Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  “It’s ok. I’m fine, just wet. What are you doing up?”

  Sarah retreats to the kitchen and quickly returns with paper towels. She gives me a handful before she crouches down to clean up the floor. When she stands back up, I notice how tired she appears. In the midst of all my drama, Sarah’s had quite a bit herself. Her youngest son, who is a sophomore in college, decided to live on campus this year instead of commuting from home. Without children of her own to keep her busy, there was no longer a buffer between Sarah and her husband. They both decided last week that it was best to separate. Sarah is keeping the house for now, but while her husband looks for an apartment and packs his things, she’s going to be staying with me and the kids.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I came down and fixed some tea. I thought I heard crying and was just coming up to check on the kids.”

  “The crying was actually me. I had a nightmare.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, rubbing my arm.

  I shrug. “I think it’s all the stress with the investigations, and how I left things with Drew.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  I shake my head. “No, but I just came across an article about him enjoying a night out on the town with some bimbo.” I open the browser on my phone and pull up the article. Once it loads, I hand Sarah my phone so she can read it herself.

  “He looks…wasted.”

  “And happy. I think it’s a hint. If he hasn’t already, he’s at least trying to move on.”

  “Love doesn’t just evaporate in a matter of days, Breanne. Take it from me…it takes much longer than that. I’d say he’s trying to numb the pain.”

  “I doubt that. It’s not like we’ve been in love that long. Maybe it was just infatuation.”

  “Your heart doesn’t care if you’ve loved him for days or years, what matters is how you feel. As I’ve told you before, it’s obvious that you two are in love.”

  “Maybe,” I mutter.

  “You’re not really going to give up that easily are you? That’s not like you.”

  “I don’t want to give up, but I don’t know what to do. He won’t return my calls and I’ve exhausted every option for getting ahold of him.”

  Sarah raises her eyebrow and smirks. “You’re not thinking hard enough, my dear. You two are linked in more ways that you realize. Use your connections.”

  “My connections?” I ask, confused by what she’s implied.

  I ponder this for several moments until I grasp what she means. Once I do, a shit-eating grin spreads across my face. Why the hell didn’t I think of this before? For the first time in days, I feel a renewed sense of hope.

  “Are you going back to bed?” I ask, suddenly feeling energized.

  Sarah smiles at me and shakes her head. “Not likely. Tell me what you have in mind.”

  Every inch of my body is drenched, a combination of my profuse sweating and the rain. The fire that’s raging inside my lungs is getting momentary reprieve with each blast of cold air, though it’s not enough to be soothing. My body is exhausted and it’s painfully obvious that I’ve run too far. Every muscle, even ones I didn’t know existed until 57 minutes ago, pleads with me to stop. But I can’t…or rather I won’t. At least, not until I get what I want.

  After speaking with Sarah I realized she was right about two things. First, it’s not like me to give up. I decided then and there to stop feeling sorry for myself and to put on my big-girl pants. I’m done using Mark’s death as a reason to avoid living. I’m done trying to convince myself that I don’t deserve to feel or be loved. I need to stop denying what my heart wants out of fear that someday I might lose it. I’m ready to be the woman who deserves Drew, and I’m not going down without a fight. Second, I’ve had access to Drew right at my fingertips this whole time. All I had to do was figure out my approach.

  “Ms. Sullivan,” Agent Jackson calls out through labored breaths.

  I slow down and turn to face her. “Yeah?” I ask while jogging in place. I have a feeling that she isn’t too happy with my need to get out this morning, especially since she clearly knows my motivation.

  “Are we about done?” she asks. She’s bent over, resting her weight on her knees.

  I shrug, waiting for her reaction. “I could be persuaded, Corinne,” I say pointedly, and watch as her narrow eyes darken. If looks could kill, I would have just taken my last breath.

  After narrowly escaping death following the plane crash, Drew and I were both assigned two FBI agents for our protection. I’m not exactly used to it, although, sometimes it has its perks. We’ve spent so much time together that I’ve even grown to think of them as friends; particularly Agent Corinne Jackson. At first, I wasn’t sure about her. She can be abrasive, though I’ve come to admire her no-nonsense attitude. I’d like to think she’s even rubbed off on me a bit, especially now.

  Corinne takes a moment to catch her breath. I can tell from looking at her that she’s spent, which is surprising. All five foot, seven inches of her dark physic is perfectly sculpted. She’s beautiful, in an intimidating way, and there is no questions that she could single handedly take me out if needed. She’s clearly an athlete, which is why I’m amazed that our run is affecting her. I’m not a runner, but then again I’m not doing this for the sake of exercise. My endurance is being fueled by my restless mind and broken heart…as well as a little bit of desperation.

  Corinne, who hates when I call her by her first name, has information that I need. My brilliant plan is to torture it out of her. Due to the nature of her job, she has to be with me, and I don’t plan on stopping until I get what I want. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that despite whatever special ops training she’s gone through, it’s no match for my determination.

