I hold up another sheet of paper, an email from the President of Operations for the Renegades, Ryan Stone. He states that the Renegades organization donated the uniforms and equipment to the Mini Renegades, which isn’t a violation of any made up rule Larsen wants to throw at me. I sit there, biding my time while the chairman looks over the email until I finally stand to get their attention.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I have something to say,” I tell the panel.
“Go ahead, Hawk,” Mr. Walker says.
“I grew up in Richfield and the first Little League field was on a small piece of land my father let us play on. When I received my first paycheck, I came back here and established The Sinclair Fields, hoping they’d get used by aspiring softball and baseball players. Every year, I paid the youth center to keep the fields in the best shape possible. It was my mistake for not coming home every year because maybe if I had, I would’ve seen how the programs using my fields were being run.”
“What do you mean?” the chairman asks.
“The Little League system here is broken. Boys and girls are left out, parents squabble and bad-mouth each other and the players — and their coaches — demean the players. They don’t coach, they yell, and in my opinion are not qualified to coach youth sports. I know you can’t do anything to change the atmosphere, but I can.”
“Hold on, Mr. Chairman, he can’t change anything. He’s not even a resident,” Larsen blurts out.
I walk toward the table and pass out five copies of the agreement I had drawn up for usage of the fields. “Moving forward,” I say to the board and audience, “I will employ the necessary people to run the fields. They will oversee try-outs, appoint coaches and run the day-to-day operations. Coaches will be vetted and required to go through online training, much like the coaching staff from the school. The fields will continue to be free of charge to schools and Little League. However, parents are expected to treat children, as well as others, with respect and allow the coaches to coach and the players to play.”
“He can’t make these changes,” Larsen says.
“I’m afraid he can, Mr. Larsen.” The chairman shuffles his papers together. “I suggest you find a way to play nice in the sandbox, Mr. Larsen, otherwise it seems that your team might not have a place to play. This meeting . . .or whatever it was . . .is adjourned.”
When I go to the people supporting me, they tell me congratulations, although it’s not really a victory. I should’ve been paying attention to what’s been going on a long time ago, but out of sight, out of mind. Avery gives me a hug before she takes the girls to see their grandfather. I have to say that move by them earlier was brilliant and I wish I had thought of it myself. I know it wasn’t actually my sister’s intent, but I’m glad the twins did it.
After everyone files out, Bellamy and I are the last to leave. I hesitate for a brief moment before I put my hand on her back and guide her to the door. Our relationship — or whatever it is that we have going on here — is at a stalemate. Weeks ago, I was determined to kiss her and now I’m afraid to get attached, although I fear that I already am. My return to Boston is inevitable. It’s going to happen, and it seems unkind of me to start something with her that is only going to end in heartache for both us. Yet, the desire to be with her is strong and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to hold back.
As soon as we step out of the conference room, we run into Matty, who is standing in the hallway by herself.
“Hey, Matty. Do your parents know you’re still here?” Bellamy asks. Matty, whose name I recently found out is Mattingly — I can only assume after Don Mattingly who was one of my favorite players of all time — looks like my nieces with similarly heart shaped faces and blue eyes. The only difference is that Matty’s hair is a darker shade of blonde, almost a light brown, and my nieces are blonde.
“Yeah, they’re outside.” She points to the window and I follow her gesture, stepping forward to look. They’re fighting. Arms are flailing about and I can hear muffled yelling. I frown and step back to where Bellamy and Matty are. “I was wondering if you have room on your team for me?”
“Excuse me?” I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I’m caught off guard by her question. Bellamy squeezes my hand and I find it calms me almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“You did,” she says. “I’d like to come play for you.”
“But your dad . . . ” I cock my head slightly toward the window before looking back at Matty. “Matty as much as I’d love to have you—”
“Good, it’s settled. Don’t worry, I’ll tell Brett, you won’t have to.” The young girl bolts down the stairs and out the door before I can even finish my last thought.
“What just happened?”
“It seems that Matty is going to be a Mini Renegade.”
“But why?” I wonder aloud.
“It only makes sense since she’s been at every one of your practices.”
“I know.”
Bellamy steps in front of me and places her hands on my sides. “Maybe this is one of those gift horses you aren’t supposed to look in the mouth.”
“I’ve seen Brett’s team play. They can make it to the Little League World Series. I won’t even be around that long to see this team go that far. As much as I would love to have her, I think it’s a mistake.”
“Then you should go over there and speak with them, let them know your concerns. Clearly, she wants away from Brett — not that I blame her — but maybe if she knows it’s better for her to play with his team, she’ll stay.” I nod and pull Bellamy in for a kiss on the cheek, again.
On the way to her house, I ask her if she wants to come with me to the Larsens’. She passes, which I expected, but she asks me to stop by on my way back to let her know how things went. All the way over to Brett’s, Bellamy’s request replays in my mind. Stop by, don’t call. She wants me to come over, despite it being late. She’s going to tempt me and there’s no way I’ll be able to say no.
