Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  Instead of playing my usual hip-hip dance-chop music, I hijack Philip’s iPad and pull up the Red Hawk’s game, which started about half an hour ago.

  I can listen to the sports announcers while I chop tomatoes and peel cucumbers. I don’t mind listening to the play-by-play analysis. It’s actually taught me quite a bit about a sport I only had limited understanding of. I lose interest when the sportscasters try to fill the dead air between plays with idiotic blather about a whole host of statistical milestones, complete with colorful graphic packages. I suspect most of them are afflicted with a severe case of verbal diarrhea causing them to talk endlessly just to hear their own voices.

  I do my best to tune them out until I hear the name Cole McGuire mentioned. I put down the knife and give them my complete attention.

  Two men are sitting in the broadcasting booth, dressed sharply in navy blue suits, their names proudly emblazoned across the bottom of the screen. I catch Buck Williams in the middle of his assessment.

  “McGuire's enjoying a productive rookie campaign. In his first one hundred games, he's hitting two sixty with fifteen homers and eleven stolen bases. It’s his power at the plate that drives his value. Defensively, he’s looked quite impressive at short and it’s no surprise that his name has appeared on more than one Rookie of the Year contender list.”

  Someone named Eddie Brock seems to agree.

  “That the twenty-six-year-old McGuire is producing at a high level is not a matter of debate. What is worth exploring is whether his success to date is sustainable. In Mac's favor is that he hits the ball darned hard. That core skill in tandem with his base-running and fielding skills allow him to profile as a highly valuable contributor long-term.”

  Wow. Cole’s name is being floated around as the MLB’s Rookie of the Year. I wonder if he knows.

  “Hey, Kenny. How are the Red Hawks doing tonight?” Philip’s home. He peeks under the lid and smiles from ear to ear when he lingers over the pot, taking in long drags of the sweet smell of tomato and basil. “Who are they playing?”

  “They’re playing the Rockies,” I explain as I finish setting the table. “The game just started, no score yet.”

  “Where’s Meg?” he asks, looking around the room.

  “With Connor. She’s using that nebulizer thing. I think it’s helping. I haven’t heard him cough in the last half an hour or so.”

  Philip excuses himself and heads straight for the nursery. After draining the pasta and refrigerating the salad, I plop myself down on the sofa and wait for the rest of my family to rejoin me. I haven’t heard Connor’s deep chest cough in quite a while, so I say a silent prayer that he’s resting comfortably.

  Just as I turn on the television, the cameras pan out and I can see Cole warming up in the on-deck circle just outside the dugout. He takes a few practice swings and stretches while he waits.

  As he walks to the plate, I cannot help but notice how calm he appears. I know he’s done this a thousand times throughout his life, and he makes it look so easy. According to the screen graphics box, there are two runners on base and two outs.

  On the very first pitch, Cole pounds a screaming line drive to right field. The ball bounces off the outfielder’s glove and slows the momentum down enough to allow the runners on second and third to score and place Cole safely on first. Unfortunately, the next batter strikes out, ending the inning before Cole can score.

  Philip plops down on the coach beside me. “What did I miss?”

  “Cole just brought in two runners, but got stranded on first,” I tell him. I’m actually quite proud of how much I’ve learned about the game in such a short amount of time. “Will that affect his average?” I ask. I know that calculating a players’ average is a very complicated metric.

  “Everything affects their averages,” he laughs. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’s having a great rookie year. Better than most.”

  “Does he have a chance at getting Rookie of the Year?” I ask. “I heard them talking about it on television today.”

  “Sure. Why not? It’s halfway through the season and if he keeps things going like he has, he could definitely be a contender.” Philip yawns and kicks back, stretching his long legs and resting them on the coffee table.

  “Were you up with Connor all night, too?”

  He shrugs. “On and off. Meg wanted to let me sleep, but it’s really hard when the baby is coughing like that. She should be out here in a minute. Connor’s just falling asleep with the humidifier running and I think we should eat quickly, just incase he wakes up.”