  At first, I outright asked her to contact Drew’s security detail for information. She brushed me off, saying that she wasn’t at liberty to share even if she did know of his whereabouts. I was so frustrated until she accidentally let it slip that she had contact information for Drew’s sports agent, Brett Wheeler. When she refused to hand it over, I decided I’d torment her, which is why at the crack of dawn, we’re both running in the freezing rain.

  “Not going to happen, Breanne.”

  “Let’s keep going then,” I say and dash back into the darkness.

  Several minutes later, Corinne grips my arm, effectively forcing me to stop.

  “I won’t give you the number, but I’ll make a call. Just let me catch my breath.” I nod and rest my back against a tree. I try to keep my composure, but my inner happy dance is in full swing.

  Thank God, I thought she’d never cave.

  I wipe the perspiration from my forehead and fidget with my necklace as I impatiently wait for her to place the call.

  Corinne walks several paces away and finally takes out her phone. She presses a button, lifts the phone to her ear and waits, glowering at me all the while. She turns to walk several more steps into the park we’re near, and I start doubting that she’s actually placed the call. She probably just said that so she could call her partner and buy herself some time before he could pick us up. I might be paranoid, but I can’t chance that scenario. Before Corinne knows what hits her, I’ve lunged forward and grabbed the phone from her ear. I’m actually shocked when she doesn’t react.

  “Hello?” asks a deep, sleepy voice.

  “Brett, it’s Breanne.”

  “Breanne? What’s wrong?” Brett asks, panicked. I’ve no doubt caused him a minor heart attack by calling this early in the morning. I don’t have time to feel too bad though, because I’m somewhat surprised it’s actually him.

  “Drew,” I gasp, still trying to get my breathing under control.

  “Is he hurt?” he asks anxiously. There’s rustling of some sort and his breathing has changed. Shit, I really should have planned what I wanted to say beforehand.

  “No…I don’t know.”

  “What’s happened? Is he backing out of the meeting?”

>   “I’m not sure. That’s not why I called. I just—” I stop talking and start wondering what meeting he’s talking about.

  “Look, if this is about the flight, I can get him a prescription to help calm his anxiety.”

  “What do you mean his flight? Where is he going?”

  Brett sighs. “He didn’t tell you.”

  It’s not a question, and the tone of his statement make it clear that he’s just figured out that this news shouldn’t have been shared with me.

  “Look, I don’t know what Drew has told you, but we had a fight a few days ago. I was stupid, Brett. I said some horrible things. I’ve tried to get in touch with him but he won’t return my calls. I don’t know where he is but I have to speak with him.”

  “I’m not getting involved in his personal life, Breanne.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to if I could contact him on my own.”

  “Breanne.” The way he says my name, it comes out as a warning.

  “I love him, Brett. After everything Drew and I have been through I cannot let him get on a plane without telling him. Please, Brett,” I plead.

  I hear shuffling on the other side of the phone, followed by Brett cursing under his breath.

  When the silence stretches on too long I clear my throat. “Brett?”

  “I’m here. I’m packing.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “I might need the six hour flight to convince Drew to let me keep my job. If you want to talk to him be at the airport before 6:00am,” he tells me and abruptly disconnects the call.

  TWO

  Getting Up

  “Mr. Scott,” the driver calls for the third time. “Should I pull over?” he asks, idling near the curb outside the entrance to the airport.

  “No. Go around one more time,” I tell him, staring out the window, completely lost in thought. I’m not ready.

  The car heads back under the tunnel that leads to and from the airport, as I rest my head against the cold window and stare at absolutely nothing. There are four people in this car, including me, yet I’ve never felt more alone. Something has got to give, and soon. Until I get on that plane and sign that contract, I’ll be in this perpetual limbo…stuck between what has become my past and not allowing myself to accept my future. To use a baseball term, I’m in a rundown.

  As we approach the arrival section again, I make eye contact with the driver in the rear-view mirror. He seems too nervous to ask if I’ll be getting out this time, and I’m not in a place to speak, so I simply nod. He pulls up next to the curb and puts the car in park. Everyone in this car is waiting for me to get out, but my feet won’t move.

  “It’s now or never, Drew. We can’t circle this place all day. Either you go or you stay,” Agent O’Conner chides.

  I continue drumming my fingers against the windowsill of the car. Agent O’Conner smacks his hand on my knee, causing me to flinch. “My father once told me that a champion was someone who got up when he couldn’t,” he pauses. “I’d really like to see you get up, Drew.”

  I turn my gaze on Agent O’Conner, surprised by his words. Not because this motivational speech strongly contrasts his normal surly demeanor, but because those words actually have meaning to me.

  ‘A champion is someone who get’s up when he can’t.’ It’s a quote by heavyweight champion, Jack Dempsey; words that have mentally saved me both on and off the field.

  The first time I heard the saying, I was ten years old. It wasn’t a deeply profound moment. I was pitching in a little league game and took a line drive straight to the ‘boys’. Being ten, and thinking I knew everything, I had refused to wear a protective cup, because I knew that a real man wouldn’t wear one, and obviously, I was a real man. Lying on the mound, clutching my balls and fighting back tears, however, didn’t make me feel so tough.

