by K. Bromberg
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I needed you to love something more than you love me. I needed you to do something that seemed impossible from the start and succeed at it so you would know you could do it on your own. So I’d know you’d be okay when I’m gone.” I shake my head as I try to grasp what he’s telling me. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away, Scouty, but your whole life you looked to me to help you when things got tough. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” His voice breaks right along with my heart. “But I needed you to know that you didn’t need me to fix anything. You’re strong and capable and had the tools to fix it yourself. I needed you to realize you didn’t need me at all.”
“But I do need you, Dad.” My voice hiccups as I fight back the threatening sobs.
He looks at me for the first time and I watch a tear slide down his cheek. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to push you away? I may be a hard-ass, but pushing my little girl away was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I wanted to be selfish. To pull you near and keep you in this bubble of ours and never let you go . . . but I couldn’t. I pushed—no shoved—you toward the contract because if you could handle those hard-ass, sexist, stubborn men, then I knew you’d thrive at whatever it is you wanted to do. I could give a rat’s ass about the contract, Scout. I couldn’t care less if you continue the business or not. I just needed to know before I go that you’re going to be okay. That you’d believe in yourself enough to know you’re going to be okay too.”
I put my arms around my dad, and he holds me as I cry.
“I’m so sorry I have to leave you.”
I can’t stop the huge, heaving sobs.
“I’m so very proud of you. Never doubt that.”
I refuse to let go as he strokes his hand over my hair again and again and tells me things I need to hear but wish he didn’t have to say.
“You’re my heart, Scouty. I love you more than anything in this world, and I don’t want you to ever forget that.”
After some time, when the tears are all cried out and the emptiness has been filled with his unquestionable love, I lean my head on his shoulder like I used to do when I was little and watch the world outside. The grass moving with the breeze. The clouds sliding across the sky. The big tree Ford and I used to climb—where my dad has already chosen as his final resting place.
“I say we go sit on the porch and enjoy this nice weather. What do you say?”
My breath is still hitching—the fallout from my sobs—and I’m sure my eyes are swollen, but it sounds like the best idea in the world.
Like we used to do when I was little.
“I’d love to.”
“Can you help me make it out there?” he asks.
“Of course.” I wrap my arm around his waist and stand up with him. He’s so light. This hulking man of my childhood has been reduced to skin and bones. “You okay?”
“I’d be a helluva lot better if you slip some of that whiskey in the cupboard above the fridge into my cup. Sally would never know.”
I laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s my girl.”
The sky is purple and orange as the sun sets, and my dad and Easton talk all things imaginable—my childhood, his shoulder, baseball—even about the safe of guns in the garage. Sally and I have chatted for the first time in forever about topics that don’t have anything to do with my dad’s illness and it feels so damn good. Dare I say, almost normal.
“Are you sure you need to head out?” Sally asks.
“Unfortunately. I have an early flight to Los Angeles in the morning,” I say glancing at my father again and the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes.
“Game one of the World Series,” my dad murmurs, and I love that there is still that nostalgic look in his eyes when it comes to the game. I’m grateful his sickness hasn’t taken that away from him.
“Yep.” I nod. “The only thing that would make it better is if Easton was playing in it.” I look at him and smile, knowing he feels the same way.
“Remember what I said, Easton,” my dad says with a nod. “Your body knows its limitations. Listen to what it tells you and you’ll make the right decision.”
“Yes, sir,” Easton says and I wonder what exactly they were talking about while Sally and I had gone inside to refill our drinks. Was my dad giving Easton advice on his shoulder? “It was a pleasure meeting both of you.” He steps forward and gives Sally a big hug and then shakes my dad’s hand. My dad leans forward and says something in Easton’s ear I can’t hear. Easton meets his eyes in an exchange of unspoken words. He holds it a bit longer than normal and smiles with a nod as if he’s thanking him for things only they understand.
“Maybe we can do it again sometime soon. Get together. Once the series is over, and you’re both around more.”
“I’d love that,” I say, my heart hoping I get to have a lot more of these moments with them now that everything is out in the open.
“Can you guys give me a minute with Scout?” my dad asks.
“Let me walk you to the car, Easton. You may have lost your way, considering it’s right in front of you,” Sally jokes as I turn to my dad.
“I just wanted to remind you that you can take or leave the contract. That contract was my dream and my goal, and I want you to have your own.” He squeezes my hand.
“What if mine are the same as yours? What if I want to carry on your legacy?”
“I’d like that,” he says with a soft smile as his eyes close momentarily. When he opens them up, there’s a clarity there I don’t expect. “Thank you for my gifts.”
“Gifts? I only had one.”
“Nah, you gave me two of the greatest gifts I could have ever asked for: knowing you’ll be okay . . . and seeing you in love.”
I hug him as tight as I can to let him know those words were the greatest gift he could have ever given me in return. Knowing that he knows I’ll be all right.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“Clear mind. Full heart, Scouty-girl. Never forget that.”
