Stealing Home (Callahan Family Book 2)

by Carrie Aarons

  I know that if he takes the plea, my husband will be in jail, that someday the girls will learn what that means about their father. I know I will be painted as vindictive, selfish, and a rat by a lot of people, especially those fans who are diehard for Shane.

  But if I can end this turmoil now, if it can be settled and I can move on to the next phase, divorce, then I’d like to try.

  The doors of the courtroom open, and Shane walks in with his lawyers. I keep my eyes straight on the judge’s stand, just like Laurel has instructed me. It’s bad enough I have to forgo my restraining order today to be in the same room as the man who put me in the hospital, I don’t need to give him the satisfaction of mentally breaking me down.

  My skin prickles with awareness, and I can feel Shane’s eyes on me. I know his gaze, how it feels on my body. I even know what he will look like if I turn my head; smug, with a sizzle of heat in his dark brown eyes. He’ll be wearing his most apologetic expression, but underneath, those eyes will be mocking me, challenging me to stop this nonsense.

  I wish, for just one moment, that someone familiar could grip my hand and squeeze it.

  No one can be here with me today, unfortunately, besides Laurel. If Shane and his lawyers reject the deal, and if they can’t get the case dismissed, then it will go to trial. In which case, witnesses will need to be called, including Walker, Hayes, and Colleen. They were all there that night, had given their statements to the police, and are a solid lineup to back up our case. But how I wish they could be here. Dahlia had to stay home with the girls, I wanted them nowhere near this, and I could use a bit of moral support.

  Walker texted me—I gave him my new number after the night in his truck—this morning with a fortifying thought; You’re the strongest woman I know. Just breathe.

  Simply thinking of it now keeps my eyes glued front and center, keeps me from breaking and turning to look at my husband.

  “All rise for the honorable Judge Benner,” the court officer says, and the dozen or so people in the room stand on their feet.

  “We’ve got this.” Laurel nods to me, whispering under her breath.

  The judge, a slight woman with graying hair in her mid-fifties, enters and nods at the room. “Please be seated. We’re here today for a pre-trial hearing in the matter of Travitt County vs. Giraldi.”

  She goes over the specifics of the case, highlighting the charges and our current marital status. Then Judge Brenner addresses Laurel.

  “Ms. Phillipson, I understand you have extended a plea deal?”

  Laurel stands. “We have, your honor. Six months incarceration, followed by two years of probation and an extended batterer’s program. Considering the injuries he inflicted on the plaintiff, and that these are gross misdemeanor charges, we think this is more than fair.”

  The judge looks over some paperwork in front of her, nods, and then looks at Shane’s table. “Mr. Vivant, does your client accept this plea deal?”

  I know his lawyer is rising, but I keep my eyes trained forward. Inside, I’m coming apart at the seams. But I will not give them an inch on the outside.

  “He does not, your honor. My client maintains his innocence, and any jail time is not acceptable to him. We will take our chances at trial.”

  My heart sinks, and I close my eyes for a brief second too long. I knew this was probably going to happen. But the fact that it won’t be over right here, right now … it’s crushing. It also shows, with Shane maintaining his not guilty stance, that he isn’t remorseful for anything.

  “Fair enough.” The judge’s expression is unreadable. “Do you have anything you’d like to bring before the court?”

  “Yes, in fact, we do. My client and I have discussed this, and we wish to file a motion to have these charges dismissed,” Shane’s slimy, slick-haired lawyer says to the judge.

  Dismissed? He thinks that, not only is he innocent, but now Shane wants to make this go away as if it never happened? The stone walls around my heart, the ones I erected in his name when I decided to file for divorce, strengthen even further.

  “On what grounds?” Judge Brenner asks, lowering her glasses down the bridge of her nose.

  “On a motion to dismiss for failure of the government to preserve evidence.”

