Warning Track: The Callahan Family, Book One

by Aarons, Carrie

  The camera flashes again, and I pose, listening to the directions from the photographer.

  “That’s right, now put this leg out in front, but hold the bat here, so we don’t get too much of your family jewels. We can edit them out later.”

  I do as he says, twisting my body so that you can see a flash of my ass, but not the whole frank and beans. The photo shoot is for the Anatomy Issue of one of the most famous sports magazine’s in the country, and it highlights the way top athlete’s muscles and structures contribute to their success in professional sports.

  But I can’t say it isn’t awkward as hell.

  “Oh, good, glad you can edit out the testes.” Clark snickers from the sidelines.

  He’s featured in the issue as well, and I won’t say I’m not self-conscious being put on the same pages as him. Clark is five years younger than I am, he still has that rookie sheen about him without all the inexperience. He’s naturally cocky and charming, whereas I’m more reserved and introverted. Today alone, he’s made almost the entire set fall in love with him, including the men.

  But it’s a huge honor, being featured in the Anatomy Issue. Especially at my age, when I no longer possess those early-twenties frat boy muscles that were more natural and came easier than the ones I have to sweat and kill myself for in the gym now. I’m fucking proud of the body I’ve built, how hard I work to keep it up, and that I seem to still be able to run laps with the young guys and play even better than them at times.

  “Place the glove in front of you, right there, strategically, that’s it!” The photographer tells me, as one of the assistants rubs a little more orange dirt from home plate on my arms and torso.

  And seeing as I’m naked as the day I was born, I can’t but think back to two days ago, when I was bare inside Colleen as she wrapped herself around me.

  Jesus Christ, I’ve barely thought of anything else in forty-eight hours. The minute I pulled out of her, I wanted immediately back in. I would have driven back to her place, or told her to meet me at mine, but she thought we had to be discreet. Neither of us knows what this means, but the gravity of it feels tremendous.

  The only reason I’m not getting a boner is because more than a dozen people are looking at my limp cock that’s been shoved into a prop sock for “decency.” I have no idea how any of this is decent, I’m basically being covered by a piece of cloth and my ass is fully exposed. Not to mention my balls.

  A couple more photos, and then it seems like my time in front of the camera is done. Thank God. I’m not unfamiliar with promo shoots or advertisements, having been in the league and doing a bunch of endorsement deals over the years, but none of them have been done in the nude.

  One of the production assistants brings me a robe which I shrug into, and somewhat feel like an actor on a porn set between scenes.

  “Good job, Hayes. We’re all set.” The photographer claps me on the shoulder.

  It’s kind of hilarious that he’s congratulating me on posing in my birthday suit for a couple of hours, as if I did anything of notice or admiration for posing naked.

  Snapping a quick photo of the computer screen containing a dozen shots they’ll comb through to pick the right one for the issue, I fire the picture off in a text to Colleen.

  Hayes: Good morning. *picture sent*

  It takes a minute or two before the three little dots appear and then comes her response.

  Colleen: Holy hell, warn a woman before you send something as lethal as that! I’m currently sweating.

  Hayes: And I’m currently trying not to think about you in your office, which is proving awkward in a room full of people.

  Colleen: You’re not allowed to text me things like this during the day. How am I supposed to get anything done?

  Hayes: If you need, I can come to your office soon.

  Colleen: Pretty sure that’s how we got ourselves into this mess in the first place.

  Colleen: I’m definitely going to need a copy of this issue to keep under my pillow. You know, for lonely nights.

  Hayes: And I just thought about you touching yourself to my picture. Cue inappropriate on-set boner in three, two, one …

  Colleen: Is there any way you can sneak into my bedroom tonight?

  For as professional as she is as a general manager and inside the ballpark, I’ve been thoroughly surprised to find out that Colleen Callahan is a shameless flirt. And she can back up those words. The woman is a knockout.

  Well, not that we’ve had sex in an actual bed. But if the office was any indication, we’ll do a lot of damage with a private bedroom at our disposal.

  Since we had that dinner in Baltimore, it feels like things are coming to a crossroads. Either we pursue this, or we let the spark fade out to be a distant, what-if afterthought. The night of Independence Day, I saw her on the jumbotron at the stadium. The commentators had been talking about the Callahan family, and they panned up to the owner’s suite.

  Colleen was sitting there in her form-fitting, high-necked red dress, and something in me snapped. I was tired of waiting, of walking on eggshells or debating the consequences in my head. I went right up to her office and … well, we all know how things went down.

  “And who the hell are you sexting?” Clark walks up behind me, trying to get a good look at the screen of my phone.

  Pulling my phone away in a hurry, I lock it and put it down by my side. “Not cool, man! And who said I was—did you really use the word sexting? Are we seventeen?”

  Clark shrugs. “If you’re texting pictures of your junk, naked body, or waxing on about how you plan to fuck a girl via messages, then you’re sexting. Ain’t no denying that. Plus, your face says it all; big smirk, laughing to yourself, and I think you might be blushing, Swindell. Yep, definitely texting, if not sexting, a lady. Who is she? The hottie you had in the family suite that one game?”

