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“No.” I lean my head against my locker with a thud, blinking at the ‘17’ hammered in bronze at the top of the wood panel. “I didn’t answer the phone the first time.”
“You know you don’t have to talk to her.”
I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yes, sir.”
“We can always redirect them. I have some influence there. I don’t want you doing it if it’ll distract you from your game. You know how important it is to give your all until the end of the season.”
“I know.”
He sighs. “I’d talk to her, get a read on how much she wants to know. What ways she wants to bring your father into this. You’re a man now, Sebastian. No one can protect your father’s legacy but you. Switch to video chat, I want to see you.”
I do, and when his face fills the screen, those blue eyes, so like my siblings’, regard me with that familiar seriousness. Even though Richard Callahan has been out of the game for years now, he’s physically fit, mentally tough, and capable of withering a man with a mere glance. His retirement has been less of a vacation than a pivot to the media and broadcasting, and I have no doubt he holds sway withThe Sportsman.
“He’d be proud of you, son. You’re getting to the place he always dreamed for you.”
I blink. To hear him speak with such frank honesty in this way is rare. Perhaps Cooper changed him more than we realized. “Thank you.”
He laughs slightly, running a hand through his still-thick hair, silver now at the temples. “At least you did turn out to be a baseball player. A damn good one, at that, and getting better all the time. Jake would never forgive me if you hadn’t.”
The edges of the room blur for a half-second as my heart pounds in my chest, hard and fast. The praise makes me smile, but I can’t ignore the little flash of panic it brings, too.
14
MIA
Sebastian didn’t specifically saythat I was welcome to do whatever I wanted in the house.
It’s not like he specifically said Iwasn’twelcome, however. And when I spoke to Izzy earlier, she wholeheartedly suggested that I do the following things: use her skincare products, watch whatever I wanted using the shared Callahan streaming accounts, mess around with Cooper and Sebastian’s video games, sleep with her brother, use the brownie mix she left in the pantry, use the margarita mix shealsoleft in the pantry, read one of the many smutty romance novels that she and Penny have been passing back and forth, have a private sing-along toMamma Mia—something she’s done by herself on more than one occasion, and on an even rarer occasion, with a very drunk James Callahan—or a good cry toThe Notebook, or, and she mentioned this twice, or perhaps three times,sleep with her brother.
I scowl as I poke through the refrigerator. I’d rather get drunk on margaritas, a silly drink to begin with, and slur my words to ABBA than sleep with Sebastian. I’d even let Izzy record it, if it meant never looking at his stupidly handsome face ever again.
I find a carton of eggs and some bacon. Despite repeated efforts from my mother, Nana, and my many aunts, I’ve never been good in the kitchen. I don’t have enough patience for it—Mom told me that two Christmases ago, when I nearly ruined the sea bass—and most of my efforts end up tasting mediocre at best. Eggs should be easy enough, though. Even I can fry an egg and some bacon.
My stomach growls loudly. I ended up working without stopping right until I had to go to the planetarium, and then the vending machine there didn’t have anything but salt-and-vinegar chips, so I just drank from my water bottle and ignored the pang in my belly as I ran the show. It wasn’t a bad turnout for a Sunday night, mostly old people looking for something to do.
I also managed to avoid driving by the baseball field. Proud of myself for that one. Hopefully, by the time Sebastian gets back, I’ll already be locked in Izzy’s room. I might even try one of the romance novels.
I find a pan, temper the blue flame that comes to life when I turn on the burner, and start with the bacon.
If I did read one of those romance novels, and it made me want todosomething… it’d have to be before he gets to the house. I glance at my phone. I probably have time. I need something to take the edge off. Being in this house, while helpful for my work, has made it difficult to banish him from my mind. The flood ruined my favorite vibrator, unfortunately, but I can make do.
I almost went to the restaurant the night he planned for us to have the date, despite not talking to him for a week before it. I bought a new dress and everything, forest green in a wrap-around style that showed off my figure nicely. I did my makeup and curled my hair. But I couldn’t make myself take that step forward. I didn’t want to show up, only to realize he wasn’t there—and if he was, I didn’t know if I actually wanted to go down that road.
What do people even do on dates? What do they talk about? Doesn’t the label make everything awkward? A relationship isn’t the same thing as conversing around hookups, so how could he have even known he wanted it with me?
I sniff. The air does not smell like delicious bacon.
It’s burnt.
Damnit.
“Mia?” Sebastian calls—at the exact moment the fire alarm goes off.
The piercing sound worms its way right into my ear, making me grit my teeth. I lunge forward to turn off the burner, but my hand brushes against the side of the pan. Pain blooms across my knuckles.
Sebastian skids into the kitchen in street clothes, his gear bag thrown over his shoulder. He curses when he sees me, wide-eyed and looking like a fucking foolagain. I grind my teeth together hard enough I might crack a tooth as he moves the pan to the back of the stove, turns on the fan, and—with a blank, determined sort of expression on his face—pulls me over to the sink.
He turns on the water and gently guides my hand underneath it. I nearly whimper from the sting, but manage to swallow it down.
