Chapter 23
Walker
Ineeded distance. Space to clear my head after what went down with Farrah the night before. As much as I wanted her, I wasn’t prepared for how fast things had escalated.
I was still wrapping my head around the fact that Farrah and I were speaking again, yet I couldn’t seem to control myself whenever we were alone.
It was a problem.
And it wasn’t just about Farrah anymore.
When Hadley had fussed over the monitor, everything had suddenly felt real in a way I hadn’t expected.
There was a child involved now. I caught myself imagining mornings, routines, a place in her life.
Hadley raised the stakes past what I believed I could handle.
I wasn’t in the greatest headspace. I was recovering from an injury and standing on the brink of retirement. I wasn’t the same man I used to be—the man Farrah believed I still was.
Farrah and Hadley deserved more. They deserved someone present. Steady. Every. Single. Day. And the life I kept imagining would always be scheduled around baseball. That wasn’t fair to them.
And if I were being truly honest, I didn’t trust myself to survive losing Farrah again. Because this time, I wouldn’t just lose her. I’d lose everything.
I wiped a towel across my forehead before grabbing another swig of water. I’d snuck in a workout at the team’s gym. With everyone still on their way back from a road game, I knew I’d have the place to myself.
It felt good to be back at the team’s facilities, back in Austin. Primrose Hill was home, but Austin fed that competitive, driven side of me. Being here reminded me of what I was working to get back to.
I glanced at my phone to check the time. I was meeting some of the guys for dinner tonight. I missed my teammates, and I figured it’d be the best way to get me out of my head for a little while.
I was also secretly hoping a text from Farrah would appear. I felt bad about the way I’d left things. The number of times I’d typed out a message only to erase it was becoming comical. And slightly pathetic.
I wasn’t sure where to go from here or what to say, so I decided it was for the best if I didn’t reach out until I had my head on straight.
My phone vibrated in my hand and my heart jumped, hoping it was Farrah, only to sink when I saw a text from my dad.
Dad: Hey, Walk. Farrah was looking for you today. Thought you should know.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. Fuck. I hadn’t thought Farrah would come to me after everything I’d said. I’d assumed she’d wait until I came to her. That had always been her MO. She wasn’t confrontational—she was reserved, careful. I usually had to pull things out of her.
So, this was different.
It seemed I didn’t have as much time to work through my shit as I’d hoped.
I gathered my things from the weight bench and headed for my truck. I had dinner plans with the boys tonight. Everything back in Primrose Hill would have to wait for now.
“How’s the elbow feeling, James?” one of my teammates, Beckham Stone, asked, slapping a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
We were at our favorite steakhouse, Keller’s, seated around a large round table in a private room that fit all six of us. At the table were me, third baseman Beckham Stone, shortstop Cohen Jordan, catcher Drake Cooper, center fielder Maddox Price, and one of our closers, Shane Witek.
“Elbow’s feeling good. Strong. I’ll be back soon to start throwing again. Dr. Howard and Dr. Bennett are happy with the progress.” I took a long pull from my beer. “Y’all looked good last night. Solid series against Minnesota.”
They all nodded.
“Except we could’ve swept them if dipshit here hadn’t given up that double to Martinez,” Maddox said, shoving Shane’s shoulder.
Shane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, if your slow ass hustled a little more, it would’ve only been a single.” He shoved Maddox back.
Fuck, I missed this. The shit-talking. The camaraderie. Maddox and Shane were best friends, always giving each other hell. We all did. It kept us hungry. Kept us striving for more.
After dinner, we decided to grab a drink at one of the bars we often frequented after our home games.
We settled into the back, spread across a couple of couches, shooting the shit, when a handful of women approached our roped-off area.
Cohen, being the playboy that he was, let them in to join us.
We were all single, with the exception of Drake.
They were nice enough, but unfortunately, one of them was laser-focused on me. I wasn’t in the mood. The only woman taking up space in my head was Farrah. But I guess that had always been the case.
I humored her and talked for a bit. I wasn’t a complete dick. She was pretty—long dark-blonde hair, big tits that she made no effort to keep out of my face. When she trailed her fingers up my inner thigh, I’d had enough. I lifted her hand and placed it back in her lap.
I glanced at the guys as I stood. “Hey, I’m going to call it a night.”
Drake followed suit. “Yeah, me too.” He looked at me. “I’ll walk out with you.”
I nodded. “Coh, we’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast?”
Cohen peeked around the brunette currently in his lap. “Yup. See you guys tomorrow.” He waved us off before turning his attention back to her.
Typical.
I tossed and turned most of the night. My brain couldn't seem to shut off.
All I could think about was Farrah and Hadley.
I felt like everything I'd ever wanted was right in front of me, yet just out of arm's reach.
I couldn't be selfish in this situation, not with Hadley in the picture.
The next morning, after I got out of the shower, I picked up my phone and saw four missed calls from my agent, Scott, and about half a dozen Google alerts.
Fuck me.
I called Scott to see what the issue was. He picked up immediately. "Walker, I've been calling you for the last hour or so."