  My head whips to Laurel in an accusatory glare. What is his lawyer talking about? Out of the corner of my eye, I finally glimpse Shane, and he’s grinning at me across the courtroom.

  I want to puke. I no longer feel anything but animosity for that man, something that both surprises and relieves me. For the time we’ve been apart, I feared that the love I’ve always held in my heart for him would overpower my need for self-preservation. I thought I’d go running back to my husband. Now that I am semi-looking at him, I know nothing could be further from the truth.

  But I am still tuned into what the judge is saying, after Laurel shot out of her seat and objected to the motion.

  “Proceed,” the judge says to Shane’s lawyer.

  “As you might be aware your honor, the officers on this case or the prosecutor’s office allowed photos from the file to be leaked to the media. Not only does that taint the decision of this case, but also public opinion of my client. We are asking you to dismiss all charges for what can only be described as a biased opinion of this situation.”

  His logic makes absolutely no sense, and fury swamps me. This is why I hate the legal system, for the way it builds up defendants and smacks down victims. Those pictures are of my face, bloody and bruised, and yet Shane is using them to his advantage? Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

  Judge Brenner scrutinizes Shane’s lawyer, and then pulls her glasses off, pointing them at him.

  “Mr. Vivant, that is the most illogical motion for dismissal I have ever heard. You have no proof that either of those offices leaked the photos in question, and if you’d like me to investigate further, I’ll have no choice but to include the defendant in the scope of that. Is that how I should proceed?”

  The lawyer bends down to whisper something to Shane, and then straightens again, looking like a stricken puppy.

  “No, your honor.”

  “Motion denied, then. If there is nothing else, have your offices be in contact about moving to trial.” Judge Brenner is succinct, then rises as the rest of the room does and retreats to her chambers.

  It’s over within fifteen minutes, and I’m floored that the judge just whipped through that so quickly. Laurel ushers me out in a hurry, not wanting to be stuck with Shane and his lawyers in the courtroom, or in a shuffle to get to the parking lot. We discussed it beforehand, that I should save any comments or emotions until I am shut up in my house or in her office. There is no way in hell I am giving Shane, or the paparazzi outside the courthouse, any crack in my armor.

  As we make our way down the steps, camera bulbs and news cameras in our faces, I try to keep my head down. I picture my daughters, the women at the salon, Walker. Anything that will keep me from sinking to the sidewalk and dissolving into a fit of tears.

  Today wasn’t all bad, at least they didn’t get the case dismissed. But it just means more court dates. More fighting. More publicity and a longer, drawn-out process than I want before I can move on with my daughters.

  Before I can regain my independence and start to build my life the way I want it.

  While I’ll have a massive emotional hangover after this, at least I realize one concrete thing; there is no part of me that wants to be married to Shane Giraldi any longer.

  11

  Walker

  I’m in the lull of an athlete’s year.

  My team just won the World Series, we’ve had our victory parade and celebratory articles written, and the media has all but packed up and shipped out. All of the endorsement deals that I’m signed to have been booked and shot, the campaigns already out there or ready to launch. Even my charity obligations don’t start up until next year. Right now, we just have the holidays, light training sessions, and not much else to look forward
to.

  As a professional baseball player, I still have to work out pretty religiously, but it’s nothing like my regimen when spring training or the season are in full swing. So, my life is … well, boring. Which is why I spend most every night at Hudson’s Bar & Grill, the well-known Packton restaurant with decent well drinks and local brews always on tap.

  Hudson’s has a bit of a Pennsylvania Dutch vibe, and I’m a sucker for their schnitzel and the craft beers. Most nights during the off-season you’ll find me here, simply because I have nothing else to do. I’ve never been one for silence or alone time; despite the image my brother likes to paint of me, I thrive around people. Clark, a relief pitcher and one of my best friends on the team, is always down to be a wingman, even when I tell him we’re not here to meet women. Because, well, Clark is always anywhere to meet women.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to be drinking this Christmas shit for a while.” Clark pulls a face as he drinks a sip of his cinnamon-spiced lager.

