The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book]

by Lauren N. Sharman

  "But you, Blackie,” she said, reaching out and gently running her hand down the side of his stubble covered face, “with your rules, watchful eye, and most-of-the-time annoying, overprotective personality—are the closest thing I'm ever going to have to a father. I love you, I respect you, and I want you to be proud of me."

  Blackie blinked, lowered his head momentarily, then looked at her again. Taking her small hand in his much larger one, he gave it a slight, reassuring squeeze. “I am proud of you, Georgia. Half the men I was in prison with wouldn't have been able to survive what you've been through. And not only did you survive it, you moved past it and put your life back together."

  "With help from all of you ... and Wade."

  "It don't matter how many people attempted to help you. Ain't no one woulda been able to do anything for you if you hadn't been willin’ to help yourself. If I'd been in as deep as you—had the kind of things happen to me that happened to you—I ain't sure I woulda been able to get over it. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, little girl."

  She gave Blackie a half smile, trying desperately not to cry. “Thanks. I needed to hear that."

  "So what do you say?” he asked. “Are you gonna come home and give me a chance to do things right?"

  "Yes, I'm coming home. But I want to do it with a fresh start. I want you to know everything. I need you to know what happened during the time I spent with Dolan. I know you said Bert told you a lot of it, but I need you to know the rest."

  Blackie swallowed hard. Georgia knew he didn't want to know the horrifying, gory details, but she needed to tell him. The things she'd learned about her brothers and their pasts had helped her understand them better, and she knew this would help them understand her.

  After Judd sent Jay back downstairs, everyone gathered at the kitchen table. Georgia focused on her brothers’ faces as they listened to her talk. She knew what they were hearing was probably killing them, but this was something she needed to do ... for herself and for them.

  "But as bad as all that was, the one thing that kept me sane was thinking about the three of you,” she told her brothers. “I used to pretend that you were coming to rescue me; that if I held out long enough, you'd walk through the door one day and announce that you'd come to take me home. I thought about it so much that I almost had myself believing it.

  "One day, I was so out of it that I actually called out for you to help me,” she told Blackie. “Dolan got angry and went crazy. He yelled things about you that sobered me up fast. That was the day I realized that he was afraid of you. And that if you ever did show up, Dolan would back down and I would be saved."

  When she was finished, Georgia leaned back in her chair and released a deep breath. Her siblings were all quietly staring at her. “You don't have to say anything,” she told them. “I just wanted you to know so you'd understand me better, and so I could finally put it all behind me once and for all.

  "Don't pity me, don't feel sorry for me, and don't treat me any different because of what you just heard. I just want to be Georgia McCassey; Blackie, Judd and Rebel's sister. I want to be part of the family again, and,” she paused and eyed her brothers, “I want to learn how to shoot a gun."

  Rebel raised his brows, Judd choked on the sip of beer he'd just taken, and Blackie, Georgia could tell, was doing his best not to smile.

  "We'll talk about that later,” Blackie said, sternly. “And about the lessons you need on how to fight when you're takin’ on opponents three times your size. Right now, there's somethin’ else we need to talk about."

  "There is?"

  "Yeah."

  "What is it?"

  "Not what,” he said firmly, “who."

  "Who? Who do you want to talk about?"

  "Wade."

  This time, it was Georgia who was doing her best not to smile. A quick glance at Judd and Rebel told her that they were also amused. But the expressions on their faces also told her something else, too ... that she was on her own. If she wanted Wade, she was going to have to stand up to Blackie and fight for him.

  "I love him and I want him in my life, Blackie,” she answered with as much confidence as possible. “And that's just something you're going to have to deal with. We're not having sex and we're not getting married. Right now, I just want to spend time with him."

  Blackie was quiet for a full minute before he nodded. “Fair enough."

  That was it?

  He wasn't going to argue with her?

  She had fully expected him to give her a hard time; tell her to stay away from Wade.

  But he didn't.

