Spring Training

by KB Winters

  He tried to convince me to set aside the books for a few more minutes, but eventually gave up and let me go back to work. I hung up the phone and absorbed the silence of the room around me, instantly missing his voice. Thirty seconds later, the phone rang again and I laughed out loud to myself as I leaned over, expecting to see Grant’s name on the screen, imagining he’d come up with some new pitch to get me to go out. He wasn’t the type to drop something so easily, and he definitely didn’t like the word no. I brought the phone up and my face fell when I didn’t recognize the number on the screen. For a flutter of a moment, I wondered if it was Logan. If he’d left his wife, maybe he’d also gotten a new phone number. I didn’t want to talk to Logan, so on the off chance that it was him, I sent the call to my voicemail and went back to my notes.

  Seconds later, the phone flashed with an alert to tell me I had a new voice mail.

  “Ugh,” I groaned, stretching to retrieve the phone from where I’d tossed it.

  I couldn’t afford any more distractions, but not knowing who it was, was turning out to be more distracting. I flopped back on the bed and pressed the phone to my ear.

  “Hello, Megan Sinclair. My name is Lance Barton. I’m calling from Three Rivers Art Gallery. I’d be very interested in speaking with you about a curator position that we have available.”

  The man rattled off his contact information, but halfway through the recitation of his number, the phone had slipped from my suddenly sweaty fingers and landed softly on the bed next to me. A curating position? Me? It was my dream job of all dream jobs! To be able to travel the country—the world—collecting art and meeting artists from every corner, background, style, and interest. My chest tightened and released at the thought, trying to contain my heart from bursting right out. I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to seem too eager, but couldn’t contain myself for another moment, whipped the phone back up, brought up the call log, and hit the send key.

  “Lance Barton,” the same male voice answered.

  “Hi, um, this is Megan Sinclair, returning your message about a job,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the embarrassment of my rambling greeting.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you for getting back to me. Listen, I have a meeting to get to, so I’ll make this brief. I’ve been made aware of you and your work and think you would make an excellent addition to our team here at the gallery. You would start as an assistant, and from there, the sky is the limit. We are growing and opening new galleries roughly on a monthly basis all over the country, so there’s no telling where someone with the right combination of skill and tenacity could go.”

  My mind raced with the possibility in his words. It was too good to be true. I didn’t press to find out how he’d heard of me, but I sent out a silent thanks to whoever had tipped him off.

  “If that’s something you think you’d be interested in, we could arrange a meeting at my office.”

  He’d hardly finished the sentence, before I blurted out, “Yes, I’ll be there!”

  Chapter Eight — Grant

  After getting off the phone with Megan, I was still pacing around my condo, wondering how I could get her to agree to come away with me for a while. I’d been craving her since that morning when she’d left my bed. I had to see her. Finding her house was simple enough—too simple, in truth—by the time I was standing on her doorstep, I’d already put in a call to my personal security management team to find time to meet with her and show her how to lock down her personal information. The entire drive over, I hadn’t been able to get her face out of my mind. I couldn’t get the sight of her, or the memory of the feel of her, out of my mind. She was taking over my senses one by one and I was powerless to stop it.

  From the conversation on the phone, I knew she’d be busy and probably try to turn me away, but I had to try. I cut a glance over to the bottle of champagne and box of chocolate covered strawberries on the passenger seat. In case she needs convincing. Megan wouldn’t tell me no. I wouldn’t let her. The treats were more for fun than anything. I hated the taste of champagne, but somehow, I knew that licking it off her bare skin would convince me otherwise.

  My GPS alerted me that I’d arrived, and I pulled alongside the curb in front of a small bungalow style house. I wasn’t familiar with the neighborhood and took a few seconds to assess my surroundings before getting out of the car. It was a quaint neighborhood. The houses were small, but all appeared well maintained and cared for. The yards were clean and tidy with lots of mature landscaping. My eyes searched for the one marked with Megan’s address and let my mind play through questions as I considered it. How long had she lived there? What did her family know about her involvement with me? With Timeless? Was anyone even home?

