Shane stands over Hannah, who is cowering, his fist raised as he yells at her, “You fucking bitch! I want to know where you were!”
“I’m sorry … I’m sorry …” I hear her sob.
The moment I reach her, I’m on my knees, checking her as the blood drips onto my own fingers. “Hannah, can you see me? Can you stand?”
My first thought is about getting her out of here, and if she’ll need serious medical attention. Hayes is right there next to us, choosing to focus on Hannah first before dealing with the irate Shane standing above us all.
“This is none of your business, asshole!” Shane directs this at Hayes, but Hayes still his attention focused on Hannah.
Looking back, I will be completely aware of how he directed every ounce of his care to the wounded female, rather than going after the abuser in this situation.
“No, stop, please go! You’ll only make it worse,” she cries at Hayes and me, her expression somewhere near hysteria.
Blood covers one side of her face, and I’m horrified, everything in me wanting to wretch but holding it back. How does a man do this to a woman? How does a husband do this to his wife, to the mother of his children? Guilt, hard and swift like a knife, twists my gut. I knew this was happening; I knew and didn’t take any steps to intervene because I thought it was the safer option. How many times has this happened when no one was around to witness it?
That’s when I see Walker. He’s sprinting at us all, full force, from across the parking lot. He doesn’t slow up at all, instead lunging right at Shane as the latter lands against the side of the truck with a loud thud. They fall to the ground, scrapping with one another. I watch as Walker lands a punch to Shane’s temple.
Hayes is crouched next to me, examining Hannah, and jumps to his feet as soon as we both hear the crunch of bone under someone’s fist.
“Fuck, Jesus Christ!” Hayes growls as he dives into the mix, attempting to pull Walker off a bleeding Shane. Instead, he comes up with Shane, his neck under Hayes’ armpit, as he lands punch after punch to Hayes’ ribs.
“Walker, take Hannah inside. Now. Colleen, follow them, call the police. Get security out here,” Hayes barks, still gripping Shane in the chokehold that he’s attempting to break free from.
“I’m going to kill you, motherfucker!” Walker snarls, making a motion like he’s going to kick Shane in the ribs.
“Walker!” Hayes snaps at him, and finally my cousin seems to come out of his red rage a little.
Walker’s gaze falls upon Hannah, and then he’s transformed. The anger turns to compassion, and he bends right down, scooping her up so that her head falls onto his chest.
“I’ve you got. I’m right here,” he murmurs low in her ear.
She clings to him, and I watch in a state of shock as he gingerly carries her back toward the stadium.
“Colleen, call. Now.” Hayes’ voice is a struggled grunt, but as I turn back to him, I see Shane slowly relaxing in his hold.
Hannah’s husband slumps to the ground, finally passed out, and Hayes steadies himself against the car. His green eyes search mine, holding all the words of love, care, and desperation I feel. This man, the one I turned out of my life, acting like a hero. The hero that I want holding me up forever.
It only takes five minutes after my 911 call for the cops and ambulances to show up, sirens screeching into the parking lot.
36
Hayes
Adrenaline and exhaustion compete in my veins, causing a hysteria that confuses both my brain and body.
It’s been a blur of an hour, between the statements to police, standing by as Shane is carted off in handcuffs, and all three of us urging Hannah to tell the complete truth. She’s skittish and in pain, I’ve never seen a human being so frightened and this is coming from a kid who grew up in foster care.
I could throw Shane through a brick wall, I’m so furious. Too bad Walker kind of beat me to the punch. Now there is built-up rage in my fists, and I itch to go down to the weight room and throw a few punches at the bag.
But I have to stay here, cooing at Hannah like she’s a wounded doe while the paramedics check her out.
“Hannah, I’m so proud of you,” I tell her, trying to imitate one of the men at a center I used to visit in Los Angeles.
One of my volunteer projects in LA was at a women’s shelter that provided housing so that children wouldn’t be taken from their mothers who were on unemployment. Kids who would have likely ended up in the foster system were spared because of this nonprofit, and I’d been there when the director would, from time to time, have to talk one of the mothers off the ledge from going back to an abusive partner or spouse.
“You’re doing the right thing, for the girls, too. Whatever you need, we will get you. You can come stay with me, or I’ll find you a place.” Colleen is holding her hand.
Walker rushes back over from where he just got done talking to the police. Pushing us both aside, he cradles Hannah against his chest, and my eyes go wide.
That is not the kind of embrace that a man shows someone who is in need of help, or even a friendly acquaintance. No, there is something territorial in his stance, in the way he holds her to him. A look passes between Colleen and me, but now is not the time to discuss any of the things we’re seeing.
When the EMTs finally tell us that she has at best a bad concussion and at worst a brain bleed, I can see that Colleen is on the verge of tears. They need to take her to the hospital for scans and stitches, and there is no discussion as Walker hops into the ambulance with her without a backward glance.
Colleen and I are left standing in the loading dock of the ballpark where the cops and ambulance met us when they arrived.
