Sway (Landry Family #1) (12 page)

I gasp.

Lola smashes me from the side, her gasp taking away all air from the immediate vicinity.

Huxley sits down, unimpressed.

Barrett gets situated on the mound as the fangirls in the crowd go crazy and I have half a notion to cover Huxley’s ears at some of the lewd suggestions being spewed towards the dugout.

He waves to the fans before tossing the pitch. It bounces once before it makes it to the plate. The crowd cheers wildly and I watch as his lean body jogs halfway to the plate and he embraces the catcher in a half-hug.

“That guy can’t throw a baseball,” Huxley says. “They should’ve at least gotten someone that could make it to the plate.”

“That’s the mayor,” Lola tells him because I’m still without words, my eyes glued to him as he makes his way to the clubhouse.

“He’s not a baseball player, that’s for sure,” Hux scoffs.

Barrett is met at the steps by his brother. Side-by-side, they’re breathtaking. I can’t begin to imagine how beautiful their family pictures must be.

Lincoln slaps him on the shoulder and says something in his ear, making Barrett laugh and I’m jealous I can’t hear it. Not the words, but the sound of his voice. I heard it just today but I already miss it . . . especially knowing I’ll probably never hear it again.

Almost like he knows I’m watching, he looks up. His gaze falls right on me like I’m the only one sitting in the stands.

A look of confusion flickers across his features before he breaks out into a wide smile.

Barrett

“Nice job, Mayor,” a player says before fleeing the dugout to take the field.

“Don’t lie to him!” Lincoln shouts after him, making the rest of the departing guys laugh. “That was the shittiest pitch I’ve ever seen. I’ve been embarrassed by you before, but tonight tops them all. Fuck.”

“Good thing I’m not a player then,” I mutter.

What’s she doing here?

“The next time you need anything baseball related, call me or Graham,” Lincoln says, turning to our brother. “Shit, G. We should’ve had you stand in. Trade in your yuppie polo shirt and lose the glasses and you could pass as Barrett. It’d be close enough. At least you wouldn’t embarrass me.”

Graham leans against the wall and he and Linc engage in some conversation that probably involves making fun of me.

How can I see her?

I know it’s risky and stupid to want to see her now, right here in the middle of the entire city, basically. But I can’t help it. Just knowing she’s feet away from me and not being able to see her kills me.

As does the idea of her being here with someone else.

I leap up the few steps to the field and steal a peek up the stands. She sits with a raven haired girl that looks vaguely familiar and a little blond boy with a mitt.

Bingo!

“Hey, Linc!” I say, whipping around and descending into the dugout. “Remember the time when we were kids and you were getting your ass beat and I saved you?”

“Uh, no,” he says, his voice echoing off the now-empty walls of the room. The players not playing are talking to fans, doing promotional stuff. We’re the only ones around. “That didn’t happen.”

“Well, let’s pretend it did. And today is the day you pay me back.”

“What the hell?” he laughs, looking at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am.

“What’s going on with you?” Graham asks, standing straight. He quirks a brow, just like our father, getting his contingency plan ready for action. “And don’t even tell me it’s . . .
that
.”

“It’s that,” I grin widely.

“That? It’s what? What’s that?” Linc asks.

Graham groans.

I pace a small circle, trying to get a strategy in place to make everything work and not worse.

“Hello, assholes,” Lincoln says, throwing his arms in front of him. “What’s happening? I feel like you guys are talking in some language I don’t understand.”

“Linc, I need a favor.”

“Fuck me,” Graham mutters, collapsing back into the wall again. “You do realize whatever stupidity you pull tonight is on my watch, right?”

“You aren’t my babysitter, Graham. I’m a grown man.”

“So please make grown man decisions,” he fires back.

Linc’s head volleys back and forth. “You guys are losing me, but I do like the sound of this.”

“There’s a little boy about four rows back,” I tell Linc. “Blond hair, wearing a mitt. He’s sitting by his mom. She’s my age, blonde hair, white t-shirt.”

“And?”

“Go get the kid.”

He steps away from me and laughs. “Why? What do you care about a kid sitting in the stands? You don’t even like kids.”

“That’s not true. I just don’t like Sienna’s last boyfriend’s little kid. Fucker vomited on my suit.”

“Kids do that,” Graham points out.

“Not that one. He’s nine or ten or something.”

Lincoln looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but being the troublemaker he is, he kind of likes it. I can tell. The side of his mouth curls into a smirk. He shrugs, knowing his reaction, favorable to me, will piss off Graham and his carefully constructed and now void plans for the evening.

“I’m game,” Lincoln says. “I’ll get him. But what do you want me to do with him?”

“Just bring him down here like he’s won some sort of prize or something.”

“And his mother?” His smirk deepens, matching mine. “She’ll never let him come down here alone.”

“No,” I agree. “She won’t. I’ll bet she’s a good mom and won’t let her kid out of her sight.”

Graham pushes off the wall and stands between me and our youngest brother. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through? You realize that the wrong photograph can be, and will be, floated a million ways in the paper tomorrow.”

“How? Lincoln is going to be seen with a little boy, doing his baseball thing and making this random kid’s day. I’ll never be photographed with Alison, so there’s no problem.”

“I don’t like this. Just for the record,” Graham contends, scrubbing his hands down his face.

“Ah, G,” Lincoln teases, clapping him on the back. “Live a little, man.”

“Yeah, sure. Then who’ll take care of you assholes?”

“Mom,” Linc says and bounds up the stairs.

