All logic went out the window, only instinct and the raw emotions I’ve shoved down for six years took over, as if I was on autopilot. And as I accompanied her to the hospital, sat by her bed as she slipped under from the drugs they gave her to rest, smoothed her hair away from her forehead and touched her hand simply because I could …
I knew I was done playing it safe. I am done waiting in the wings. Of course, I will give her time. All the time she needs. If she can only give me friendship for the next decade, then that is what I’ll take. But I’m not hiding my feelings any longer, I’m not avoiding her or skirting around seeing her simply because I can’t be in her presence without blurting out how I feel. My utmost priority now is making sure that she is safe, protected, and happy. I’ll stop at nothing, pay any price.
Which is why I can’t help but provide monosyllabic, snippy answers in these interviews. Normally, I’m the club’s golden boy, the hometown son who made it big. I carry the legacy of the Callahan name, the only family to ever own a ball club and have one of its members play for the team, on my back. And I’ve done it with pride. I’ve played the charming all-American, toed the party line and completed all that’s been asked of me.
For some reason, though, I just can’t summon the smile today. The expression I have in my back pocket for cringeworthy media encounters, or the perfectly programmed interview responses I have tattooed on my brain … they’re escaping me.
And if they’re not asking me questions about Shane, they’re all up in my cousin’s business. Colleen was just outed for dating one of her players, one of my teammates. They were discovered in a passionate lip-lock on the night that Shane beat up his wife in the parking lot, and we all came to her rescue. Between worrying like hell about Hannah, and keeping the secret for Colleen that is now out of the bag, I feel like I’ve run a marathon on two hours of sleep in the last month.
“You better get your head in the game, or we’re going to blow this thing,” Hayes Swindell, one of my newest teammates and the man dating my cousin, grumbles from behind me.
We’re in a more private space, the Pistons’ craft services table, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t any media in earshot.
“Oh, so you’re telling me you’re fucking thrilled to be here today?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
Hayes shoots me a look like I’m being a smart-ass. “You know the answer to that; I’d rather be scalding my balls on a hot grill. Which is basically what these reporters are doing. But you’ve got to at least appear like you’re happy to be here. It will only bode worse for the articles that come out, and you know the curse of bad media going into the series. The cleaner our slates, the more we can just keep our fucking noses down and play the game we love. Don’t you want another ring?”
He has a point, but I’m still salty as hell. “Of course I do. But this a shit show, man.”
My teammate nods in agreement as he puts a turkey and cheese sub along with a chocolate chip cookie on a paper plate. “It certainly isn’t the chipper and amiable mood I’ve encountered in media weeks past. But at least he’s not here, Walker. At least your father, and Colleen, did the right thing.”
“How could they not?” I grumble, burning at the thought of Shane Giraldi being allowed to remain on our roster. “This is a one and done incident. I hate seeing other guys in other sports remain there, even through allegations. Much less when a wife speaks out or there are pictures floated. Guys like that should be fucking locked up forever. As it is, he’ll probably get a fucking slap on the wrist, while she …”
I trail off, my anger catching my tongue. Each time I think about what’s to come for the trial, which has barely even gotten underway, terror fills my gut so sharply that I want to bend over from the ache.
“You love her.” Hayes says it matter-of-factly, as if it isn’t even a question.
I avert my eyes, because what am I supposed to say? “That night was hell.”
My own personal form of hell, at least. I’ve watched on for years as she’s loved another man, had his children, bustled in and out of the games and ballparks with her gorgeous face and absolutely beautiful personality. Then, over the last year or so, I’ve watched her shine dull. Her eyes went lifeless, she barely smiled, she wore long sleeves in the summer, and rarely showed up to any extracurricular events for the team. The day I saw them fighting in the parking lot, the first time, I’d been so incensed that I’d taken it all the way to Colleen. But there was nothing my cousin, the general manager, could do. We had no proof, no allegations, or signs of abuse.
No, we all had to wait until he’d beaten her half-unconscious.
Hayes blows out a long breath. “I can’t imagine seeing a woman you care about in that position. If that were Colleen, I would have murdered him.”
His candidness takes me by surprise, and I’m not ignorant to the fact that he’s still pressing the issue of me having feelings for Hannah. “I’m not sure why you didn’t let me.”
“Because then you wouldn’t be here to heal her, to care for her in the aftermath. I also would have to find a new shortstop to win this World Series with me, and as big of a shithead as you are, you’re kind of growing on me.”
That, in some small sense, gives me a source of comfort. “I’m glad Colleen has you. I hope this media tornado swirling around you two stops soon. As for my cousin, I’ll be an even better shortstop if she tells me where Hannah is staying.”
Some PR intern sticks their head into the tent where craft services is located, and tells the players standing around that it’s almost time for another round of interviews.
“Wish I could, man, but she won’t even tell me. If Colleen is making that call, you know it’s for the best. I know you only want to help, but look at it from Hannah’s point of view; I’m sure the last thing she wants right now is another keyed up guy around, putting her on edge.”
Hayes doesn’t even bother sticking around after he’s made his point, instead, taking his overflowing plate out to the press table with him. I guess if you can’t beat ’em, eat through ’em, or something like that.
Begrudgingly, I do have to take his advice into consideration. Even now, I’m so fucking angry I could spit nails. Going around Hannah like this could only cause more trouble, more anxiety on her part. I need to let myself cool down, and I’m not even sure how long that’s going to take. But I know I can’t and won’t be the source for any fear or stress for her.
That probably includes me confessing how I truly feel about the woman, and that’s something I’m not sure I can help spilling once I finally do see her. She could reject me, downright refuse any man who comes sniffing around ever again. I wouldn’t blame her.
It would probably be smart to put these emotions on the back burner, focus on some of the most important games of my baseball career in the next week.
As for pasting on my signature Callahan smile and chumming it up for the cameras? That’s going to be a no.
I said I’d win a World Series. I didn’t say I’d have a fucking grand ole time doing so.
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