by Blue Saffire
“From what I know of Mr. Dean, he doesn’t make promises he doesn’t intend to keep. I’m pretty sure he has a valid explanation to why he didn’t show up today.”
God, I hope so.
He seems to think about this for a second. Those amber eyes, so reminiscent of his father, glazes over before turning back to me with determination.
“We should check on him.”
“I’ve tried to call him.”
“No. We should go to his house.”
I’m already shaking my head. “That is a breach of privacy. We can’t show up at his house uninvited.”
“But what if something is wrong?”
He has a point. It’s not like I didn’t think the same thing. Dean seemed fine this morning, even a bit excited, if you could judge by text message. I have this strange feeling that seeing Trisha wasn’t good for him.
“I don’t know.” I still deny that I so badly want to check on him. It’s one thing to get invited to his house, it’s another to just show up. Plus, what if something is wrong? How do I explain my presence at his house to the authorities?
“Please, Mom?”
How can I say no to that? This kid rarely asks for anything and with all that he has going on in his life, I should give him small victories. “All right. We will stop by.”
“Yes!” He cheers, jumping to his feet.
I’m not sure if this is a good idea, but from the smile on my son’s face, I’m willing to give it a try.
We pull up to Dean’s house and it looks normal. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it doesn’t look like the house of a major crime scene. I cut my car off and turn around to face Maddox in the back seat.
“I’m going to go in first and then I’ll come back and get you.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I give him that one look that all mothers learn to master.
“Okay,” he relents.
I climb out of my car and head up to the front door. Still no sign of a struggle or a crime. I knock and wait. No movement or reply. I try again, knocking and ringing the doorbell. When that doesn’t work, I walk around to the back of the house.
Everything still seems pretty normal. When I head back to the front, I notice the door is open and the back seat of my car empty. “I swear that kid never listens.”
I head inside, closing the door behind me. Right away, I can determine why Dean wasn’t at practice. The house reeks of alcohol. When I step over glass, I realize why it smells so strongly. It seems at some point Dean smashed a bottle against the wall. I can’t imagine what state I will find him in.
“Maddox?” I call out to my son.
“In here, Mom.”
I follow the sound of his voice into the room I know to be the study. He’s standing over the passed-out body of a completely naked Dean. I won’t mention how perfect that body is.
How those long sinewy muscles move down his athletic body. I won’t even talk about how tight his naked ass cheeks look. I could bounce a quarter off that ass. And I will definitely not mention that from the way his leg is bent at the knee I can see the head of his glorious—.
“Maddox,” I say, grabbing my son’s head and covering his eyes with my palm.
“Mom, I think he’s dead. And why does he smell like Uncle Lester?”
Yes, he smells just like my wino Uncle Lester. I turn Maddox around to face me and then remove my hand from over his eyes. “Mr. Dean is sick. Remember how you felt when you had that virus?”
With wide eyes he nods at me.
“Well that’s how Mr. Dean is feeling. I want you to go out back and play for a minute.”
“But I want to help.”
“You are. You got us in the house. How, by the way?”
He shrugs. “Door was unlocked.”
I shake my head. “Okay, now I need you to hang outback. As soon as I get Mr. Dean up and feeling better you can come back in and help me cook him a meal.”
He looks a bit disappointed, but he agrees. He glances back at Dean one last time before racing off to the backyard.
I heave a breath of relief before heading toward Dean. I get to my knees and shake him. “Dean?” He doesn’t stir. I try again, shaking him harder. This time he moans but doesn’t move. “Dean, wake up.”
“Mmmm, Sienna, baby. Your pussy taste amazing.”
My mouth drops open at his sleep spoken words. I stand to my feet and walk away from him. At the rate my heart is beating and the fire rushing through my veins from the visual his dream-laced words suggest, it’s best I put distance between us.
I step out of the study and head into the kitchen. More broken glass leads the way, I’m definitely going to need to sweep this up.
I grab a glass out of the cabinet and fill it with cold water before heading back into the study. I stand over him, and pour the water onto his face. Dean comes awake with a mouth full of profanity as he flips over and shoots up to his bottom.
“What the fuck?” He wipes the water out of his eyes, then turns them on me. He watches me closely for a second and cocks his head to the side. “Why aren’t you naked?”
“I think you’re naked enough for the both of us.”
Another one of those long looks before he climbs to his feet. I turn my back to him when he’s standing all the way up. I refuse to look at him. I will not be that person.
“You have to put clothes on,” I say, still not facing him.
“Sshhh.” His body heat seeps into me, and the unmistakable smell of alcohol approaches me. “Let’s finish what we started.” He wraps his arms around my middle and yanks me into his hard chest and other hard things.
Holy hell.
He goes completely still. Nothing moving but the jumping of one particular member against my ass.
“Why do you feel so real?” The words are whispered as if he’s afraid of the answer.
“Because you aren’t dreaming,” I reply. He releases me so fast I stumble forward.
“Fuck, Sienna, I’m so sorry,” he says. I can hear him moving around behind me.
