing. All those hours between the sheets, trying to make a little boy like me or another little girl with your curls …” My hand drifts lower, palming her ass through that enticing sundress.
I feel the shiver go through her. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Callahan.”
“Only because I love getting you naked, anyway, Mrs. Callahan.”
“And I just love you. Period.” She smiles up at me adoringly.
I’m not taking that as a no, and I know there are ways to convince her. Whatever happens, we’re in it together.
It might have taken us a long time to get here from my despair during her rehearsal dinner all those years ago, but I’d walk through that fire a million times over.
In the end, I’ve got my girls. And it’s the most rewarding steal I’ve ever attempted.
Acknowledgments
Due to the sensitive topic of this book, I reached out to my readers and beloved book community to help me with research in the early stages. The response I got was incredible, not only from women who have been working with domestic violence victims for years, but from women who have helped family members through that scary, uncertain time or gone through it themselves.
Thank you to R, S, C, A, M and M for providing me with insight, sharing your stories, and being both advocates and support systems for women going through domestic violence situations. You are all warriors, and this book would not have been possible without you.
And thank you to Charlene for that date idea, you made these characters come to life in their small town!
Read the rest of the Callahan Family series
Have you read the first book in the Callahan Family series? Find out how Hayes and Colleen fell in love in Warning Track! Or, pre-order the next book in the series, Check Swing.
Read on for a sneak peek of the next book in the series, Check Swing.
Check Swing
Sinclair
Prologue
It’s a gray evening, not one of those picturesque sunsets that paints the sky like some kind of expensive canvas.
The sky is a muted purple, leaning towards mauve, with not a cloud in the sky. No one would sit on their back porch and think just how grand life is on a night like tonight. These dusk hours are not ones that lovers would huddle closer together under, gazing on in wonder at how perfect their connection must be to garner a sky such as this.
It’s just as well, since this night symbolizes both pain and accomplishment for me. Because while the earth’s ceiling above me is clear, it’s not celebratory.
Between the fingers on my right hand, I juggle the chip back and forth. It’s a trick a magician in Vegas taught me years ago, and I used to use it on women to make bottle caps disappear right before I told them I was “skilled with my hands.” Cheesy fucking pickup line, but it worked about seven times out of ten.
The chip is small, just a piece of plastic that really means nothing at all. But it also means everything.
One year sober.
Who would have thought I could get here?
Certainly not I. There were so many times I almost broke, so many times I literally had a bottle in my hands, ready to chug. Ready to feel the flight of freedom, ready to do the one thing I was always good at; being the life of the party.
Then I’d get a glimpse of the scar on my skull, in the mirror and when I closed the screen on my cellphone and my reflection stared back in the blackness. The scar that goes from the base at the back of my neck all the way up and over to my right temple. The puckered line of skin where hair no longer grows.
And I stopped. If I ever took another drink of alcohol, I’d be digging my own grave. It was a miracle as it was that I was even alive. So many times, I should have died. That final time, I was basically on the steps of hell, because Lord knew heaven was not the place I was headed.
The chair beneath me is a plush patio number, picked out by some designer who’d come in and outfitted my mansion on the outskirts of Packton, Pennsylvania in a bachelor scheme that was both tasteful and functional. That’s what money did; took care of things you didn’t want to take care and put a nice pretty bow on the them to boot.
I’d taken advantage of that my entire life, and it had nearly put me in the ground. Speeding ticket? Money took care of it. A hotel suite destroyed? Money took care of it. Didn’t pass a class in school? Money took care of it.
The quintessential trust fund baby, I’m the black sheep of my family. Sure, they still love me, and they’ve been here for me throughout the test of this year. But I can feel they’re growing anxiety about my next steps. For years, they’ve pushed me into jobs, projects, anything to get me passionate about something.
As one of the heirs to the Packton fortune, money built up over generations of owning our family’s professional baseball team, the Pistons, there is a level of expectation. One I’ve skirted for years, while my brother, cousins and other relatives have taken up the cause. They all work for the machine, in some way or another. I’ve had my hand in just about every department possible, and none of them have stuck. That’s the other thing about growing up with bottomless pockets; it makes you lazy.
Plus, it’s easy to be slotted as the disappointment when your older brother is the goddamn savior. Walker is the first professional baseball player to play for a team his family owns, and he’s fucking good at it. I’ve always fallen to second fiddle, so why not embrace it?
But I can feel my time coming. Even I’m growing tired of my indecision and lack of drive.
That is no more evident than my father showing up in my backyard, his imposing presence announcing itself before his voice does.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Dad?” I say, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“You have the hearing of a bat.” He’s shaking his head in mild disbelief as I turn.
An animal sheathed in black who haunted through the night? Sounded like the very definition of me before I put down the bottle.
Dad sits down next to me, and eyes the chip I’m still flitting back and forth through my fingers.
“One year. I’m so proud of you, son.”
Before the accident, I’m not sure I ever heard him say the words. “Thanks.”
My response is short, but I truly mean it. My father and I have always had a strained relationship, mostly over my inability to focus or care about anything. As the owner of the Packton Pistons, serious is Dad’s middle name. Or maybe he has two, dedicated being the other.
But when you wake up, after two weeks in a coma, to your grown father crying at your bedside, it shifts things. I’ve never seen the man so scared in my life, and I knew then that I had to change. It wasn’t even so much for myself, but so I never had to watch my father break down like that.
We sit before my massive backyard, full of a bachelor’s wildest dreams. There is an in-ground infinity pool with a hot-tub attached. There are some nights I’ve fit ten people in that hot tub. A half-pipe sits on a dirt track a little farther back, and that is next to the regulation sized basketball and volleyball courts. The setup behind where Dad and I sit is even more impressive, with a built-in grill, wood fired pizza oven, full wet bar and
I used to throw epic parties every night of the week. But in the last year, I’ve barely had a single soul over to my place. It seems empty and enormous, and I’ve been thinking about selling it. I’m beginning to hear my own thoughts echoing off the wall, and it spooks me even more than having to go the rest of my life without a drop of alcohol.
Stealing Home (Callahan Family Book 2) Page 20