25. Callaway
25
CALLAWAY
Callaway: How’s it going, Coach?
Coach Leggins: What happened?
Callaway: Lmao. Just checking on you, Leggins. Damn.
Coach Leggins: You never check on me.
Callaway: Maybe that’s why I’m doin’ it.
Coach Leggins: I’m fine, Hayes. Don’t worry about me.
He will either chew me out for asking this or give in. It’s worth the risk.
Callaway: How’s Taylor doing?
Taylor is Leggins’s wife. Last I heard, she had some type of scare and was booked with appointments to get some answers. I don’t know what happened, but he needs support.
Coach Leggins: Taylor is fine. I’ll tell her you asked. See you Saturday.
And the conversation is over, leaving me no room to respond.
Coach is guarded and jaded, but he was raised right and has always looked out for the team as best he can.
I’m wondering who he’s got looking out for him .
I don’t know all the details about Taylor’s diagnosis, but I have a sinking feeling it’s bad; he has yet to talk to anyone about it. A couple of months back when the incident happened, Jack immediately shut down and took two weeks off work. He came back without a word and never mentioned it again. Never even told anyone what the incident was.
Jack and Taylor were married three years ago. Bodhi was still locked up then, and I had yet to have close friendships with any of the guys on the team. Coach showed up at practice one day with a thin blonde woman in tail, Taylor, and introduced her as his wife. I’d never seen the woman a day in my life, nor had I ever heard him mention her name, let alone that he had a fiancé . Come to find out, Coach hadn’t known her for long before she ended up pregnant. Being raised in a Southern Baptist home, he thought the best thing to do was marry her.
That’s not how I would have handled the situation, but I understand the pressure he probably felt knowing he was about to become a father.
The hardest part to come to terms with, and I know for a fact more so with him than myself, is that Taylor ended up miscarrying their baby boy at twenty weeks. I don’t think Jack has been the same since. Not that he’s a big grouch like Bodhi, but he keeps his heart and head on lockdown. I’ve never seen him go out after home games to celebrate or even to dinner with the team at away games. He either goes straight home or heads to his hotel room for the night.
It’s still a mystery to me why Jack and Taylor are married. Essentially, they went into the marriage as strangers who fucked once; but why stay together when there’s no other reason to? My outside perspective says he’s trapped in his own personal hell. I don’t know much about Taylor, but from what I know about Jack, he’s not in love with his wife; maybe the loss of his son has made him feel like he has no choice but to stay .
Throw in a cancer diagnosis, and they’re left with some pretty shitty chances at happiness. I feel for the guy. I’ll continue to check on him until he forces me to stop. I make a note to find a way to nonchalantly ask the guys to show him some support without mentioning the reason. Teamwork makes the dream work and all that.
It’s Wednesday night, t-minus three days until I get nakey with my angel, and it’s Dirty Bingo night. The night we rage. As a team, with Atlanta being such a large city, we don’t have many places to go without being recognized. Somehow, Joe’s Tavern has yet to be discovered, and we do our best to keep it that way. Dirty Bingo is exactly what it sounds like; each player receives a board full of dirty things they’re required to act out/say in the bar, and the first person to fill an entire row after completing all the necessary tasks to make bingo wins. Our love for this place is part of why the team and closest staff have chosen it to be our monthly team bonding location. After a couple of months off, tonight’s the night.
I’m fucking ecstatic.
Watching Dakota squirm shouldn’t be this exciting.
The boys and I have already made plans to ride together; Navy, Tenley, and Dakota take the Mercedes to meet us. The ride to Joe’s Tavern is nothing out of the ordinary for our strange dynamic as friends, but it works. I haven’t had a chance to chat with Bodhi since the other night at Delta, but he seems to be in good spirits today. King and Gus are shooting the shit per usual, no doubt with plans to take home a woman tonight to warm their beds. Mack in tow is a rare thing. The guy doesn’t show much of himself unless it’s baseball and weightlifting, but watching him in environments like this makes me stoked to see him let loose a little. He’s chill but too serious for his own good. Letting loose might soften that thick shell he’s sporting.
Knowing Dakota will be here, I wear my light wash jeans, tan scoop hem tee, and my only pair of brown and tan Dunks. Low key bought them for her reaction. Cheesy as shit, but they remind me of her. The tan shirt makes my tattoos stand out more than usual, which is a good feeling, seeing as I’m required to wear a sleeve under my uniform to keep them covered. Tattoos are my thing, and Dunks seem to be Dakota’s.
My entire left arm is covered with a mountain wilderness scene, signifying all the roads and paths that have led me to the life I have today. It’s my little dedication to me, I guess. The top half of my right arm is covered entirely with a live beating heart surrounded by random chaos connecting to its veins that all define the fight I’ve survived. Both sides are a piece of where I came from and a reminder never to forget why I’m here.
