Most days, Clara knew exactly how her day would go from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to bed. She had a schedule. A plan. Life never really changed much. But all her years spent worrying were finally coming to a head, and her worst fears were coming true. Her structured life was about to be blown to pieces…. Because Sullivan knew. She had no idea how he found out, or if it was a coincidence that he was walking by the school. Truth was, it didn’t matter how he knew, only that her secret had come out. Clara could only sit with bated breath, hoping—praying—that Mason stayed safe through all of this and that Sullivan wouldn’t insert himself in their son’s life only to vanish without a word. As she watched a freshly bathed Mason jump into his single bed with the quilt made of patchwork in his room with pictures of baseball players on the walls, the ground felt unstable beneath her feet.
When Mason settled his damp hair against the pillow, he asked, “Mommy, how do you know Sully?”
“His name is Sullivan,” she said, pulling the blankets up to Mason’s chest.
“Yeah, Sullian.”
“It’s Sulli-v-an, sweetie,” Clara said with a laugh. “You’re missing the ‘v,’ and he’s mommy’s old friend.”
“So cool.” Mason watched Clara with his sweet, curious eyes, his brow slightly furrowed. “Does he make you sad?”
“Sad?” she asked, aghast. “Gosh, no. Why would you think that?”
Mason didn’t skip a beat. “Because you looked sad when we saw him.”
Kids really missed nothing. Ever. Though this was her problem to worry about, not his. She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on his nose. “Mommy is fine, sweetie. You don’t need to worry about anything. Okay?”
“Okay,” Mason said. Then his eyes suddenly lightened. “Maybe one day he can play baseball with me.”
“Maybe one day.” Clara’s heart took a direct hit at the images that appeared in her mind. At the happiness she could imagine and had once wished so damn hard for. Over the years, she’d wanted to find Mason a father, a good man to help raise him. But that wasn’t real life, and no one had ever measured up. She tucked the sides of the blanket in tightly around Mason as she said, “Snug as a bug in a rug.” She pressed another kiss to his forehead. “Love you, buddy.”
“Love you, Mama.”
With her heart lodged in her throat, she flicked off the light on her way out, leaving the door ajar to allow in a little light to chase the monsters away. Since hiding in her room and pretending this wasn’t happening wasn’t feasible, she headed down the hallway lined with photographs of the happy childhood she’d had with her sisters in spite of losing their parents when they were young. That loss had taught Clara the importance of a life well loved and that happiness and love could be born out of the darkest of places. She missed her parents, but her grandparents’ love had healed their absence. When she finally reached the top of the staircase, she stopped at the sound of Sullivan’s laughter as Amelia and Maisie entertained him. And that low rumble brushed over her senses, taking her back.
The crowd’s loud cheering vibrated against the metal baseball bleachers as Clara clapped at the final strikeout that Sullivan delivered to win the game. Fans cheered his name. The players swarmed Sullivan, the elation of a winning season overwhelming them. But then, Sullivan emerged from the players, his gaze not for them, but for Clara. He took off his baseball hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his arm as he jogged her way. She hopped off the bleachers and met him at the short chain-link fence.
“Congratulations,” she said then gave him a quick kiss.
He smiled when she backed away. “It’s you, you know.”
“What’s me?” she asked, sliding her arms around his sweaty neck.
“The reason I’m so damn good at this.” He winked. “You’re my good-luck charm.”
“Oh, please,” she countered with a snort. “This was all you. Your talent. Your skill.”
The crowd still cheered as he pressed a soft kiss on her cheek then said in her ear, “Why do you think I work so hard? I’m trying to impress you.” When he leaned away and she caught his amused look, he asked, “Is it working?”
“Hmmm,” she said, pretending to ponder. “It’s safe to say that tonight you’re going way past third base and all the way home.”
His head tipped back, and he barked a laugh. A laugh that made everything better.
But then the laughter was gone, and in its place came a hard reality. Seven years, Clara had wondered and questioned if the hard choices she made to keep Mason from Sullivan were the right ones. She supposed it was time to find out if she’d been right. She headed down the staircase, finding Sullivan with her sisters in the living room that consisted of a wood-burning fireplace and a big bay window that brought in bright, natural light during the day.
From his spot on the floral sofa, he lifted an eyebrow. “All tucked in?”
She nodded. “He’ll be out for the night.” She noted the two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey on the rectangular coffee table.
Amelia left the accent chair she’d been sitting in and picked up the glasses and bottle and handed them to Clara. “I’ll keep an eye on Mason for you while you two talk.”
