Warning Track (Callahan Family #1) - Carrie Aarons Page 0,28

it even started, but some opinion piece once stated that I was one of these guys who wouldn’t marry or have children until after my career was over so I could dedicate myself to the game. It was a load of bullshit, because I’ve never really had that philosophy. But as time went on, and I didn’t seriously date or knock someone up, the rumor grew stronger.

“It’s not true, but it’s not not true. Between you and me, the way I grew up was fucked up. I’m sure you know I was in and out of the foster system. I have no real basis of what a family is or should be. Why would I choose to focus on that, to have my own kids, when I could only give them, at best, fifty percent of my focus right now? There are guys in this league who are the shittiest fathers of all time.”

“Some on our own bench,” Clark mutters.

Shane Giraldi’s face jumps into my mind. “Exactly. I don’t want to be that to my wife, or my kids. If those things are in the cards for me, then I’ll try to do the best I can. After my playing is all said and done.”

So, I guess, the rumor is not such a rumor after all. I just never knew how to articulate it, not in the way I just did to Clark.

“Not a bad plan, man. Like I said, maybe you should write me a manual.” He tosses the ball behind his back, toward me.

I reach out, catching it and bringing it into my body. Is there one day that I could see doing this with my son or daughter? On a regular field, in a small-town park? Maybe. I’m not sure. I have no experience to pull from, no memories of anyone doing this with me as a kid.

“Just don’t be an asshole. That’s my number one piece of advice.”

“Noted.” Clark chuckles.

After another half hour of tossing around and acting like we’re teenagers on the little league field, catching grounders and trying to make trick plays, Clark rubs his stomach.

“I’m hungry. Call Walker, let’s go grab a burger and a beer.”

13

Colleen

Hudson’s is packed, with it being a Friday night, and my cousins and I can barely get our usual table.

Whitney has a rare weekend night away from home, and our younger cousin Anna who just turned twenty-two is home from college for the summer. So, we all decided to go out to dinner, and maybe have one too many drinks.

“Ugh, my uterus is killing me,” Whitney complains, holding her hand to her lower stomach. “It’s not fair. Why can’t periods just stop after you decide you’re done having kids?”

Anna snorts. “Right? Like you could just press a button to turn off the blood flow. You’d think that pushing a watermelon through your hooha would give us some say over Aunt Flo?”

I’ve had a glass of Chardonnay, and I’m feeling loose, so I end up cackling a bit at that. “Ouch, all of it just hurts. I think men should have to do some of the work.”

“Amen to that. I’d love to see a man try to insert a tampon.” Whitney tips her glass back, the red wine sloshing as she sips some of it.

“Or pee after a UTI. I had to do that the other day, I thought my vagina was going to burn up.” Anna winces.

I nearly choke on the piece of buffalo cauliflower I just put in my mouth. “Oh my God, I did not need to know that about my baby cousin.”

“Did no one teach you to pee after sex? Is your sister telling you nothing?” Whitney admonishes our other cousin Talia who is Anna’s twenty-four-year-old sister and not present at this table.

Anna shrugs. “I was drunk and tired, too lazy to get out of bed. I won’t make that mistake again.”

There is a weird noise that comes over the bar in that instant. Maybe it’s a gasp, or a collection of whispers, but when I turn my head, three men are walking in.

Clark, one of the relieving pitchers on the Pistons’ bench, Walker, and Hayes come into Hudson’s. My stomach immediately drops, because I’ve avoided him since the confrontation in the massage room.

In fact, I’ve told absolutely no one about seeing Hayes that night, or the ugly words we’d slung at each other.

Whitney and Walker came over about two hours after the interview aired, knocking down my door at nearly ten p.m. until I