by Marti Shane
“I don’t care,” Sam said, rubbing her belly as she sat back in her chair. “He’s the only lawyer willing to put up a fight.”
“Does he tell you everything?”
“I’ve been unconscious,” she reminded him. “I trust Nick.” He wanted to push further, make sure she knew Alexis’s intentions with the deed. “Why do you ask?”
“Alexis ran off at the mouth about him using you to punish her.”
“She needs punished,” Kay spoke up. “She put a lock on the door. Two hours later you were digging Nick and Sam out of the lake.” Jake’s pulse raced. Alexis locked her out, ignorant to the fact Sloane passed. Now, she knew everything, something he wasn’t sure he should tell Sam.
“The police cut the lock the same day.” Sam attempted to make it less dramatic, but he thought of Alexis claiming to want to right her wrong. He doubted she ever could. Her accusation that Sam was her father’s mistress was bad enough, even without locking her out.
After cleaning up breakfast, they stacked the few boxes of Sloane’s personal things. Everything else was scheduled to be professionally packed and moved to storage at the end of the week. The Jeep was loaded up with a bat collection he’d be proud to call his own as they headed for Otis Smithfield’s home.
“I’ve never seen you bat in person,” Sam said, his Braves cap holding down her hair. “I’m excited.” He couldn’t hold back his grin. She grew up in the batting cages with the Brave of all Atlanta Braves. Yet, she was excited to see him. “Don’t be offended if Otis tries to coach you. It’s in his blood.”
“Offended?” he snorted.
“You know what I mean.” She waved off the comment.
“You think I’d refuse advise from Otis?”
“I’m just warning you that you’ll get some, needed or not.” She gave him a tender smile, one he’d never seen. “Otis is more excited than you are, no matter what he says. I’m glad you said yes.” The unfamiliar smile was compassion. His mind went to Otis walking to Sloane the day before, head hung in sorrow. Sam was bringing him to Otis, keeping his mind from Sloane. It looked good on her. “What?” she prompted when he just smiled.
“I dig you.” He kissed her hand, happier than he’d ever thought he’d be. A few more miles stretched between them and the city before he dared ask.
“Will you tell me about Sloane and Buck?”
“Gram was fifteen and head over heels in love,” she gave easily. “Her dad worked the grounds at Turner Field.”
“Turner Field?”
“Explains a lot doesn’t it?” she laughed. “They were poor, but she had access to the games because of her dad. Being pretty helped. She knew everyone who worked at the park, players too.”
“How’d she meet Buck?”
“He worked for her dad on the grounds one summer. Tough love for being a wild teenage boy.”
“Sloane’s type?”
“Evidently.” She twirled her ponytail in her hand, elbow propped on the door. “He was charming and evidently fertile, but not as in love with her.”
“He left her?”
“Not at first, but his mother got wind of the pregnancy. It was statutory rape unless they got married, which he wasn’t going to do. She finally agreed to terminate the pregnancy, but when they gave her the money she used it to run away. He’s not on the birth certificate, but these days that’s easy to prove.”
“So she didn’t tell him?”
“She told him when she got sick the first time, but Margaret was such a handful and he was married with children from another woman.”
“Did he ever know about you?”
“I think he might’ve influenced my adoption.” Jake knew that was true. Alexis said he’d given Sloane the apartment so she could raise Sam. He was still less of a man in his eyes, and fuck Alexis for taking his one charity away. He owed these woman so much more. “It bothers me Alexis might have access to that part of my life.”
“Why?”
“It’s private,” Sam shrugged, and Jake caught a glimpse of the six year old girl rolled in a rug and thrown out with the trash. Despite all her successes, and the people who love her, she was burdened with the cold truth. People who are supposed to love you the most caused the most harm and tossed her away. The Kramers were a part of that, even if Buck never raised a hand. “This is our turn.” Sam pointed, stone pillars marking the drive.