  Even as she quietly stared at him, waiting for him to change his mind, he never once gave any indication that he was going to.

  That's when she realized that he'd meant what he said.

  "That was a gift,” she stated, “wasn't it?” thinking that maybe he wasn't hassling about her feelings for Wade because he didn't want to fight.

  "No,” he said seriously, “you earned that one, Georgia. Wade earned it. But I'm warnin’ you, the first time I catch you in tears because of somethin’ he did, Wade Pickett's a dead man."

  She shrugged and smiled. “Fair enough."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later

  Opening Day, Hagerstown Tradesman Softball League

  "Come on, Georgia,” Jay pleaded quietly from his seat next to her on the bench, “please! Don't you want to play?"

  So bad she could taste it.

  Georgia jammed the softball she'd been holding back into Judd's bag and whispered, “I can't, Jay,” hoping that Blackie, who was leaning against the fencepost with a clipboard in his hand because it was his turn to manage the team today, didn't hear them talking.

  Jay crossed his arms in front of his chest and tilted his head, looking so much like his father. “Why not?"

  Yeah, why not? “Because I'm not on the team! And besides, McCassey's Garage already has a pitcher."

  Jay sighed in frustration, making Georgia smile. He was so smart, and so savvy, that most of the time she forgot she was talking to a nine-year-old. “Brady's not a real pitcher, only a miserable excuse for one."

  She laughed because Jay was right. Her cousin Brady—although he had a good windup and made powerful throws—hadn't thrown a strike in two innings. “Still, it's his position,” she explained, “I can't take it away."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it wouldn't be right. Plus, there aren't any girls on the team."

  "That's just because none of the other girls in the family want to play."

  Jay was wearing her down—fast. Georgia really did want to play. But no one besides Jay knew she could pitch; there had been so many other things going on since she'd moved back in with Blackie and Angel, that she hadn't had time to think about telling them ... until last night, when Blackie had asked her if she was coming to the game today.

  She'd almost said no. But Georgia knew that the guys took their softball games almost as seriously as they did their football. Her brothers’ feelings would've been hurt if she hadn't come to support them.

  "I just can't, Jay, I'm sorry."

  His slumped shoulders and the disappointed look on his face nearly broke her heart. Since Georgia had come home, the two of them had walked to the park and practiced pitching and catching every day after Jay had gotten out of school. Jay was an amazing catcher—just like Judd—and she was back to her old form, pitching better than ever. Jay was convinced she could blow away every batter she faced.

  Georgia wasn't so sure about that, even though she would love to try.

  Maybe another day.

  "Goddammit, Brady!” Blackie swore, smacking the fencepost with his clipboard when the next two batters reached base on balls, walking in another two runs. “What's with you today?"

  Blackie tossed his clipboard to the ground and sat down next to Georgia on the bench, giving up on his cousin. “That guy couldn't hit the side of a damn ba
rn."

  Georgia never had time to reply. The next pitch, a bad attempt at a curve ball, was a line drive straight back to Brady. Georgia knew it was instinct that made her cousin reach for the ball barehanded, and knew right away that his wrist was broken when the ball ricocheted off of it and sailed over toward third base.

  The umpire called, “Time!” when Brady fell to his knees, and Blackie ran out to the mound mumbling something under his breath about Brady finally throwing a strike.

  When her brother was gone, Jay jumped off the bench, bubbling with excitement. “This is it, Georgia!” Jay shrieked like a little girl. “This is your chance!"

  Georgia's mouth was suddenly bone dry. “Stop it, Jay."

  Time was still out as Blackie, followed by the entire team, walked back to the bench. With the exception of Brady, who was sitting in the corner of the dugout holding an ice pack on his wrist, they stood in a circle.

  "Now what?” Kane asked.

  "Now we forfeit,” Blackie said roughly. “The rules state that each team has to have nine players on the field and a manager on the bench. Whoever starts the game as manager has to finish it, so I can't fill in for Brady, and since we're missin’ two players today, we ain't got no one else to take his place."