  Megan comes wandering into the kitchen just as Philip and I finish plating and serving. Her eyes immediately dart to the bottle of Syrah sitting on the counter. “Want a glass?” I offer.

  “Hell, yeah,” she answers.

  I reach into the cabinet and pull out a wine glass, filling it about one third of the way with the spicy red wine. I hold the glass out to Megan, but rather than taking it from me, she just shakes her head.

  “More?”

  “Keep going,” she answers. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” She lets me keep pouring until the glass is nearly full.

  “Rough day?” I ask.

  She nods. “It sucks when he’s sick and I can’t fix it.” She takes a big swig. “The doctor says he’ll be better in a day or two. I hope he’s right.”

  Dinner tastes every bit as good as I had hoped it would. The three of us eat more quickly than we normally would. Conversation is limited, but Megan is eager to know how Emmy, the new mother, is faring. I pull out my phone and share some of the pics that I was able to snap in the hospital.

  “She’s beautiful. And I love that name. I’ve never had a Hartley in my class before. I’ve had Haley, Harmony, and even Harley – as in the motorcycle. Hartley is unique, but not oddly unusual.”

  I guess it’s a teacher thing to analyze children’s names. But come to think of it, all sorts of memories and impressions get conjured up at the mention of most names. It is hard to find one without any personal history.

  All throughout dinner, the three of us are constantly taking a look at the video baby monitor. Connor hasn’t budged one little bit. He seems to be resting calmly. The three of us actually get to enjoy an uninterrupted meal.

  Just as we are about to start cleaning, Connor stirs and cries. Megan looks at me before dashing out of the room, “You got this?”

  “Absolutely,” I assure her.

  Philip washes everything while I take care of the leftovers. Once we’re done, we head back into the living room to watch the last few innings of Cole’s game.

  Megan is sitting peacefully in the dark and quiet living room. She’s in the recliner, holding Connor in her lap, gently rocking to and fro. “He breathes easier when he’s sitting up,” she whispers.

  Philip turns on the television and lowers the volume to the point where it can barely be heard. I try to concentrate on the game, but my attention is constantly drawn to Megan. She keeps nodding off, her head bobbing up and down as she sleeps and wakes like a bobble head doll.

  I look over at Philip to see if he’s noticed, and he’s asleep, too. These poor parents are exhausted.

  So I stand up, walk over to Megan, and gently pry Connor from her grasp.

  She immediately awakens, startled.

  “Go lay down,” I quietly tell her. “And bring him with you,” I say, pointing at her slumbering husband. “I’ve got this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course,” I assure her. I have Connor in my arms with his head lying on my shoulder. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. You’re the best sister-in-law a girl could ask for.” She kisses Connor on the back of his head and gently wakes Philip. “Honey, come on – let’s go to bed.”

  “No, I’m awake. I’m awake. Don’t change the channel. I was listening to that.”

  Megan and I laugh. He always says that.

  “Philip, no one is try
ing to change the channel. Get up.” She reaches for his hand and pulls him up to his feet and leads him down the hallway towards the bedroom.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I can hear Megan trying to explain it to him as they walk further away. “I know, Philly. It’s okay.”

  This little man in my arms is such a cuddle bug. He’s sound asleep and I’m afraid to move too roughly. Tenderly, I sit down on the recliner with the remote close by and settle in. He nuzzles in more snugly and he is so exhausted that he actually snores. It’s not loud, just a little whistling sound, but it’s absolutely adorable.

  With Connor in my arms, I quietly watch the last two innings of Cole’s game. Cole strikes out for his last at-bat. I have to remind myself not to be terribly disappointed. Even the best players only get on base less than one-third of the time.

  But on the bright side, the Red Hawks win by two runs. And it just so happens that Ole King Cole brought in the first two runs of the game.

  Before changing channels, I have to move the little guy. Body heat is radiating off him and onto me. How can such a little guy generate so much heat? Next time I need a heating pad, I’ll just come over and borrow Connor for an hour or so.