“Never.”
When I walk in the press box of the stadium, Easton sits with his head down studying the papers spread all over the counter in front of him. Not wanting to disturb him and ruin his concentration, I lean against the doorjamb and wait for him to notice me.
“You done with work?” he asks without looking my way.
“Yeah. Adler’s coming along and I completed my reports for Griswold,” I say referring to the interim general manager until Boseman finds a new one.
“You heading home? You’ve been here all day, you must be exhausted.”
“I am, but I figured I’d sit here with you awhile if you don’t mind.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I say as I close the door and approach him. He remains focused on what he’s working on so I take in the view of the field from our position at the club level. The grass is in pristine shape, the World Series logos have been painted on the infield, and strings of plastic flags have been hung along the left and right field lines. There are a few guys on the field—it looks like JP, Guzman, and Santiago, taking a few extra cuts at the ball. Getting some additional batting practice in before the next game tomorrow.
The Aces are tied with the Anaheim Angels, one game all, so the city is abuzz with the knowledge that they’ll be in front of the hometown crowd for the next three games.
“You couldn’t have asked for a better location to have your broadcast, huh?” I put a hand on his back and scratch it softly.
“The second best thing to playing in the series is broadcasting it.” I hear the bitterness and sarcasm in his voice and let it go without commenting. I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I get it. All I meant was at least you’re familiar with this booth and its layout since you’ve broadcast here before. Besides, this stadium is your second home of sorts so that might help combat the ner
ves some.”
There’s a crack of the bat below. Some whooping as the ball hits the upper deck beyond the right field wall.
But it’s Easton who demands my attention when he reaches out to pull me to him. When I step between his parted knees, he wraps his arms around my hips, pulls me into him, and rests his head on my abdomen. My hands automatically thread through his hair to reassure him that I’m here, still rooting for him, still the one who wants the best for him.
“I’m nervous,” he admits after a few silent minutes, the heat of his breath seeping through the fabric of my shirt and warming my skin.
“I know you are,” I tell him, trying to imagine what he’s going through—the pressure he’s put on himself and the fear of public scrutiny if he messes up. As soon as he was announced as part of the broadcasting lineup for tomorrow’s game, the assholes behind their keyboards started their bullshit.
He holds on for a few minutes as the sounds of baseball below filter up to us when I get an idea. Something to make him a little more at ease. Something for him to remember when he’s feeling nervous during the commentating.
“Hey, you know what they say to do when you get nervous, don’t you?” I ask, pulling away from him and walking toward the door. The stadium is far from vacant with the game tomorrow and the postseason preparation, but I’ll take the risk that no one is going to come knocking on the press booth door.
“Picture everyone naked,” he says.
I flip the lock on the door and turn around to face him, a more than coy smile on my lips. “You can do that.” I take a step toward him and lift one of my eyebrows. “Or you can imagine me standing here naked.”
One corner of his mouth turns up in disbelief as his eyes narrow, curiosity owning his expression. And so I make good on my comment. I pull my tank top and sports bra over my head, the weight of my breasts falling when they’re free of the restrictive fabric.
His eyes widen. “Oh, fuck.”
“Exactly. Oh, fuck.”
I toe my shoes off and shimmy off my exercise pants so I’m standing in the broadcast booth of the Austin Aces, completely naked, with an audience of one.
He wets his lips and shifts in his chair.
“You know what’s even better than imagining me naked?”
“What’s that?” I love that he can’t keep his eyes from roaming all over my body as if it’s a treasure map he can’t wait to explore.
“Imagining me sucking you off in the exact same chair you’ll be broadcasting from.”
“Imagining you doing it or remembering you doing it from firsthand knowledge?” he asks as he shifts again in his seat, his erection tenting his shorts.
“That depends,” I murmur as I step between his thighs again, lean down, and press my lips to his. I make the kiss soft and slow, so that when I break from it, he sits forward to try and take more.
“Depends on what?” He chuckles.
“Why your shorts are still on.”
In a flurry of movement, he has his gym shorts shoved down to his ankles and has one foot out of their leg.
With my eyes on his, I drop to my knees, lower my head, and ever so slowly slide his cock into my mouth. I press my tongue to its underside as my lips suction around him and am rewarded with a guttural groan when he hits the back of my throat. His eyes break from mine as they close and his head falls back.
I take my time, letting the warmth of my mouth, the suction of my lips, and the pressure of my tongue work him up the ladder of ecstasy.
“Goddamn,” he groans.
Music to my ears.
Holding him as deep as I can take him, I bring my hands into the mix. First with fingernails scraping gently over his balls. His thighs tighten. His feet flex. And then as I slide him out of my mouth, the release of the suction making a popping sound that fills the booth. I grab his shaft with my other hand and twist it gently as I begin to work it up and over his length while my mouth pleasures its tip.
Easton’s hands are everywhere. First on the armrests. Then on his thighs. Then one fists in the back of my hair and holds my head as he lifts his hips and fucks my mouth.
