Without Bound (Magnolia Creek #4)

Chapter 1

1

Bishop

Four Years Ago

Lights flash like an explosion of fireworks, and camera shutters click click click, capturing every step I take as I walk onto the stage and sit down.

I keep my head down, focusing on the cords that snake out from a series of microphones that are placed in front of me. They curl and twist and flow over the edge of the table, dropping into the unknown. Right now, I feel the same. I feel myself spiraling and slowly starting to fall into a wide unknown, and I’m terrified.

Not one person on earth enjoys the uncertainty of what will come after the fall. Where will the wind take you? How far is the fall? Will you crash and burn, becoming just a memory? And if you manage to land safely, what next?

The big, dark pit of the unknown is inevitable at this point. I just pray I’m strong enough to live through the crash .

With a deep inhale, I plaster on a smile and lift my head. The lights are bright and I’m forced to blink a few times until the spots clear. Beside me sits my agent, my coach, and the owner of the team, all there for support. As I scan the crowd I lock eyes with a few familiar pairs mixed in amongst the media.

Mom and dad sit side by side, holding hands, mom with tears in her eyes already, and not even a word has been spoken. Next to dad sits my best friend since childhood, Vaughan, who has been a huge support for me over these last few months while I wrestled with what to do and where to go. He gives me a nod then taps his nose twice before tugging his ear. Our sign that all is good.

With one last breath, I blow out my nerves and begin.

“Pop. C’mon. Can you turn that off, please?” My dad stands in front of the television, arms crossed over his chest and the remote clutched tightly in his fist.

“I’m just so damn proud of you, son.” He sniffs a little then swipes a small tear from under his eye. “You did good, Bishop. It was a spectacular career.”

It doesn’t feel spectacular, I think to myself.

My premature retirement from major league baseball has been the most difficult decision of my life. But after my injury, nothing has been the same.

Like I told the press, this game has been my heart and soul for over twenty years. And as much as I’d like to continue to play for another twenty, my body is telling me it’s time to hang up my cleats.

“I want to go out while I still have love in my heart for the greatest game ever played. I don’t ever want to fall out of love with it, and I know that the minute this dream turns into a job, that love will diminish. So, with that, today I officially announce my retirement from major league baseball.”

The television echoes the words I said just hours ago. I can still hear the gasps from the crowd, followed by a storm of questions. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry, that I wouldn’t pussy out like that. But when you say goodbye to the one thing that defines you, it’s inevitable.

The only thing that kept me from sobbing into my manager's shoulder was having my family there. Mom, dad and Vaughan.

Mom clicks off the burner on the stove, then crouches down to pick up a serving dish from the cabinet.

“Thank you again, brother, for being there today,” I say to Vaughan.

We sit perched on stools at my kitchen island while we wait to chow down on the delicious food mom has prepared for us.

My manager wanted me to put on a big hoopla shindig with trusted members of the press and everyone from the War Eagles organization, but all I wanted was a quiet evening with the people I love most.

“Of course man. I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. Well, maybe somewhere a little warmer. But I’d happily freeze my ass off to stand by you.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder with a big bright smile.

His boy-next door look is so opposite of mine right now. I’m all scowling faces and sour puss attitude. Not at all my normal happy-go-lucky demeanor.

“Grow a pair. It’s not that bad. It’s only,” I flip my wrist to check the temperature on my watch. “Forty-one degrees.”

“Shit. It’s colder than I thought.” Vaughan shivers and I just laugh.

Aside from some traveling, good ole Texan Vaughan has resided in only sunny states. Texas to Florida, for what was a horrendous eight years, then back to Texas .

“What time will momma Max and Jim be here with my number one girl?” I take a long pull from my beer mom sat down in front of me.

“Any minute now. Mom said they were just doing a little souvenir shopping after some sightseeing, then they’d be over.”

“Darius,” mom calls out to my dad who is still pressing rewind and watching the highlight reel that accompanied my announcement. “Could you come help me for a minute?”

“What is it, ma? I can do it.” I press my hands flat against the counter and stand.

“No honey. You sit. Let me take care of my baby boy.”

“Francine, he’s a grown man who towers over both you and I. There is nothing baby about him,” dad replies as he comes walking into the kitchen.

“Oh hush. He’s my baby and always will be. Now get me that big jug in the cabinet over the fridge so I can mix some simple syrup in the tea.”

Dad grumbles something about me being a big ass mama’s boy, but does as mom asks.

I look over to see Vaughan chuckling at my parents who are basically his second set. We’ve grown up together and have been best friends since grade school. That means we were at each other's houses as much and as frequently as our own.

