Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3)

by Carrie Aarons

  “Did you go to rehab?” I ask, feeling like an idiot again for blurting out something so insensitive. But I can’t take it back now.

  The crash of the waves and beachgoers partying is our background soundtrack. “I did, after I wrapped my car around a utility pole and had to be extracted from my car with the jaws of life.”

  A sickly, cold feeling rolls down my body, from the tops of my head to the bottom of my toes. “Oh my God, Sinclair.”

  He told me so matter-of-factly, like his near-death experience was just another charge on his rap sheet.

  His eyes meet mine. “I haven’t been a good man, Francesca. I’ve done a lot of stupid things, I’ve almost died more than once. I’ve alienated my family at times, lost friends, ruined opportunities. I’ve wasted a lot of my life on booze, and sometimes drugs. You should know that about me. It’s my past, but it’s part of who I am. This job, what I’m doing here in Florida, it’s my chance at something good. And … I’m glad you’re here. For as big or little a part you want to play, I’m glad I get to spend time with you.”

  Sinclair was pretty close-lipped last night after we’d screwed each other’s brains out. He avoided most of my questions, choosing to focus the pillow talk interrogation on me. But I suppose this is his way of showing me a piece of him. This is his way of helping me get to know him.

  And clearly, it’s his way of saying he wants more than what we’ve been giving to each other. Do I want that too?

  “I’m glad I get to spend some time with you, too. And just because you have a past, well, that doesn’t define you. How you choose to behave, who you choose to be every morning your feet hit the floor, that’s what matters. That is what my mom used to tell me, and I believe it.”

  The sun glints off the ever-flowing sea, the day as beautiful as it can get here on Sanibel.

  “So, you’re saying I’m worth the trouble, huh?” That devilish grin is back, his confessions seemingly over for now.

  “I’m saying we’ll see.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “But whatever we’re doing, know that it doesn’t bleed into the workplace.”

  “Are you worried about protecting your rep?” Sinclair jokes.

  My expression grows serious. “Yes, I’m worried. This year is a huge opportunity for me. I want to prove myself to the Pistons organization, I want to move up to even bigger and better things. And I don’t need anyone at the ballpark gossiping about my personal life. I don’t need them staring at us whenever we talk, or whispering about what we’re doing.”

  Sinclair reaches over, running a finger up and down my bare arm. It’s scary how fast I’ve become accustomed to his touch, how much I like it, crave it.

  “I would never do anything to jeopardize that for you. Like I said, this is a fresh start for me, too. I don’t need anyone in my personal life. And I admire and respect how hard you work, I’d never want to ruin that. We’ll keep this out of the workplace. But, you’re saying there can be a this?”

  He sounds so sweet, being so unsure of what my answer will be.

  I roll my eyes, feeling very much like a swooning girl as I lean over to place a peck on his cheek. “I wouldn’t keep sleeping with you if I wasn’t interested. Let’s just keep it casual. Hang out. See what happens.”

  “And definitely keep fucking.” His eyes dilate as he adds a bullet point to my definition of what we’re doing.

  “Gosh, look at us having a serious discussion on a day that was all about beach and fun in the sun.”

  “Well, get your perfect ass in the water then.” Sinclair kicks up sand as he pushes up and starts sprinting to the ocean’s edge.

  I follow, loving the way the wind whips my hair as I arc and dive into an oncoming wave.

  When I surface, Sinclair is there, pulling me to him. Our limbs wrap around each other as we move with the undulating waves.

  We’re anchored together, this new layer of our relationship surrounding us.

  11

  Frankie

  The clank of metal on metal fills my ears, with the background noise of DMX blaring in someone’s headphones.

  Fans overhead whir in overdrive, trying to cool down a room that is naturally always going to be ten degrees hotter than anywhere else in the building. Not only because there are a bunch of sweaty men sucking up its oxygen, but because this is also Florida.