All the lights are on at the Larsens’ and their loud voices carry as I walk up the walkway. I don’t even want to know what the neighbors must think. It’s fear of the unknown and remembering the faint bruising on Annie’s face when I last saw her that has me pounding on the door. It swings open and Brett’s there, angry.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I came to make peace,” I tell him. “This animosity between us doesn’t need to be here, Brett.”
He scoffs. “You think I’m going to forgive you for all of this.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t?” he steps toward me, the small step up into the house gives him a height advantage. “First, you steal my girlfriend and then you steal my career, and now you’re trying to steal the program I built from bottom up right out from under me.”
“I didn’t steal Annie, you tossed her aside. As for your career, I didn’t force you to punch a wall which resulted in you shattering your hand. As for the program . . . you play favorites, Brett. That’s not what youth sports is about. Everyone should get a chance to be on a team and you exclude kids to be spiteful. If you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have to coach.”
“The only reason you’re coaching is because you want to get into Bellamy’s pants. Well let me tell you something, it’s not worth it.”
After he says that, I do the one thing I shouldn’t. I punch him. With my right hand. The jarring of my fist hitting his face radiates up my arm and causes my arm to go dead. “You’re not worth my energy,” I tell him as he clutches his nose.
“I’m going to sue you,” he mumbles as I walk away. I flip him the bird and climb into my truck, pulling out my cell phone and calling my manager to tell him what happened. The next call I make has my stomach in knots.
“Ryan Stone,” he says into the phone.
“Mr. Stone, it’s Hawk Sinclair. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Twenty-Two
Bellamy
I find myself pacing, walking back and forth in front of my large picture window, waiting for the glare of headlights to shine into my living room. Every few seconds, I pause because I think I hear a door slam or the screech of tires, but it’s my mind playing tricks on me. After Hawk dropped me off, I filled my mother in on everything that happened tonight and how the town officials really didn’t give Brett’s case any credence, which they shouldn’t. I never knew youth sports could be so political and downright cutthroat. People who I considered friends sat across the aisle from me — glaring. I don’t get it. All I want is for my son to play baseball, for all the children to feel like they belong. Hawk and Owen want that as well.
Making my way into the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and pull out the corked bottle of wine sitting on the shelf in front of me. I’m not much of a drinker, but tonight calls for some liquid resolve. That’s what I’m calling it . . . resolve. I don’t need courage. I need peaceful resolution to everything going on. I want to live in harmony among my friends.
After pouring the Pinot Grigio, I’m back in front of my window, staring out at my neighborhood. The streetlights cast an eerie glow along the paved road and most of the houses that I can see have their porch lights on. Across the street lives Brady, or B Mac, as he likes to be called. I thought for sure when I moved in, he and Chase would be fast friends. Hell, I thought my son would be friends with all the kids in the subdivision, it’s why I chose the area, but I was wrong. B Mac is a bully. He’s the kid that is sweet to your face but the second you turn your back, he’s ruthless. I never wanted to see him as anything other than a ten or eleven-year-old boy, until now. In the past, Chase has said Brady’s mean, but I brushed it off. However, sitting across from him and his father tonight, I saw it firsthand. The menacing look in his eyes matched that of the adult sitting next him. It’s sad, the way he thinks it’s okay to be like this.
Finally, headlights shine into my driveway. I set my glass of wine down, go to the door, open it and wait for Hawk to come up the walk. When he does, he’s holding his right hand and I instantly fear the worse.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I step out of the house and onto my porch. I reach for his hand and he gives it to me freely. His knuckles are swollen, red and he hisses when I touch them. “Hawk?” I motion for him to come into the house, but he stands firm where he’s at.
“I need to ask you a question.”
“Go ahead.” I don’t like his tone or the fear I feel right now.
“Did you sleep with Brett Larsen?”
My mouth drops open as the question tumbles out of his mouth. He’s so matter-of-fact that I know he’s serious. I take a step back, needing a little breathing room. Hawk takes this as a sign . . . of what, I don’t know, but by the look on his face, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’d sleep with a married man. I start to shake my head and despite my determination to stop them, tears start to well in my eyes.
“Why?” he asks.
“I didn’t. I would never.”
He shakes his head and his lips tighten. “He said—”
“He’s a liar. He told me if Chase wanted to sit on his bench, I would have to sleep with him in order for that to happen. I’m desperate to help my son fit in but I would never sleep with someone to make that happen.”
He reaches for me, but I shy away.
“I can’t believe you would ask me this.”
“He told me you did, and I punched him, so I had to know for sure that I was right and you’re worth the risk of me losing my career.”
“You punched him? For me?”
He nods. “And he’s going to sue. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s going to do everything he can to ruin me.”
“But why? Why is he like this?”
He steps forward and places his left hand on my hip. “I’m sorry for the way I asked. Deep down, I knew you didn’t, or I wouldn’t have punched him the first place but his words — telling me that you’re not worth it — they kept playing over and over in my head and I had to ask.”
“I’m not worth it?” I repeat the damaging words into the night air.
