I hold my phone out in front of me and check the screen to see if the message accidentally paused. It didn’t. That’s all there is.
I spin on my heels and press the elevator call button with my knuckle before dragging the message back to the start so I can listen again. This time, I pay attention to her tone. She sounds out of breath. Maybe a little panicked.Someone broke in.
Was she there when it happened? Was Holly? Are the boys still at their dad’s?
I call Lindsey’s phone, but it goes right to voicemail, so I dial again and get the same result.
“Come on, Linds. Come on,” I chant, calling non-stop as I head back to the main floor.
The coaching staff is walking into the main lobby as the elevator doors open, so I rush to Coach Kessler since she’s lingering behind the others. I don’t want this getting out. I’ve seen things like break-ins for athletes get overblown by social media, and while I’m not in the majors yet, a lot of reporters are paying attention to my story. Word got out that I’m the single dad in the clubhouse. All I need is to fuel a breaking news story that lands a media circus in front of our house back home.
“Hey, what’s up, Brooks?” Coach Kessler’s eyes dim, and she tilts her head to the side, urging me to follow her to a quiet corner by the front desk.
“Someone broke into my place. I don’t know the exact details yet, but I’m kind of freaked out. If I need to talk to authorities, what do I do? I don’t want to leave, but?—”
“Brooks, we won by eleven today, and we had shit on the mound,” she says, leveling me with a hard stare to really make her point. It was a bullpen day, and when you’re a minor league team scraping together innings, it can get kind of rough. The fact we handled the Ozark team easily says more about them than it does us.
“What I’m saying is, if you need to go, go. That’s what we have a PR team for. We’ll manage it.”
I consider her advice, but I’m still uneasy leaving in the middle of a series. I know it’s in our contract, contingencies for emergencies, but in many ways, pro ball at this level isn’t so different from my high school days. If I’m not here, someone else is going to get my innings. And if they perform, I’m shit out of luck. And I just got the two-hole.
“Brooks,” she says, snapping me out of my spiral. I meet her eyes. “You hit two dingers. You’re good.”
I exhale and smile for a heartbeat before the stress takes over my jaw again, and all I can do is gnash my molars. I hear her, though, so I nod and head out the lobby doors to the curb while attempting to get Lindsey to pick up. I order a rideshare between my calls, and within ten minutes, I’m on my way to the tiniest airport in Missouri where a charter plane is waiting to fly me three hundred miles to the west. How my shit is going to get back to me, I have no clue. All I know is I can’t get Lindsey on the phone, and someone fucked with my family.
SIXTEEN
LINDSEY
“We got a good print.”
I talked with the sheriff’s investigators for three hours, and they said a lot of things. But it’s that five-word sentence that stuck with me. They said it as if it’s good news. A person I don’t know, likely a large male, was in the house I call home. Uninvited. Alone. And they have proof.
Hooray.
My neck is killing me from sitting at the kitchen table while I met with the officers. And my eyes are so heavy. My mom has been a saint with Holly. I should probably split my pay with her this week since she did as much nannying as I did, if not more.
The sun is down, it’s somehow only nine o’clock, but I feel as if it’s the wee hours of the morning and I’m just rolling in from a bender. I stand behind my mom as she bids the officers goodnight, then collapse into her arms the moment she closes the door.
“You can put your guard down now. Holly’s asleep. Dad’s asleep. Maybe it’s your turn to go to sleep.”
We both chuckle in our embrace.
“I should check my phone,” I say, straightening my spine when I realize how long it’s been sitting on the charger. Basically, the entire time the police were here.
“I got it,” my mom says, grabbing it from the breakfast nook. She taps the screen and her facial features fall.
“Did he call?” I cross the small room and take my phone in my palms.
Forty-two missed calls. Zero messages. The last call coming through . . .two minutes ago!
I tap the last incoming call from Brooks and instantly hear his phone ringing. I race to the front door and fling it open before he’s even able to bring his arm up to fully knock. I throw my arms around his neck and begin to bawl from relief and exhaustion.
“Hey . . .” His arms fold around me, and his chin closes in on the side of my face.
“Holly’s asleep. I came here because I didn’t want to be at the house alone. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick up your call. The detectives were here, and my phone was charging, and?—”
Brooks’s hands move to my shoulders, and he steps back a few inches to look me in the eyes. He studies me while I run my arm over my runny nose then push the butt of my palm into each puffy eye.