Alison

“MOM! LOOK! CAN I GO
down there?” Huxley shoots from his seat, his finger pointing towards the field. “Please! Mom!”

I follow his gaze, my breath stalling, to see Lincoln Landry at the fence directly below us. Children scramble from their seats, thrusting hats and pictures and Sharpies in his direction. He takes it in stride, just like Barrett does in a crowd, and plays it off like he does it every day. Maybe he does.

“Mom! Please!”

“Yes, go on. I’ll watch you from here.”

He climbs over Lola and races to the fence, a spring in his little step that’s impossible to miss.

“Look at him,” Lola sighs.

“I know. I love watching him have so much joy. I wish I knew more about baseball, but it’ll be the same way with cars and things that blow up some day. I hate it that his father was such an incredible asshole.”

Lo gives me a look. “I was talking about Lincoln.”

“Of course you were.”

Huxley makes his way to the front of the line, one of the last kids left standing. Lincoln takes his glove, running a hand through his hair. He looks straight up in the stands, at me, his eyes full of mischief.

The smirk that spreads across his face is more playful and less sexy than Barrett’s, but still a panty-dropper. He tosses me a wink before motioning for me to come down too.

“Oh my God he wants you,” Lola nearly shrieks. “Go. Get your ass down there, Ali!”

I can’t respond because you can’t do that without air. I don’t move, either, because I’m partially frozen in my seat.

Lincoln motions again and Huxley turns around, his face nearly swallowed by his smile. “Mom! Come here!”

Rising slowly, which garners another chuckle from Lincoln, I make my way to the fence. There’s still no sign of Barrett, but I know he’s close. I can feel it. His energy teases me from the shadows.

“Hey, there!” Lincoln says, his voice dripping with a little extra gusto. “I have Hux here and no Sharpie.”

“Oh, no!” I say, feeling like I just struck the biggest mom-fail of all time.

“Good thing I’m always prepared,” Linc grins.

“He has one, Mom! In the dugout!”

Lincoln smirks.

I give him my best
‘I’m sure you do’
look.

He laughs.

I roll my eyes, but can’t help but laugh as well. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Well, my reputation as a real-life Superman does precede me. Now see that gate right down there? Go through that and meet me in the dugout.”

“Can we do that?” I ask, looking for security.

“Yeah, this is a charity game. They don’t care. Just don’t charge the pitcher’s mound or anything.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” I mutter.

Hux grabs my arm, jerking it up and down. “Let’s go!”

Lincoln watches with amusement as Huxley drags me down the stands and to the gate, jabbering endlessly the entire time. I pretend to follow along with his all-out fanboy antics, but I try to play it cool. To pretend like Barrett isn’t waiting for me.

My heart strikes against my ribs, pounding out of control. I hear Hux’s voice, but not the words, over the roar of blood in my ears.

Whether I want to be or not, I’m excited to see him again. Even if it’s in a dugout full of baseball players and a star-struck little boy, I can’t deny it.

As if he were expecting us, a giant of a man lets us right through and tells us to stay on the gravel and not get into the line of play.

“A real dugout, Mom!” Hux exclaims as we get closer. “So cool! My friends at school will never believe me!”

“It’s awesome, huh?” I smile.

“So awesome.” He gives me a wide grin, one showcasing his missing tooth. Pure happiness drips off of him and, for a moment, I don’t feel like I’m failing him. He’s not with a babysitter while I work or missing out on activities that little boys with fathers get to do. For once, I’m with him in a moment he’ll never forget, a moment he can brag to his little friends about.

The steps leading below are dirty and the air smells of sweat and salt. I try not to breathe it in, but as I shudder, I catch the notes of his cologne.

As Hux gasps, “Wow,” I look up and into the face of Barrett.

He’s smiling with more than a drop of hesitation, like he’s afraid I’m going to be mad. How can I be, though, when he just made Hux’s year? Twice.

The effects of my return smile are immediate and obvious. His shoulders relax and he visibly blows out a deep breath.

“Hey, there!” Lincoln says, coming over to Hux. He grabs his shoulders and shakes them in some sort of a guy welcome gesture. “Well, what do you think?”

“This is cool,” Hux says, taking everything in.

“It is, right? Do you play?”

“Yeah. I play second base,” he says proudly. “My arm isn’t as strong as it needs to be to play pitcher or center.”

“I’ll show you some exercises before you go that’ll help, if you want.”

“For real?” Hux asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, for real,” Lincoln chuckles. He looks up at me and extends a hand. “I’m Lincoln Landry.”

We shake, his hand a bit smaller but more calloused than Barrett’s. “I’m Alison Baker.”

“Guys, this is Alison and Hux Baker. This is my brother, Graham, and my oldest brother, the mayor, Barrett.”

“I knew you weren’t a baseball player,” Huxley says.

“Hux!” I exclaim, my cheeks reddening as Graham and Lincoln burst into laughter. Barrett just grins and shakes his head.

“You didn’t even make it to the plate,” Hux points out.

“You are now officially my favorite kid ever,” Lincoln says, catching his breath. “Come on. Let’s go play catch in the bullpen.”

“Can I?” Hux pleads. “Please, Mom?”

I hesitate, but before I can think it through, Lincoln puts me at ease.

“It’s safe. No one can get in there. And there aren’t any balls that will hit him or anything. I promise I’ll take care of him. I mean, after that crack at Barrett, I owe him one.”

“Please?” Hux begs.

I glance at Barrett. He’s standing with his back to the wall, his arms over his chest. He watches the interaction, purposefully staying out of it, letting me make the decision with no pressure from him.