Before I can even say anything, a sob explodes from her. I catch her just as she falls into me, smoothing her hair as she cries into my shirt. After a few minutes of body-wracking tears, she clears her throat and looks up, still holding on to me.
“God, I’m sorry, I just … that was horrible.” Her amber eyes are glassy, but I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.
Now that she’s in my arms, after what I witnessed tonight, I’m not sure I’ll ever let her go. I smooth the hair off her forehead, letting my fingers linger there.
“Don’t apologize. It was horrible, you’re right.” I shrug, because there isn’t much else I can say.
I have no idea why a man would treat the woman he loves like that. Especially one who seems as kind as Hannah, though I haven’t known her long. There is nothing any human could do that warrants the amount of venom that Shane was spitting at her. There is nothing a woman could do that should warrant a man raising a hand to her.
Colleen blinks up at me, looking like she’s about to spill her guts. And then she does.
“I don’t care. I don’t care what the consequences are, I don’t care if we lose it all. I love you. You’re the most wonderful, caring man I’ve ever met. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I got scared and pushed you away—”
I cut her rambling off, instead taking her face between my hands and kissing her like we might never get to again. There doesn’t need to be any more conversations or apologies. I’m not letting her go again, even if she fights me tooth and nail.
The horror we just witnessed is enough to answer the question; is this relationship worth the scandal and drama? Yes. To me, it will always be a yes. There are women out there suffering at the hands of men like Shane Giraldi. And then there are people out there like Colleen and me; two humans who share such a magnetic, good connection and yet the timelines of our lives prevent us from being truly happy with each other.
All of that stops today. It doesn’t matter if there is a conflict of interest. It doesn’t matter that I am a player and she is my general manager. I’m in love with her, and I can’t bear another second of being apart. If tonight has taught me anything, it’s not to let go of a once in a lifetime relationship.
Colleen clings to me, the salt of her tears wetting my lips as we kiss. Em
otions flash across the spectrum, from sadness about what happened tonight, to love for each other, to giggles when we realize that we’re back together without even having to talk about it.
We’re so caught up in making up with kisses, that we don’t even hear the snap of a cell phone camera as it captures the next few intimate moments.
37
Colleen
By morning, the pictures of Hayes and I kissing in the loading dock are splashed all over the news.
Sports programs, regular media outlets, social media, even my emails are flooded with requests and questions and alerts.
We wake up together, in my bed, to hundreds of messages and calls between our phones. Hayes rolls over onto me, his handsome face full of drowsiness, and coaxes my lips until I relent to him. I hear the pinging of our phones, and I swear I can hear the shutter of camera lenses outside, but he knocks any device to the floor.
The love we make is lazy and long, muted sighs and whispered breaths. The night before was spent in various states of carnal bliss, making up for the weeks we’d been apart. It was risky and stupid, coming back here together, but neither of us seemed to care after the events of last night.
After seeing Hannah like that, something had just clicked in my brain. I was wasting time, ignoring the love I have for Hayes simply because I thought I couldn’t mesh my two worlds together. And that was just foolish. There were people who went their entire life with the wrong partner, or without finding a love like we have at all. Why the hell was I squandering that? Out of fear? Out of some misguided notion that I was doing my father, who couldn’t see past his own ego, proud?
I spent my entire life dedicating every ounce of effort to my family and to the Pistons organization. It’s now time my family stands behind me, for a relationship I deserve. And if they couldn’t, or refused to, I would have to do what I’ve been doing my entire life; relying on me and only me to carve out what I want done.
It’s been less than twelve hours since we supposedly put it all behind us, and now this? I was bold last night, stating that it didn’t matter what happened to me as long as I could be in love with him, be with him.
As if I spoke the words right into the universe’s ear, I guess we were jumping right into the fire and testing that theory.
Even though I’m still lying in his arms after we finish, every needle of doubt I’ve had before begins to attack. Once we see what the media is saying, once we see the public reaction … will Hayes want to stay with me? If it comes down to it, what will he choose, me or baseball?
One of our phones begins to buzz on the carpet below my bed, and I turn to face him. “Do you think we should pop our bubble now?”
Hayes tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, and I get distracted by the sight of his bare bicep flexing above my face. “Can’t we stay here a little longer?”
“I’m afraid my uncle and his team of PR hounds might slaughter me if I ignore them anymore.” I chuckle, but I’m not joking.
The face on the pillow next to mine seems to sober, and I can see the harsh morning after reality setting in. This is exactly why we existed in the shadows before, operating in darkness and keeping our romance to ourselves. Because I knew this is what would happen when it all came out.
“I know what happened between us last night. But in the light of day, I wouldn’t fault you if …”
I trail off, not really knowing what I’m trying to say. The first time I broke things off, just weeks ago, it was because I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t feel like getting into it, describing all the reasons why I was afraid to love him. But now, it seems I have to.
