Stealing Home (Callahan Family Book 2)

by Carrie Aarons

  I clutch her to me and kiss her head. “Noelle, can you bring your sister into the living room? Put the TV on.”

  The look I try to give my five-year-old is one of gentle urgency, and I thank God that she understands enough to walk into the condo and take her sister’s hand.

  I don’t let Shane pass the doorway, using my body to block my residence, but fear is blooming inside me.

  “You are not allowed to be here.” I keep my voice low, but that familiar itch of weakness, of submission, is pressing down on my chest like a train hurtling into me.

  “It’s a piece of paper, Hannah. Don’t be so dramatic.” He flicks his hand in the air as if this whole situation has been blown out of proportion.

  I’ve never met a bigger narcissist. “Shane, you shouldn’t have dropped them off. You still have hours left with them as it is. But I don’t want to call the police. Please leave.”

  His eyes grow angry and stormy at the mention of police. “Don’t do that. I haven’t even gotten a chance to talk to you since that night. You never let me explain.

  Explain? He put me in the hospital and broke my bones. Through months of therapy, I now know that all of his words are manipulations or gaslighting. There is no reasoning or excuse for what he did, though he was the master of explaining them away when I was still under his spell.

  “I want a second chance, Hannah. Please. This is our family.” He points to our daughters, and I burn with fury that he’s just said that in front of them.

  I’ve barely gotten the chance to tell my daughters that I won’t be married to their father any longer, in terms that they’ll understand, and now I’ll have to explain what their Daddy is talking about.

  “Shane, we’re well past that. I want you to leave.” Keep it short, and don’t give him any reason to argue.

  It doesn’t matter what I say, though, Shane is irate and insistent. “You think you’ll really find anyone better than me? You’re pathetic, Hannah. No man is going to want you. Walker Callahan is just amusing himself with my sloppy seconds.”

  There was only a minute between him groveling for a second chance and insulting me, and I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “Please. Leave.” I’m five seconds away from calling the police, which is something I don’t want to do.

  As it is, he’s defying the restraining order. This could land him in jail. But if he goes quietly, I’ll only report it to my lawyers.

  Instead, Shane doubles down, and I see it the moment things are about to turn extremely ugly. “You ruined my entire life, you fucking cunt. I can’t play baseball, can’t see my kids! I should be in Florida right now, with my team! You did this!”

  The girls are standing right behind me, and I feel Noelle’s little hands trembling on my legs.

  “Baby, go upstairs, take Breanna …” I’m trying to tell her, but she doesn’t budge.

  I wish Dahlia were home, but she’s out on some interview and won’t be back for an hour. I have no idea what to do. I’m stock-still, frozen like I used to be with that deer in headlights mentality whenever he’d come after me.

  “Of course, it’s my wife, the one who can’t just fall in line …” Shane is ranting to himself now more than anyone else, but he’s crossed the threshold into the house.

  I see Noelle run and realize she’s going to grab my cell phone off the counter. Shane is too busy yelling to understand what she’s doing, but my stomach plummets past my feet. How many times has she watched us fight? Since when did she learn, or maybe was told, that if anything like this happened, she should call the police? I think Dahlia has been telling my oldest child more than I thought she was.

  Noelle holds my phone to her ear and starts to talk. “This is Noelle Giraldi, my daddy is fighting my mommy—”

  “Don’t you … give me that, you little brat!” Shane rips the phone from beside Noelle’s ear, and chucks it across the room.

  As Shane was a professional baseball player, it whizzes past me, nearly clocking me in the skull. The phone must be going a decent speed, and I hear it clunk something and hit the floor behind me.

  “Get out!” My voice rises now, authority and strength overpowering the fear inside me.

  Shane looks like he’s seen a ghost, and Noelle is sniffling next to me from his outburst.

  “Mommy?” A broken little voice comes from across the kitchen.

  I’m about ready to unleash on Shane, no matter if the girls are in the room or not, but something instinctually has me turning.

  That’s when I see her. Breanna, standing just feet away from me, blood pouring from a cut on her head.

  Just like mine was the night Shane used his fists on me in the parking lot.

  The sound goes out of the world, and my vision focuses in so acutely due to the rush of adrenaline in my veins.

  I reach Breanna right before she passes out in my arms.

  28

  Walker

  It’s close to eleven p.m. when my plane touches down in Florida, and the first thing I want to do is drive straight to the Callahan Florida residence and fall asleep.

  I’ve never liked it here; the humidity, the distance from my hometown, and spring training is just a tease to me. I want to compete, to play, and the pre-season monotony is boring to me. I understand needing the warm up, but it always seems like one drawn-out press event to me, when we could have a week of this and then start the regular season.

  Plus, coming down to Florida means I have to leave Hannah for an extended period of time, and I’m anxious about it. I’m out of town during the most hectic period of her life, and all I want to do is be by her side when the trial starts in a few weeks. As it is, I’ll have to fly back early or miss some regular games to testify.

  I thank the flight crew and pilot, say good night to some of the guys who took the Pistons jet down here with me, and plan to call Hannah, even just to leave a voicemail, on the way over to the house.