  The driveway was vacant but extended down to a standalone garage that had space for two cars. If I remembered correctly, Megan had told me that her father had a car that they shared, and then of course, there was the car I’d given to Megan as a bonus for all of her hard work. Surely, she would keep that locked away in the garage. Even in a quiet neighborhood, it wouldn’t be smart to leave an expensive car like that along the curb at all hours.

  I exited the car, straightened my jacket, and crossed the street, praying that Megan would be alone. I’d decided a while ago, that I wanted to make her a part of my life, and had no doubt that once I convinced her to that plan, I would meet her family. However, the night wasn’t right for something like that. I just wanted her…alone…

  I rang the bell and waited, my breath still as I tuned an ear for any footsteps. A long minute passed before I cocked a brow and looked up at the address numbers nailed to the side of the house. I confirmed it was right and rang the bell again. On the phone, not an hour before, she’d confirmed that she was home studying. Where was she?

  I rang again and waited another minute. I was just about to turn back when I heard someone shout, “Coming!” The voice was male and a wave of frustration washed over me as my plans and imaginations for the evening slipped out of reach. As the door opened, I rallied and pulled myself together. If her family was home, it would just give me a reason to take her away. Back to my condo, to a lux hotel room with a view, or to the beach for a midnight drive.

  I smiled, the new images stirring in my mind, and held it firm as I was greeted by a man wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt and a pair of athletic shorts. He was slouchy, a smattering of crumbs on his chest, his hand grasping a beer can, and his expression read irritation. I checked his fingertips, half expecting them to be coated in orange dust. “Hey man, we got a vacuum, and life insurance, so unless you got a little girl stashed away with a wagon of cookies, we’re not interested.” He moved to shut the door, dismissing me, and my tamped down frustration shot to the surface.

  “I’m here for Megan,” I announced, barely containing a growl.

  Recognition flickered in his eyes and for the first time, I noticed they were like Megan’s. At first glance, I hadn’t seen the resemblance. If pressed, I would have bet that they weren’t related at all. His skin was darker, with an olive tone, his hair lighter, and his features sharper. But those eyes. “Is she home?” I added, stepping a foot forward.

  The man hesitated, sizing me up. He took a long pull from the can of beer and then shook his head. “She hasn’t been here for weeks.”

  “Where is she?”

  He sized me up again, before adding, “She’s staying with friends.”

  What? Alarms rang through my head. A couple of weeks ago had been when I’d received the bone chilling phone call from her after she’d fled her near attack.

  “What friends? Where?”

  “Dude, who are you?”

  “Grant Christiansen.” The answer was automatic—my brain still twisting around trying to figure out where she was and trying to keep panic from creeping in at the thought that she might not be safe. She’d sounded calm and relaxed on the phone. But, she’d also said she was at home. Which clearly, she wasn’t. Something was wrong—and I didn’t like i
t. Lying was not one of my favorite pastimes, and it seemed that I’d been lied to. Before I jumped to that conclusion—I needed to gather the pieces to figure out what was going on.

  The guy’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning and he quickly transferred his beer can to the other hand to offer me a firm handshake. “Wow! Megan mentioned she was working for you, well, for Timeless. Bro, that car! It’s sick!” He leaned past me, looking over my shoulder to gawk at my car across the street.

  “Who’s there?” Another male voice echoed down the hall.

  “Come in, come in. I’m Phillip, by the way.” Phillip stepped back to let me inside and I took three clipped steps inside the entryway. “Hey, Dad! It’s Megan’s boss!”

  “Boss?” An older man rounded the corner and entered into view. Phillips face next to his father’s connected the dots and it was almost like seeing what Megan’s mother must have looked like without seeing her. She was a smaller, feminine carbon copy of her father, but obviously with her mother’s eyes.

