We both look down at our half-nude states of dress and laugh at the same time. I’ve pretty much been living in those mesh undies they give you at the hospital, while changing out my pad every half an hour. That and a nursing bra have made up my attire. Sin changes his boxers every day but doesn’t bother putting much else on, which I’m a-okay with.
“You know, you inviting my mom over is not going to end well. She’s never going to leave.” Sin chuckles.
He’s kind of right. His mom and dad have been over twice now, the first day we got home from the hospital and then two days ago. His mom keeps asking if I want her to stay with us, but I know she just doesn’t want to give the baby snuggles up. I can’t blame her.
“We should probably get up and get dressed, throw the poopy blow out clothes in the laundry, and wash one of the seventeen bottles in the sink before they get here.”
I’m breastfeeding but also pumping so that Easton can get used to a bottle, too. We’ve been a little preoccupied to keep up with the house cleaning, and I told Sinclair I didn’t want a maid or a cleaning lady in here for a while. I’ll sit in our filth if it means not having strangers walking in and out of rooms while we’re bonding with Easton. But his parents might be offended that the baby’s nursery smells like straight-up shit, so I should get on that.
Sin gives a sigh of annoyance but rolls carefully over the baby to mount me. He sinks between my legs, careful not to put too much pressure on my healing body. It’s still five more weeks until we can have sex, and I know the man is in agony but patiently waiting. Though we’re kissing. A lot. Like right now, when his expert lips find mine and work me to the point of tingly tension even as I basically wear an adult diaper.
“So, can you admit you were wrong? That soul mates do exist?” Sinclair smirks at me haughtily.
“Hm, I see you’ve been talking to Walker.” Little snitch.
“And? Do you believe now?” he presses.
“No, I do believe soul mates exist now. You just have to birth them first.” I glance lovingly down at our son, who is still fast asleep on the bed, just a tiny little bundle on the big mattress.
“I don’t believe that, beautiful. I think you know you’re my soul mate.”
I think I know that, too, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Sometimes, I just have to leave these Callahan men on their toes.
After all, he swept me off mine when I was least expecting it.
Epilogue
Sinclair
Four Months Later
Wind gently slides through the trees in our backyard, sending some of the debris of long-fallen autumn leaves twirling around the patio.
It’s not yet spring in Packton, so it’s still chilly, but we had to venture outside. It’s the first day since Easton’s birth that it hasn’t been positively freezing, and that’s cause for all of us to bundle up and take the little guy outside for his first real family barbecue.
“Who decided on a barbecue?” Hayes shivers.
The guy is totally not used to Pennsylvania weather, still, with his California blood.
“We needed a family day, and Easton needs some fresh air. And hamburgers can never be a bad thing,” Mom argues, giving him a play-along look.
The whole crew is here: my parents, Walker and Hannah with their girls, Hayes and Colleen brought Isaiah, and Whitney is on her way with Ian and the boys. Dahlia, Hannah’s sister, also tagged along, and I invited Garrett since he doesn’t have anyone to spend much time with here. It also might be the last time we’re all together in this house. Frankie and I decided to sell it, since it’s a huge ode to my bachelor days. I don’t like the memories I have here and want to create a home that Frankie and I design together. So we’re listing this one and on the hunt for the perfect house that makes us both feel something in our bones.
The last four months have brought all of us closer together as an extended family, with one little boy bridging all the bonds. Easton is a ray of light, and I spend most of my days either thinking about him, holding him, or trying to steal him out of Frankie’s arms. I rush home from work each day, sprinting from the stadium, eager to get home to the two of them. My family.
“You ready for spring training?” Walker asks Frankie as we all sit around the outdoor table.
“To get back to my stomping grounds? Hell yes.” She looks over at Easton where I hold the almost-sleeping baby in my arms. “Going to show this little man the ocean for the first time.”
I know how excited she is to fly to Florida in two days. The three of us are going down for the entirety of spring training. Not only will Frankie be going back to work, training some of the major league players down there, for the first time since Easton was born, but this will be our first big family trip. Her only stipulation was not staying on the Callahan compound. She wants her space and a view of the ocean, which I was all too happy to oblige. Frankie spends so much time with my family, and they all love each other, but Florida is her domain. Plus, I kind of can’t wait to wake up in the house I rented with its beachfront balconies overlooking the surf each morning.
“You ready to be back?” Colleen asks, a worried look on her face.
She and Frankie have been talking about Frankie’s maternity leave ending, and Col just wants to make sure she’s one hundred percent ready. Seth, and a lot of other employees, encouraged her to take a full year. But I know the woman I love; even though Frankie loves Easton more than anything, she’d go insane sitting at home for a year.
“So ready. I’m going to kick my ass and everyone else’s in that gym. Be ready.” She points at Walker and Garrett, who seem to cower.
There is no doubt she’s been itching to get back in the gym and train her players. And I’ve missed her in the building. Even though I’m hard at work in the marketing department, and really enjoying my role, I miss going down to the weight room to pull her away for lunch. I’m also looking forward to staying in Florida for a couple of months. It’s the place we met, the place we fell in love. Going back to the Pistons’ southern facility with our son and our love intact will be a definite change, but an amazing one.