  Jay nudged Georgia, but she elbowed him back, silently telling him to keep his mouth shut.

  "Dammit,” Judd swore, “I can't believe we're going to lose to a bunch of landscapers. They're never going to let us live this down."

  The disappointment in Judd's voice made Georgia feel guilty. Her brother's team shouldn't have to forfeit the game. Before she could stop herself, Georgia shouted, “I'll do it!"

  Everyone, with the exception of Jay, who had let out a loud cheer, fell silent and turned to look at her.

  "You'll do what?” Blackie asked.

  "I'll fill in for Brady."

  It was sort of funny, having Blackie stare at her the way he was ... like she'd just announced she was going to run for president.

  "Georgia—"

  "She can do it, Uncle Blackie!” Jay said in her defense. “You're not going to believe how good she is!"

  "Can you pitch?” Blackie asked seriously, ignoring Jay.

  She nodded.

  "Are you sure?"

  She nodded again, hating the fact that he doubted her.

  "What about a glove?"

  "She has one!” Jay announced, surprising Georgia. And sure enough, he pulled her glove, which she had no idea he'd taken, out of his backpack, and handed it to her.

  Blackie looked at the rest of the team, settling his gaze on Judd and Rebel, who both nodded their heads yes.

  "What'll it be, McCassey?” the home plate umpire called to her brother.

  "We're addin’ another name to the roster,” he called out loud enough so the manager of the other team could hear. Then, after spelling Georgia's name for the woman keeping stats for the landscapers, Blackie dug into the equipment bag and pulled out the smallest team jersey he could find. He handed it to Georgia. “You can change in my truck."

  Then Blackie tossed Jay a ball. “Get her warmed up. You got ten minutes."

  Georgia jumped off the bench and ran to Blackie's truck, where she put her hair into a ponytail; not even caring that the scar on her temple was visible. Then she used a switchblade from the glove compartment to cut the sleeves off the shirt. When she was finished, she jumped out of the truck and walked to where Jay was waiting for her.

  "I should kill you for this, you know,” she told him.

  Jay did nothing but grin. “You can kill me later. Right now, you have a game to pitch.” He tossed her the ball and they walked behind the snack bar.

  After five minutes of throwing, Jay signaled to her that it was time. “Are you ready?” he asked, taking the ball Georgia offered him.

  She swallowed hard. “I don't know. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

  "Good,” he said, happily, “then you're ready."

  "I don't know, Jay—"

  "You can do this, Georgia,” he encouraged as they made their way toward the bench. “You're the best softball pitcher I've ever seen. The guys’ jaws are going to hit the floor when you throw that first pitch, and I can't wait to see it."

  Blackie was motioning for them to hurry, so Georgia and Jay jogged the rest of the way to the bench. When they got there, the rest of the team, which included, Judd, Rebel, Flynn, Frank, Jimmy, Kane, Wade, and their cousin, Tank, all nodded to her before retaking the field.

  Georgia hung back.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?” Blackie asked her.

  "Do you mean, am I sure I can do this?"

  "Look, Georgia, this ain't the time to argue. If you say you can pitch, then you can pitch. I just don't want you to feel like you have to."

  "She doesn't feel that way, Uncle Blackie,” Jay answered for her, “she's excited about it."

  Blackie laughed. “Who are you, her agent?"

  "Nope,” Jay said proudly. “I'm her coach."

  Georgia saw Blackie roll his eyes, but also saw the humor in them. He got a kick out Jay, just like they all did.

  "Here you go.” Blackie handed her the ball, which she tucked snugly into her glove. “Knock ‘em dead."

  The butterflies in her stomach refused to allow her to speak, so she simply nodded. After she'd turned away, Jay shouted, “Remember, Georgia, it's just like playing catch!"

  Without turning around, Georgia raised her right hand and waved to let Jay know she'd heard him.