  I focus on Walker Callahan’s form, how he’s squatting and pushing back up with the two hundred pounds of weight on his shoulders. Knees not too far over his toes, thighs not moving too quickly, holding the position, shoulders square, and head up. My brain ticks off the proper movements like they’re second nature, because they are.

  This is my domain, my favorite place to spend time, and the soundtrack my mind plays on repeat all day.

  “Good, Walker, really strong squat set. Now make this last one count, hold on the down for five seconds.” I watch as he preps and moves into his last rep.

  “Show off,” Clark cracks, making a lewd gesture to his friend in the giant floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of the squat racks.

  “Shut it, moron.” Walker grunts, coming up slowly and then dropping the bar off his back.

  It lands with a thud on the ground, and I clap my hands twice. “Great set. You’re looking even better than you did at the beginning of the week.”

  “You’re kicking my ass, Coach. But it’ll be worth it.” Walker picks up his water jug and chugs three long gulps.

  I smile smugly to myself. “Yes, it will be. Make sure you tell your teammates that.”

  “Hey, I appreciate how you kick my ass.” Clark’s southern accent is all smooth charm.

  “We all know you’re a slacker in the gym.” I tsk at him.

  Walker booms out a laugh. “Shit, you had his number from day one, Frankie. He hates conditioning.”

  Clark eyes us both like we’re some kind of traitors. “I just enjoy being out on the field more. Or doing things other than baseball. Some of us have a life outside of this stadium.”

  “Not me,” I answer cheerfully, though that’s not completely true.

  Most of my time outside of here is spent with Sinclair. At the beach, in my bed, eating out, or hitting up a movie or something. The other night, we even watched a game here at the stadium from the nose bleeds, where no one could see us. It’s been a month and a half of us being us, and it was as serious as I’ve ever gotten with a guy.

  Not that I’ve been to his apartment, which I think is odd. Maybe it’s just a rundown little rental that he is embarrassed to have me see since it’s temporary. Though now that I think about it, I have no clue where his permanent residence is. Or if he has one. Maybe he just likes coming over to my apartment because it’s homey. I can’t complain; I like not having to go anywhere or wake up without my stuff.

  “Come on, you have to have a boyfriend, Frankie. Right?” Clark drawls, smirking at me.

  Oh Lord, this man is too good-looking for his own good. No, he knows how hot he is. And he uses it.

  “None of your business.” I roll my eyes. “But I don’t date players, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You’re too independent and intelligent for him, anyway.” Walker smacks his friend upside the head. “Stop hitting on the coach who is going to get us in the best shape of our life.”

  “Just because you found your soul mate, doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t still looking.” Clark pouts.

  “You are not looking for a soul mate. I waited six years for Hannah. You willing to wait six years for a woman?” Walker smiles knowingly at his friend.

  “Well …” Clark hedges, chewing his lip nervously.

  I snort. “That’s a no. Clark, I am not your soul mate. Hell, I don’t even believe in soul mates.”

  “Don’t believe in soul mates?” Walker cocks his head to the side. “I waited years for a woman I fell in love with. I waited while she was married. I knew she was the one. How do you not think there is a person out there like that for you?”

 
I like the way that Walker said person instead of man. It’s progressive. Walker Callahan is good people.

  “This is very strange weight room talk.” I chuckle, but they’re both looking at me expectantly. “I think that we can fall in love with almost anyone we can convince ourselves to. What makes it long-lasting, or a lifetime relationship, is the dedication to put in the work. You have to want to pick someone, to choose them day in and day out. Love is great, but it fades. You have to like, admire, respect your partner enough for it to stand the test of time. If they don’t pay you back the same kindness, then there is probably someone else who will. It’s why people who get divorced or are widowed find someone to love again. I don’t believe there is one right person out there for me. There could be hundreds. But who is going to be that one person who works on a relationship hard enough that I choose to stay?”