“When you came to my house on the day of the anniversary, I was emotional, yes. But it doesn’t make my feelings and rationale any less valid. I’ve worked my entire life to get to this place, and the fact that I got here on some technicality and through the strife I did only makes it seem more fragile. I love you. It scares me to death how much, but I won’t be one of those women who gives up all she’s worked for just for a man or a relationship. This is my legacy, one I intend to work on every day. My job, this team, it makes me happy. It’s an intricate part of me, woven into my soul. But you are, too. I love you, Hayes, you’ve become one of the most important people in my life. Watching Shane and Hannah, I know how rare what we have is. I don’t want to let that go. I also don’t want to become my father. I’m still so scared, so unsure. And I also don’t want you to go down with my sinking ship. That first day, in the corridor, you said you wanted nothing to do with the Callahans—”
Hayes presses a gentle finger to my lips, halting my speech. I can feel the tears threatening to come, and I’m getting myself just as upset and confused as the day I broke up with him.
He looks me in the eyes, searching for something, and then takes a deep breath.
“I told you a while ago that I decided to not just be a baseball player. I decided to use this career to see the country, to experience things a lot of other players overlook due to the beast of the game. What kind of man would I be if I went back on my word? Because you are included in that. I don’t want to just travel along this journey solo any longer. I don’t want the lonely nights and endless hours of practice, all the post-game recovery and speculation about my personal life in the media. I want you. I want to really do this, the right way, out in the open. I want to be partners, to support you in being successful as the powerhouse that you are, while you support me as I play toward the end of my career. I’ve always viewed love and family as a far-off stage of life, something I’d focus on when the physical ability to play good seasons left my body. And then I met you, Colleen, and knew that I couldn’t wait. That I didn’t want it to. If it means juggling a whole lot of complications, of nights apart, of an endless media circus while also trying to win games then I’ll do it. I have to, because it means I get you. I get us.”
Well, he’s finally broken me as tears stream down my face. If there was the exact right thing to say in this moment, Hayes just nailed it. I’m a blubbering mess, kissing him with wet lips and sniffling like a total crybaby.
Hayes rolls over, bending at the waist to retrieve our phones from the floor. He hands me mine and takes his in one hand.
With his other, he reaches out, lacing our fingers. “Together, then?”
I know what he’s asking. The minute we unlock these and start to sift through the messages, we’re going to walk into the fire hand in hand.
I nod, because there is absolutely no one I’d rather go down swinging with. But hopefully, we can emerge on the other side, stronger than ever.
38
Hayes
To say that we’re in a shit storm would be an understatement.
Colleen and mine’s ethics, careers, and mental states have been called into question. Some people are calling for her job, while others think I should be traded immediately.
Of course, this is all happening in the midst of the playoffs, and the pictures of us kissing leaked while we were two games away from clinching the league and moving onto the World Series. I was asked, and complied, with sitting out the last two games, though I knew it might do damage to the team. Luckily, they won, and we are going to get a shot at the championship.
She and I have been in talks and meetings with the executives of the ball club for a week now. After deciding that we could no longer hide it, Colleen and I signed official paperwork declaring our relationship. The media got ahold of it, and the team was forced to make an official statement that we were involved and seeing each other.
At least now, we don’t have to hide. Sure, I’m hounded all over town and there are reporters sitting outside both of our houses, but we get to spend the nights together. I don’t have to drop her hand when we walk into a public space, though enduring the scathing looks in the locker room hasn’t been ideal. I know Colleen is getting way more flack, though. She came home crying the other day for what one of the executive assistants said about her when she thought she wasn�
�t listening.
And her uncle Daniel is being a real piece of shit. He’s all but pressing down on her windpipe, pressuring her to resign over this. Colleen is a nervous wreck most days, and sometimes I want to spare her that pain and end it, just like she did with me. I now understand her fear weeks back, because this kind of turmoil and nastiness should be thrust upon no one.
Interestingly enough, a lot of the news outlets aren’t comparing her to her father, which I know was a big hang-up of hers.
The more I think about it, the more I know I’m the one who has to make the statement here. I’m the one who has to step up to the plate, but I’m still debating how. We’re given a bit of a reprieve, with this week’s break before the World Series starts, to sort some of this shit out and let it die down. As it is, the coaches still haven’t given me the go ahead to remain a starter going into game one.
I’ll have to make my move soon, so that everything else can fall into place.
The only thing juicier than our kissing pictures leaking to every website imaginable is the fact that Shane Giraldi was booked on domestic abuse and battery charges and now awaits a trial. With Colleen’s help, Hannah was able to secure temporary housing, somewhere Shane couldn’t find her since he’d made bail within a couple of hours on the night he smashed her face into the side of their SUV.
It hasn’t been easy, but Colleen has been holding her hand every step of the way as she pressed charges. Shane was Hannah’s source of income, she’d given up her entire life to be a wife and a mother. He was pulling money and shelter away from his children to punish his wife, the one he’d beat up for years, apparently which absolutely killed me when it was finally reported by media who got a hold of the documents Hannah filed.
She and those little girls have a long road ahead of them, but they have a good support system behind them. I just hope Hannah can weather the storm long enough to put that bastard behind bars and stand on her own two feet. I’ve seen how hard it has been for others.
Warning Track: The Callahan Family, Book One Page 18