Jake carried Sam’s bag as she led him around back. The familiar crack of a bat juiced his spirits. He was so ready for this. They rounded the six-car garage, a professional batting cage aside the luxury pool. Otis’s cleat dug deep, his choke low as he pivoted at the waist for his swing to follow through. The crack was telling, the ball high and to the back of the cage.
“Show off,” Sam said in greeting, taking her bag from Jake. Otis cut the pitching machine, stepping out of the cage. He was in damn good shape, better than half Jake’s team.
“If you’re not aiming for the bleachers- ”
“Don’t bother to swing,” she finished, pulling out one of her custom Louisville Sluggers.
“What you swingin’ these days?” he asked Jake, who didn’t have his bag. He’d left it at the lake, this opportunity not even in his wildest dreams.
“Whatever hickory stick you let me swing,” he answered, eyeing the wooden bat in Otis’s grip. He was a composite guy, preferring the lighter weight and less vibration.
“Help yourself.” The bat rack he pointed out had to be straight from his old dugout. The paint was aged and the Brave’s logo hand painted. Sam stood by stretching, her bat across her shoulders with arms hooked over each side. He loved how she smiled at him, like he was hanging the moon. Otis was just Otis to her. “You cleared to get in a cage?” Otis asked Sam.
“You think you can keep me out of the cage?” she countered. “We’re in the presence of greatness.” She lifted her chin to Jake. He shied from the praise, testing the weight of a few bats in the rack.
“Helmet,” Otis warned, as she swatted Jake’s ass on her way down the cages. Jake picked up a bat, enjoying the nervous sting he felt before a game.
“I appreciate you having me out,” Jake said, taking the gloves he offered.
“Somebody’s gotta help you with that swing,” Otis laughed, stepping back in his cage. Jake stretched the important stuff watching as Otis took his stance. He was still in his prime at fifty years old, his speed and precision still the same. It was hard to believe he retired twenty years ago. “I remember watching you at UG,” Otis said, taking another swing. “Couldn’t believe you were a walk-on.”
“You should’ve seen my first two years,” Jake said, closing himself in the adjoining cage. “I heated the bench.”
“Better to do the bench warming at the start of your career than the end,” Otis said. “Cruz told me he had a kid volunteering from UG. Said he worked with you all summer, nights and weekends.” He smiled over at Jake. “Cruz will take credit for anything.”
“It’s true.” Jake laughed, taken back that Otis even knew this. “He taught me the real stuff, you know? I took every minute he was willing to give me.” William Cruz took an interest in him the summer before his junior year. UG sent Jake as a volunteer to the camp Cruz coached. Cruz had played farm league for five years, leaving the game for a higher-paying career.
“The real stuff?” Otis laughed. “Do tell.” Jake tapped the bat to the plate.
“It’s a nine-inch ball flying toward a fifteen-inch plate. Read the ball and adjust accordingly.” He turned on the pitch, choking up his grip. The ball flew from the chute, his body calibrating without thought as his swing followed through to his line of sight. Hands and arms absorbing the contact, he heard the ball rattle the top right of the cage. Otis howled as he cracked another half-dozen balls, a grin spreading over Jake’s face. Today was better than his first swing in the major leagues, hanging with Otis and his new girl.
“Did you give Mitch his ball back?” Jake asked, accepting a Corona as they sat. Sam was out of earsh
ot, working out some serious frustration at the end cage.
“I’ll get around to it this week.” He took the seat across the table, eyes trained on Sam. “You need to lay off that kid,” he said, taking a pull from his beer. “He’s not worth your career.” Jake shook his head, having made peace with it. “He’s an arrogant little fuck. Don’t think he won’t fly a ball at that pretty little mug of yours.” Otis pointed to Sam. “I never got what she saw in him except a steady lay she only had to put up with a few days at a time.” Jake shifted in his seat, the thought of Mitch touching Sam grating his nerves. Otis just smiled, getting the reaction he’d hoped for. “You need to cool it. Don’t threaten him. Ninety-five miles an hour to the wrist or shin is all it takes.”
“He would,” Jake thought aloud. The little fucker would.
