Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3)

by Carrie Aarons

  I chuckle good-naturedly. “No worries at all. It is, actually, a boy’s name. But my real name is Francesca. I just go by Frankie for short.”

  “Oh, you’re Frankie! Where is my brain? Hi, I’m Hannah, Walker Callahan’s wife. He’s been talking about you and the strength program since spring training.”

  She sticks out her hand for me to shake, and I blanch. Walker’s wife. The Walker whose brother is the man I’m having a baby with, though none of them probably know that.

  “Oh, hi, it’s so nice to meet you.” I try to keep my voice calm and friendly, even as I’m internally freaking out.

  “When are you due? Gosh, sometimes I miss having that belly.” Hannah smiles warmly at my bump.

  “January.” My nod is strained as I try to keep my cool.

  “A winter baby. That was my Noelle. Born in the middle of a snowstorm here. Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?” This very nice woman is chatting about babies without knowing that the one in my belly is technically related to her.

  “A baby boy. I can finally feel him kicking, too. Pregnancy is so strange.”

  “So strange!” she agrees. “But beautiful. And scary. And so many other things. It’s your first?”

  “Yes.” A complete surprise, though she doesn’t need to know that.

  “I wish you such good luck with it, and a healthy baby!” She looks like she might be going, and I’ll be off the hook.

  Like I said, I have mac n cheese waiting for me.

  “Hannah, Walker, and I were waiting—” Colleen Callahan cuts herself off as she sees me talking to her cousin-in-law. “Oh, Frankie. Hey, good to see you.”

  I know she knows, simply in the way she’s looking at me. Colleen Callahan may be a powerful woman who wields her authority over a bunch of rowdy athletes and stubborn coaches, but she has zero poker face.

  “Sinclair told you,” I say coolly, because I have no idea what she must think of me.

  I’m also not putting up with bullshit any longer, even if this woman is my boss’s boss’s boss. I’ve never been the type to dance around things, and I have even less tolerance for it now that I’m pregnant.

  “What about Sinclair?” Hannah looks up, preoccupied with her youngest daughter trying to dance down the hallway while pulling her mother’s hand.

  “I’ll be right out, Han.” Colleen is trying to kindly dismiss her.

  Hannah seems to take the hint, but she eyes me curiously. “It was nice meeting you. Hope to see you around here some time. Coll, we should have a dinner. Introduce her to the Parmesan fries at Hudson’s.”

  “It was nice to meet you,” I tell her because it genuinely was.

  After Hannah exits out the double metal doors, going in search of Walker, my general manager resumes the conversation.

  “I hear we’re going to be family.” Colleen smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  I can’t imagine what the Callahans think of me. Oh shit, do they think I came here to trap Sinclair? God, I must look like some kind of slut. Some jersey chaser, even though Sinclair doesn’t play. I’m the gold digger in their minds.

  “No, not you and me.” It sounds harsh, but I’m just being factual. “This baby, yes.”

  The way I’m talking to her could probably get me fired, but I don’t seem to care at this moment. Protectively, I wrap an arm around my belly. This baby, whether I like it or not, will be born with Callahan blood. It will be entitled to something, and I will never stand in the way of my son getting to know his family. As someone who has no one but my own mother, I know how isolating that can be.

  Colleen surveys the hallway, trying to ascertain if anyone is listening, then turns back to me.

  “Frankie, I don’t mean anything by my words. It’s an awkward situation, I admit that. But I think very highly of you, and if you hear any misgivings in my voice, it’s only because I don’t know how to approach you about this. I’m excited, truth be told. My family loves babies, heck we have enough of them to kiss and smell that newborn smell constantly. And if I am being honest, I’m thrilled for Sinclair. He might be a little messy, but he is a good person. He’ll make a great father.”

  I sigh, a little relieved that she isn’t chewing me out about trying to trap him or something. “I know he will.”

  He might doubt that fact, but I know how well he’s going to take care of this baby if he wants to be a part of its life permanently.

