Warning Track: The Callahan Family, Book One Page 15

  At best, we go all the way to the series. What happens if we win? Will I stay here? Will I resign a contract that takes me to the end of my playing days in Packton, Pennsylvania? And if I stay, what does that mean for Colleen and me? Will I have to stop playing to be with her?

  So many questions, but there are more to consider if the team loses. If we’re eliminated in the first round, or in the division series, then what will I do? I could go back to Los Angeles and finish my career out there. Do I want that? Could I go public with the woman who has quickly become my everything? That would also mean living on opposite coasts, and we were already doing long distance as it is with all the rules we’ve set in place.

  The what-ifs are driving me up the fucking walls, when what I should be doing is getting a good night’s rest and preparing to slay our first-round opponent.

  Neither my body nor my brain are tired, but I shove my things into my gym bag, resorting to head on home. This night is giving me déjà vu, flashbacks to the first night I ran into Colleen and gave her a piece of my mind on what I thought about her family.

  So it feels like kismet that as I enter the rounded, concrete exit hallway of the stadium, I bump right into the woman I spend all my time thinking about.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” I smirk, and it’s difficult not being able to go to her and scoop her into my arms.

  She slows her pace, a wide smile spreading her lips, which are painted a cherry red with some kind of gloss I’d like to lick off.

  “You should be home sleeping.” Her assessing gaze is admonishing.

  I shrug. “Couldn’t shake the energy. It would be easier if you were in my bed.”

  Colleen looks around, as if a reporter might pop out from behind any corner. “Hayes, there is media crawling all over town.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “Is it bad if I say I want to bury myself in you?”

  This charade of ours is getting tedious. Part of me thinks we won’t be able to keep it up without slipping much longer, and I’m both terrified and anxious for that moment.

  Her cheeks flush a scarlet. It’s fucking distracting how innocent this powerful, intelligent, sexy as hell woman can be, even though I’ve gotten her naked seven ways to Sunday.

  “Come with me.” She grins, a devilish twinkle in her eye.

  Colleen laces her tiny hand in mine, and it feels both forbidden and exhilarating to hold her hand inside the ballpark.

  “Should we be …” I raise my eyebrows at our joined hands.

  “The only person still here at this time of night is Gerald, the night security guard, and he’s known me since I was born. Not only would he never say anything, but he’s probably not even paying attention to us. Honestly, tonight, this might be the last place we could be caught.”

  She winds me through the halls, ones I’m familiar with, until we’re taking the home team pitcher’s entrance out onto the field.

  “Sometimes I come out here to just lie down and think.” Kicking off her heels, she traipses into the grass of the outfield.

  I let her lead me, astonished at how quiet it is. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been somewhere so dark, or so silent.”

  Sure, I’ve stood in a number of empty stadiums, even ones with the lights turned off. It’s a peaceful coliseum, and somewhat grounding for a player to see his palace so humbled. But there’s something about Packton, with its small-town feel, that casts this whole park in awe-inducing pitch-black and silence.

  Colleen walks me out farther, and then lies down, patting the spot next to her. Wordlessly, I do so, and she scoots toward me so that we’re intertwined.

  The stars twinkle above us, a blanket of light draped across an indigo sky, and Colleen is snuggled into my side. I’ve never felt so content, on the eve of a game that could determine the rest of my career. The playoffs, getting serious with this woman, the thought of leaving Packton … it all fades into the background.

  I wish we could stay out here forever, avoiding our problems and the shit that is bound to come our way eventually.

  There is a sound of swooshing water, but a split-second of warning when the pipes click on, and then we’re being sprayed every which way.

  “Oh my God,” Colleen yelps amidst laughter, springing up.

  “You forgot what time the sprinklers came on?” I boom out a laugh, launching myself up.

  There is a hilarious gleam in her eye. “I honestly didn’t even think about it!”

  We’re a good couple of yards out into the grass, so it’s no use running for cover because we’re going to be drenched by the sprinklers anyway. As it is, we’re soaked to the bone now. But we do anyway, me pulling her along as the water splashes our clothes and hair. If I ever needed a moment to break the tension, the universe had just given me the perfect one.

  We sprint through the pitcher’s entrance, back into the bowels of the stadium, cackling and gasping like school children as we make it to the locker room. And in the next second, after I take in her wet clothes sticking to the body I can never keep my hands off of, we’re fusing our mouths together so hard that I nearly fall over.

  There isn’t a conscious decision in the moment between when we’re kissing and when we aren’t, it just happens and there is no going back. Colleen and I are somewhere near the showers, and I back us up into them, peeling her layers of sodden clothes from her body.

  Her suit jacket, soaked through, hits the floor with a thud. Then I wrench her silky camisole down her shoulders, exposing her wet bra and tweaking her budded nipples through the fabric. Collen’s eyes are molten chocolate as she pushes my gym shorts and boxers to my knees, my cock springing free. I hiss when it hits the air, the scorching burn of my erection mixed with the air-conditioning and cool wetness of the clothes that rest somewhere at my ankles.

  All that is left is her skirt, which she pulls up and over her hips while looking me straight in the eye.

