“I have a few, but I’m keeping them under wraps. I guess I need to ask Sinclair if he has any ideas. And then, the last name …”
I trail off because I haven’t even thought about this yet. Will the baby be a Kade or a Callahan?
Colleen looks like she wants to say something, and opens her mouth to, then shuts it. I’m sure as anything that she’ll campaign for a Callahan last name.
“My girls kept their father’s last name for now,” Hannah tells me, somewhat somberly. “After we got married, I took Walker’s name, because there was no way I was keeping my first husband’s name. Walker plans on adopting the girls, but we’re giving them the choice on if they want to change their names. After all, they are technically Giraldi’s. That’s their blood. But Walker is their father, for all intents and purposes. I think you just have to go with what makes you feel comfortable.”
I’m not ignorant to what Hannah went through with her first marriage; you’d have to be living under a rock to not hear about Shane Giraldi’s trial in the baseball world. What she’s overcome … I can’t even imagine that. The man put her through hell and she came out on the other side. Then found her Prince Charming, because you’d also have to be living under a rock not to have heard about how she and Walker Callahan fell in love.
“Thank you.” My smile is genuine as I really think about her words.
This woman is wise and comes from an outside perspective when it comes to the Callahans. She’s right, I really need to think about how I’ll feel if my son takes Sinclair’s last name.
The bartender calls out my order and holds up the takeout bag so I can see it where I sit at the table. “Oh, that’s me. I should go …”
“Oh no, would you please stay for a drink with us?” Hannah asks, pushing out her lip in a pout.
“Well, I can’t really indulge with you.” I point to my belly and chuckle.
“We’ll get you a virgin, or a lemonade! Come on, chat with us for a little while longer. I want to get to know you, and for you to get to know us. Maybe then you’ll stop dodging me.”
Oh shit, Colleen just called me out, red-handed.
“You’re too much.” I roll my eyes, but relax into the chair. “Fine, I’ll take a Shirley Temple, because I’ve been craving one.”
In the end, I stay for two Shirley Temples and a lot of girl talk. It’s the first time I feel like I truly make some friends here in Packton, and by the time I make it home, full from the takeout food I ate right there at the table, there is a shift in me.
For the first time, I feel like I could really raise my son in that family.
28
Sinclair
It’s not even a game day, and the stadium is packed to the gills.
To honor the hardworking employees of the Pistons organization, my family and the high-up executives hold a Family Carnival every October. Each player can bring his whole family, no matter how extended. Same goes for the office workers, ticket-takers, janitorial staff, coaches, trainers, and pretty much anyone else who earns a paycheck here at the ballpark.
Needless to say, there are hundreds of people making their way from the Ferris wheel set up on the infield to the carnival game booths lined up on the first base line. Near the visitor dugout, there are a dozen food trucks set up, and the stadium smells of funnel cake, cotton candy, and Mexican street corn. Kids run rampant; enormous stuffed animals gripped in their little arms. Some of the single players have been challenging each other to turns in the dunk booth, where the pitchers are serving up ice baths in spades.
And I just look around with pride. Yes, I work in the marketing department, but we work closely with events. I was one of the people on the committee who helped the carnival come to life this year, and so my ego is getting a bit of a boost today. A lot of members of my family would argue I don’t need this to go to my head, that it’s already big enough, but I’ve taken some blows the past couple of years. I needed this, and it feels good.
“This place is a mad house,” Walker observes, strolling up while carrying Breanna in a piggy back.
“Uncle Sin! Do you see I’m a pig on Pop’s back?” She cackles as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.
“A little piggy? Does that make me the big bad wolf, come to blow your house down?” I blow out in mock exhaustion, then grip her sides in a tickle.
She squirms on Walker’s back, shrieking with laughter, as I chant, “little pig, little pig, let me in!”
“I have to go potty!” she cries out.
“Thanks, Sin.” Walker rolls his eyes, looking around for the nearest facilities.
“I’ll take her.” Hannah comes up, her mom sonar on full display, and plucks her daughter off of my brother’s back.
“You see what you have to look forward to? Wiping someone else’s butt, while they sing you the ‘Five Little Ducklings’ song at the top of their lungs.” He says it sarcastically, but his eyes are moony as he watches his wife take his stepdaughter to the bathroom.
We’ve had more than one talk about my son, about me getting Frankie pregnant. Walker was the only one who knew we were involved down in Florida, and he knew how much I cared about her then. I appreciate that my older brother is actually giving me space about this, trusting me to figure out what I’m going to do.
If that near-kiss the other week is any indication, I’m going to try like hell to win Frankie back. Not just because she’s having my baby, but because I’m … well, I love her. There is no other woman who can make me feel the things she makes me feel. And we’re meant to be a family; there can be no other explanation to how this happened. Sure, we weren’t exactly careful during our months of hot, intense sex, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. We made this baby so that I would have to man up, so that Frankie was brought back into my life.
“Wiping butts? Sounds like Sin’s future,” Colleen quips as she walks up.
I jump a little. “Does every member of our family just invite themselves into conversations no one asked them to be a part of?” I huff.
“It’s kind of how we roll, little bro,” Walker points out.
“Everyone has always been in everyone else’s business,” Colleen agrees.
“Is that why your family won’t leave me alone?” A raspy, sweet voice floats into my ears from somewhere behind me.
I turn, and there is Francesca.
Fuck, does she look gorgeous. Her hair is longer than it was in Florida, her wild curls tumbling past her shoulders and disappearing over her back. The autumn air does magical things to her creamy, freckled skin, leaving pink circles on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Those violet eyes still seem to stare down into my soul, and a rush of lust hits me square in the balls when she lifts them shyly in my direction, her black lashes fluttering over her wind-blustered cheeks.
She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater that looks so soft I’m tempted to reach out and touch it, with a long camel-colored coat almost reaching the ankle of her blue jeans. The top molds to her, tucking into all the right places around her breasts and bump. Jesus, if I thought Frankie was beautiful when I first met her, there is something magnetic to me about seeing her pregnant. It’s so hot. I wonder what her boobs, now twice the size they were when I used to bury my face in them, feel like with the weight of them in my palm. There is something so sexy about the way her curves have all become rounder and something raw and animalistic about knowing that my child is inside her.