  “And it’s not my place, but I’ll say it anyway, because I feel like I have to take up for him. If there is any chance between you and Sin working things out, give it to him. He has had a tough past, and he’s put in a lot of work. I see the way he looks at you, talks about you. He cares for you, Frankie. Maybe I’m a mush right now, being that I’m in the process of adopting a child of my own. But you both deserve happiness.”

  I bristle a bit at her getting involved in my love life, especially to campaign for her flesh and blood. But nothing she said steps over the line or is anything that I haven’t thought to myself in private.

  But with all of the obstacles in our way, I’m just not sure romance is in our future. A flicker of hope goes through me that she might have gotten the idea from Sinclair. And then another flicker, this one annoyance at my stupidity, hits me square in the heart. The guy lied to my face for three months. He’s not getting me back that easy, if ever.

  “Thanks for not … having a problem with this.” I’m not sure what to say or how to proceed.

  Colleen delivers an understanding look. “I know that this is complicated. I want you to know you’ll always have a place in this organization, first and foremost. And you may not want to take me up on this, Sinclair being my cousin and all, but I do genuinely like you, Frankie. If you need a friend here, well, I’m here.”

  The gesture is nice, although she’s right; I’m not sure I’ll take her up on it. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’m going to get off my feet. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow?”

  She nods. “I don’t miss a single one. I’ll probably come down and stop by the coach’s seats.”

  As a strength coach, it’s not essential I go to games, though I have a standing reserved ticket to them all if I want to use it. I’ll be at every one, so long as I feel good this season. I want to see how my approach with each player is working in real time.

  Colleen and I bid each other farewell, and then I hightail it to the parking lot before I can run into any more Callahans.

  My stomach gurgles as I buckle into the car.

  There were times when I relished that sound, when it made me feel sated. Being hungry was an art form, one I perfected. I was sick. So sick.

  There are still days I want to go to the bathroom, kneel in front of the toilet, and heave it all up. You wouldn’t understand if you never struggled with an eating disorder, but there is a power in it. A control aspect that fills you with this … morbid satisfaction.

  I’ve been recovered for years now, more years than I was ever actively bulimic, but there are still days. As with all addictions, it’s a part of me now, a thorn in my side that bleeds from time to time.

  Since learning of my pregnancy, though, I’ve been extra careful to be grateful when it comes to food. To give my body whatever it wants, to feed my baby both the healthy stuff and the indulgent. I feel my body working in the most wondrous way possible, and I get emotional sometimes thinking that this miracle happened.

  It is a miracle, one I questioned ever getting to do. One of the side effects of sustained, long-term bulimia, or any eating disorder, is infertility. It’s a slim chance, but I’d convinced myself I probably wouldn’t be able to have a baby because of what I’d done to my body.

  I rub my bump as I steer the car toward home.

  “Let’s go savor some bacon and pasta and cheese, little man.”

  24

  Frankie

  Finally, after two weeks of deliberating, procrastinating, and overthinking every decision, I reach out to Sinclair.

&n
bsp; I ask him to meet me at Packton’s local coffee shop, Buzz Coffee & Tea, to discuss everything over a cup of coffee. Or, in my case, decaffeinated tea with honey since I already drank my one cup of bean juice for the day.

  We agree on two p.m., but I show up earlier, wanting to be the first one at the table. That way, I give myself a few minutes to breathe deeply, to harness my calm so that I don’t fly off the handle because I’m still so pissed about all the lying.

  I’m seated at one of the quaint little wood tables with mismatched red chairs when Sinclair walks through the door.

  “Heya, Joe,” he says to the owner as the bell jingles upon his entrance to the coffee shop.

  “Sin! Good to see you. The regular?” Joe asks.

  Sinclair nods, and my heart aches a little. I used to be a regular back in Fort Myers. I miss my usual spots, the people who knew me, and my orders. It gave me a sense of home. Here, in Packton, I know I can get to that level with locals. But I’m not there yet, and watching people be so friendly and familiar makes me ache for a sense of belonging in this community.