Both sets of parents call us son, and both sets scolded and disciplined us when it was warranted, which happened to be a lot.

The doorbell rings and I jump up from my seat, knocking it over but not wanting to waste one minute of seeing who I know waits on the other side of the door.

I swing the door open and see that bright smile that can turn a bad day into the best one. “There’s my girl.”

“Uncle Bishop!” Dagen yells and leaps into my open arms.

Vaughan’s eight year old daughter is a ray of sunshine, and right now I could use a big dose.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” she says, emphasizing forever .

“I know, my girl. Like a million years.” I tease her as her little arms squeeze my neck.

“A little dramatic Dagen Rayne. It’s only been four months since you saw Uncle Bishop. Quit squeezin’ him to death and get inside. It’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra out there.” Maxine, Vaughan’s mom, steps inside with his father, Jim, on her heels.

“Gran! You said tit. That’s a bad word.”

“Well darlin’, now you’ve said it. Who d’you think your daddy is gonna get mad at?”

Dagen’s face pales and I see her little lip quiver. I hug her tight to me and whisper, “Don’t worry. I got you.”

She nods her head and a tiny smile appears.

With Day still in my arms, I reach out and pull Max into a hug and kiss her cheek.

“Hi momma Max.”

“Hello son,” she says, hugging me back. “You did wonderful today.”

“You sure did, son. Proud of you.” Jim steps forward and reaches for my hand.

I let go of Max and he grips it, pulling me in for an awkward side hug.

I give them both a sad smile then escort them into the kitchen. Not that they need an escort since they’ve been in my home dozens of times, but it’s the polite thing to do.

With everyone settled, mom and Max set the table and we all gather around it where dishes with delicious food waits for us.

Our parents talk like they don’t see each other several times a month, and Vaughan and I listen to Dagen retell a story about a “meanie boy” who pulled on her friend's pigtail then pushed her down.

“Well. What did you do?” I ask her.

Vaughan gives me a listen to this shit look, and I wait for Day to give it to me.

“I told him his breath smelled like farts and that he should tell his momma to teach him how to brush ‘cause it was burnin’ the hairs in my nose. Then I gave him a wedgie.”

I spit the bits of un-chewed food out and choke on the pieces that were trying to work their way down my throat.

This little spitfire just turned this gloomy day around.

“Hells yeah, Day,” I tell her once I’ve stopped coughing, and hold my fist out to her.

She sits up straight and her eyes light with pride and satisfaction as she bumps me back.

“Hells yeah,” she whispers.

“Day,” Vaughan scolds from beside her.

“What? Uncle Bishop said it.” She holds up her hands with that innocent smile.

“Okay. Why don’t you tell Uncle Bishop what kind of trouble you got into for your little stunt.” Vaughan scoops up a forkful of momma’s chicken casserole and pops it in his mouth.

“Ugh,” she fumes, but before she can tell me about the unjust punishment she received, the shrill of my phone breaks the moment.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and look at the caller id.

“Sorry y’all. It’s my agent. I better see if it’s important. Be right back.” I stand and walk into the living room, then swipe the screen to answer and hold it up to my ear. “Hey Randy. Is everything okay?”

It’s odd that he would be calling me since all of the big decisions and little details have been handled.

“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything is just right. How’d you like to go back home?” He asks me.

“Back home? Like, for a visit?”

“No. Back home for a job.” I freeze and my heart skips a beat. “Seems that Rice University is looking for an assistant baseball coach, and your name came up.”

“Hold up. Isn’t O’Toole the head coach?”

“Yup. Your old coach from LSU is the head coach at Rice, and he called me and asked specifically for you. So, what’d you think?”

My jaw hits the floor as my eyes look over at everyone seated at the table. They watch with rapt attention, curiously .

I thought endlessly about what I would do after may pro career was over. I figured I’d go back home and maybe work with my dad at the mortgage company he owns. I have my degree in finance, so it was just assumed that would be the next step.

While that doesn’t seem like the most exciting job after playing in the MLB, it was the one I could see myself being good at, and it would allow me to be the kind of dad I had.

Always present. Always cheering for me.

But never in my wildest dreams did I once think about being a baseball coach. I assumed that once my career was over, that would be the end of baseball unless I was watching it as an outsider.

Standing here, looking at the faces of the family I love most, a whole newer world feels like it has opened up.

I look at my dad who scrunches his brows and mouthes, “ what is it? ”

On a deep exhale, like the one that started my day, I tell Randy, “What do I think? I think I’m coming home.”