  Except I have three missed calls from my father when I turn my phone on, and I dial him as I duck into the black SUV waiting to take me to the home my father purchased a decade ago for us to stay in while we’re down here.

  “Walker, you need to get back on that plane. It’s Sinclair.”

  My heart drops at his tone because … holy hell, it sounds like my own father has been crying.

  “What happened?” My voice is a croak.

  “Get back to Packton. Now.”

  My father must hang up with me and immediately call the jet manager, because no one asks any questions as my bags and myself are loaded back onto the plane and fueled up to depart on the same runway we just flew in on. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that, because my guts seem to try to be working themselves out of my body via my throat.

  The flight seems to drag for hours, but also go by in a span of seconds. I can’t sit still, a part of me always tapping or shaking. Bile rises in my mouth every other moment, and I have to choke it down to keep from hurling inside the cabin.

  I haven’t seen or spoken to my brother in probably a month. After all of our little tiffs and Sinclair’s passive-aggressive comments, plus, my time being occupied with Hannah, our relationship has kind of fallen to the wayside. Because I’m not making an effort, we haven’t really been in touch. He’s crossed my mind, my worries, a number of times, but after my outburst at Dad, I’ve been put off by my immediate family.

  And now, I missed something. If I had been there, if I’d just gotten over my stupid, selfish ego, I might have been able to prevent this. Not that I know what this is. Which only heightens my fear and anxiety.

  We land, the car peels out of the tiny Packton airstrip, and we’re whizzing to the hospital.

  My feet carry me as fast as they can, through the hospital and to the information desk. After a rushed conversation with the nurse, I’m given Sinclair’s room number, and I’m practically sprinting through the halls to get to him.

  Palpitations wrack my chest with each inch I advance, because I have no id
ea what I’m going to see when I get to Sinclair’s room.

  “Mom!” I call out, seeing my mother slumped in a dingy gray hospital chair in the hallway.

  Mom’s head shoots up, and relief floods her face when she sees me. “Oh, Walker!”

  She stands, and my mother’s typically polished veneer has slipped right off. She’s in sweats, a sight I’ve only seen very rarely, and her hair is tied up on top of her head. I’m pretty sure she has not a stitch of makeup on, and her eyes are red and swollen.

  We hug, fiercely, and then I pull back. “What the hell happened?”

  “He was drinking, decided to get behind the wheel. They found his car wrapped around a tree, and had to use the jaws of life to extract him. It’s not … This isn’t pretty, Walker. He’s in a medically induced coma, the doctors recommended it. He’s stable, but …”

  Our mother trails off, and I’m pretty sure tears are leaking down her cheeks. I don’t think I’ve seen this woman cry a day in my life.

  My mind whirls with all of the information she just dumped on me. “Can I go in?”

  She nods. “Your father is in there now.”

  Mom doesn’t say I can’t go in, so I take a deep pull of breath before pushing open the door. It feels like I’m about to go underwater, with no clue when I’ll come back up again.

  The first thing I hear when I enter is the beep of machines. And then my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, and there is my father. His head is bent so that his forehead is resting on Sinclair’s motionless hand, and I can hear him murmuring. It’s the most nurturing position I’ve ever seen my father in, and it blows me away.

  Just a week ago, I was berating this man over the phone for not putting my happiness first. And here is my brother, his child, in the worst place you could ever imagine one of your family members being.

  I got carried away, with my own selfishness and with Hannah. Instead of being there for my family, pushing Sinclair to stop his partying and get some help once and for all, I just ignored it. I wrote my father off, when all he wanted was to gift me the family dynasty. I can’t help but feel partly responsible for the predicament everyone is in.

  Guilt shackles itself to my ankles as I walk farther in. Sinclair is hooked up to a dozen machines, and there is a tube breathing for him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him be still in what feels like years. Its eerie and unsettling, and the lump in my throat feels like acid, burning me from the inside out.

  “Dad,” I choke out.

  My father slowly lifts his head, blinking as if he doesn’t register I’m in front of him.

  “I should have intervened,” he says, and it’s the most raw expression I’ve ever seen cross his face.

  I pull up a chair, sitting so that I can touch any part of my brother. My hand lands on his leg, which is under the blanket, and he doesn’t stir in the slightest. I hate that we’re here.

  Dad and I sit with him for what feels like hours until a doctor comes in to give us an update.

  Sinclair has a brain bleed, which they’ll need to repair with surgery tomorrow. The doctors decided to place him in an induced coma to allow time for the swelling in his skull to go down before they operate. He also has two broken ribs, whiplash, and a sprained wrist. All in all, my brother is lucky and should come out of this with no lasting effects, but it’s all still terrifying.

  By the time I walk out of Sin’s hospital room hours later, my phone has blown up with messages and calls. Colleen has left me at least four voicemails, with countless texts. Hayes is almost matching her. Clark has left me a voicemail.

  But it’s the almost twenty missed calls from Hannah that have my internal alarms going off. There is no way she could have known what happened tonight, unless maybe Colleen called her? But I don’t see my cousin wanting to worry her.