“Are you covered?” I ask.
“Uh,” still more fumbling around. I’m not going to turn around until I’m sure he’s covered.
“Yeah, I’m covered.”
I turn around to find him covering his privates with an open leather-bound book turned long ways. For a moment we just stare at each other, the tension in the room going from awkward to downright hilarious. A smile cracks across his face first and then one spreads onto mine. Eventually we are both cackling like two idiots. I start to snort and he laughs even harder at that.
“Do you realize what book you’re using?” I can barely get the words out.
“No, I just grabbed the first one I saw.”
I snort again. “It’s Moby Dick.” At this point, I place my hand over my chest and bend at the waist, I’m laughing so hard.
Once our laughter starts to die down, he says, “This will go down as one of the most embarrassing days of my life. Having you find me like this.”
I sober as I reply, “I didn’t actually find you, Maddox did.”
This seems to wipe the smile off his face. “Shit, what time is it?”
“After four, you missed practice.”
“Damnit,” he shouts, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m so sorry.” I turn my back to him, heading to the couch behind me where I spotted a small throw blanket a few minutes ago.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” I grab the throw off the couch and head back to pass it to him. “There were ten little boys that were dying to meet you today. One of them is in your backyard right now.” He takes the blanket out of my hand and I turn my head as he drops the book and wraps it across his chest and ties the ends over his shoulder like a toga.
“You’re right and I’ll apologize to them as well.”
“What happened?” I ask leaning against the desk.
Another run of his nimble fingers through his short chocolate brown
hair. “Nothing.”
“She got in your head, didn’t she?”
Those gripping eyes watch me closely and I can tell I hit the nail on the head.
“She told the truth,” he replies.
“Dean,” I start, pushing up from the desk.
He holds up a hand to stop me. “I don’t remember everything that happened that night. I was drunk when the Uber dropped me home. When I saw those two together, I lost my shit. I’ve never been so angry in all my life.
“It’s like everything that I had been going through for the past three years had built up in me and exploded. I wanted to hurt someone.” He shakes his head. “She ducked. That’s why I didn’t hit her. What if she hadn’t? I’d be a fucking lowlife asshole that beats his wife. What if this is who I am? What if the next time the woman doesn’t duck? As bad as I want you, if I fucking hurt you, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”
His words die on his lips as he realizes what he’s just admitted.
“You want me?” Not the most pressing issue at the moment, but come on. There’s nothing else I can think of.
He squints. “Come on, Sie. You have to already know that.”
I shrug. I kind of assumed it, but I thought he was just being friendly. When he flirted during therapy sessions, I took it as him trying to make the situation less awkward for him. Even when we went shopping and for ice cream, I assumed he was being nice. It crossed my mind some more the other night while I was here, but I wasn’t trying to get my hopes up.
He falls back in the padded desk chair behind him.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ll never put you at risk like that. I’m a ticking time bomb—”
“Stop it.” I grab the other chair that’s lying on its back and place it up across from him before sitting down in it. “You’re not a ticking time bomb.”
“I could’ve hurt her.”
“She didn’t duck.” I can’t believe I’m going to tell him this, but I’ve broken so many oaths and rules with Dean, I don’t see how this would be any worse. “Look, before I took your case, I read through the police report. It seems the original story that she and the boyfriend gave was that you struck the wall behind her. You weren’t aiming for her head. As the night progressed, her story started to change. The police agreed that you weren’t trying to hurt her, which is why domestic charges weren’t brought up.” I take a breath as my words start to sink in.
“I won’t say you were completely innocent that night. I wasn’t there. I do know you’re beating yourself up about something that a lot of people would’ve done if put in the same predicament.
“I can’t imagine what coming home finding your wife in bed with another man must have felt like. That, on top of the last three years, would’ve made anyone snap. You lost your temper. Millions of people do it every day. You didn’t hurt anyone. However, if you allow this to continue to eat you up the way it is, you may lose yourself to something much worse than your temper.” I place my hand on his blanket-covered knee.
“Look, I’m coming to you not as your therapist, but as your friend. You have to climb back out of this hole you’re in. So, you will never play in the major leagues again.” I shrug.
“Adjust. You don’t have millions in your bank account and you’re back home in your hometown. Adjust. Your wife wants a divorce. Again, adjust. Life is about adaptability.
“You have to keep moving forward, or you become extinct. Plans change. Life has a way of ripping things away from you. Change is hardly ever wanted, but it’s needed. And maybe, the changes are because something better is coming.”
I love it when that smile, I’ve grown so accustomed to over the last few weeks, appears on his face. “I like friend Sienna better than therapist Sienna.”
“Yeah, well she’s a lot cheaper for sure.” We both laugh and let it die down.
“Again, I’m sorry about practice.”
“Well.” I shrug and get to my feet. “Thank god I covered for you. I told Phillip you had terrible diarrhea.”
He scrunches up his face. “You couldn’t come up with a little more appealing excuse?”
