Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
SHANE
I head down the walkway that leads from the field to the clubhouse, spotlights beating down so bright you’d never guess it's nearly ten at night. My teammates are scattered, stopping to sign autographs for the fans crowding up to the fence that lines the path. That was a shitty ass game. One of those ones where you get behind early and just can’t seem to catch up.
I swear for every run we got, they got two. Just one of those days.
They intentionally walked Jed every at bat—which was annoying as fuck, but also smart. It highlighted how huge an asset he is. I managed three RBIs today and had two stolen bases that allowed me to score, but it wasn’t enough. It’s a weird feeling—to have a great game but still walk away in defeat.
A fan calls my name, and I walk over with a wave. We usually get a good turnout. Mainly because of Jed. He’s a huge draw, and he’s having the season of his life this year. I smile at the woman and quickly sign the ball she hands me, even though my stomach tightens.
I’m happy for Jed, but I can’t push away the dread lurking in the shadows.
His call-up is coming. If it’s not this year, it’s definitely happening next year.
I’m not sure what that means for us. Even just being a couple hours apart would make a relationship nearly impossible.
There are 162 games in a season for the big leagues, just shy of that for us minor leagues, and we rarely get a day off.
Maybe one day a week, if that. We’d never see each other.
I’ve seen how hard it is for Paulie and East, and that’s with Maddy living with us for some of the time, and with Shelby coming up every weekend and taking time off work whenever she can. Jed and I…we’d be boyfriends during the off-season essentially. And that’s it.
And there’s always the chance the T-word could rear its ugly head. Traded. We could end up on opposite sides of the country. I’m not on the 40-man, and if I don’t get put on before the Rule 5 draft, there’s a good chance I’m gone.
I easily keep my smile firmly in place as I greet the fans, even though inside everything is closing in, trying to drag me down. It’s something I’ve done my whole life; that smile is permanently painted on at this point.
I stop before another fan and put my hand out for whatever it is they want me to sign—ball, hat, what have you.
Except nothing comes.
I look up—
And my world slams to a stop.
My pulse lurches.
The calls and shouts from the fans vanish as I’m swallowed by roaring silence.
All I can register is a set of familiar hazel eyes.
The kid laughs uneasily. “Shane Michaels?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. He looks just like him. He would, wouldn’t he? Not only was I denied his presence, I got none of his looks either.
“I take it this means you know who I am?” he says hesitantly.
I’m frozen. Everything in my body has stopped working. My chest burns. And just like that, it all comes rushing back. Catch in the dirt drive outside our house. Piggyback rides to the empty field down the lane. The first time I hit a ball without a tee. It’s fuzzy and distant, but it’s still there.
Something nudges my shoulder. I turn and blink slowly up at a pair of scrutinizing dark eyes shadowed by a brow that’s scowling more severely than usual.
“Hurry it up, Michaels. The skipper said he wanted to see us in his office after the game.”
“Ah… Right. Skipper. Sure.”
I move away toward the clubhouse in a daze—
“Wait! Shane!”
I halt, but don’t turn around.
“Could we talk?”
My fists ball, and it’s a struggle to draw in air. Jed’s stare burns into my skin, but I can’t move or speak.
“Please. Even just a minute of your time.”
“Meet me by the player’s exit,” I say to the ground. Then I walk numbly toward the clubhouse.
As soon as we’re inside and safe from view, I’m spun and pushed into the wall. Jed’s stare scours my face. “What was that, Sun—” His whisper cuts off, and he curses. “What was that, Michaels?”
I try to push by him, but he presses me back. “You said the skipper…”
“I fucking made it up to get you away from that guy.” His body ripples with tension, and my gaze catches on his hand at his side. It flexes. Twitches toward me. Retreats. “Shane.”
My attention snaps to him.
“Who the hell was that?”
I swallow hard. “That was my half-brother.”