“Don’t encourage him,” Otis finished. Jake knew he was right. Wild pitches were part of the game, and he’d be across the plate from Mitch soon enough. He sat back, watching Sam do her thing.
“She’s good,” he realized.
“Sloane brought her to my camp when she was seven.” He sighed. “She wasn’t playing with other kids at school and Sloane thought baseball might help.”
“Did it?”
“She was coachable, but she didn’t make friends. I could tell she’d been abused, knew she’d never trust me.”
“She trusts you now.”
“That’s the thing about Sam. You never know if you’re getting through to her.” They watched as followed through on her next swing. “Then she knocks it out of the park.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Any headache, dizziness, nausea?” Dr. Khan asked, her finger moving side to side for Sam to follow.
“No,” she answered for the tenth time. “It’s barely a scratch, I’m fine.”
“I’m not worried about the scratch. You had two trauma impacts in a short amount of time,” she argued, feeling the glands at her throat. “How are you handling everything, Sam?” she asked, the question sincere.
“I don’t want to hurt myself or others,” she joked, hating the stupid questionnaire they make you fill out.
“That’s good news,” the doctor said, tapping at her collar bones. “Are you sore from the seatbelt?”
“No.” She was sore from the batting cage yesterday, and deliciously sore between her legs from last night. “I have a question about birth control,” she blurted.
“Everything okay with your implant?”
“Is it okay to take the morning after pill?” Dr. Khan popped off her gloves, pulling her rolling stool over for a seat. “I didn’t use a condom night before last,” she explained, forcing eye contact. The woman was a medical professional. Surely, she’s used to talking about sex.
“You don’t need an emergency contraceptive. You’ve had your implant for years.”
“I’ve always used condoms.”
“You don’t need them to protect you from pregnancy. The implant covers it.” She pushed her feet against the floor, riding the stool to the desk drawer and pulled out a pamphlet, pushing her way back over. “This is the literature on types of emergency contraceptives. They don’t do anything your existing birth control doesn’t.” Sam took the brochure, fighting off the random panic trying to creep in.
“Are you having regular periods?” Sam shook her head no. “When was your last one?”
“Months ago.”
“We can test for pregnancy.” Sam shook her head again.
“I’ve been abstinent until the last few days. I’m not sure why my periods stopped.”
“Stress,” Dr. Khan suggested, a hand gently patting her forearm. “Sex can be a great stress reliever with the right partner,” she added, deflating some of the tension in the room. “You chose the most effective birth control on the planet. If you and your partner are monogamous and clean, enjoy a healthy sex life without worrying about condoms.” She wheeled back over to her desk, waking up her laptop screen. “Please tell me it’s the hunk of man in my waiting room.” Sam blushed and looked away. “Just have his babies.” Dr. Kahn laughed, but Sam thought she might pass out.
“No babies,” she insisted, her laugh made of nerves. “He’s a twin.”
“There’s no scientific proof twins are genetic.” She tapped in her password. “Are you dating?” Sam nodded, though dating wasn’t exactly right. “How’d you meet?”
“He was there when we wrecked. He and his brother pulled us from the car.” Dr. Khan swung on her stool to face her, mouth open. “I met him twice before, but…yeah.”
“That’s a pretty good ending to an otherwise shitty day.”
“He makes everything better.”
“I’m happy for you, but you’ve been through a lot. Make sure you don’t avoid your feelings.” She sat taller, straightening her white coat. “No one can make everything better.”
Jake popped from his seat when she hit the lobby, looking her over from head to toe.
“What they say?” he asked anxiously, as she led him outside.
“She said, I told your brother this was a waste of time, but he couldn’t hear me with his head so far up his ass.”
“So you’re cleared?”
“I was never not cleared.” She rolled her eyes, as he opened her Jeep door. “Are you going to teach me to drive this?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Not in Atlanta.” He lifted her to the seat. “Are you up for swinging by the office on the way back?”
“Your office?” she asked.
“Our office.” His dimple flashed as he closed the door.
