“My son will be home soon,” I say, stretching the truth, “and I have a few things I need to do. So, if you don’t mind, I need to be going.”
“Sure.” His tone is dejected and it tugs at my heartstrings a little bit. I have to resist the urge to do exactly what he wants and bend to his will, to agree to whatever proposition he puts forth. “I hope you and Huxley enjoy the tickets.”
“Thank you again,” I reply, my voice softer, lacking the spunk it had a few seconds ago. “It was entirely too kind of you.”
“It was my pleasure.” He waits a beat, to see if I actually end the call or give him something else to go on. “If you ever change your mind about dinner, the invitation stands.”
“Thank you. Have a good evening, Barrett.”
“You too Alison.”
I end the call and settle against the cushions. In another time and place, maybe I would take a risk with the dashing politician. He makes me laugh and our banter is so, so easy. I can’t ever recall feeling quite like this. But fear is a powerful emotion, maybe the most powerful of all, and I can’t get around the risk of losing everything I’ve built. Again.
Barrett
“WELL, TO WHAT DO I owe the pleasure of finding you in my office?” I ask, shutting the door behind me. It’s been a long day, probably because my focus has been shit. Hearing Alison’s voice, and her rebuff of my advances again earlier this afternoon, didn’t help. But what it did do was reinvigorate me. I haven’t found the way to win her over yet, but I will. I have to. She’s the only person that makes me smile. I’m not sure what that means or how long it will last, but all I know is that she gives me a spark I haven’t found anywhere else, and it’s something I can’t shake. Something I don’t want to shake.
Graham is sitting at my desk, going through a massive stack of papers. “Dad. You can thank him.”
“Not that it doesn’t thrill me to find you making yourself at home,” I say, tossing my briefcase on a chair, “but why?”
“I’ve been appointed your chaperone tonight.”
“Chaperone?”
“Whatever the official title is,” he grumbles, tossing a pen on the paper he was looking at. “We need to get out of here in about thirty. Is Troy still outside?”
I nod, pouring myself a glass of water from the pitcher Rose keeps in the little refrigerator in my office.
“Did you see your poll numbers?”
“Yeah,” I say, smacking my lips together. “They don’t look too bad.”
“They’re surprisingly good, actually,” Graham says, standing. “I think we have a fighting chance at this seat. Just keep doing what you’re doing. No big waves, no big surprises, and a nod from Monroe, and I think you’re good to go.”
I swipe a pen and a stack of papers out of my inbox and give them a quick once-over. Signing my name to the bottom of all but one, I stuff them in my outbox for Rose.
“What did you do today?” Graham eyes me suspiciously.
“Let’s see,” I say, clinking the ice in the glass. “I got in here before anyone else—except the media, naturally. Did a bunch of paperwork and went over reports for the new budget. Attended the ribbon cutting ceremony at the park. Worked on the contracts for the new sewage treatment plant and had some lunch, then did a few phone interviews with newspapers from Atlanta.”
“Funny. I don’t quite believe you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because while you’re not exactly smiling, you’re not completely pissed off, either. And that, my big brother, is odd.”
“What are you implying?” I grin.
“See?” he says, pointing his finger at me. “You’re smiling and there are no cameras here to mug for. That’s a genuine smile. Did you just put a hit out on Hobbs? If so, let a brother know so I can start crafting your alibi.”
“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” I laugh. “You always have a plan.”
“Only because I’ve always needed one with you and Linc as brothers,” he points out.
“You can rest assured I’ve committed no felonies today.”
“So she was of legal age? That’s what you mean?”
Laughing, I sit in the chair across from him. “Yes, she’s of legal age. She’s . . . intriguing.”
“Define ‘intriguing.’”
“You’re the one with the master’s degree,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure you know what it means.”
He rubs his hands across his forehead, looking just like our father. “‘Intriguing’ is a word that, when coming out your mouth about a female, concerns me, Barrett. I’m not going to lie.”