  My coach, who was beyond rough around the edges, showed no sympathy for me. In fact, I’m positive he called me a pussy. He grabbed me by the back of my jersey and pulled me upright, got in my face and told me to shake it off, quit my crying and act like there was something between my legs for that baseball to have hit. Being a ten-year-old boy, I struggled with doing what he said and not running off the field to my mom. When I started walking off the mound, I heard my teammates grumble. My coach put his hand on my shoulder and told me that if I walked off the field I’d lose an opportunity to show everyone at the game, including my parents, that I had the strength to be a champion…because champions get up then they can’t. I don’t know that I really got it at the time, but I stayed in the game. Even though we lost, I could tell my coach was proud of me. I was proud of me. From that point forward I committed to myself that I would always do whatever I had to do to get back up.

  I remember replaying the quote in my head several times when I tore my UCL, pushing myself through rehab even though everyone thought my career was over. I said them again when Amber, my girlfriend of several years, left me because of my injury, making me more determined than ever. My goal wasn’t to win her back. It was to prove that I was someone worth believing in. It wasn’t the purest of reasons for getting better, but it worked.

  ‘Getting up’ was the last thing I wanted to do when my sister died. It was the worst pain I had ever felt. Alexis wasn’t just my sister, she was my best friend. She was strong, smart and above all things, she was loyal…and I had let her down. I should have been there for her when she needed me, and I wasn’t. I didn’t make time for her because I thought her and I had plenty of time left. Unfortunately, I was wrong, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I’d acted differently.

  I forced myself to stop wallowing in self-pity and told myself that Alexis needed me; needed me to be there so she wasn’t alone, even though she was gone; needed me to be strong for my parents who couldn’t cope with the reality of the situation; needed me to get up and continue to live because she couldn’t. Even though I didn’t want to ‘get up’ I at least had the option. I wanted to be her champion.

  The only time that I haven’t drawn on this phrase following a negative event in my life was after the plane crash. Not getting up wasn’t an option…because of Breanne. Right now, though, I need these words because I’m not sure how I can get up without her.

  Over the last few days, I’ve tried to tell myself that by getting on another plane, I’m ‘getting up’. That by going to California and taking steps to ensure I have a career, I’m not letting the assholes that took hundreds of lives, win. Deep down, though, I know I’m only running. If I stay here, the only thing that can keep me from getting up will continue to consume and change me, and I don’t recognize myself as it is. Not to mention, alcohol induced sleep is not a habit I’m looking to continue.

  “I’m going.”

  I get out of the car and notice that there is hardly anyone around. What the hell did I expect for 4:30 in the morning? My entourage and I head inside, and thanks to my FBI escorts, getting through airport security is quick and painless. I’m sure Agents Everett and O’Conner would rather be sleeping than be here with me at this hour, but I’m starting to like the idea of having them around. It makes it possible to pretend that I’m not completely lonely.

  My flight doesn’t leave for nearly two more hours, so I grab a seat by the window and wait. I tip my baseball cap over my eyes, trying to drown out Everett and O’Conner discussing riffles, and am thankful when sleep effortlessly takes over.

  “Hey man, I’ve been trying to call you!” Brett exclaims, jolting me from sleep.

  “Huh? What are you doing here?” I ask, sleepily lifting my hat and sitting up. Brett hasn’t just shown up to wish me well or give me a pep talk―he has luggage.

  “You didn’t sound so good the other day and your phone’s been off. I thought maybe you could use some company.” He smacks my shoulder and takes a seat next to me.

  “I have company 24/7.” Brett nods courteously to Everett and O’Conner who have positioned themselves at my sides.

  “How�
�d you know I was already here?” I ask.

  Brett gestures to my escorts. “Your friends were kind enough to answer their phones when you didn’t.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Everett who keeps his eyes focused ahead. I’ll have to look into what information they can share.

  “Sorry,” is the only explanation I have at the moment.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “You’ve gotta give me something, Drew. You call me up after weeks of putting off appearances and interviews, and demand I get your endorsements re-engaged. On top of that you wanted me arrange for a meeting with the Giants, which I pulled off in record time, and now you won’t tell me why you had to leave Boston immediately?”

  “It’s Breanne,” I sigh, exasperated.

  “What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” With my elbows resting on my knees, I drop my head into my hands. “I just need a little space.”

  “A little space? If this goes through you’ll be moving to the other side of the country. Does she know that you’re leaving?”

  “No, I haven’t told anyone besides you.”

  “Look, I don’t know what happened, but don’t you think she deserves to know?” he asks.

  “Why? It’s not like she’d care.” I turn my head to look at him momentarily and then resume shielding my face.

  “Like I said, I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me,” he pauses.

  “But,” I reply, knowing he has an opinion.

  “But after what you guys went through, don’t you think she’d at least be interested to know you’re going on a plane for the first time since the crash; that you might not be coming back?” he asks. “You two have been inseparable.”

  I snap upright. “I told her I fucking loved her and she broke things off. So no. I don’t think she’ll be that concerned about my whereabouts if she finds out where I am.”