  My mind flashes to Marlena, and I want to crack out a laugh at how far from the truth he is. But maybe I should say yes, since it would be an all-out disaster if he knew who I was really messaging right now. I think Clark is a pretty trustworthy guy, but even he would take issue with me having sex with our general manager. He would also run right to Walker, they’re closer friends than I am to either of them, and her cousin would definitely sucker punch me in the jaw.

  “No. None of your business.” I swat at him, and then realize he’s only got the modesty sock on. “Jesus, can you put on a robe? You’re not even having your picture taken right now!”

  Clark shrugs. “I feel most comfortable in the nude. I do my best work like this.”

  His words have me rolling my eyes. “You’re a peacock, you know that?”

  “And proud of it. Just think of how many women are going to be checking me out in this.”

  He flexes a bicep as he walks over to the craft services table, and I shake my head at his overt cockiness.

  I couldn’t care less if a thousand women are checking me out in this magazine. I only care about one in particular, and will definitely have to hand deliver her copy.

  26

  Colleen

  The rest of July and August pass in a rush of baseball games, stolen moments with Hayes, and the dreary work of both preparing for the post-season or resorting to our backup plan of the off-season.

  It’s difficult to get to September as a team, at least in one piece. Injuries usually plague a squad, with some players who won’t be able to return until next season. Then there are the head cases, usually pitchers who flame out or hitters who get into a slump.

  But this team, by some chance of fate, has made it to the post-season with a majority of players healthy and hitting their stride. They’re gelling as a group, and a lot of the animosity we started the season with has faded. Yesterday, I got to throw out my plan B binder, the one that was earmarked at the beginning of the season for what would happen if we didn’t make it to the playoffs.

  However, it’s just as nerve-wracking, if not more, to make it to the post-season than
it is to hang up our cleats and move onto next year. Now that the Pistons are here, we want to make it to the big dance. Kick our opponent’s asses. Sweep the series and crown ourselves the champions, with big fat victory rings adorning our hands.

  There’s still a lot of work that comes with the post-season, and we aren’t even technically in it yet. Playoffs don’t start for another week and a half, but the coaching staff and I have already had numerous meetings on strategies, rest time for certain players, and our attack plan when our first round opponent was picked from the wild card winner.

  But tonight, I get to push all of that to the back of my head. Hayes and I only allow ourselves to sleep at each other’s houses once a week. So, technically, we get to lie in bed twice every seven days, once at his place and once at mine. We park on side streets, tiptoeing across lawns after dark and then sneaking out in the wee hours of the morning so no one is the wiser. Even if our neighbors don’t care who is coming and going—which they definitely would at some point—there is always the chance of someone staking out one of our homes. We’re public figures, he more than I, and there is an element of secrecy that must be applied to this relationship.

  Relationship. That seems crazy to say, but it’s what we’re in. About a week after July Fourth, Hayes all but told me we were exclusive, even if we can’t tell anyone about it. I made no argument, since it’s what I want too, and we’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend ever since? It sounds juvenile to call us that, but he is my boyfriend in every sense of the word.

  We text all day, with phone calls or FaceTime on the nights we can’t be together. We sleep in each other’s beds, and honestly, there isn’t much sleeping going on. Before that, we cook dinner together and talk about our day. When we see each other at the ballpark, I have to hide my smirk and Hayes tries not to stare at my boobs. Once or twice, we’ve found ourselves back in that supply closet, which is completely risky but completely worth it. He is the person I want to talk to whenever something good happens in my life, or whenever something bad hits my days with a case of the blues. More than anyone in my life, even Walker, it feels like Hayes understands me and I him.

  This is the truest form of connection, and dare I say love, I’ve ever encountered. Aside from the secrecy, these last two months have been the best of my life.

  I park around the block from Hayes’ house, under the guise of darkness, and sneak through his backyard to let myself in the set of French doors that lead out to his patio. I let myself in; he knows I’m coming, and slip my canvas sneakers off. One thing I’ve learned about Hayes in the last two months is that he’s an undercover neat freak. He won’t sit down for dinner without cleaning every pan and putting the discarded utensils in the dishwasher. He’s also anal about scuff marks on his floors and wet towels being discarded over the backs of chairs. I thought I was tidy, but he puts me to shame.

  After taking two steps into his kitchen, I run smack dab into a man who is certainly not Hayes Swindell.

  “Oh, I’m so … sorry?” My voice is peaked and uncomfortable.

  Bryant Templeman chuckles at catching me off guard. “So, I see the kid didn’t tell you I was going to be here. He’s a trickster, that one.”

  Hayes enters, shaking his head at Bryant, and comes to plant a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Don’t you go scaring her. I didn’t tell her because I thought your old butt would be out the door by now.”

  “But apparently, you told him about me?” I’m not annoyed, and my tone doesn’t convey it, but just more confused than anything.

  Hayes and I have agreed that our relationship can definitely not go public. Not now, and maybe not ever. Or at least until something changes drastically in the professional sense for one of us. While I’m falling deeper and deeper into my feelings for this man, I have to work even harder to keep them completely covered up when we’re outside of the walls of our homes. Sneaking into bedrooms after dark, holding hands when the parking lot is empty, sending salacious text messages when the confines of our relationship won’t allow us to spend time together. These are the things we have. The act is starting to wear on me, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

  I just would love one day, or even one hour, of being normal with him.