“Thanks,” Clara said, feeling the biggest lump of her life rising in her throat.
Maisie approached next, giving Clara a quick kiss. “Call me later if you need to.”
“I will,” Clara said. “Thanks.” When her sisters left the room, and with booze in hand, Clara said to Sullivan, “I don’t want Mason to hear us. Let’s go out to the barn.”
“All right.” He rose, slipped back into his boots, and then followed her outside.
She quickly crossed the yard and entered the barn’s double doors, turning on the lights as she went inside. After setting down the booze on the ground, she grabbed two wooden stools by the doors and set them next to each other. Halfway inside the brewery but still able to see the dark sky scattered with stars, she sat, and Sullivan joined her.
A beat passed before Sullivan glanced sidelong. “Did you always know he was mine?”
She drew in a huge breath and pushed past the lump in her throat, acknowledging that hard question with a nod. “There’s never been anyone else.” Nothing long term anyway. A handful of one-night stands over the years when Clara had needed a reminder that she was still a living, breathing woman, but she’d always used protection. The last time with Sullivan, she hadn’t. Not even knowing where to begin, she figured she’d start at the beginning. “I called to tell you about him, but it wasn’t you who answered.” It was his lover. “I stopped calling after that.”
Another long, heavy pause, as he put the pieces together of that phone call. “That night you called, it was to tell me about him?”
She nodded. At that time, she thought they had everything. That he still loved her. Needed her. She’d been wrong.
Sullivan cursed softly, giving his head a slow shake.
She pushed on to get through this, staring down at the dark whiskey in the bottle. “I thought about calling back again, but—”
“It’s good you didn’t.”
She jerked her head to him in surprise. “It’s good I didn’t?”
Sullivan wasn’t looking at her; he stared out at the bright full moon. “Earlier today, when I saw him, I was so angry that you would keep this from me, keep him from me. Until I saw you pull him back to protect him.” He visibly swallowed. Hard. “Seven years ago, I was a punk-ass kid who had no business being around any child.” He ran a hand through his hair, tension tightening his eyes that looked so much older now, like he’d lived lifetimes already. “I would have destroyed him.”
Like my father destroyed me echoed between them.
Clara processed. The tabloids had women draped off Sullivan but no stories about a committed relationship. He had just received a suspension. Was he reckless? A wild disaster? A total hot mess? “Will you destroy him now?” she managed.
“No,” Sullivan said. Then he turned his head, holding her gaze. “But I’m aware I have to earn your trust for you to believe that.”
She wasn’t going to sugarcoat any of this. “You will because I don’t trust you, Sullivan, not within an inch of my life. And I won’t let you come into his life, mess it up, and then vanish.” Because that’s what he did. He left with no explanation. No care at all that he’d shattered her heart.
He gave a soft nod of agreement. “You’re protecting him from me. I get it, Clara.”
She hesitated, surprised by his response, when something dawned on her. In all her worries, she’d never imagined this version of history. But she saw now, plain as day, that Sullivan viewed this situation as a mirror of what he’d been through. That, on some level, he was just like his father. Her heart completely broke to pieces, regardless of their past. She remembered the bruises, the stitches, the pain, and the horror in his eyes. No matter what he’d done to her, the pain he caused, he wasn’t an abuser. “I don’t need to protect him from you physically—that’s not what I’m saying here. Please tell me you know that.”
He turned and gave a sad smile. “I know that.”
He didn’t believe her, but she needed him to. This time, she’d get her voice out and be heard, unlike last time when he stole that choice from her. “Please listen to me. You being like your father is not the reason I didn’t tell you. Back then, I was terrified that you no longer wanted me, or anything to do with this town, and you wouldn’t be interested in a child. I was never worried that you would physically hurt Mason or me. I was only worried you’d promise him the world then leave him, and if I’m honest, I’m still very, very worried that’s exactly what you’ll do.”
“You’ve got a right to be worried about that.” Torment and nameless things passed over his expression as he blew out a long breath and then ran his hands over his face. “Which is why you’re in control here, not me. So, tell me: where do we go from here? Do we tell him? Do we leave this alone? What is best for him?”
“I don’t know,” she answered after a long moment. “This is all new territory for me. To be perfectly honest, I never thought you’d come back. I never thought we’d see you again. You were living out your dreams in Boston.” She paused, considering then deciding on a way forward. “I’m only, and always, thinking of Mason’s best interests, and if you want to be in his life in a positive way, I’d never stand in the way of that, but that’s where the line is drawn.”
He processed then nodded. “I understand.”