  Since those first few weeks of fucking in cars and closets, we’ve been able to take our time. I’ve spent hours on the mattress exploring her body, kissing and licking every crevice, memorizing each sound she makes and how she feels when I’m inside her with both of us hazily drifting in and out of sleep at two a.m.

  We’ve done slow, and I’d even venture to call it making love. This is not going to be that.

  No, you can smell it in the air between us; the primal scent of needing to fuck simply because we can’t keep away from each other.

  The clothes still stuck to us are wet, matted to our bodies, but neither of us care. I turn her, taking one hip in my hand and using my other set of fingers to pry her thong to the side, not caring to even remove it.

  Colleen braces herself against the wall, her wet hands slipping a bit on the tile. With the angle, her ass rides up, her pussy presenting itself to me, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to send a signal of pain through my body. If I don’t, I’m going to come way too soon as I fist my cock and line it up at her entrance.

  My cock slides in to the hilt, and she’s so fucking tight that I see stars. I don’t let up, setting a punishing pace that has Colleen clapping her own hand over her mouth to muffle the sexy as hell noises coming from her throat.

  This is the very definition of public, of a place we should not be fucking each other’s brains out. But I’m too far past any point of logic, the haze of lust and chasing my climax is all I’m focused on.

  The tip of my dick swells as I feel her pussy start to tighten around me, and I pump faster, the noise of our wet skin clapping together on each thrust.

  “Come for me, baby,” I command her.

  As if my words push her over, Colleen’s entire body shudders, and the pulses she sends around my cock set me off too. I spill inside her, my vision swimming for what feels like minutes.

  My God, I will never get enough of this woman. That might be the most dangerous part of this whole thing.

  28

  Colleen

  We hit a patch of turbulence, and I grip the armr
est, my heart descending into the pit of my stomach.

  It’s a dreaded side-effect of the job, flying so much. I’ve been terrified of planes since I was young, but get dragged onto enough of them over your lifetime and you’re bound to become conditioned to at least tolerate them. Still, with every bounce and swoop of the team jet, I can’t help but envision the worst. It’s unnatural that these multi-ton crafts can fly so high and so long without falling out of the sky.

  Our pilot, Victor, who has been with the team for as long as I can remember, turns on the sign that we can remove our seatbelts. So, hopefully, we’re past the point where I feel like I’m on a perpetual roller coaster.

  I have to pee so badly, and have been waiting until I’m convinced the floor won’t open up below me, so I walk as gingerly as I can with a full bladder down the center aisle.

  Along the way, I pass players in various states of relaxation. We’re coming back from the first three playoff games in Tampa, so the flight isn’t too long, but after a three-game stretch with so much pressure, the guys are exhausted. Most are conked out with headphones or eye masks on, and a couple are scrolling their phones or enjoying the in-flight entertainment.

  I typically sit up front with my uncle, if he decides to travel, or the marketing team or other executives who accompany the team to away games. It’s not like the players want to chat with the front office, and the coaches generally don’t want to see me unless it’s in a scheduled meeting.

  By the time I make it to the back of the plane, both bathrooms are occupied. I curse myself for being afraid to walk down here during the turbulence, because I’m paying for it by the subtle wiggle dance I’m doing, as if I’m a five-year-old still learning how to completely potty train.

  Hayes appears at my side, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “Mr. Swindell.” I nod in his direction.

  “General Manager,” he greets me back.

  We avoid each other as much as we can during team outings, public appearances, and games. It would look suspicious if we talked more than two or three times a week, because I just wouldn’t have that kind of relationship with anyone other than Walker. And since there are so many rumors linking us together after the attack in the parking lot, it’s even smarter if we separate.

  Still, sometimes Hayes can’t help but push the envelope a little bit.

  “Good game today.” I try to put on my professional voice.

  “Just trying to be a team player.” He winks.

  We’re up two to one in the first round of the playoffs and headed back to our home turf. Hopefully, in the next game, the guys can get the job done.

  No one can see us back here, and if they can, they’re probably not even paying attention. However, I still feel that jolt of naughty electricity between us, like we’re doing something we shouldn’t.

  My full bladder is all but forgotten when I feel the lightest brush against my pinky. Covertly, I cast my gaze down, to see Hayes stealthily running the nail of his pointer finger up and down my smallest digit. The contact is minimal, a whisper of a touch, but it electrifies my entire body.

  God, how I wish I could just turn to him and have him envelop me in his arms. Like a normal couple, on a normal flight. We could even sneak into the bathroom to join the mile high club.

  Unfortunately, I’m not sure that day will ever come.

  We’ve been together for almost three months now. The longest, most serious romantic relationship of my life, and I can’t even tell anyone about it. There are no dinners out, no family gatherings I can introduce him at. Hayes is the person who makes everything better at the end of my day, and yet I can’t truly share a life with him.

  I’m not sure how this will work going forward. If he stays with the team, if he doesn’t. Either way it breaks down, if we go public, it will look like I used my position to influence the relationship. The media will paint me in the same light as my father, when in reality, I just couldn’t help who I fell in love with.