Cross City, Georgia wasn’t much. A few grocery stores and lots of farm equipment on the State Road they followed through town. Jake pointed things out as they drove, waiving to every car or four-wheel drive they passed. Cars streamed from what first appeared to be a factory. The three-story brick building sat back from the road, a huge paddle wheel turning at its side. The landscape was immaculate, huge pieces of equipment on display over the five-acre or so lawn.
“My Dad’s,” Jake said proudly, slowing at the light. “Shift change,” he explained as cars pulled from the drive single file.
“It’s noon,” Sam said, thinking he must have meant lunch.
“Most people here farm. They have their own farm, or their parents have farms their kids help them with. They can work six to noon or noon to six.”
“Only part time?”
“He has full crews that travel. The big jobs aren’t in Cross City. It just makes sense to hire farmers because they already understand big equipment and they’re not looking for full time work. My mom’s idea.”
“Really?” she asked, too much surprise in her voice.
“She runs the talent department as she calls it.”
“She works for your Dad?”
“They own a business together,” he corrected. She hadn’t thought of his mom in that capacity, considering the lasagna and soup she’d sent back with Jax. She’d pictured a housewife, empty nesting and fussing over her adult children and going to bridge club.
The state road turned to Main Street, shrinking to two lanes from four. Houses were close to the road, front steps emptying to sidewalks that were lined with mature trees. This was definitely the historic part of town, corner homes turned commercial real estate for the local vet, insurance agents and J&J. They pulled into the alley parking next to identical trucks sporting the J&J logo on the side.
The back door opened to a decent sized room, every surface littered with rolls and rolls of blueprints and files. Holy hell. What had she gotten herself into? A small hall sported a full bath and storage closet original to the older home, opening into an impressive office space. Jax stood and turned from a reception desk covered with papers from edge to edge. His hair stood in several directions, having been raked over one too many times.
Sam browsed the beautiful space as the brothers caught up from the past few days. The front of the early nineteenth century home held all its origi
nal charm and more. The craftsmanship reminded her of home, or at least what used to be her home.
“You guys did this?” she interrupted, flats spinning her in a circle to absorb the room. Ten-foot ceilings with tray moldings defined every space. Three offices and a long conference room surrounded the entry where Jax and Jake leaned against the reception desk. The doors were ornate but offset by the natural color of the wood. The focal wall was a light brick, the J&J sign in modern script on repurposed barn wood.
“Jax designs. I swing a hammer.”
“I’ve never seen this before.” She ran her hand along the wood trim.
“Chestnut?” Jax inquired, Sam catching the sarcasm.
“The aesthetic. It looks old, feels modern and oozes cash.” She gave a first attempt to the description. There was no mistake the building was historical, the features original but fresh the way they incorporated them into the remodel. Her building was the same age, preserved to its original state. “Man, you could work magic at my place.” She wanted to retract, having forgotten it was no longer hers.
The phone made an annoying chime, Jax picking up.
“J&J,” he answered, not a man enjoying his work. “He’s not with us anymore. Can I help you?” Jake gave her a quick walk around, the three offices belonging to him, Jax and Mason. The conference room had a large table for laying out plans and connected to a small kitchen with a side door. Jax lived in the top one and a half stories, which were only accessed from the outside.
“Why don’t you take Jax to lunch while I get acclimated? You can bring me something back.” His expression spoke immediate protest, but she insisted. She was hungry for a challenge and thought she could make a quick win for Jax. They set her up with passwords, Jax trying to explain his tragic filing system spread across the desk. “You guys have thirty seconds to vacate the building. Go!” Her fingers snapped and pointed to the door.
Sam looked over the mess Jax left behind, quickly recognizing invoices sorted by number and date. She hated accounting, but if you set things up correctly, it really took care of itself. At least there wasn’t a ledger and calculator laying around. She explored the programs installed on the laptop, familiarizing herself with how things were done. She knew shit about construction, but wasn’t it all the same? Client, contract, materials, service, QA and pay.