Jed and I don’t exchange any other words. He seems to understand I’m locked inside my head right now. It’s an escape room challenge, and I’m failing.
I skip my cool-down, which probably isn’t smart, and take the quickest shower known to man. My anxiety is eating me from the inside out, and I need to know what the hell he’s doing here. Could we talk? I have zero ideas on what he could possibly want to talk to me about.
God, seeing him? It was like being knocked flat out. Before my mind put all his features together, before I recognized the telltale signs of youth, all I saw was my father. It was like setting eyes on an apparition.
I keep my gaze trained on the floor. I can’t…do people right now. My teammates' stares bore into me, crawl over my skin. I’m never quiet. I’m never reserved.
I’m tying my shoes when a shadow settles over me along with a hint of cinnamon and spice. I glance up and meet Jed’s gaze.
“I’ll wait. Just text when you’re ready to leave. Or if you need anything.”
I nod and shoot him a smile—that fails and instantly twitches into a grimace.
He drove me in today, and Pauls drove East. My throat clogs, and I draw in an unsteady breath.
Jed’s quiet support has me off-balance. He seems to always understand what I need.
We’ve barely spoken, yet he knows. He knows I can’t handle conversation.
He knows I need a barrier between us right now.
If he treated me softly in the slightest, snuck in a discreet touch of comfort—I’d break and reach for him.
Wouldn’t that just be icing on the cake of today?
I make my way to the player’s lot and pause at the exit. I stare unseeing at the door. Just me, my shallow breaths, and my drumming pulse. I finally shake myself from my stupor and push through the door.
A figure steps away from the wall. The low light from the distant parking lot lights shadows his features. Makes it easier to face him this time.
The tumult inside me is deafening. It’s like the roar of a crowd.
Everyone’s screaming, but you don’t actually hear anything.
It doesn’t allow my tangled thoughts to settle, doesn’t give them room to breathe and register.
All I know is my first instinct back on the walk was to get as far away from this guy as possible.
I don’t even know why. And as he shifts on his feet in front of me, this beanpole of a kid, the fact that I wanted to run from him… is slightly embarrassing.
“This way.” I’m proud of how level my voice comes out despite how out-of-control I feel.
I lead us a bit farther down the brick wall of the complex so we won’t be interrupted by anyone else leaving. Then I turn to face him.
“Graham Ackerman,” I murmur. That’s another thing of my dad’s he has. The last name.
When I was sixteen, I went to Mom and asked her if I could change my last name to hers. I still wanted my dad back in my life. I haven’t ever stopped. I’ll always wish he’d wanted me.
But that year I realized something: even if he showed up out of nowhere and we had this magical reunion and somehow rebuilt a relationship, he’d never deserve the privilege of my last name.
That belongs to the woman who fought tooth and nail to feed us, to keep a roof over our heads, to give me this dream I’m living right now.
The woman who loved me without condition.
Every. Fucking. Day.
“So. Ah…you know who I am.” There’s a slight tremor to the guy’s voice.
I finally let myself truly take him in. The gaze that can’t settle.
Hunched shoulders. Muscles in his face contorting in a way that makes him look like he’s about to be sick.
But also…also the roundness of his cheeks, the lankiness of his frame, the New Cannan High School sweatshirt. He’s a kid. And he’s terrified.
All my tension flees. “Yeah. I think we covered that. And you know who I am.”
“Um. Yes. I do now. For about a month…”
My chest hollows out. I swallow roughly. There’s a lot in that small statement. The most glaring being my dad’s preferred family doesn’t know I exist—at least not until a month ago. Don’t know how to feel about that. Besides empty.
“What was it you wanted to talk about?”
He stuffs his fidgeting hands into his hoodie. “Um. I…don’t know. I’m not sure why I came here at all, actually.” He steps back. “Fuck. Sorry. I’m just going to go.”
He turns, but I grab his arm, and he stiffens.