I placed my phone on speaker and set it on my dresser as I slipped on a pair of gym shorts. "Sorry, man. My phone was on silent. What's up? I'm guessing nothing good, since I saw a bunch of Google alerts. I haven't looked at them yet, figured that’s why you called me."
Scott sighed. "You would be correct. There are some pictures circulating of you at the bar last night with a woman, and as you can imagine, all sorts of bullshit articles saying shit like you may be injured, but that isn't stopping you from playing the other kind of field.
Asking if Walker James is back to his old ways.
" He scoffed. "You would think they could come up with a better line than that. "
I blew out a heavy breath. Goddammit. I knew Farrah would see the photos. Just another wrinkle in an already fucked situation. "Yeah, that girl was all over me, and the minute she touched me, I bailed. Nothing happened. You know I haven't done that shit in years."
"I know that, but I needed to check before the team's PR team calls out those publications for bullshit storytelling. Just try to lay low and keep yourself out of the press. We don't need this kind of media attention leading up to your return to the game. It's distracting."
I ran my hand across the back of my neck, frustrated. "I should have just stayed in Primrose Hill," I muttered.
Scott chuckled. "Yeah, that's probably wise. Or just stay out of bars."
After ending the call with Scott, I finished getting ready and headed out to meet up with Cohen and Drake.
Both guys were already at the restaurant, sipping coffee.
I settled into my seat across from them as Cohen pushed a cup of coffee towards me.
After taking a quick sip—PrimCup was better—I focused my attention on Cohen. "How was the rest of your night?"
He chuckled. "How it usually goes when I have a hot girl straddling me." Cohen winked as I rolled my eyes.
"You ever going to outgrow this playboy shit?"
He shook his head. "If it ain't broke…"
Now Drake rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I don't know how I'm friends with you," he grumbled. He looked over at me. "So, James, you want to tell us why you're in Austin? You're never here unless we’re in-season, and since you're currently out… this is random."
"Needed a breather. My head is all sorts of fucked up." I caught them up on everything that went down with Farrah the other night.
"So, what's stopping you from trying it out with her again?" Cohen asked around a mouthful of pancakes.
“There’s more at stake now that she has a daughter. She left me once because baseball was too much—what’s really changed? I’m still a professional baseball player. Why can she all of a sudden handle it now?”
I stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork, pausing mid-air.
“I don’t trust her not to break me again. And I’m not the same guy I was back then. There’s been a lot of life lived in nine years. Are we even still compatible?” I sighed. “I worry she wants the twenty-one-year-old version of me. I’m fucking thirty now.” I shoveled the pancake into my mouth.
Drake took a sip of coffee. "All of that is valid, but you need to have these conversations with her… not us. We can't answer any of those questions for you; only she can. But let me ask you one thing."
I nodded at Drake to continue.
"Do you still love her?"
Without hesitation, I nodded. "I do. I don't think I ever stopped. But is love enough?"
"It's a start. You need to have a conversation with Farrah, lay it all out. What you want and what scares you. Everything. And if after that you both still choose each other… then everything else will work itself out."
Drake casually popped a piece of bacon into his mouth as if he hadn't just dropped the mic in relationship advice.
After breakfast with the guys, we put in a quick workout at the team gym before I got on the road and headed back to Primrose Hill. My head was still all over the place, but the conversation with Cohen and Drake helped me at least figure out my next move.
I needed to talk to Farrah.
I made my way down my long drive and parked outside my barn when I noticed Dean's work truck.
I hopped out and was immediately greeted by his German shepherd, Coal.
I knelt down and rubbed him behind the ears.
"Hey buddy, good to see you, big guy." He flopped over on his back for belly rubs when I heard footsteps on gravel approach.
I looked up, and Dean stood over us with his arms crossed against his chest. "I swear there is no way that dog is an ex-K9," he mumbled under his breath while shaking his head in disapproval.
I laughed. "I'm sure he was a killer. He just adapted really well to his new cush lifestyle." I stood up and shook Dean's hand, pulling him into a hug. "Is it already vaccination time?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I just finished up. How was Austin? Addison mentioned you left town."
"It was nice to be back and see the guys for a bit." I gripped the back of my neck. "Needed to get away and clear my head."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Dean was better with the relationship stuff than Weston, and I often leaned on him for advice.
He came from billionaire roots—heir to the VRA Media fortune—but had walked away to build his own life here in Primrose Hill.
He had his fair share of experience with unwanted media attention and ill-intentioned people.
I didn't want to dive too deep into everything; I was mentally exhausted.
"As I'm sure you’re aware, via my sister, Farrah and I are on good terms again.
Things have progressed recently, and I feel like I'm at a crossroads with her.
I don't know if I should give this thing between us a shot again or not. "
Dean smiled. "Yeah, Addison may have mentioned something was going on.
" He tucked his hands into his jean pockets.
"I'll say this. I had a lot of trust issues from a previous relationship and let it dictate my every move.
I pushed your sister away because of it and almost lost her.
I mean, yes, my dipshit cousin had something to do with that as well, but you get what I mean.
If you love her, and I think you do… just take things slow, see where it goes.
Don't let fear hold you back from something that could be everything. "