  Love. I’m in love with Hayes Swindell, that much is evident. I haven’t told him in so many words, but I’ll end up confessing it soon enough.

  One of the doors opens, the assistant pitching coach coming out with a brisk nod and heading back to his seat. I try not to make it look like I’ve jumped, but my body betrays me. Luckily, the coach is none the wiser.

  Hayes waves for me to proceed, and I walk ahead of him. His hand ghosts over the small of my back, and when I turn around to flash him the briefest of smiles before shutting the door, he’s staring intently at me.

  I’m pretty certain he’s thinking the same things I am, and it both thrills and saddens me. We are both head over heels for each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  29

  Hayes

  “Put that thing down, gorgeous.”

  I kiss up the column of her spine, leaving open-mouth kisses and a trail of my wet mouth as I go.

  Colleen barely even notices, her nose stuck in her phone. “Damage control, sorry. The team publicist just sent me another article my father supplied quotes for. When will enough be enough?”

  She’s sitting up in my bed, naked except for the sheet pooling around her waist. I’m propped up on an elbow, equally as naked, having finished our second round of sex just twenty minutes ago. It seems, while I was in the bathroom wiping up and brushing my teeth, Colleen reached for her phone as she’s so prone to do. I’ve never been much for mobile devices, and don’t spend much time on mine if I’m not texting her or chatting with Bryant, so it kind of grates on me that she lives on the thing. But I get it, for her, business never sleeps.

  “He’s a narcissist, in every sense of the word. Also a thief, a jackass, a criminal … there are many names I could apply to him,” I grumble, annoyed that her piece of shit father keeps invading her thoughts.

  Sitting up, I pull her back into my lap, so that she can rest on my chest while I massage her scalp and shoulders.

  “He groomed me for this position, which is what I can’t figure out in all of this. He literally trained me to take over, and now that I have, it’s like I’ll burn the entire Pistons organization to the ground.” She points at her phone, accusing it as if it’s Jimmy Callahan.

  My fingers dig into the muscles of her shoulder, which are surprisingly tight and wound up for a woman her size. She doesn’t even flinch when I press harder.

  “It’s because he didn’t do it the way he always intended. The job, his life, was taken from him because of his own actions. He’s salty as hell that you’re the one in power now, even though you’re cleaning up his mess and learning on the fly because of what he did. That’s the true nature of a narcissist.”

  I should know, I’ve seen enough of them in the foster care system and in the fame circles I’ve run in from time to time.

  Colleen tosses her phone down to the end of the bed, some of her hair floating over the shoulder I’m massaging. I push it back over, and she sighs in frustration and contentment at the issue at hand and my hands on her.

  “And people want to know why I never stop working. Stop pushing, stop grinding myself to the breaking point. He made me like this. And now he’s trying to undermine me, yet again. I hate to be that cliché, but I’ve never once in my life heard the words ‘I’m proud of you’ from either of my parents.”

  Her admission sends a pang of sorrow through my gut. I might not have heard those words from parents, but I’ve definitely heard them from Bryant. Or my coaches. Or my agent. Or any number of people throughout my life.

  “I’ll say it now. Because I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re the hardest working person I’ve ever seen, and that’s coming from someone who trains with elite athletes every day.”

  She sighs, melting back a little into me. We might both be naked in my dimly-lit bedroom, but this is more of an intimate position than a sexual one. This is where our relationship has transformed into something more than lust and a sneaky, naughty type of hookup. What she and I have is the real dea
l; a relationship that includes tenants of companionship. This is the kind of conversation and support that healthy, normal relationships are built on.

  “It’s easy to hear that and acknowledge it on a surface level. My cousins have been saying it my entire life. But it’s different, this deep-seated inadequacy my parents planted within me. My mother left when I was eight. My father was the only parent I knew. By her silence and abandonment, and his constant demand to be more or to be better when I was killing myself already … that doesn’t just go away. I can believe in myself as much as I want, I can hear it from others, even ones who are as important to me as you are, and it still gets erased the minute he opens his mouth. It’s just hard to get past that much conditioning, you know?”

  Honestly, I kind of don’t. There is something to be said about having parents that treat you the way Colleen’s did versus having no parents at all. In some ways, this woman is even more messed up by the damage her parents did to her than I am by growing up in the foster care system. While I didn’t receive the love and compassion a child should, Colleen was reminded almost every day that nothing she ever did was good enough. Good enough to gain attention, love, or even interest from the two people who put her on this earth. At least I had coaches who congratulated my progress, friends who built up my self-esteem in a positive way.

  Being trapped in a life with Jimmy Callahan as your sole source of feedback … fuck, that’s like a circle of hell within itself. I only interacted with the guy on a surface level, and that was brutal. Being his daughter must be like having your head continually squished under the heel of his boot.

  Gently, I push her chin up and around, so that her eyes connect with me over her shoulder.

  “I’m in awe of you on a daily basis. I’m serious, Colleen. Your work ethic, the sacrifices you’ve made, the sweat and passion you put into this team … it’s more than enough. You’re more than enough. It’s why I love you.”