Tattoos are my creative side; I express myself by inking up my body. I have very little space left to add, and I am waiting for inspiration and ideas to let me know what’s next.
I’m getting antsy to see her tonight.
It’ll be fun to let loose and have some good old fashioned fun.
Pulling up to Joe’s, the nostalgia of the tavern feels like comfort. The building resembles a wooden shack with large window openings, minus the actual windows. The only thing decorating the outside is a massive vintage sign reading Joe’s Tavern, barely hanging by a thread above the entrance door. It’s got that old truck stop feel—vintage stop signs, road signs, street names, and what seems like fake mugshots running from top to bottom along the interior walls. Random pops of neon orange and green lights come from the stage and are placed at the back focal point of the building.
It’s a vibe and exactly what I need tonight.
As we pile out of the Jeep, I notice Navy’s Mercedes parked in the corner, such a contrast to my wildly beat-up Jeep. She’s always been the opposite of me. Navy loves the finer things in life, but she’s so fucking humble she’d sell it all in a second for someone in need.
“You ready to get dirty, my man?” Kingston throws his heavy arm around my neck and steers us into the building.
“You know it. Let’s make ‘em sweat.”
My mind seems to lose its ability to think straight because, right there across the room, standing by a bingo table littered with all of our friends, is the most beautiful woman in the entire bar, the center of my pussy-whipped mind.
She’s dressed to perfection; her outfit tonight shows the diversity of her style. I can’t put my finger on the change, though. She’s got on this figure-hugging leather mini skirt that reaches her belly button, electric red in color. She paired it with a rock band graphic tee tucked into her skirt, secured by a studded belt. Her hair looks freshly fucked. Unfortunately, not by me, but sure as hell better not be by someone else. It’s teased to perfection, the style I’ve noticed she does often and wears well. But the kicker, answering my question about her, is the fact that she’s in heels. Red stiletto heels. Looking like a wet dream with red lipstick to seal the deal.
Red might be my new favorite color.
I’m a dead man .
No questions asked—she’s a powerhouse of a woman, Dunks or heels.
I need her with every fiber in me.
It’s as if my body knows she’s spotted me; without thinking, my eyes lift and find hers instantly across the room. She’s smiling so big it makes my heart burst. The most beautiful smile I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s the smile I’ve noticed she keeps just for me. My steps find her in stride as I stalk across the room to her, bringing her soft body into a hug.
“Hi angel, miss me?”
Dakota laughs quietly, playfully shoving my shoulder, silently telling me to cut it out. Gladly my dear. “You act like I never see you, Callaway.” I tap her nose teasingly. “Ask me if I care. I’ll take you when I can.”
After our phone call, I was met with the realization that I feel like I know her well now. Whereas I thought she would hesitate to ever open up to me, she shared with me more than needed. That tells me she trusts me, and hell, if that’s not a feeling to celebrate.
Dirty Bingo sounds like the thing to do it.
The group of us piling in finds our spot at the round table. We’re slightly off-center from the stage, which gives us the perfect view of the bar. I pull the chair beside me for Dakota, leaving her no choice but to sit; Bodhi is on the opposite side.
The group shuffles to the bar to secure their drinks. I order an Old fashioned for myself and a triple lime vodka soda for Dakota. Returning to the table, I can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the room. Dakota’s beauty is magnetic. It’s a beauty that can’t be explained or duplicated. It’s entirely her.
Sitting her drink in front of her, she looks at me hesitantly, “There’s three limes. You did that last time. Explain.”
Not what I was expecting, but sure thing, angel .
“It’s not that serious. I’m not willing to leave it to chance that you won’t have at least two limes in your drink. Better to have more than not enough.”
I’m not sure what kind of reaction I expected, but it wasn't a kiss on the cheek. I’m grinning like a schoolgirl.
Dakota is kissing me on the cheek, and I’m relishing in the high like I had a quickie with the Queen; it’s nothing I’ve ever experienced being the lowly man that I am, but one I can imagine would be a monumental moment much like this kiss is for me.
I’ll buy her thousands of limes if she keeps putting her lips on me like this. “You are too good to me, Callaway Hayes.”
My cheeks hurt so bad. I couldn’t hide my grin if I tried.
Looking at her like a fool, I finally say, “And you’re constantly surprising me.”
She laughs so lightheartedly it stops me in my tracks. Fuck, if it doesn’t feel good to see her happy. To see her living . This woman before me is not the same woman I met four months ago, and that makes me incredibly proud of her.
Breaking the moment, the bingo announcer takes the stage and calls all players to grab their drinks and find a seat. My eyes find King and Gus across the room, giving them the exact look we use when the bases are loaded and we’re about to land an out to retire the inning.
“Let the games begin. ”