“There’s no reason to rush this,” she continued. “You’ve got a month here. Let’s just take it one day at a time. Meet Mason in a casual way. Get to know him. And then you can decide if you truly want a son and all the responsibilities that come with it.” Scared to death of the future and Mason’s well-being, she reached for his arm, feeling him jerk in surprise at her touch, but held firm. “Mason is thriving. He’s happy. Let’s keep that our only focus here.”
“That’s fair.” Sullivan drew in a deep breath and stared down at her hand on his arm, warmth touching his features.
The touch felt too familiar, too warm. She quickly pulled her hand away and continued, “This isn’t about us and what happened in the past. This is only about Mason and what is good for him.” She pushed all her motherly instincts out and added firmly, “Let me make this perfectly clear, Sullivan. If I think for a second that your involvement will hurt Mason, I’ll get a court order and fight like hell to keep you out of his life.”
“You won’t have to,” he eventually said. “I would never let it come to that.”
Oddly, she believed him. She looked out at the moon, hoping that he had his shit together enough to do what was right for a child, not just because he selfishly wanted that child in his life.
“Clara,” he said, so softly she looked back at him.
His gentle gaze held hers. “I have no idea if it will make any difference or if it only makes me look worse, but I want you to know, that woman who answered the phone that night, I wasn’t with her. She was a teammate’s wife. I asked her to answer the phone because I knew, after that, you’d stop calling.”
Clara wasn’t sure how she felt about his admission. Did it hurt more knowing that? Or did it hurt less? She exhaled slowly, immediately fighting back against the thoughts. No matter that her heart twisted, she couldn’t let her feelings get wrapped up in all this. Mason needed her strong and at her best. “Well, it had the intended effect. I never called again.”
Their gazes held. He finally looked away. “Yeah, I guess it did.”
Sullivan embraced the hot burn of the whiskey sliding down his throat after Clara poured them both a shot. A son? He worried about being a role model to kids he didn’t know, but a son of his own? He knew the dangerous line he walked here, the damage that could be done. It had been done to him. And he was a twenty-eight-year-old man who still hadn’t recovered from the trauma of his past. He felt sick. He had hoped that Clara would have moved on, found happiness, but he realized she couldn’t have moved on, because she had Mason. And Sullivan’s leaving had only made that harder for her. He had to make this right. “Can I explain why I left?” he asked her.
She shook her head, adamant. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I do.”
In the darkest parts of his heart, the memory of what he’d done insinuated itself until he couldn’t push it away. And it was in that quiet moment, with her next to him, he let himself remember the day that had haunted him for seven years.
Sullivan shut his eyes against the bright florescent lighting in the hospital as the doctor finished the final stitch near Sullivan’s eyebrow. His father had hit him before, but this time, the sucker punch had landed at just the right angle to cause damage.
“All right, we’re all done here,” Doctor Clay Booth said. He pushed away on his stool and set his suture tools back on the tray next to him.
Sullivan sat up, ready to down a few painkillers and get the hell out of there. “Thanks, doc.”
Doctor Booth slid back over on his stool and set his warm stare on Sullivan. “The nurse told me what you said happened to you. How about you tell me the truth?”
Sullivan swallowed. Hard. “There’s nothing more to tell.”
The doc’s brows rose. “You got into a brawl with a stranger?”
“That’s right.” That part wasn’t a lie either. Sullivan had gotten into a fight at his game last night, only he hadn’t been injured.
He shifted under the weight of the doctor’s penetrating stare. “Listen, son, I know times have been hard for you and your family,” the doc said, gently. “But this path, it’s not going to lead anywhere good. Silence is never going to help you. You might not want to talk now, but if you need to, I’m a call away.”
Everyone knew his father was an abusive prick. He’d been taken out of his home and was living with the police chief for that very reason. But what was there to talk about? Shit happened. “Appreciate that, doc, but like I said, I’m fine.”
Doctor Booth gave a final long look before he nodded and headed out the door.
Sullivan exhaled the breath he’d been holding and sank his fists into his eyes, taking care not to touch the stitches. Once, the Keene name had meant something in this town. Now Sullivan was just that kid whose mom had died of cancer and who now had a drunk for a father.
“Keene.”
Sullivan lowered his hands to find the Boston Red Sox’s scout, Noah Larson, standing in the doorway. He’d been following Sullivan’s career through his college years at the University of Denver. The timing sucked, and Sullivan wasn’t quite sure what would have happened if the scout hadn’t shown up at his father’s house for Sullivan to sign some documents. He had never officially changed his address and forgot to tell the scout the address of his dorm. He’d been the one to pull Sullivan’s dad off him. Sullivan couldn’t fight back. He wouldn’t. His father was a broken shell of a person. Not a man, just a weak, pitiful human. “I’m sorry for what you walked in on today,” Sullivan said.