  No, something deeper is set off inside me, and I can’t explain the feeling, but I know this isn’t about my brother’s accident.

  I click her name and wait as the phone dials.

  “Oh, God, Walker, thank God.” Her voice sounds ten shades of emotional.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, disoriented from everything that’s happened tonight.

  “We were at the hospital. Breanna had to get stitches, Shane showed up to my house and was screaming, and now we’re at the police station …”

  Hannah is unraveling, rambling to me on the phone about a series of events that don’t quite make sense.

  “I know you can’t come back, it’s so late, I just—”

  “I’m actually in Packton, I flew back hours ago,” I say, not that it explains anything.

  There is a pause. “What? Wait, why? Can you come meet me? I need you, I just …”

  Her voice breaks off on a sob, but I feel numb.

  “Hannah, I can’t … I have my own stuff going on. My brother was in an accident. He wrapped his car around a tree and is in a coma.”

  Another beat of silence. “I’m so sorry. I just … tonight has been awful. Jeez, apparently for all of us. Can I see you, do you need me to—”

  “I can’t. I need to be here for my family.” My voice is stony, because how can’t she understand this?

  Something inside me shuts down, clamps off the emotion and heartbreak I should feel for Hannah. Clearly, something happened with Shane. But instead of my usual savior complex that is always activated when I feel she’s in trouble, I feel … nothing. I’ve disregarded my family, my own brother, to save her time and again.

  “I can’t, Hannah. Sorry.”

  And I click off, slumping into a chair outside my brother’s hospital room, swearing I won’t leave until he’s awake and fully conscious.

  29

  Hannah

  Do you know that feeling when your eyeball sockets feel so tired, they actually seem to be detaching themselves from your face?

  Yeah, mine are probably somewhere in California by now, they left so long ago. From the crying, lack of sleep, and extensive worrying, my eyes actually ache as I sit down at my kitchen table.

  The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind, a nightmare, and a savior all rolled into one. I saw the blood pouring down Breanna’s face, and it was as if all of my worst fears had come true. Shane had finally taken his abuse and used it on the girls. Things moved quickly after that.

  A police car and ambulance showed up within five minutes of Shane throwing the phone at Breanna’s head, because the call had dropped and they had to check out the situation. Shane was taken into custody again, and he was swearing and remorseful. The moment he tried to touch our youngest daughter, I screamed to high heaven. Some of the neighbors came out, and one even helped to keep him on the lawn instead of coming into my house.

  Noelle and I rode in the ambulance with Breanna to the hospital, where she needed four stitches to close the wound in her head and a CT to check for any internal bleeding. She was a champ, sitting still under promises of lollipops and new toys so that the doctors could get everything they needed.

  Dahlia met us there, and when we were all clear to be discharged, took the girls home to sleep. I headed to the police station, where with the help of Karla, who I woke up in the middle of the night, I filed an emergency petition to have the girls covered under my restraining order against Shane. This time, it was granted, and I could breathe a little easier.

  I have no idea what will happen, or if Shane is out of police custody yet. He’s clearly violated the original restraining order, so it should result in some sort of punishment. And more charges where it concerns him endangering Breanna’s well-being should be added to the criminal case. But I haven’t gotten to speak with Laurel yet.

  Karla was talking about how this will impact the divorce case as she drove me home at two in the morning. There’s clear evidence now that my husband had been missing visits, and that the girls were put in danger due to his actions. He put one of them in the hospital. I could fight for sole custody and possibly win it. I could walk away with what I’d always wanted out
of this divorce, except …

  This was never the way I wanted to get it. If I could go back, I’d erase it all just to keep Breanna safe. And Noelle, with all that she witnessed, the name her father called her …

  The girls were rattled, there was no doubt about that. But my sister and I are trying to formulate a plan to talk to them and make them feel as normal as possible moving forward.

  And me? I’m shellshocked. I have no idea what to feel, or how to react. I waver between wanting to burst into tears and screaming out in rage. He hurt one of my little girls, and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel guilty, responsible, and want to throw in the towel. But now is the hardest round of the fight, and I have no other option to get back up. I’m bloody and broken, but I still have a shot at winning this thing.

  Dahlia walks into the kitchen, just having put the girls down for naps, or in Noelle’s case, quiet time.

  “They seem to be settled. No tears, and Breanna seems tired, so she didn’t fight me on it.” My sister rubs my back, and I could cry the comforting gesture feels so good. “Also, Walker has been sitting outside in his truck for about twenty minutes.”

  My head shoots up. “What?”

  I check my phone, but I have no texts or missed calls from him.

  “I’ll just go out front,” I tell her, and her eyes hold so much sympathy.

  Last night was a blur, but I couldn’t get Walker’s words out of my head.

  I can’t come help you. My family needs me.

  They stung, even if they shouldn’t have. Even if he didn’t mean them that way.

  The thing is, we’ve become a unit. I kind of thought we were moving in the direction of being … family? That sounds silly, since we haven’t had a true conversation about what our future is, but I naively thought that I could call and he’d drop everything for me. Even if he was state’s away, which he wasn’t. He was right here, sitting in his car outside my house, debating if he could even come see me?