  Flipping through the channels, I settle on the BBC where an episode of Bear Grylls’ Man vs. Wild is airing. Bear is traversing a glacier in Iceland that has some sort of hot steam vents. So of course, he MacGyvers a hot tub on a glacier just to warm up a bit.

  Speaking of warm, I can’t even make it through an entire episode without moving Connor. I take him off my shoulder and move him onto my lap with his head resting in the crook of my arm. I lean down to give him a sweet kiss on his forehead and when my cheek touches his face, I can’t help but be shocked. This is more than just body heat, he’s burning up with a fever.

  Megan and Philip rush to grab Connor from me the moment I wake them up. I feel so incredibly helpless as I watch the two of them hustle. Megan takes his temperature and they visibly relax when the digital thermometer reads one hundred two degrees, which still sounds dangerously high to me.

  “Philip, get the Baby Tylenol.” Turning to me she adds, “Kenny, can you get a wet cloth? Not too cold, please.” Thankful to be able to help, I waste no time in getting the damp cloth just as requested.

  Everyone is on edge as we watch and wait. Meg asks me to get her a fresh washcloth. When we swap, my heart sinks when I feel how hot the cloth is that she hands me, still holding onto the heat absorbed from the baby’s feverish little body.

  Megan and Philip are worried and concerned, but they are not panicking. They’re amazing parents. Somehow, they just know what to do. If I were here alone, I’d have the baby wrapped up like a pig in a blanket and we’d be halfway to the hospital by now.

  Time seems to stand still. Sometime around ten o’clock, Philip notices that the baby’s onesie is soaked through. “His fever broke,” Megan announces, the relief in her voice is unmistakable. Philip and I were whispering quietly that if it didn’t go down in the next hour, we’d have no choice but to drive him to the Emergency Room. Thank God we no longer need to worry about that.

  I grab my purse and slip out quietly. Everyone is exhausted and there’s nothing more I can do here. Alone in my car, I reach in to my purse to grab my keys and my phone vibrates. Shit, I forgot I put it on silent hours ago. As I glance down at the screen, I quickly see that I missed two calls and two texts from Cole.

  Cole: I’m home. Call me or just come over.

  Cole: Getting late. U ok?

  I decide to drive straight to his townhouse and surprise him. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, but the thought of falling asleep in Cole’s arms is too powerful to resist.

  After parking, I make the short trek up the boardwalk until I find myself approaching his beachfront unit. He’s outside on the balcony, drinking a beer, talking on the phone, and looking out over the rolling surf, deep in thought. I can’t help but pause and study him. The small town boy turned Big Leaguer is wearing his usual getup of shorts and T-shirt. His bare feet are propped up on the railing. Dirty blonde hair falls in disarray around his head, and the familiar sound of his voice vibrates through my veins.

  “Fine. But it’s going to have to be tomorrow. I’ll meet you there early. It’s my only day off until I’m on the road again and I’m not going to spend it staring at your sorry mug all day.”

  I’m curious. He must be talking to Evan because that’s the only person I’ve ever heard Cole speak to like that. I pull out my cell phone and text him two simple words, look down.

  The familiar swish tone tells me that my message has been sent.

  “Hang on. I’m getting a text. It’s probably Kenny.” He slips his feet off the rail and I can hear the loud thump as they hit the ground. He leans over the balcony and spots me standing there. He brings the phone back up to his ear. “Gotta go,” he announces as he regales me with a dazzling, full-toothed, all-American-boy smile

  “Hey there, Romeo. Are you going to invite me up or just leave me standing here all night?”

  “I don’t know. The way you’re standing there in the moonlight looking up at me like that? You sure you don’t want me to climb down there with you?”

  “Positive.”

  Cole disappears into the townhouse and I meet him at the door. He opens up his arms and I wrap my arms around his waist as he tightens his grip on me. His scent drowns out everything but the need to touch him, feast, taste— the delicious mix of leather and cedar surrounding him.