“I’m sure you came for a reason.” Even if he doesn’t know what it is yet. But this could be my only chance to have a conversation with him. He’s half me, right? My brother. We’re both here. Might as well talk.
He’s silent and still won’t meet my gaze, but he hasn’t tried to leave again. So I prod a little. “Why don’t we grab a beer? See if what you wanted to talk about comes back to you?”
“Ah… I’m only eighteen.”
Right. Duh. So much for alcohol making this easier. “All right. So something of the non-alcoholic variety. How’s that sound?”
Three figures appear through the exit door and make their way toward us. I recognize the three of them instantly. Jed’s tall, broad frame, Easton’s built form, and Paulie’s stocky swagger. They stop just behind Graham.
Graham’s quiet “okay” drifts off as he follows my gaze and looks over his shoulder. He freezes. The three of them stare him down, arms crossed over their chests.
“Everything all right out here?” Jed growls.
Yes. Growls. It takes everything in me not to say, down boy. A little warmth seeps through my dulled senses. These three stalking over, their protective hackles raised, ready to step in if I need them—sparks some life back in me.
“Um,” Graham squeaks. “I-I was just leaving.”
“No,” I say firmly. “He was just about to come over for a drink.” I meet his wide eyes. “A non-alcoholic one.”
“Coming over?” His high-pitched voice echoes around us. “W-will they be there?”
A chuckle slips from me. “Yeah. But don’t worry, they don’t bite.”
My stare finds Jed’s, and my smile hooks up. Unless you ask nicely. He rolls his eyes at me. Because he can read my mind at this point.
I slap a hand down on Graham’s shoulder. “Come on. Stone will give you a ride to your car, then you can follow us to our place. I’m guessing you didn’t make the drive up from New Canaan for no reason.”
He watches me for a beat. “You know where I live?”
My smile turns self-deprecating. “You might have just learned about me, but I’ve always known about you.”
The image flashes. My father, a perfectly put-together wife, a girl a few years younger than my twelve years at the time, and a little boy with wild dark hair.
The same wild hair as the teenage version standing in front of me.
That was the first time I’d searched my father and discovered the truth.
He hadn’t just left. He’d found something better.
I gently nudge him toward Jed’s car. “Plus, your New Canaan High sweatshirt is a bit of a giveaway.”
He nods. “Right. Yeah. Um. This sounds good.” He side-eyes Jed.
“He’s harmless, I swear,” I say. “His face is just stuck like that.”
That earns me a huff from my stoic sentinel. Kinda sexy, not gonna lie. All German Shepherd attack dog on my behalf. Woof.
We slide into Jed’s Range Rover, and Graham directs him to where he’s parked. We stop next to a…fucking Porsche. Of course.
“Nice car,” Jed grits out.
My gaze flicks to his, and I give a small shake of my head. Don’t scare him off.
I turn to the back. “Follow us, all right? It’s like ten minutes tops to my place.”
He nods jerkily and hops out of the car.
I shift toward Jed. “Be nice, Storm Cloud. I don’t know why he came here, but I’d like to at least take this chance to get to know him a little.”
Jed lets out a slow breath. “A fucking Porsche Cayenne, Sunshine. Guarantee it’s got all the bells and whistles too. He gets a car worth over a hundred grand, and what did that asshole give you?”
My chest swells at his indignation. The strength with which he cares—for me, of all people—I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s mind blowing.
I settle a hand on his thigh and squeeze. “Thank you.”
He studies me, those dark brows smashed together, nostrils flaring. He’s a storm brewing. “It’s not fucking fair.”
It’s not. It’s so far from fair. A fraction of my father’s money would have made a world of difference to me and my mom.
But that’s not my brother’s doing. I have no idea if Graham is anything like my father.
Maybe he’s just as horrible, but I really don’t think so.
I’m…vibing. I always trust my gut, and right now my gut’s telling me that I might like this kid.
“Let’s go, JJ.”
He nods, and we head home, the lights of Graham’s Porsche trailing behind us.