  When she reached the mound, Georgia moved around for a moment to get comfortable, using her right cleat, which Jay had also swiped from her bag and brought to the game, to fill in a little of the hole in front of the rubber.

  Ready to throw her five allotted warm-up pitches, Georgia raised a hand and signaled to Judd—her catcher. He pulled down his facemask, squatted behind the plate, and jammed his fist into the pocket of his glove, giving the signal that he was also ready.

  Georgia positioned herself, placed her fingers around the ball in a tight grip, wound up, and let a soft, slow pitch going no faster than ten miles an hour sail over the plate.

  Accustomed to being made fun of for the slow way she warmed up, Georgia tuned out the chuckles and teasing she heard coming from the opposing team's bench. She wasn't, however, able to ignore the loud, angry, “Shut the fuck up!” that Blackie shouted to the other team for teasing her.

  She caught the ball Judd threw back to her, walked around the mound to get herself settled, and tossed him another one. After repeating the routine with three more quick pitches, Judd called, “Time,” raised his facemask until it was resting on top of his helmet, and ran out to the mound.

  "Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I'm fine, why?"

  "You're going to have to throw a little harder, Georgia, these guys are real hitters."

  She smiled; anticipating the reaction Judd was going to have in about thirty seconds when she threw her first pitch. “No worries, Judd. The next three are going to be fastballs, and they'll be coming in hard, right down the middle. Be ready."

  He placed the ball in her glove and winked. “I'm always ready."

  Sure he was.

  By the time Judd returned to take his place behind home plate, the batter from the other team was in the box and taking warm-up swings. Judd squatted, adjusted his facemask, and gave Georgia the signal that he was ready.

  Georgia used her upper arms to wipe the sweat from one side of her face, then the other. She positioned herself, grabbed hold of the ball, and stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing but the pocket of her brother's glove. Ten years of practice had made it easy for her to tune out the sounds around her on the softball field and concentrate on nothing but the task at hand. The world around her became instantly silent as she took a moment to stare down the batter before taking a deep breath and beginning her windup. Everything felt as if it was happening in slow motion until the windmill was almost complete and h
er arm was even with her hip. She heard herself grunt as she released the ball with every ounce of power she could muster, and watched it fly. The loud ‘smack’ she heard told her that the ball had landed in the exact part of the pocket where she'd been aiming.

  Her brother jumped up, removed his glove, and was staring at her, wide-eyed, as he shook his catching hand. The batter, who hadn't even begun his swing until after the ball had landed in Judd's glove, was shaking his head.

  Over by the bench, Blackie had dropped his clipboard, Brady was on his feet, and Jay—her biggest fan—was jumping up and down wearing the silliest grin she'd ever seen. He waved to Georgia, and she waved back.

  Two more pitches were all it took to strike out the batter. The second one went down on strikes, as well. The final man hit a hard grounder to third, which was fielded by Wade, who threw the ball to Rebel at first base in plenty of time to get the runner out.

  When the inning was over, Georgia tossed the ball to the umpire and ran toward the bench with the rest of the team. Blackie met her halfway there. “Holy shit, Georgia, them balls had to be goin’ over sixty miles an hour! How come Jay was the only one who knew about this talent of yours?"

  Why did they have to have this conversation now? “Honestly?” she asked.

  "Yeah, Georgia,” Blackie furrowed his brows and stared down at her, “honestly. You got a hell of a talent. How come you never told us you could pitch?"

  "I didn't say anything because it had been four years since I'd touched a softball,” she explained. “I wasn't even sure I could still pitch.” She shrugged, and continued in a lower voice, “There was no pressure with Jay; he thought I was cool just because I threw him a few balls. If I hadn't been able to find my rhythm and couldn't pitch anymore, he wouldn't have noticed.

  "If I'd told you guys that I was throwing sixty-four mile an hour fastballs at the age of fifteen, that's what you would've expected to see the first time I threw. No girl wants to bomb in front of her big brothers, especially me; the three of you are so good at everything."