  I quickly forget about that, though, when Sinclair walks over to the table and pulls out the chair.

  “Is it okay if I sit?” he asks.

  Looking at him, I gulp. It’s just … looking at him is like looking at the sun. He’s too damn beautiful. How is his skin still a warm olive tone, even though it’s October? Those eyes, I forgot how blue they are and seem to see to the depths of my soul. Since I saw him last, he’s grown a good amount of stubble, on the verge of a beard. I almost want to reach out and touch it, run my hands over his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones.

  I nod and Sinclair shrugs off his jacket, and I get a good long look at his strong biceps encased in a tight gray thermal. My body physically aches at the memory of him holding me in those bare arms.

  God, I need to get laid. My hormones have been on overdrive since getting pregnant, and clearly, I’m going insane because I kind of want to jump Sinclair’s bones right in this coffee shop.

  “Of course, I asked you here after all.”

  He joins me at the table, and we don’t start talking until Joe comes over to set his coffee down in front of him.

  “You look beautiful. I didn’t get to, uh, tell you that the couple times I saw you.” His gaze roams over me, landing on my belly.

  “Thank you.” I feel my cheeks heat with a blush.

  “How are you feeling? Has it been hard? Were you sick?” Did he get these typical questions from some baby book?

  My head shakes, my red curls bouncing around the periphery of my eyes. “No, not sick at all. I just haven’t really wanted to eat meat; the smell gets to me. And I had some high blood pressure, but it cleared itself up.”

  “Good, good.” Sinclair peers down at his coffee, then takes a drink.

  An awkward silence descends, and I’m tired of skating around why we’re actually here.

  “I want to know why you lied about who you are. And you want to know why I didn’t call you about the baby. Let’s just do it, no anger or fighting.”

  Because we keep blowing up at each other and getting nowhere.

  “Fair enough.” Sinclair’s voice is quiet. “I lied because I’ve been a Callahan my entire life. The expectation, the judgment, the assumptions everyone makes. And then I met you, and you didn’t know. It was a breath of fresh air. I’m the black sheep, the bad apple of the family. For three months, at least with you, I got a clean slate. I could be the person I’d always wanted to be. I could be good in your eyes, worthy. So I lied. I’m so sorry, Francesca. It was unfair, so unfair to do to you. I should have come clean, and I didn’t. Even though you won’t believe me, I wish you’d give me the benefit of the doubt. I might have faked a name, but I never faked who I was with you. That was me, to my core.”

  My throat is so tight with emotion I can barely breathe. Despite my resolve to be unaffected, to rebuke any attempt he makes at making me believe him … I do believe him. Swallowing feels like fighting against a flood of tears, but I do it and clear my throat.

  Ignoring any response about his lies, I admit my fault in this.

  “I never called about the baby because you left. You left, and didn’t really seem like you wanted to discuss us being, well, anything to each other anymore. I know we might not have been serious, but you could have manned up and spoken to me before you got on a plane. There was no closure. I didn’t really think you would care to know we had made this baby.”

  “You knew I would care about a baby, about getting you pregnant. Don’t lie to me now. And … we were serious.” He looks down, deep in thought. “I should have talked to you. I shouldn’t have left.”

  The cracks that broke apart the pieces of my heart when he left, the ones I’ve always refused to acknowledge, seem to widen with his confession. At least I’m not the only one who thought we were more than just hookup buddies.

  “So, there it is.” My head bobs up and down as if on a string.

  “Where do we go from here? Because I want this baby. First and foremost, let me say that. I want him.”

  “Who told you it’s a boy?” I gasp, my hands resting on my bump.

  “Colleen told me, by accident. Though I’m happy she did. It makes it feel more real, since I haven’t been here for most of your pregnancy. A little boy. We’re going to have a son.”

  The way he breaks out in a smile, as if he can’t help it, as if it’s contagious … it hits me in all the feely places.

  “Yes, a little boy.” I return his smile. “Would you want to come to my next ob-gyn appointment? I’ll be having an ultrasound, so you can see him.”