  He pulls back and carefully studies my face. “You look tired.”

  A humorless laugh escapes. “I am.”

  He quickly locks the door behind me and leads me up to the living room. Removing the throw pillows, he nestles his body into the corner of the couch. “Here, come sit with me,” he invites, patting the empty space beside him. “Tell me about your night.”

  “I am never having kids,” I tell him. “When they get sick, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could handle it.”

  “Is it your nephew? Is he alright?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s got the croup. I couldn’t leave until his fever broke.”

  “I bet you could use a nightcap. Can I pour you a little something?”

  “That sounds amazing actually.”

  The bar is downstairs and when Cole gets up from the couch and heads down to the bar, I slip into his spot on the couch, resting my heavy limbs on the soft padded arm of the sofa. Reaching for the remote, I click through the channels and stop when I find a rerun of tonight’s episode of “Hell’s Kitchen”. I love reality television. Gordon is a real asshat, but he’s a serious chef, knows what he’s talking about, and doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit.

  Cole returns with a brandy snifter halfway filled with a dark brown liquid on ice. I take it from his hand and inhale its deep, rich, coffee aroma. I swirl it, and it’s not thick or syrupy like other liquors. “Kahlua?” I guess.

  “Nope. Patron XO,” he smiles. “Try it. It’s pretty strong, so go slow.”

  I take a second whiff, breathe in deeply, and the smoky, woody notes of tequila comes through. Taking an experimental taste, there's the slight burn I expect with tequila, but not so much that I feel like I'm throwing back shots like I did in college. Or last week.

  Cole stretches out on the other end of the couch. He’s had a long day, too. “Tired, too?” I ask.

  “Wiped out.”

  I reach down and grab one of the throw pillows from the floor and lay it down next to my leg. His eyes flicker between looking at the pillow and looking at me. With a quick lunge, he curls his body up on the couch. It seems as though he purposely fiddles with the pillow until it’s in the perfect position under his head but mostly on my thigh. His feet hang out over the edge.

  Our eyes meet and I instantly feel his pull. I can’t resist. Without even thinking, I softly run my fingers through his hair. His eyes close and he sighs as I touch him. He takes my other hand off his shoulder
and lays it across his heart.

  I take a few slow sips of Patron and Cole reaches for the remote. I slap his hand away. “Um, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t think I’ll let you torture me with those crappy reality shows. The Bachelor? Hell’s Kitchen? You should be embarrassed.”

  “Screw you. Anyway, I’m not getting tortured with your stupid Searching for Bigfoot or Paranormal whatever. They never find a beast or a ghost. You’re the one who needs help.”

  He scowls. “They find plenty of evidence. You’ve gotta stop watching junk food for television. Broaden your horizons.”

  “I have. I checked out Scandal and love it. It’s all about Washington, D.C., and politics.”

  He rubs his face with disgust. “I just died and went to hell. Seriously.”

  “The last thing I want to do is make you suffer. Maybe I should leave,” I tease.

  He leaps off the couch and pulls me up by my hands. Without saying a word, he scoops me up in his arms and kisses me as he carries me up to his bedroom.

  The Lincoln Tunnel comes into view as traffic slows to a crawl. “Are you sure about this?” I ask one final time. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I really don’t have a choice, Kenny. The front office thinks it would be good for the team. If they think I’m not a team player, they won’t think twice about trading me to another team. I’m not going through another move.” He reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “If I have to suffer through some lame ass photo shoot to keep my spot on the team, I’ll do it.”

  Last night, after the game, the GM called Cole into his office. Sports Illustrated wants the McGuire boys on the next cover and he made it perfectly clear that he expects Cole to make himself available for a photo shoot. It’s his rookie year and I guess he feels like he has to keep his head low and tow the line.

  Cole and I are meeting Evan there. Once the photo shoot is done, Cole is all mine and I get to show him around the city. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Just a few weeks ago, there was no way I would ever consider this. But with Cole beside me, I suddenly feel like I can conquer the world.