“Fine. I find her exciting. I find her different. I find her . . .”
“Conquestable?”
“That’s not a word.”
He groans and stands, walking to my refrigerator and pouring himself a drink. “Have you not been listening to anything Nolan’s been telling you? About locking down your image? About not getting involved with anyone when we have just weeks left to go?”
“Yes,” I say, letting the last sound drag out. “That’s why I met her at the Farm. There’s no one there to see anything.”
“Smart. If you must do something stupid, at least don’t do it in public.”
“It’s not stupid, Graham. I had lunch with her a few days ago. That’s it.”
He looks at me blankly, like I don’t get it.
“She’s not like Daphne or . . . or . . . what was the redhead’s name I dated awhile back?”
“Candy. Hence, my point.”
“Yeah, Candy. Man, she had a nice ass.”
“Barrett, please,” he sighs. “Listen to me. I’m sure she’s not like the rest of them. They never are, until they are.”
I shake my head emphatically. “Not this one. She’s a single mom that’s been through a nasty divorce. She doesn’t want any publicity, has no agenda. She just, I don’t know, makes me feel like I can breathe. Like I can be me.”
“So,” he chuckles, “you can be you and she still likes you? I stand corrected. You’ve found an angel. Keep her around.”
“Such a comedian,” I grumble, walking around my desk and taking my seat. “I’m being serious. I think I could really like her.”
That’s not entirely true. The taste of her mouth is seared into mine, the scent of her vanilla-laden perfume scorched into my memory, and I know she’s already singed her name into my blood. I’ve never had this . . . need . . . to get to know a girl before. It’s this prickly feeling that lets me know I am, without being, fucked.
“Please be careful. Be smart,” Graham says, pulling me out of my reverie. “While I’m happy to see you happy over someone without cup size factoring into the top five reasons, this probably isn’t the time to mess with this.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, reordering a stack of papers Graham scattered. “I get this feeling from her that she doesn’t want anything serious with me.”
“I doubt that,” he snorts.
“I’m serious. I’m going to try to see her again, but she’s . . . respectable,” I laugh, realizing it’s the first time I’ve ever been able to use that word about a girl in a conversation with my brother.
Graham blows out a breath, obviously not hearing what he’d hoped for. By the time he looks at me again, his mouth forms a thin line. “I’ll get the plan together to bail you out of whatever mess this becomes.”
“Thanks. Now let’s get out of here before we’re late.”
Alison
THE STADIUM SMELLS LIKE HOT dogs and spilled beer, two of my least favorite things. Seems fitting, since they go with baseball.
Lola walks in front of me, sashaying her hips as we pass a hottie making our way down the stairs of Barridge Stadium, the local minor league baseball team’s home. When Lo called shortly after I talked to Barrett and offered the tickets, I couldn’t refuse. Free tickets to Huxley’s favorite thing were a no brainer, especially when we’ve only been able to come to the stadium a handful of times.
&nbs
p; I decided not to tell Huxley about the season tickets yet. I figure I’ll save that gift for another day and spread the cheer. No sense in using all the goodness up in one day.
“This is so cool,” Huxley gasps. “Someday I’m going to play in a stadium even bigger than this when I go to the Majors.”
“If you do, I want season tickets,” Lola says, handing him his drink. “And clubhouse passes. Can you make that happen?”
“Sure,” he says, not paying any attention. His little face is taking in the seats, lighting, and fellow baseball fans.
Lola starts down the steps towards our seats and I nudge Hux along. We grab our seats right above the dugout and get situated.
“This is so awesome, Lola!” Hux says, his eyes wide. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome, little guy,” she says, reaching over and messing with his hair. “You need a haircut.”
“No, I don’t,” he groans. “Don’t start. Mom keeps trying to get it cut, but I want it to be long like Joe Stalsbach.” We lose him again to the wonders of the world of baseball.
“How did you get these tickets?” I ask, popping a piece of candy in my mouth.