  “Don’t worry, he’d never tell anyone. Otherwise, I’d have to tell his wife about his gambling habits.” Hayes levels an eyebrow at the man he has told me raised him.

  Bryant waves him off. “Psh, kid, there are far juicier secrets, ones that I could tell her, to make you blush. Don’t forget that.” Then he turns to me. “It really is nice to meet you, though I know we’ve met in passing before. But as someone special to this guy, I’m glad I could meet you in a private setting.”

  A humbling smile paints my lips. “Well, I’m very glad I got to meet you, too.”

  I’m not sure what else to say. I spend so much of my day being “on” that when I come to Hayes’ house, I feel like I can let my hair down. I’ve also never done a meet the parents type of deal, so I’m at an awkward loss for words.

  “I should be going, but I hope the next time you two are in California, Ronnie and I can have you over for dinner.” Bryant tips his head to me and then hugs Hayes.

  “Let me walk you out,” Hayes says as they tread the carpet toward the front door.

  A breath I didn’t know I was holding blows out as they depart, and I feel weird. I should have been friendlier, or said something more than the one sentence I spoke to him. Maybe told him I loved his work. But my brain wouldn’t compute, probably because I’d been caught off guard and didn’t know that anyone knew that I was seeing Hayes.

  My boyfriend comes back after I hear the door quietly shut.

  “I hope that you aren’t too annoyed I told him. It’s just, he’s like a father to me. I had to talk to someone about it. I told him two weeks ago, asking for advice.”

  I nod. “I’m not annoyed. It actually feels good that someone else knows. Maybe it makes it a little more real? It just caught me off guard. What was his advice?”

  The anxious grimace tells me more than his words do. “He wasn’t pleased at first, unfortunately. With everything the Callahan name has been through, and our roles within the organization, he wasn’t wrong to remind me just how much I could lose if this came out. But after I told him you were worth it, he kind of changed his tune. Told me he’s never seen me like this over a woman, so he knows it’s real. Told me that I sound like he did when he first got together with Ronnie.”

  My heart does a backflip at him describing the conversation, because it sounds like he was telling Bryant how much I mean to him. Not that we’ve kept those words from each other, but it confirms that my feelings of how serious I feel about him aren’t unreciprocated.

  Walking to him so I can wrap my arms around the back of his neck in a proper greeting, I lean my face into his neck and breathe him in. “It is real. And I know just how much is at stake—for both of us. I’m sorry about that, but not enough to stop this. I’m glad you told him.”

  Hayes is quiet for a beat, stroking my sides with his large, callused hands. It’s been too many days since we’ve gotten to be alone like this.

  “You know I grew up in foster care, right?”

  I’ve read his file, or profiles on him over the years. Peripherally, I know about it, but never from the source himself. “Yes, but only from what you’ve disclosed to the media. Which I don’t think is much?”

  “My agent has me read a variation of the same speech at most charity events I do for kids in the system, and that glosses over a lot of what I went through.” Hayes shakes his head, as if he’s disagreeing with his agent even now.

  I hear the pain of the little boy he once was in his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize …”

  “Bryant took me in, steered me down the right path and made sure I didn’t fall off of it. Before him and Ronnie, I was in and out of at least a dozen foster homes. My birth mother left me at a fire station when I was an infant, and my
biological father was pretty much nonexistent from day one. Or so I’ve been told. Growing up, the homes weren’t so terrible, but the lack of any kind of care or love left me scarred. For a while, I stayed with some of the families who took pity on me on my travel baseball teams. But when I started to hit better than their sons, or they felt threatened, they’d ship me back out. I bounced around like a pinball, with no real family or home. I still don’t feel attached to many people. But I have Bryant. And now, I have you.”

  A pang of grief shoots through my heart for him. It’s not a coincidence, at least I like to think it isn’t, that two people who were so deprived of love or compassion found their way to each other. I’m too afraid to ask him where he thinks this can go, because I’m not sure I’ll like the answer. I don’t know when we can be normal, or if that time will ever come. I’m too afraid to jinx it by talking about it now.

  So I answer him in the simplest terms I know how, without having to talk about the logistics or what could go wrong.

  “You do have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  27

  Hayes

  The weight rack gives off a tinny metal oomph as I set the bar back down, my muscles aching as System of a Down screams in my headphones.

  I’m not sure why I even have them in, seeing as I’m the last person in here and it’s later than even hard work deems necessary. But it’s one of the nights that I’m not allowed to sneak over to Colleen’s house, and she’s not coming to mine, so I have nothing better to do.

  I’ve been in the weight room for hours, and I’ll regret it, but it keeps my mind both focused and off of what I don’t want invading it.

  Playoffs start tomorrow, and even though I’ve been in the league for over ten years, the nerves going into them never dissipate. Especially this year, because I’m playing in the post-season with a team I’ve never been there with. And what happens in the next month will determine the rest of my career.