  It’s funny that Sinclair’s face pops into my mind at that exact moment. But would he do the hard work for this, for me? We hadn’t dared have that talk yet. It felt too soon, but at the same time, spring training is rapidly coming to a close.

  “Damn, that is the most rational shit I’ve ever heard someone say about a relationship in a long time. See, Walk, I told you there was a reason I loved hundreds of women.” Clark wiggles his eyebrows at his friend.

  Walker rolls his own eyes. “You’re ridiculous, Clark. And Frankie, well, I won’t call you ridiculous. But I think you’re wrong. There is such a thing as a soul mate for everyone. You just haven’t met yours if you think like that. Or maybe you have, and you’re trying to downplay it. Either way, the reason you want to fight for a person and a relationship is because they mean everything to you. And only they can mean that. You’ll see.”

  His response makes my heart bristle, but I can’t say definitively that I don’t believe him.

  And that’s what scares me.

  12

  Sinclair

  “I’m so damn excited.”

  I rub my hands together, my stomach growling.

  Sitting across from me at one of Fort Myers’ most infamous seafood spots is Frankie, looking gorgeous in a matching bright red crop top and skirt. She looks feminine and sexy, and I think once again that this woman is an enigma. At work, she’s always in exercise gear with her hair pulled up, makeup free. At her apartment, we’re usually naked, or we pull on bathing suits and run into the sea.

  Then here she is, sitting before me, all done up. She’s beautiful any way you slice it, but she seems so comfortable in each one of those roles. It’s impressive and keeps me on the edge of my seat. I’m not sure a woman has ever done that for me before.

  “You just had to get your crab legs.” Those full lips, painted a bright red to match her outfit and hair, tip up in a smirk.

  Red, everything about her is red. And she makes me an inferno; when I’m near her, I burn hotter than the sun.

  “Hell, I didn’t get them that day on Sanibel. You insisted we go to The Bubble Room, though it was pretty cool.”

  I reach across the table and join our hands. Technically, this is our first official date. I picked her up at her place, brought flowers, escorted her around, and closed her car door, and now here we are.

  It’s strange, taking a woman on a date. I haven’t done it much before, if ever. I usually met girls at a party; we boozed it up and then went up to whatever spare bedroom was available. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever officially had a girlfriend before. That would require romance and staying sober for more than three hours in a day—none of which I did before.

  But Frankie makes me want to do that. She makes me want to try harder, be better so that she sees me the way I hope she does.

  “And I’ll take you to The Pecking Order when we go this weekend.” She smiles.

  This weekend. She’s already presumed I’m spending it with her, which I love. We’re quickly becoming the only people each other see outside the ballpark, and I’m not complaining. The only thing I want to do is spend all my time with her anyway.

  “But for now, we’re cracking crabs.” My eyes go wide as the server sets down the baskets we ordered.

  They smell like Old Bay and lemon, and the mounds of Alaskan King crab, potatoes, and crawfish has my mouth watering.

  “Oh God, I forgot how much I love the food at this place.” Frankie puts her napkin around her neck like a bib.

  Christ. This woman is quickly becoming the only thing I see. She isn’t embarrassed to wear her napkin like a bib in front of me. In fact, she doesn’t even think twice. She doesn’t care about eating in front of me. When she snorts or trips or does something that most women wouldn’t want a man to witness, she doesn’t even blink.

  Frankie is the most confident woman I’ve ever encountered, and it is such a turn-on.

  “Let’s get it cracking,” I joke, but dig in at the same time.

  We both pick up our shell crackers and go to work. Frankie is hysterically laughing two minutes in, as crab juice seems to fly everywhere each time either of us gets a good portion of the shells open. Using our hands, we suck out the meat, and it’s salty and delicious and everything I wanted.

  “My God, this is good.” She sighs, patting her stomach and assessing her plate.

  We’re both only halfway through, but my arms need a rest, and with the richness in the broth, potatoes, and sides of corn on the cob they brought, I need a break.