“You mean, who did I have to come upon to get these seats?”
“Lo!” I exclaim, bumping her in the shoulder. “Little pitchers have big ears.”
She tosses a handful of popcorn at me. “Isaac. He got called in to work tonight. It’s just a charity game with the Sirens, so he couldn’t sell them for anything. So, he offered them to me. And I offered them to you.”
I smile at my best friend. She could be doing anything tonight, but she chose to go out of her way to make Huxley happy and that means more to me than anything in the world.
“Thanks for doing this. He’ll talk about it for a month.”
“Anything for the little guy. I mean, he’s my back-up plan. If I don’t figure out a way to take care of me, he’s giving me all-access to the dugout. I’m looking at tonight as an insurance policy.”
“Oh my God,” I laugh, watching everyone take their seats around us.
“So, speaking of which . . .”
“Speaking of what? God?”
“Barrett.”
“Shh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “For real, Lo. Realize we’re in a packed stadium. People eavesdrop.”
“And no one would know what I’m talking about if you didn’t react so obviously.”
I pop another piece of candy and glare at her. She just gives me her blank stare, the one she uses when she waits for me to stop being shocked at her behavior and continue the conversation.
“I’m not talking about . . . that . . . here,” I warn.
“You didn’t bother to spring that little gem of information, the one where you had lunch with—”
“Lola!”
“With a friend,” she modifies, “until I picked you up. What did you expect? You do know me, right?”
I feel a little elbow digging into my side and turn to see my sweet boy looking at me. His brown eyes, like his father’s, peer up at me with a level of excitement that makes me excited too.
He points to the field where the players have taken their positions unbeknownst to me. They’re tossing balls back and forth, some of them jogging to the stands to sign jerseys and hats for fans.
“Can I go get an autograph?” Hux asks. He bounces in his seat, one hand stuck in his baseball glove. “Please, Mom.”
“I don’t see anyone over here,” I say, scanning the fence. “If someone comes over, we’ll go see if we can get their attention, okay?”
“Yes!” he yells, fist pumping, making Lola and I laugh.
The speakers overhead rumble and the announcer’s voice blazes through the stadium. “Welcome, baseball fans young and old, to tonight’s charity game to benefit Casey’s Children’s Hospital!”
The crowd goes wild as some of their favorite players wave from the field and dugouts. They take their places as the announcer continues. “We’d like to give an especially warm welcome to Savannah’s own center fielder for the major league Tennessee Arrows, Lincoln Landry!”
The crowd jumps to their feet as I sink back into my chair. Hux is waving his mitt in the air as I watch Lincoln appear from the dugout beneath us and wave to the crowd.
I lean forward, trying to get a good eyeful of him. He’s taller, thinner, but more muscled than Barrett. That’s all I can really tell from the back.
Lola watches my reaction. “Do you think Barrett’s here?”
I let my shoulders rise and fall.
“Your hometown loves you, Lincoln! Thank you so much for coming home to support our hospital tonight!” the announcer booms.
Lincoln turns to face the booth, situated above our seats, and I realize how beautiful he is. A younger version of Barrett, Lincoln has a softer jaw line and more unruly hair. When he smiles and flashes the crowd a thumbs-up, Lola nearly dies.
“I take it back. That’s the one I want,” she breathes, her jaw hanging open. “My God. Those men have genetics that need reproduced and I volunteer for the job.”
I ignore her, a peculiar feeling bubbling in my stomach. My attention is drawn like a magnet to the dugout. I’m not sure why, but I wait with bated breath.
And then I see the reason.
“Ladies and gentleman, let’s now give a round of applause for Mayor Landry, who’ll be tossing out the first pitch!”
I gasp.
Lola smashes me from the side, her gasp taking away all air from the immediate vicinity.
Huxley sits down, unimpressed.
Barrett gets situated on the mound as the fangirls in the crowd go crazy and I have half a notion to cover Huxley’s ears at some of the lewd suggestions being spewed towards the dugout.