  I offer this, knowing how big of an olive branch it is.

  But I decided on it before I even got here. I’ve done so many of them alone, and Sinclair should be able to be a part of this process. No matter what’s going on with our relationship, part of being a good mother is allowing a child to know their other parent. Especially if that other parent is as decent a human as Sinclair, despite his lies to get in my bed. I know his heart is pure.

  “Could I?” So much hesitant hope in his voice. “I would love that, if you’re comfortable. I want to see him.”

  I have to ignore the way my eyes prick with emotion at his excitement. “I’ll text you with the appointment details.”

  “I’ll be there. Early. I could pick you up, if you want to go together.”

  The thing is, I do want to go together. I can’t stop my stupid fantasies about being a couple, about welcoming our son into the world together. But I’ve given him a small piece of me, even if it’s tiny. I can’t dole out anymore, or I’ll feel comfortable giving in to everything. And I’m just … the trust isn’t there. I’m not sure it’ll ever be restored.

  “I’ll just see you there,” I say firmly, giving a curt nod.

  “Oh. Okay.” Sinclair looks disappointed, just like my heart feels.

  A pang of guilt goes through me; this man is the father of my child, and I’m keeping him away. Not from our child, but from me. Which, in some situations, could affect our child. Wouldn’t it be better if this little boy grew up in a two-parent household? I never did, and I wouldn’t say I’m less because of it, but I wonder sometimes what it would have been like.

  My head is even more screwed up than it was before Sinclair sat down at this table, and I know for my own self-preservation I have to get out of here.

  “There are some things I need to do for work, so I need to go.” I unhook my purse from the back of the chair and brace my hand on my belly to stand.

  I’m growing larger by the day, and soon I’ll stop fitting in my normal-sized shirts. As it is, the hems barely stretch over my bump.

  Sinclair’s chair scrapes the floor as he jumps to action, taking my elbow and helping me up. Just that small point of contact, his hand on my arm, sparks a wildfire through my blood. Our gazes catch, just inches apart, and we both feel the blaze.

  I have to force myself to look away.
>
  “Can I help you to your car? Are you going to be okay?” His concern is sweet, but I hide my reaction.

  “I’m pregnant, Sinclair, not paralyzed. I’ll be fine, us pregnant women walk around every day.”

  Those full lips separate into a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just … I’ve never done this.”

  My heart warms, and I give him a bit of leeway. “I haven’t either. That’s why … we can try and learn together.”

  With the way he’s looking at me, so much hope in those baby blues, my stomach fills with butterflies. Even after his lies and my omissions, maybe we can find our way back. Or at least co-parent effectively.

  I feel Sinclair’s eyes on me as we leave the coffee shop, as I walk to my car, and even as I drive away. He’s looking out for me.

  A little piece of the ice I froze around my heart when he left begins to melt.

  25

  Sinclair

  Being home alone leads me to think, and those thoughts usually turn negative.

  It’s why I’m always keeping myself out and about, staying late at the stadium to do work no one else wants to do, or invading my family’s homes so that their chatter replaces the string of thoughts going on in my head.

  But today, I find myself unusually home alone on a day off, and it’s making me anxious. I woke up and cooked a full breakfast, eating it on the patio even in the brisk cold of the Pennsylvania late autumn. Then I cleaned the bathrooms, all six of them, hoping the bleach would wash out my traitorous brain. Next came a vicious run in my basement gym; Metallica dialed all the way up as I pounded out five miles. Not even the workout exhausted me like I thought it would.

  I tried to watch some TV but kept zoning out. Video games were much of the same. I logged into my stock market trades and tried to play around but found that typically rousing activity boring as well.

  So I decided to give in, taking a seat on my couch and letting my mind just wander. My sponsor, a middle-aged English teacher, named Henry who is fair and honest, is always talking about sitting with my thoughts, letting them work themselves out. He doesn’t realize just how fucking scary of a place my mind is.