“No,” I say with no remorse. “Now, get up and shower, because you stink. Then come back downstairs so I can feed you. I guarantee you haven’t eaten much today.”
He climbs to his feet and steps up to me. His towering height causes me to look up into his face. He places a hand at my waist and one under my chin. Those beautiful eyes pinning me in place.
“You’re incredible.”
I smile and nod. “And you smell like hot garbage.” He bursts out laughing and steps away from me. I snort.
“Point taken. I’m going to shower.”
Chapter 8
First Taste
Dean
“Thanks, Coach Dean.”
“No problem, Caleb. I want you working on that batting stance.”
Caleb nods before running off to meet his dad.
Admittedly, when I first agreed to do this coaching thing, I did it to be closer to Sienna. I had no real intentions of taking it seriously. I just wanted more time with the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
However, after three weeks of running practices, I’m finding that I love this. I thought I’d never feel comfortable on a baseball diamond again, but damn if this doesn’t feel natural. Teaching kids how to play the game I love has shown me why I fell in love with the sport in the first place.
After that day Sienna and Maddox showed up at my house, I got my shit together. I tossed out all of my alcohol. I never want her to walk in and see me like that again. I felt like shit.
But it did give me a reason to keep in touch with her. I promised her that I would do something nice for her, since she not only came and checked on me, but covered for me with Phillip, cooked for me, and cleaned the mess I’d made. That woman is fucking fantastic.
She hasn’t mentioned that little admittance I made about wanting her. Again, I told myself that we can’t happen, but that’s getting harder and harder to believe. Trying to convince yourself you can’t be with the one person you can’t stop thinking and dreaming about is a hard pill to swallow.
I pack up the last of the baseballs and grab my other bag of equipment and head to my Charger. I’m always the last person to leave, making sure all the kids are gone before me.
I head to the parking lot but stop short when I find Maddox sitting on a bench. I place the bucket of balls and the bag on my back down to the ground before jogging toward him.
“Maddox?” I call out and he turns to me and waves. “Is everything ok? Where’s your mom?”
I noticed she wasn’t at practice today. I look for her at every single one. She’s one of the parents that always stays and helps out. Maddox turns away from me and stares out into the empty area of the parking lot.
“My dad’s picking me up today. It’s his weekend.” The lack of enthusiasm in his voice is obvious.
“Well, does he know what time practice is over?” I say looking down at my watch. We ran about thirty minutes over, so his dad had plenty of time to come pick him up.
“He knows,” is all he says in reply.
I take a seat beside him on the bench. I can’t leave until the last kid leaves and I definitely wouldn’t leave him here.
“Okay, well I’ll wait with you.”
“Thanks, Coach Dean.” I smile at the new name.
We sit in silence for about five minutes. Maddox is always quiet. Most of the other kids talk my head off, but not him. He’s always extremely focused at practice. He’s also reserved, barely opening his mouth. It’s more obvious around other people and especially kids.
Unless he’s on that field. Then he’s in his element and he looks as natural as a fish in water. There’s no denying that he has some major skills in baseball.
It’s his off-the-field temperament that bothers me. The first practice that I attended, I nearly had to break up a fight with him and another kid. I had no idea what the kid sai
d, but Maddox was ready to whoop his ass. Sienna quickly appeared in the dugout and calmed him down.
I spoke to the assistant coach about it, and all he said was, that’s Maddox. He acted like it was common. I guess that would explain that nearly two minutes later, he was on that baseball field catching pop flies and playing short-stop like a beast.
Maddox reminds me a lot of myself. I don’t think that’s a good thing.
After twenty minutes, I’m ready to call it a wrap. His dad is damn near an hour late. “Do you want to call your dad?” I ask taking out my phone.
“No, I’d rather you just take me home.”
Hell yeah.
“No problem,” I say jumping to my feet. “Let me grab my stuff.”
I jog back to my things and pick them up before escorting him to my car. We load the trunk with our gear and head to his house. The car was pretty quiet. I don’t know what Maddox is thinking about, but I’m excited to see Sienna. I’m heading to her turf. A place I’ve yet to be invited to visit, despite her coming to my home twice now.
“Can I ask you a question, coach?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He does that long pause thing before speaking. After seeing him do it often, I’m starting to think he’s just thinking hard about the words he’s going to say. “You know that broken baseball bat you showed me my first time at your house?”
I smile as I remember the reason behind that bat. It was broken on my first pitch in the major leagues. It accounted for a homerun for the other team, but that wasn’t the importance of the bat.
“Yeah, I remember.”
He smiles and nods. “Why did you buy the bat? I mean, it’s broken and useless.”
“It was the meaning behind the bat that mattered. It showed that I had made it.”
“Yeah, but you could’ve taken the ball. It was still intact. It was perfect.”
“Yeah, I could’ve,” I agree. “But I wanted people to see the broken bat. To me, it was perfect.”
Silence greets us again. I have a feeling he’s thinking over my response. “I guess that works when it’s an object, not so much when it’s a person.”