“You’re worth it to me,” he says as his lips finally come crashing down on my mine. There’s nothing sweet and sensual about this first kiss. It’s angry, frantic, and tantalizing. My hands are on his shoulders, and then one is cupping his check, keeping him close to me because there’s no way I’m letting him go. My other hand moves under his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin against my chilled hand. My fingers skim the top of his pants and he smiles against my lips.
The moment he pulls away, I reach for him, trying to keep this make out session going. He cups my cheeks and looks deep into my eyes. “Seriously, may I come in?”
I nod and start to turn, but he holds me there.
“Bellamy,” he says my name softly. I take his hand from my cheek and intertwine his fingers with mine. After he steps through the doorway, I shut and bolt the front door. With renewed confidence brought on by his kiss, I pull him behind me down the hall and into my bedroom, where I twist the tiny lever, locking us in from the outside world.
“Are you sure?” he asks as I start to undress.
I’ve never been surer of anything before. I know he’s leaving and that’s going to break my heart, but right now, I don’t care because I want to be with the man standing in front of me.
Hawk and I lay in bed with my head resting on his chest. Every so often, I hug him tighter, keeping him as close to my body as I can but it’s really an excuse to run my hand over his sexy abs. Sure, I’ve seen ads like the Calvin Klein ones, with these men and their insane abdominal muscles but I have never experienced them in real life. My former husband was fit, but not like Hawk.
His fingers draw lazily along my forearm. It tickles, but I don’t mind. I’m happy and content right here with him . . .sated, exhausted, and ready to be with him again because once will never be enough.
“I should’ve never gone over to Brett’s.” His arm squeezes me closer and I snuggle deeper into him.
“I always play the ‘what if’ game. What if I didn’t move back to Montana? What if Greg didn’t cheat? What if I didn’t hire Priscilla to work for us?” Hawk and I adjust so we’re facing each other. I pull the sheet up to cover myself but he hooks his finger over the top and pulls the fabric down to expose my breasts.
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re just saying that because we had sex. It’s like the obligatory response or something.”
He frowns. “I say it because it’s true. I’m insanely attracted to you and have been since the morning we met. That night, when we were at the pizza parlor, all I could think about was kissing you, not to mention every day since.”
“Why did you wait so long?”
He cups my cheek and pulls me close until our lips meet. “Out of fear.”
“Of what?” I whisper.
“Of hurting you when I leave. Of hurting Chase.”
I don’t know what to say, so I remain quiet. We lay there, staring at each other, with me wishing things could be different, but also thankful that they’re not. I love that he’s a baseball player, that he’s here doing what’s right for our community, but also hate that he has responsibilities elsewhere that will take him across country.
Finally, when the silence is too much, I say, “We’ll figure it out.” Because if this is a relationship that is going to go somewhere, it’ll to be worth it to do so. “Tell me about Brett.”
He sighs. “He’s always been volatile. One minute everything is fine and the next he’s flying off the handle and destroying things. His father was the same way when we were growing up.”
“But you were his friend?”
“I was because deep down, he’s a really great guy who would do anything for his friends. As we got older, our relationship shifted. I became a standout player for our baseball team. Scouts from all over would come to the games, the media would be there,
and it didn’t matter if I was pitching or if it was Brett, they were there to see me and he hated me for that. After a while I started feeling sorry for him and would bring him along to the interviews or bring up his name to the scouts, but they weren’t interested.
“He started partying, drinking, doing some drugs. He cheated on Annie a lot. There were rumors that he got some girl from another town pregnant, but he never copped to it and when I asked, he told me to mind my own business. So I did. I pushed myself harder, worked out, and worked with a pitching coach so I could have an arsenal of pitches. Our senior year, I was unhittable and the only losses we had were when Brett pitched. That didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. The town, his father, the scouts, everyone knew I was the better of the two.
“And then Annie wised up and dumped him. She asked me to take her to prom and I did because I felt bad for her. We had always been friends, although it was honestly more like me being the third wheel in their relationship. Sometimes I’d have girlfriends, but I knew I couldn’t trust Brett around them and thought being single was better anyway. I could do whatever I wanted without having to worry if I was upsetting someone. After prom, Annie and I became a little closer and right before I left for college, I slept with her. It was a mistake, but it happened. By that point, Brett had an offer to play ball at some low-level Division Two school and things should’ve been good. Except, he and Annie got back together and she told him that we slept together. He found me cleaning out my gym locker at school, days before we left for college and took a swing at me. I ducked and his hand punched the concrete wall, shattering every bone in his throwing hand, effectively ending whatever chance he had at a baseball career.”
“Wow,” is pretty much all I can say.
Hawk shrugs. “He’s the main reason I stayed away for as long as I did. Sure, I’d come home during breaks, but my parents ranch is pretty isolated so no one never knew if I were home and my sisters would never say anything because they were afraid their girlfriends would all come over to see me. After I signed my deal with the Renegades, I came back and bought the land the fields are on, and had the complex built. I didn’t even return for the ribbon ceremony because I had a game that night, so my parents did the honors.”
Hawk: The Boys of Summer #4 Page 15
