Feisty Red (Three Chicks Brewery 2)

“You arranged all that?” she asked.

Sullivan cocked his head, his brow wrinkled. “Is that all right? Still not overstepping?”

“No, not at all,” Clara said with a disbelieving shake of her head. “More than all right. Sullivan, I’m…” She glanced at her sisters, who wore matching beaming smiles, before adding to him. “I’m not used to having help like this. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.”

“Good thing you don’t have to thank me, then,” Sullivan said. “Better get ready, ladies. Time is counting down.” Then he turned and walked away like he wasn’t changing their very lives.

With Clara and her sisters busy serving customers from their booth, and having already endured a lecture from his agent about doing a commercial for free, Sullivan headed down the cement staircase toward the visitors’ clubhouse. The familiar scents of popcorn and grease followed him on his walk. He’d stayed clear of fans wearing Boston Red Sox’s jerseys and baseball caps, keeping his head down, wanting to keep out of sight tonight. The last thing he wanted was the press swarming him for their next hot story. Tonight was all about Clara, and Three Chicks Brewery, and he wanted to keep the focus there. He’d gone past three security checkpoints, but he’d already gotten a pass from security that allowed him through. He felt edgy since he was missing the action. Denver had always been a hard game for him to play, too close to home, but tonight, his edginess was different. He felt different. Above him, fans took their seats, and their loud voices nearly vibrated in the cement hallways.

When he opened the clubhouse’s door, he found the team doing what they always did before a game. Some guys were on their phone, a few others were putting golf, and four guys were playing Ping-Pong.

“Keene.”

The loud roar of his name came seconds before he was all but jumped by his teammates.

He was tossed around a bit before his good buddy Terrel jabbed him in the gut. “You’re looking a little soft, Keene. Have you worked out at all since you’ve been on suspension?”

Before Sullivan could reply that he’d jogged a little, but not nearly enough, another friend, Jack, yelled, “And we’re not talking about skin-to-skin workout.”

Sullivan snorted and grinned Jack’s way. “Why do you want to know so bad, Lawson? Want a skin-to-skin workout with me?”

More laughter erupted. Sullivan greeted more of the guys, who all asked the same question: when are you coming back? A good question that Sullivan didn’t have an answer to. Only one person did. “Where’s Coach?” he asked Terrel.

His friend gestured toward a hallway. “In the office.” He cupped Sullivan’s shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”

“Good to be back.” Sullivan strode toward the hallway, feeling like as much as he enjoyed being back in River Rock, his heart belonged here too. Baseball had been his savior after his mother passed away. His teammates had been his family when his father turned into a stranger.

He found the coach sitting behind a desk, studying paperwork. Sullivan could only list a half-dozen men who had his respect, but Coach was among them. A family man, he’d played pro ball for twelve years before hanging up his bat to coach. He still looked fit enough to play and worked as hard as anyone on the team. “Coach,” he announced.

The coach’s head lifted, his Boston Red Sox hat atop his head, covering his clipped salt-and-pepper hair, his brown eyes wide. “Well, damn, Keene, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“I hadn’t planned to come,” Sullivan said, taking the client chair. “A friend needed a hand.”

Coach leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak beneath him. “Oh, yeah? Do tell.”

With the laughter and loud voices of his teammates echoing down the hallway, Sullivan quickly caught the coach up on Clara: who she was to him, his surprise kid, her growing brewery, and everything else in between. The coach knew Sullivan’s history. He knew all the pain and heartbreak, every injury his father gave Sullivan, every single tragic detail.

When Sullivan finished, Coach rubbed his jaw. “Damn, Keene, a kid might just be good for you. Kids change you, make you a better man.”

Sullivan nodded. “Now, that I believe.” He’d only known Mason for a short time, and he felt like he’d already been changed, wanting to do better, be better, not only for himself. For Mason too.

“And this lady of yours, Clara, she sounds like a good woman,” Coach said.

“One of the best,” Sullivan agreed.

Coach leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “You need this in your life, Keene. Stability, it’s a good thing. Staying out of the tabloids is even better.”

“Yes, sir, we’re in full agreement there,” Sullivan said.

Someone called the coach’s name, which meant the game was about to begin. He rose, approaching Sullivan with his keen eyes. As Sullivan rose as well, Coach stopped in front of him and gave him a look over. “Yeah, I’m liking what I see here. Got a clear head, Keene?”

“I do, sir.”

The coach cupped his shoulder, offering a rare smile. “About time, kid. Good to see you’re looking so solid. We’ll see you when your suspension is up?”

Sullivan nodded. “You will.” But as the coach headed off, something about that didn’t feel right, either. It occurred to him then that leaving River Rock this time wouldn’t be as easy as last time, and last time had nearly kill

ed him.