“Don’t apologize,” Noah said, taking a seat on the bed, next to Sullivan. “No father should ever do what I saw your dad do to you.” He took Sullivan’s chin and turned it, getting a better look at the stitches. “You want an out? A way out of this small town? Promise me good pitching and hard work, and I’ll make your dreams come true.” He offered a pen and a piece of paper. “You’ve got talent, kid. It’s time you use it. Come with me to Boston. Let me get you in front of people that matter and show ’em the pitches that have been keeping me coming back to see you.”
A warm breeze brushing over Sullivan’s face shook him out of the memory. “What you didn’t know was that the night before I left, I’d gotten into a fight with a player from the opposing team after the game. Just push-and-shove shit, but I remember how I felt. The anger, the rage that filled me when I punched that guy until blood poured from his nose.” He paused to collect himself then continued. “The following day, the day my dad punched me, I stared up at him and recognized that anger on his face, the feeling of it. That day I realized I’m capable of the same kind of rage.” Feeling her stillness next to him, he glanced her way, finding her watching him closely. “You’ve got to understand, Clara, it scared me. Scared me enough to leave, knowing you deserved better. That rage would have only festered if I’d stayed in River Rock. It would have eventually touched you. Maybe not by my hand, but in some way, and I couldn’t let that happen. So I left, and for a very long time, that anger stayed gone.” Until his father died.
Clara’s lips pursed before her expression softened a little. “It wasn’t your choice to decide what is good for me or not. That wasn’t your right; it was mine. You should have told me why you were leaving. What was going on in your head.”
He considered that, and he knew she was right. But he’d been a ticking time bomb back then. All he knew was that he couldn’t let his instability touch her. “Whether it was my decision to make or not make is irrelevant now. I made that decision, and there is no changing that,” he eventually said.
She sighed heavily. “So, where are you going with all this?”
He set his shot glass back down and turned to face her. “I want you to know I’m not pissing around here. I’m not the guy who left you seven years ago, hiding from the past. I’ve come home to face the shit I couldn’t face before. To right so many wrongs. Because when I got the call that my dad had died, in my head, I was fine. It resolved everything. The bastard was dead, and I could finally move on. But slowly, I began to drown. The game wasn’t enough anymore. Nothing was enough. And then, I just snapped again…all that anger and rage came back.”
“Which led to the suspension?”
“That’s right.” He stared at his greatest mistake. For seven years, Clara had been living the life Sullivan should have had with her, with his son. He should have made things easier, better. And he’d run from that life like it was poison to him. He didn’t come back for his father’s funeral when his kidneys finally gave out. He donated any of the money left in his father’s estate. It all sat like a painful memory he didn’t want to resurface. But none of that should have impacted Clara. Clara had only wanted love. Why couldn’t he have given her that? “The reason I’m telling you all this is so you know I’m not here to mess up anyone’s lives. I’m here to make amends.” And to show her he was serious, he added, “I’ve enlisted the help of Dr. Elizabeth Stevens.”
Her brows lifted. “You’re going to therapy?”
He nodded, spotting the surprise in her eyes. At one time, he would have felt shame at admitting he needed help. He didn’t have that left in him. Now all he had was a purpose to heal all his broken pieces. “I’m putting in the work and doing what I should have done seven years ago and dealing with the trauma.”
For a split second, the cold Clara he didn’t know at all vanished and the soft Clara he knew all too well appeared. “No one deserves to struggle. It’s good you’re looking after your mental health, Sullivan.”
He nodded and rose, shoving his hands in his pockets, staring down at her as the bright moon cast warm light over them. And with those sweet eyes on him, Sullivan was hit with something completely unexpected. He still loved her. Madly. Deeply. And, for him, it felt like no time had gone by at all when she looked at him like that. “One step at a time. Take this slow and get to know Mason. That’s the plan going forward.”
In an instant, the warmth was gone and a stranger was staring at him with distrusting eyes. “That’s the plan,” she agreed.
“All right,” he said, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet. “I’m staying in old Bart’s apartment for the month. Here’s my number.” He handed her a card. “You’ll be in touch?”
“I will.”
“Then, we’ll talk soon. Sleep tight.” He turned away and crossed over the gravel driveway to his rented truck, knowing full well his plan didn’t stop there. He mentally added one more task onto the list of what he needed to achieve before he left River Rock—earn Clara’s forgiveness.