“I want a turn. I love that new baby smell.” Dahlia stalks up to me and scoops up my son right out of my arms.
She’s living in Walker and Hannah’s guest house, a little cottage on their property they built for her. I’m not sure if she’s there permanently or what, but she and Frankie have a similar sense of humor, and she’s watched Easton for us on the two dates we’ve been out on since he was born.
“What’s her deal?” Garrett asks.
“Don’t even think about it.” Walker points a stern finger in his direction.
But Garrett, he doesn’t bother to wipe the wolfish, interested grin off his face.
Uh-oh, I sense trouble there. I’ll have to talk to him about that, warn my friend off, but not now.
Now, I’m focused on my wife dancing with our son to a song only she seems able to hear. She stole the baby back from Dahlia, and the two of them are slowly twirling around the patio.
Easton bobbles his still wobbly neck back and forth, trying to get a good view of his favorite person. Hey, bud, I know how you feel, she’s my favorite too, I think to myself. When his big indigo eyes do latch onto her face, he smiles so wide that you’d have to be dead not to return it. My son isn’t even directing it at me, and I’m grinning like a fool.
And not just at him, but at the woman I love. The one who agreed to marry me on a random Tuesday when I told her I felt like going to the courthouse and doing it. It was becoming a thing in our family, courthouse weddings, and mom definitely wasn’t thrilled. But I just couldn’t wait. And no way was Frankie a big wedding kind of woman. We wanted to be together, so we were, and that was as much nuptial bliss as we needed.
She catches my eye, sees me watching her, and mouths I love you before planting approximately one thousand kisses on Easton’s chunky cheek.
The two greatest loves of my life. Who would
have thought I’d land here, on my feet and actually thriving?
There were many times over the course of my adult life that I didn’t think something like this would ever be possible. But now that I have it, I see that every mistake and wrong turn kept me fighting, led me here.
Well, that, and a push from Dad, a little Florida magic …
And the snarky tongue of a woman who never stops surprising me. The only woman who could ever possibly hold my attention.
Sneak peek of Control Artist
Anxious to find out what happens between Dahlia and Garrett? Pre-order Control Artist, book four in the Callahan Family series, and read on for a sneak peek!
Control Artist
Prologue
Garrett
Two Months Ago
Jesus Christ, this chick is making my mouth water.
Sorry, Lord, I didn’t mean to take your name in vain, and my mama would probably whoop me upside the head if she knew I did. But, I feel that in this moment, it’s appropriate.
Because she’s just over there, her frayed jean shorts giving me more than a peek at the curve of her ass cheeks, standing at a family barbecue as if she isn’t making every guy here sprout a stiffy.
She looks like that Disney princess, the one on the island who is always staring at the edge of the water; all exotic curves, big blue eyes and long black hair. Except hers is stick straight, brushing against the swell of her incredible ass. An ass that could definitely put me into a trance if she was performing a hula dance.
“What’s her deal?” I ask it without ever taking my eyes off the chick.
“Don’t even think about it.” Walker, one of my teammates, barks.
But in typical fashion, I don’t even bother to conceal the wolfish, interested grin on my face. I get it, though, now that I’m really looking. This bombshell looks similar to Walker’s wife, Hannah. If Hannah weren’t the kindest, most girl-next-door person I’ve ever met. If Hannah were sex on very luscious legs and flaunting it for the world to see.
She must be related to my teammate’s wife, and from his point of view, he had good reason to not want me anywhere near her. After all, I was getting quite the playboy reputation in the league … and I’m not going to lie and say that most of it isn’t true.
But that’s what happens when you’re a twenty-three year old male playing sports as a profession and earning millions of dollars. Millions of dollars when you came from a dirt road and pinching pennies. Some days there weren’t even pennies to pinch.
So yes, I may be overdoing it. The fast cars, the sexy women, the alcohol and partying and flashy lifestyle I never could have dreamed of. But who could blame me, really?
Certainly none of these rich folks. I was sitting on Sinclair Callahan’s patio, which was five times bigger than the postage stamp trailer I grew up in. His deck, the backyard of his house, was more grandiose than the dwelling I’d occupied for the first eighteen years of my life. No, none of them would understand why I was going a little insane on my newfound power, money and fame.
Sinclair, his wife Frankie, and their baby Easton are dancing to music that doesn’t seem to exist to the rest of us while they coo to the baby. He’s in matrimonial, and parental, bliss, and I’ve never seen the guy so happy. We struck up a friendship when he first got to Florida a year ago, where I’d just been called up to play for the major league team his family had owned for generations. Now here we are, hanging out with his family in Packton, Pennsylvania, where I’m a full time resident since I’ll be the starting pitcher for the Pistons during the upcoming season.
He invited me to this barbecue because he felt bad for me, I know it even if he didn’t say it. I’m alone here in town, not that it bothers me. I’m good at riding solo. I’m excellent at looking out for me and pleasing my needs above everyone else’s.