  “I’m Grant Christiansen,” I offered, stepping further inside to shake Megan’s father’s hand.

  He wiped his hand off on the towel that had been slung over his shoulder and gripped mine firmly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Christiansen. I’m Charles Sinclair. This here is Phillip.”

  Phillip rolled his eyes and cut a look to his father, as though annoyed his father introduced him. “He’s here to see Megan.”

  Charles’s eyes flashed, a darkness clouding them for a moment. He dropped his gaze for a moment before flicking back to my eyes. “She’s not here, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “Did she leave a forwarding address?”

  Her father shrugged. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but we had a bit of a falling out, and she’s been staying with a friend.” Charles admitted, dropping his eyes to his hands.

  I didn’t want to lie, and tell him that she’d told me she was at home. I was worried enough, trying to pull the pieces together. I didn’t want to transfer my worries to her family. Especially since her father already seemed so torn up by her absence. I plastered a convincing grin on my face—the same one I wore to business pitches that I knew had no chance of succeeding—and said, “I just assumed she was here. I’ll give her a call. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”

  Charles smiled at me and brushed off my apology with a wave of his hand before slinging the kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Not a problem.”

  I turned to leave, but then stopped, and asked, “I hope this isn’t out of line, but can I ask, why she left?”

  Charles’s face flashed with a dark expression as he cut a look over to Phillip.

  “I only ask because I want to help. Megan is very important to me and I want to make sure she’s safe.”

  At this assurance, Charles gave me another look, before he took a deep breath. “We had an argument, she left, and I haven’t been able to get through to her long enough to patch things up. Megan’s safety and happiness are my two biggest priorities, so anything you can do to help would be appreciated.”

  I gave him a solemn nod and extended my hand to offer him a firm handshake of assurance before leaving the small house.

  Back in my car, I pulled up her social media feed and browsed through the pictures. There was a coffee shop that she had been associated with multiple times over the past few days. It was far enough away from the school that I found it unlikely she was hitting it up on a study break. There weren’t any houses around, but there was a hotel. I flicked at the screen and pulled up the address of the hotel, something clenching in my gut that if I were to go there, I’d find her. It sounded crazy—even to myself—as I flipped the car in gear and headed out of the neighborhood.

  On the drive over, I made a deal with myself that if she wasn’t there, I’d go home and wait to see her at work and stop chasing her down. However, the deal became irrelevant as soon as I pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and saw her car gleaming under the dusky night sky. I was just about to step from the car, when I heard her voice filtering into the cab. I turned my head and spotted her not ten feet away.

  Her words were carried away by the wind tunnel created by the parking structure above, but her tone sounded distressed. She wasn’t looking in my direction and my heart raced as I craned behind to see who she was talking to.

  I caught a flash of movement, and my eyes focused just in time to see Logan getting into a car along the opposite wall from where I’d just parked.

  Megan whirled around, her cheeks flushed and her hair blown all around her face. Her face was a twisted mess of emotions, until she locked her eyes on me.

  Then the emotions all channeled into one, clear expression.

  Rage.

  “Grant?” She screeched, instantly wrapping her arms around herself.

  “Are you serious? Megan?” I slammed my car door shut and stalked around the rear end to meet her face to face. Across the way, Logan’s car door opened, and his sandy colored hair popped out as he stood alongside his car. “What the fuck is going on here?” I demanded, throwing daggers at Logan.

  Megan whipped around to see Logan and I thought I caught her roll her eyes. “Logan, go home. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Who is this guy?” Logan asked, ignoring Megan’s orders. “Is he harassing you?”

  Megan sighed. “Right now? You’re both harassing me. Grant…” she turned towards me, letting her back face Logan. “…what are you doing here?”

  “You lied to me, Megan.”

  She crinkled her brow, a silent question.

  I forced the rage out of my voice. “You told me that you were at home, studying.”