He waves to the fans before tossing the pitch. It bounces once before it makes it to the plate. The crowd cheers wildly and I watch as his lean body jogs halfway to the plate and he embraces the catcher in a half-hug.
“That guy can’t throw a baseball,” Huxley says. “They should’ve at least gotten someone that could make it to the plate.”
“That’s the mayor,” Lola tells him because I’m still without words, my eyes glued to him as he makes his way to the clubhouse.
“He’s not a baseball player, that’s for sure,” Hux scoffs.
Barrett is met at the steps by his brother. Side-by-side, they’re breathtaking. I can’t begin to imagine how beautiful their family pictures must be.
Lincoln slaps him on the shoulder and says something in his ear, making Barrett laugh and I’m jealous I can’t hear it. Not the words, but the sound of his voice. I heard it just today but I already miss it . . . especially knowing I’ll probably never hear it again.
Almost like he knows I’m watching, he looks up. His gaze falls right on me like I’m the only one sitting in the stands.
A look of confusion flickers across his features before he breaks out into a wide smile.
Barrett
“Nice job, Mayor,” a player says before fleeing the dugout to take the field.
“Don’t lie to him!” Lincoln shouts after him, making the rest of the departing guys laugh. “That was the shittiest pitch I’ve ever seen. I’ve been embarrassed by you before, but tonight tops them all. Fuck.”
“Good thing I’m not a player then,” I mutter.
What’s she doing here?
“The next time you need anything baseball related, call me or Graham,” Lincoln says, turning to our brother. “Shit, G. We should’ve had you stand in. Trade in your yuppie polo shirt and lose the glasses and you could pass as Barrett. It’d be close enough. At least you wouldn’t embarrass me.”
Graham leans against the wall and he and Linc engage in some conversation that probably involves making fun of me.
How can I see her?
I know it’s risky and stupid to want to see her now, right here in the middle of the entire city, basically. But I can’t help it. Just knowing she’s feet away from me and not be
ing able to see her kills me.
As does the idea of her being here with someone else.
I leap up the few steps to the field and steal a peek up the stands. She sits with a raven haired girl that looks vaguely familiar and a little blond boy with a mitt.
Bingo!
“Hey, Linc!” I say, whipping around and descending into the dugout. “Remember the time when we were kids and you were getting your ass beat and I saved you?”
“Uh, no,” he says, his voice echoing off the now-empty walls of the room. The players not playing are talking to fans, doing promotional stuff. We’re the only ones around. “That didn’t happen.”
“Well, let’s pretend it did. And today is the day you pay me back.”
“What the hell?” he laughs, looking at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am.
“What’s going on with you?” Graham asks, standing straight. He quirks a brow, just like our father, getting his contingency plan ready for action. “And don’t even tell me it’s . . . that.”
“It’s that,” I grin widely.
“That? It’s what? What’s that?” Linc asks.
Graham groans.
I pace a small circle, trying to get a strategy in place to make everything work and not worse.
“Hello, assholes,” Lincoln says, throwing his arms in front of him. “What’s happening? I feel like you guys are talking in some language I don’t understand.”
“Linc, I need a favor.”
“Fuck me,” Graham mutters, collapsing back into the wall again. “You do realize whatever stupidity you pull tonight is on my watch, right?”
“You aren’t my babysitter, Graham. I’m a grown man.”
“So please make grown man decisions,” he fires back.
Linc’s head volleys back and forth. “You guys are losing me, but I do like the sound of this.”
“There’s a little boy about four rows back,” I tell Linc. “Blond hair, wearing a mitt. He’s sitting by his mom. She’s my age, blonde hair, white t-shirt.”
“And?”
“Go get the kid.”
He steps away from me and laughs. “Why? What do you care about a kid sitting in the stands? You don’t even like kids.”
Sway (Landry Family #1) Page 8