Plus, I stick out like a sore thumb. Aside from his little family unit, his brother, Walker, and his wife Hannah are here with their two girls. Then there is his cousin, Colleen, who is also the general manager of the Pistons. Sitting beside her is her husband, Hayes Swindell, who is a baseball legend in every sense of the word. He retired two seasons ago, but I’m still in awe as I sit in the same vicinity as him … no matter how cocky I am. Their foster son is horsing around in the backyard, and apparently there are more Callahan kids on the way.
And rounding out the family gathering are Sinclair’s parents, which includes his father, Daniel, otherwise known as the owner of the Packton Pistons. I admit, I’m intimidated watching my owner and general manager let their hair down. But no intimated enough to have a little fun with Walker.
“She single? Where does she fit in with y’all rich schmucks?” I wink at him, and he looks like he wants to rip out my throat with his teeth.
“She is my sister-in-law. And off limits. I know how you treat the women you take home, Chester. Don’t you dare.” The team and family golden boy is touchy, apparently.
“I treat them to multiple orgasms, thank you very much.” I take a long swig of my beer.
Sinclair walks over as I say it, and chuckles under his breath. “You know there are children present, right?”
I shrug. “You’re the one who invited me to this. You know exactly how I am, Sin.”
He and I have had many conversations about how I remind him of his younger self. And from the stories I’ve heard, Sinclair was a badass, fuck-the-world type before he got sober and met Frankie. So he should know exactly what I’m like.
“I’d listen to Walker. He’ll kick your ass. Or maybe Dahlia will, I think I’d like to see that.” Sinclair quips.
“She once kicked a guy in the balls who groped her at bar.” Hannah, Walker’s wife and apparently Dahlia’s sister, cocks her head to the side as she walks up.
We all stare in the direction of her sister, who is running around with her nieces in the backyard. Her ass cheeks jiggle and I watch the bounce of her tits as she moves. Fuck, I would carry her upstairs caveman-style if she crooked her finger at me.
“It would be worth the pain if it meant a shot with her.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“It’s your death wish.” Sinclair pats me on the shoulder.
The rest of the afternoon is somewhat boring, with more food and conversation about kids and other banal topics. The only joy I get is when Hayes and Walker start talking about baseball games that happened before I was even born, and going over stats and our favorite players. I think they’re somewhat surprised that I can rifle off the ERA, or earned run average, of many pitchers from the seventies until present times.
What they don’t realize is that baseball is all I’ve ever known. This sport is my life, my meal ticket out. I’ve studied this game inside and out. I spent many nights on my fold out couch of a bed, in that dank trailer, with a flashlight under my threadbare blanket. I’d shine it on old baseball magazines, baseball cards I’d spend my entire lunch money to buy. Yes, I’d go hungry just to get a taste of the sport I love so much.
There is a reason I have a leg up on so many players in the league. Sure, there are guys who grew up poor like me. Those who breathe this sport and love it just as much. But this is my only option. It runs in my veins. And therefore, I have to pursue it like my next breath is my dying one. If I didn’t have baseball, I’d end up in a double wide right next to my parents.
I’d be destined for a life living in the dirt, scrounging for scraps.
Which is why I’d vowed to be the best damn pitcher this league had ever seen.
Dahlia walks up onto the patio, breathing heavier as if she’d just been sprinting around after rambunctious kids. Which she has been. And without a word, walks into the house.
The woman doesn’t even spare me a glance. Me. The guy who has women crawling all over him no matter if it’s in public or not. My ego takes a hard shot … maybe even to the nuts like her sister described.
I decide to press my luck, because this gathering is damn boring and I can’t help myself. I follow her into Sinclair
’s massive mansion, and follow the sounds of running water.
She’s standing at the sink, slightly bent at the middle scrubbing whatever she’s trying to get clean. It highlights her ass, and I get an overwhelming urge to wrap that black mane around me fist and pull her back against me.
“Need any help?” I flash my eyes at her, knowing this party trick has worked on various types of women before.
Flicking that sharp chin over her shoulders, those baby blues assess me before turning back to the faucet. “I’m good.”
“I can see that.” My voice is laced with charm as I settle in right next to her, invading some of her personal space.
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch, lean away, or even do much of anything. No, she just keeps right on scrubbing the inside of that purple cup. Probably one of the kid’s cups, not that I care. I only want to get under her skin. Or have her under mine.
“What’re you doing after this, darlin’?” Enthusing my voice with a little extra southern charm might help.
She snorts. “Not going home with you. Since that’s what you’re insinuating. Listen, Garret, is it? I’ve seen you making fuck-me eyes all afternoon in my direction. The answer is no.”
I’m not one to be shocked or taken off guard, but damn, this woman just accomplished both.
“You haven’t even heard my proposal. Come on, you know it would be the best time of your life.” I’m cocky, sue me.
The water splashes up a little, leaving flecks of soap on her gorgeous cheek bone that I’d like to kiss away and then nibble at the skin underneath. A gorgeous cheek bone? Shit, everything about this woman was turning me on.
“I’m pretty sure I could achieve the same thing with a vibrator.” She rolls her eyes, framed with long, black lashes.
I notice then that her face is virtually makeup free, and she’s still more beautiful than any of the done-up supermodels I’ve been with.
Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3) Page 19