  She sighed. “I was…”

  “Your dad and brother said otherwise.”

  Come on, Megan. Don’t lie to me. It hurt more than I would ever be willing to admit. Each new lie from her pretty lips, was twisting the dagger a little farther into my side.

  Her eyes popped open wide at my statement. “You went to my house?”

  I gripped my hands into tight balls to keep the pain from seeping through my words. It was easier, simpler, to be angry. Pain and fear were weaknesses and I refused to be weak. Especially in front of an audience, I thought, casting a dark glare at Logan. “Yes, I did. I wanted to see you, so I thought it would surprise you and take you out for a break. Why did you lie to me? You told me you were at home.”

  Megan pressed her eyes closed tightly for a beat. “This is home right now, Grant.” She opened her eyes and flicked a quick glance in the direction of the three story hotel’s glittering sign at the front entrance of the parking garage. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would do…well…this.”

  “This?”

  Megan released a pinched breath in a long, low sigh. “Freak out, drag me back to your house, or make me go home. You’d try to lecture me and tell me it wasn’t safe. I just needed some space, from everything.”

  “From me?” I asked, hating myself before the words even left my mouth.

  “Yes.” Her answer was barely above a whisper and yet, it felt like the boom from a shotgun.

  I concealed the flash of pain from my face with a quick glance down at the pavement under my feet.

  “Megan, who is this guy?” Logan asked. “He was there at the gallery, wasn’t he?”

  “Logan, shut up!” She snapped, turning to face him. Her arms dropped to her sides and I could see her fists digging into her hips. “Go away!”

  I shot a look at Logan and he glared back. Megan looked between us and her shoulders sagged.

  “Go away. Both of you.” Without waiting, she turned and ran back towards the hotel.

  I seethed, my eyes boring into Logan as he looked at me. His mouth opened, his thoughts about to spring forth, but I beat him on the draw and growled out, “Come near her again and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do.”

  Logan flinched at the threat. Smart man.

  I had nothing to back up the words. Sure,
with enough money it was possible to make someone disappear, but it wasn’t worth my time. If anything, I’d find a way to get him so tangled up in harassment and stalking charges to keep him away from her for good. But, if my dead serious tone was enough to convince him not to cross me, it would be even better. Save me a headache.

  Logan lowered himself into his car and I flashed a violent smile as his car sped away so fast he nearly side swiped a cement column on his way out of the parking garage.

  “Good,” I said to myself. I let myself bask in the small victory before turning my attention back to the hotel where Megan had just run moments before.

  It’d be a lie to say I wasn’t furious with her. I’d made it very, very clear that she was to stay away from him and although it didn’t appear that I’d interrupted a lover’s quarrel it was still enough to boil my blood that she’d been with him again.

  I debated between going to confront her again, and letting it drop. Her words had stung more than she could have imagined. In my twenty-eight years I’d never let myself fall, or even get close to the edge, of the feelings I was having now. Megan was the first woman to ever come along and entrance me to the point where I couldn’t get enough and knew, somehow, that I never would. I couldn’t think or breathe without her on my mind. She’d soaked into my being and taken over everything. I wanted to see her, to breathe her, to taste her… every minute of every day. How could I lose control and feel these things so strongly?

  How could she, in turn, not feel a thing?

  Chapter Nine — Megan

  I barely made it three steps inside of my hotel room before an overwhelming surge of sadness, mixed with confusion and pain, hurled me towards the window. I threw aside the thick black out shades and scanned the parking lot below. I couldn’t see inside of the structure, but I could see the entry way of the hotel including the main entrance. My nose was pressed so close to the glass that a ring of fog appeared, blocking my view. I scrubbed it away with the sleeve of my sweater, but froze midway, as though seeing myself from some other perspective. “This is insane,” I whispered, backing off from the window. What had I been hoping to see? I scoffed at my own stupid question, I knew not what, but who I’d be hoping to see.