  “How’s work going?” Frankie wipes her mouth with her napkin and blinks expectantly at me.

  Nick and the guys have actually let me take on some more responsibility. I got to write the question set for an in-depth interview with our first basemen last week, and then Trevor even let me conduct an interview piece with a few guys on what their favorite toy was growing up. It was just a silly interest piece that will play on the Jumbotron during breaks in play, but it felt good to be the one pitching them the questions and getting some more fun tidbits out of them. Even Nick gave me a pat on the back for some of the great content we got.

  Then I had a lesson in Photoshop with Jeffrey and made a kick-ass-looking graphic for new marketing material they’re going to use around the stadium. And through all of that, I didn’t have one dyslexia flare-up. I’ve been quizzing myself in my alone time, working on some materials I found online to help me. It’s not like you have a tutor when you’re eight and dyslexia goes away; it’s a lifelong problem. Like anything, you have to keep your mind sharp and practice. So that’s what I’m trying to do.

  We don’t really talk shop, so I’m a bit suspicious of her question. “It’s good. Why?”

  Has she heard something?

  Her sneaky smile confirms that she has. “I bumped into Trevor. He obviously doesn’t know anything about what we’re doing, but he let slip that the new guy was actually doing a good job. Said you interviewed the hell out of Hobbs, the first basemen. Apparently, he’s notoriously closed-off. And you helped him come out of his shell. I just kept holding in my laugh. You could get a cat to sing about eating the canary, Sinclair.”

  I shrug. “It’s a gift.”

  “I’m serious, you’re really very good at getting people to open up.” Her violet eyes convey just how genuine she’s being.

  I almost blush at the compliment. Not many people tell me I’m good at many things. “Well, thanks. I’m actually really enjoying it, which is rare for me when it comes to work. I’ve not found something I’m passionate about yet, but this might be it.”

  Frankie snorts. “I haven’t found much outside of work I’m passionate about. That’s why I want to succeed so much. If only the Pistons management would see they need a female amongst their highest ranks in the strength department.”

  I feel guilty at times that she’s confiding in me about her job. A job that is for my family, though she doesn’t know that. The things she says about the organization, about the people inside it, Frankie would never tell me those things if she knew I was a Callahan. But maybe it’s better this way. She can open up to
me without the roadblock of my family name in front of us.

  Still, I dread the day she finds me out. She’ll hate me, that’s for sure. I push it to the back of my mind for the thousandth time and focus on what she’s saying.

  “You’ll get there. They’d be idiots not to promote you quickly.” And it’s not a lie. My father would be the biggest idiot, but now that Colleen is in charge, she’ll get it done.

  “I got to meet Colleen Callahan a few weeks back. That woman is amazing. What she’s been able to do in just a few short seasons is more than any of those men have done for a long time. I also met her cousin, Walker. Nice guy. Seems like he works hard, and he always treats the staff well.”

  Again, talking to me about my own brother. Who she has no idea is my brother. How she hasn’t discovered my lie yet, I have no idea. But I thank the foolish gods who are leaving it be.

  The thing is, I like who I am with her. I like what we’re forming, how we’re developing this relationship. If I have to be completely honest, I’m falling hard for a woman for the first time in my life. If she knew who I really am, she probably wouldn’t want me. And that might be ironic because how can she want someone who is lying to her, but I just need more time being this Sinclair.

  And I need more time with her. I can’t imagine letting her go, though we haven’t talked about what happens after spring training. She has no idea that I could stay here, that I could move her into my family’s compound. She has no idea the life I could give us. I want to; I want to give it all to her. That’s just insane, right? Seeing as how I’ve only known the woman for mere weeks.

  But it doesn’t feel crazy.

  “Let’s forget about work. We’re here to crack crabs. And then later, I think I’ll split you and feast, too.”

  My corny innuendo has Frankie chuckling. “You’re too much.”