  I shrug, leaning into the weathered oak bar top as I adjust myself on the all-too-familiar leather barstool. “I actually kind of like the seasonal beers.”

  This one is still on tap since Thanksgiving, with the bartender trying to push the last of the dregs on unsuspecting customers. I don’t mind it, but I know soon they’ll switch over to eggnog and some kind of sugar cookie porter meant to rot your teeth. These are girly beers, as Clark and Hayes call them, but I rather enjoy them.

  Thanksgiving was its typical circus; it’s usually hosted by my aunt Marina and boasts a massive forty-person table … or maybe split into five. There were kids running everywhere, Hayes attended for his first time with Colleen, and I ate way too much and then fell asleep on the couch while watching football. Even Sinclair showed up, to everyone’s surprise and delight. My brother might be the family screw up, but it only makes our relatives love him more, for some reason.

  “It tastes like gingerbread. If I wanted that, I’d get one of those sugary lattes.” Clark grimaces again.

  “You drink those?” I smirk.

  He shrugs. “They’re delicious, like a dessert you can guzzle.”

  “Some might call that a milkshake, or a smoothie.”

  “I’m not drinking either of those in this cold.” He looks offended.

  “Didn’t realize your delicate senses couldn’t tolerate ice cream during winter.” I snort as we’re served our burgers on the bar.

  “You forget I’m a Texas boy, born and bred. I’m not used to this cold. My bones belong in the Lone Star State.” My friend lays the accent on thick for emphasis.

  “You’ve lived here for nearly five years, give me a break. You just like coffee that tastes like a cookie, you don’t have to deny that.”

  Clark wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll wear it loud and proud, brother. Plus, it gives me a leg up when buying coffee for a woman. They all eat that up … which bodes well for my chances.”

  He’s nothing if not a playboy. I bite into my burger, shaking my head, and glance up at the hockey game on TV.

  “Hey, Colleen is here.” Clark nudges me, and my head swivels toward the entrance.

  My cousin walks in, wrapped in her scarf and coat, and trailing behind her is … Hannah. It’s strange, seeing her in this setting, because I don’t think I’ve seen her without her daughters or in a bar in … hell, I can’t even tell you the last time. But my heart, my eyes, and of course my dick, all light up as she walks in.

  She looks windblown, her inky curls all twirled around by the cold, and she’s wearing this long camel coat over jeans and a sweater. And fuck me … are those knee-high boots? My mind conjures a very dirty image of bending her over in nothing but those black velvet boots.

  “Well, damn, if Mrs. Giraldi isn’t looking smokin’,” he mutters, watching Hannah as closely as I do.

  White-hot jealousy surges through my veins. “Don’t even think about it. Plus, she won’t be Mrs. Giraldi for much longer.”

  I think anyone who watches the news, both sports, celebrity, or otherwise, knows that Hannah filed for divorce. I also know, as a witness who is being called for the criminal trial against Shane, that her soon-to-be ex-husband rejected a plea deal, and then tried to have the charges dismissed. I haven’t spoken to Hannah, just a text here and there in the week or so since we spent the night in the front seat of my truck, but I have a feeling that’s what pushed her over the edge. It has to be a huge slap in the face for the man who did that to you to attempt to act like it never even happened. I want to wring his neck with my bare hands every time I think about that night. But at least Hannah was finally driven to end their marriage.

  Both for her benefit, and of course personally, I’m pleased. She deserves so much better. And selfishly, I want her to be mine. I want her to pick me, take a chance on the clear chemistry and connection we have. I know I have to take it slow, I’ve been taking it at a glacial pace as it is, but this is one more obstacle hurdled.

  Clark’s eyes flash to the side of my face, but I’m watching Hannah. It’s probably the first time he’s heard me stake any kind of claim on her, and I’m not one to ever disclose romantic feelings. Honestly, I’m not one to date, or show much interest in it. I’ve had flings here and there over the years, a woman on a road trip or two, but nothing has lasted for more than a few rendezvous.