It’s erotic as hell.
The sound of his groan. The pop of the suction when he breaks from my lips. The crack of the bat down below. Knowing people are right there while we’re doing this in here.
Intoxicating.
The groan he emits. The possession in his grip. His stilted praise between pants of breath.
Empowering.
Knowing I can give this to him. Not just the climax, but something to recall and put him at ease when he’s here tomorrow night. A little private moment to make him smile right before the nerves kick in when the teleprompter starts rolling.
“Scout.” It’s a dirty moan as he bucks his hips up, and I suck harder. “Scout.” His dick swells and his muscles tense. “Scout.” And then he’s lost as I suck and swallow everything he has to give me. “Oh. God. Scout.”
His grip loosens from my hair but he pulls back on it so I’m forced to look up to him. I bring a hand up to wipe my lips when he slips from my mouth.
His disbelieving grin reaffirms the risk was definitely worth it.
“You’re bad.”
“Would you rather I be good?”
“Hell, fucking, no.” His laugh fills the booth as he helps me rise from my knees. “Look at you. I didn’t even get to take advantage of all of this.” He runs his hands up and down the sides of my torso and murmurs in appreciation.
I bat his hands away. “You can take advantage of it later. I’ve got to get dressed before we get caught.”
I love the sound of his laugh. “Not so brave now, are you?”
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” I ask as we begin to put our clothes back on.
“Damn straight I did.” He looks like the cat that ate the canary right now. Smug as hell.
“Don’t ever say I’m not a team player,” I tease.
“You sure as hell just took one for the team.” He shakes his head and looks at the many papers in front of him before looking back to me. “And I’m more than certain that your generosity for the team will help ease my nerves tomorrow night.”
“Good to know.”
The love in his eyes is overwhelming and makes me unexpectedly uncomfortable. I avert my eyes and focus on tying my shoes, but when I look back up, he’s still there, still looking at me.
“Are you done?” I ask.
“Nah. I want to run through this a few more times. You going to head home?”
“Do you mind if I stay here with you instead? I have my book to read so I promise I won’t bug you.”
His smile is soft. “I’d like that.”
“Is Helen coming back tonight?” Scout asks as she dries her hair with a towel.
“Nah,” I glance over to the kitchen clock and then back to the papers I’m shuffling through. “We’re done for the day.”
Crap. Where are my notes?
“You have to be exhausted. You’ve been practicing in the booth all day.”
“Not all day.” God. Damn. Her sucking me off earlier was unexpected but fucking perfection.
“Let’s not talk about that.” When I glance her way again, her cheeks are flush with embarrassment.
“Don’t even . . .” I roll my eyes. “I know you, Scout Dalton. You don’t get to act all shy when I know the sexy vixen you are in private.”
She laughs and that visual of the top of her head, the heat of her mouth, the suction of her lips . . . I’m one helluva lucky guy.
“What are you looking for?” she asks, purposely changing the topic and drawing me back to the matter at hand—finding my cheat sheets for the broadcast tomorrow.
“I think I left them at the stadium.”
“Left what?”
“My notes. I’ve got to run back and get them.”
“Ah . . . just when I was going to let you take advantage of the rest of me.”
“You were?” Music to m
y ears.
“I’ll be in bed.” Her smile tells me she’s damn serious. “Naked. And waiting.”
“I’ll hurry.”
Yep. I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
With my notes in my hand and thoughts of exactly what I want to do to Scout when I get home on my mind, I jog down the halls of the club level feeling damn good about life in general.
Things with Scout are incredible.
I’m more than prepared for tomorrow.
My shoulder is coming along.
The Aces are in the series. And fuck, I technically may be a Wrangler, but my heart will always be with the Aces. At least I get to call the game. It’s not playing but it’s better than nothing.
I round the corner.
And stare.
What the hell?
“You have to stop talking about this here. People will start noticing.”
“Let them talk.” Santiago throws his hands up. “See if I care. It’s your image you’re trying to preserve by keeping this all secret. Not mine.”
“Keep your voice down, will you?” my dad says with a resignation I’ve never heard from him before.
I can’t move even though every part of me tells me I don’t want to know what they’re talking about.
“Where do you want to discuss this then, Cal? You refuse to talk to me at your house. You won’t meet me anywhere else because God forbid someone sees us out in public together—the father and the villain—and starts asking questions. Here we’re expected to talk to each other. Here we’ll get overlooked. Here your precious fucking son might not question it.”
My shoes squeak and both of them snap their attention my way. I shake my head as I look from Santiago then to my dad.
Oh my fucking God.
“Are you kidding me?” I think I say it. I’m not sure because my head is full of so much white noise right now I can’t even . . .
How the hell have I never seen . . .
Fuck.
Santiago is my dad’s son?
My half-brother?
“I can explain.” My dad steps forward but I take one back, head still shaking and mind still wanting not to believe.
