Page 42 of Stealing Home

“I’m taking care ofmywoman, yeah. That’s why I want to speak to Griffin real quick.”

He smiles, ditches his cigarette butt in a can next to the door, and holds out his hand. “I’m Charlie. Harlow is becoming important to us. She saved my ass last week when she told me to get my wife something besides a washer and dryer for our anniversary, so I had to make sure you were looking after her.”

Charlie drops his arm around my shoulder and guides me inside. “In the vein of saving my ass, don’t tell my wife you saw me smoking. She’s a nurse, and she’d have my balls if she knew I hadn’t fully quit yet.”

“I found Harlow’s pitcher hanging around outside. He needs a word with you big man,” he shouts across the bay.

Griffin pokes his head out from under the hood of a classic sports car. “Please don’t tell me you’re bailing out of the barbecue. Wren already took off to get the kids ready for company.”

I shake my head. “Nothing like that. But, I do need to run to my house and pack a bag. I don’t want her staying alone right now.”

Griffin grunts, which I translate to mean he agrees with me.

“I’ll be gone less than an hour, but I didn’t want to leave her here alone while I do it. But, I can’t bring her by the house right now. Will one of you be around for a bit longer?” I ask them.

“Yeah, I think so. If we have to leave earlier we’ll go up and bring her with us and you can meet us at the house,” Griffin says.

I hadn’t thought of that option. “That works for me. I’ll leave you my number.”

Griffin jerks his chin towards a table by the wall. “My phone is over there.”

I grab it and bring it over.

“Hold it in front of my face, then put your number in,” he tells me. I do as he asks, then put the phone back where I found it.

“It’s good to have your number anyway. We couldn’t help her snap out of it this afternoon. Nothing worked until you got here,” he says.

Most guys my age would internalize that bit of information and allow it to fester until they ran screaming for the hills. Those are pretty much the guys on my team. The ones who can’t be satisfied with the woman they’re with, because they think they’re somehow missing out if they don’t sample every woman out there.

In other words, not me. The idea that Harlow needs me makes me feel ten feet tall. To be able to comfort her, give her something no one else can, fills me with pride. Unlike my asshole teammates, with the exception of Max and Will, I can recognize the blessing I have with Harlow and not freak out. I only hope this means she’ll continue to open up to me. I know the timing sucks. She’s getting divorced, and I am on her husband’s team, but you don’t get to choose when fate enters your life.

I head out to my truck to grab my shit before they need to leave for the day. I want to be the one to take her there. This will be the only group we can be out in the open with for the foreseeable future, and I want to show up together.

Parking in front of my house, I take a deep breath and steel myself to go inside. I know better than to hope I’ll be able to get in and out without being seen. There’s always too many fucking people hanging around.

Sure enough, there’s a crowd in the kitchen hanging around boxes of pizza, and another group lounging on the sofas watching sports highlights on the cable sports channel.

“Scott,” Joaquin shouts. “I thought you had something to do?”

“I do,” I grunt, apparently Griffin’s terseness is contagious.

Standing around shooting the shit with the guys will only make it take longer to get back to Harlow. Plus, they’re a bunch of nosey fuckers, and I can’t really answer their questions. If I were a decent liar it wouldn’t be a problem, but as my interactions with Taylor thus far prove, I’m as shit at it now as I was when I was a kid. Evasion, deflection, and distraction are my only hope of getting out of this house without blabbing that I’m hanging out with the coach’s wife.

My room is on the second floor. Technically only four of us live in this house. When a room comes available it always goes to a member getting out of the dorms. My parents offered to get me my own apartment knowing that I am more introverted than my popularity suggests. I declined thinking I wanted to have the full college experience. Suffice it to say, I’m way over it now.

As the last few nights have proven, studying in this house is a nightmare. Harlow wasn’t wrong to be surprised that I’m studying a serious major. Most of the guys are only here for baseball, and their classes are the annoying distractions between practice and games. I’m here for my education first, and baseball second. It’s not that I don’t love baseball. It’s taught me a lot over the years, like the value of hard work, teamwork, and how to win or lose with grace. I’ll always treasure it, and hope someday to share it with my own kids like I did with my dad.

Enough coaches have fawned over me over the years to lead me to believe I have a shot at a professional career if I want to go that route. The thing is I don’t. Maybe it’s unfair for me to have the skills to go after what every player on this team would give his left nut for, but just because Icando something doesn’t mean Ihaveto. Their dreams aren’t mine. While all of these guys talk endlessly about what they’d do if they made the bigs, the women, the cars, the money they’d have, I long for a more simple life.

I don’t need baseball to have fancy cars or financial security, because I’m lucky enough to have been born into a wealthy family. I didn’t take my advantages for granted and was brought up not to flash my wealth. I doubt most of the guys here realize the kind of means I have at my disposal. That kind of freedom allows me to pursue the life I want.

I grab a leather duffle bag from my closet and start tossing in clothes. Thankfully I’m a bit of a neat freak, so locating the clothes I need doesn’t take long. I’m a fairly simple man, living in jeans and Henley’s most of the time. My toiletries are already packed in a bag since there’s only two bathrooms and very little storage space. I’ll have to come back if I stay longer than a week, but I don’t want Harlow to think I’m trying to move in with her.

Shouting and cheering erupts in the living room, and I know that the game has started. It’s my best chance to get out of here without too many questions. I head down to my truck with purpose, but of course, I get stopped.

Campbell is sitting alone in the kitchen. He glares at me as I make my way through the house, but it’s nothing new. Even though I find most of the guys on the team annoying, I still get along with them, except for Campbell. He has never gotten over the fact I was recruited for the position he thinks he’s owed.

In his mind, as a senior, it’s his right to stand on the mound pitching. He wants the glory and attention he doesn’t feel he gets out in left field. Short of giving up my position to him, there’s nothing I can do to bridge the rift between us. I stopped caring shortly after I got here because he’s a giant douchebag.

---