  “Col!” I shout across the bar, and a couple people turn their heads.

  She turns my way, waving a hand in greeting, and then says something to Hannah before they make their way over.

  “Hey.” She kisses my cheek and then turns to Clark with a professional but friendly nod.

  Sometimes I forget my cousin is our general manager and doesn’t love to mingle with players outside of work. Then again, she fell for one, so maybe Colleen is just trying to remain impartial from here on out.

  “You all grabbing some dinner?” I ask Hannah, as I lean in to hug her.

  She doesn’t initiate it, I do, but she also doesn’t back away. The embrace practically has sparks coming off it as I enfold her petite body in mine. I wish I could hold her to me for longer, and as we pull away, her hand grazes down my side. I feel like she’s branded me.

  The tip of her nose is red from the cold. “Colleen finally convinced me to come meet her for dinner after work. Since the girls are with my sister tonight, and she didn’t mind the extra hour of aunt duty, I decided to be a real adult for once.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Is it strange that I’m smiling like a goofy maniac at her? “So, this is what work Hannah looks like?”

  I can’t help the way my eyes move up and down her body. I swear, she’s got a blush creeping over those high, olive cheekbones. Her hair is down except for some swooped up fancy braid at the side, and she looks both adorable and edible. Like the girl next door whose bedroom window I’d like to sneak through.

  “I had to dig in the back of my closet, but some of my pre-baby clothes still fit.” She blinks at the ground, and I realize she’s trying to be confident, but her nerves are getting the best of her.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I move off my stool, offering it to her, and guiding her with my hand at the small of her back. “You look incredible. You always do. Can I hang your coat?”

  Hudson’s is packed, since the Thursday night special is always all-you-can-eat ravioli, and there is barely an open seat, let alone a table. I don’t mind standing, if it means I get to hover around Hannah. Again, every instinct in me is primal, and I have to check myself. This woman doesn’t want men prowling around, but she brings something out in me.

  “Thank you.” She smirks sexily, fluttering her eyelashes as she shrugs out of the coat and climbs onto my empty seat.

  Holy shit, is she flirting with me?

  Colleen walks off for a second, excusing herself to go talk to a friend from high school, and when I look around, Clark has struck up a conversation with two millennials a couple barstools over. I roll my eyes, because they’re falling all over themselves
to talk to him, but am happy I get a few moments alone with Hannah.

  “How was your Thanksgiving?” I ask, flagging down the bartender to buy her another drink.

  She realizes what I’m doing. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” I stare into her eyes, trying to make my intentions known.

  “Oh. Okay.” She smirks, a flirty little expression. “My Thanksgiving was good, actually. Small, different, but good. The girls helped cook the meal and they had such a blast, it was adorable. How was yours?”

  The bartender, who knows me not only from our school days but because I’m in here so much, takes our order and begins pouring her Moscow mule.

  “Same old. Big family. Cheers.” I raise my glass to hers when we both have a drink.

  “To?” she asks, leaning into me a bit. “You know it’s bad luck to drink with no toast.”

  We’re in close quarters, one of her thighs practically thrust between my legs as I’ve wedged myself between her barstool and the one occupied next to it. The heat bouncing off of our bodies is reaching a fever pitch; I’m not even half a drink down and I feel drunk.

  I’m not positive, but I’d say Hannah is trying to get me to confess something? Commit to something? It’s like by her asking me to toast to something with her, we’re playing a game of who will admit their feelings first.

  “To new beginnings and exploring connections.” I smirk, hoping she catches my drift.

  It’s in that instant, as Hannah tips her drink to her lips but never breaks eye contact, that Colleen rushes over in a fit of panic.

  And promptly bursts our entire flirty, coy bubble. “Shane just walked in.”