Hear My Heart: Baytown Boys Read online

  Managing to sit up, he gingerly rubbed his forehead in a feeble, and ineffective, attempt to still the headache. Forcing his mind back to the previous evening, he remembered the beach party and coming home alone.

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, he rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom naked. After using the toilet, he stood at the sink, his hands on the counter, and stared at his reflection. Hair standing on end, as though he had run his hands through it numerous times. A scruff along his normally shaven jaw. He was not old, but right now felt every hour of his thirty years. Holding his own gaze, he sucked in a huge breath before letting it out slowly. What are you doing man? What the hell are you doing?

  Hearing a knock on the door of his apartment, he walked into his room and pulled on the jeans he found left on the floor. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called out, immediately wincing at the pain slicing through his brain.

  He stumbled to the front door and, with a quick jerk on the knob, threw it open and stared at the face he knew as well as his own. “Come on in, bro.”

  Taking one look at him, Brogan entered and detoured straight to the kitchen, setting a bag on the counter.

  Following him, he caught a whiff of comfort breakfast food emanating from the bag. “Hot damn, Brogan. You just got voted my favorite brother.”

  “I’m your only brother, dipshit,” Brogan replied, opening the bag and pulling out a huge sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit smothered in sausage gravy. “Ginny wouldn’t let me eat this artery-clogging breakfast, but she figured you’d need it this morning. Best hangover food there is.”

  He moved toward his kitchen counter, his mouth watering, and scooped up the food. Before taking a bite of the delectable breakfast, he leaned over and turned on the coffee maker. Brogan’s words suddenly penetrated his alcohol–fuzzy mind and he jerked his gaze to him. “Wait a minute. How the hell does Ginny know I need hangover food this morning?”

  Brogan chuckled, and said, “She knew you went to the beach party with Harvey.”

  Heat flooded his face and he ducked his head. “And Ginny figured I’d drink too much?”

  “Nah, but she did figure you’d appreciate some breakfast.”

  Finally sliding his fork through the gravy-soaked breakfast biscuits, he shoved a huge bite into his mouth. The flavors exploded on his tongue, immediately making the morning seem better. Chewing the tasty morsel, he closed his eyes as he swallowed.

  “Here,” he heard Brogan say and opened his eyes to see a coffee cup shoved toward him on the counter.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled and took a sip, ignoring the sting of the burn.

  “So, what happened last night? No one to hook up with?”

  Brogan’s question settled deep in his chest and he winced. “Honestly? I haven’t hooked up since last month when that real estate group came to look over some property here on the shore and ended up spending the evening at the pub.” Seeing his brother’s eyebrows lift, he nodded. “It’s true.”

  “Losing your touch or growing up?”

  “Damn, man, you know how to cut to the chase first thing in the morning.”

  “It ain’t first thing in the morning, sleeping beauty. It’s after nine o’clock.”

  His eyes widened at that tidbit and he shoved another bite of breakfast into his mouth, using the chewing as an excuse to keep him from answering. Seeing Brogan settling his hip against the counter, he sighed. Emitting a rueful chuckle, he admitted, “The girls at the party last night were pretty—and young. Way too young.”

  Finishing his meal, he rinsed off the plate and with a jerk of his head, moved with his coffee cup into the miniscule living room. Sitting on the sofa, he watched as Brogan refilled his cup and joined him.

  “You know how we’ve got high school girls on our team?” referring to the American Legion youth baseball teams that he and his friends coached. Brogan nodded his understanding.

  “I swear, the girls at the beach party looked about the same age as them. Way too young for me to even be thinking about and believe me when I say that I wasn’t even interested.” Warming to the subject, he said, “And it’s not just there. Even at the pub, the girls who come in, we always have to check their IDs.” Shaking his head, he claimed, “Not interested. Not even a little. Used to be, I’d have no problem tapping that if they were legal and amenable to a few hours of company. But now? Hell no.”

  Brogan nodded his understanding. “Yeah. I came to that conclusion several years ago. Glad that you have too.”

  Leaning back against the sofa cushions, he drank more coffee, the caffeine easing through his system. “Hell, I didn’t even know the music they were talking about. A couple of them were only twenty—not even old enough to drink—and I realized I was ten years older than they were.” Sighing heavily again, he added, “So, I came home alone and drank my whiskey all by myself.”

  They were quiet for a moment, each left to their own thoughts as they finished their coffee. After a final sip, Brogan stood and rinsed out his cup at the sink. Turning, he stood with his hands on the counter, his weight leaning forward as he pierced him with his stare. “So, what got you drinking last night?”

  He looked up quickly and his mouth tightened into a thin line.

  “Nightmares? Or memories?” Brogan asked.

  He remained quiet but had no doubt his brother knew more than he was saying. Both of them had joined the Marines after high school, Brogan the year before him. Like the rest of the Baytown Boys, they had felt the calling of the military and enlisted as fresh-faced young men, ready to see the world and break away from their tiny town on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. But, the world was more than they had imagined, and most of them had come home with nightmares that crept in when they were their most vulnerable.

  “Yeah, figured as much,” Brogan said, his chin dropping as he stared at his boots.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he said, “Hell, I can’t do any more nights like last night. Too old to drink like that, for sure.” He needed to take a page out of Brogan’s book. His brother had come back from his tour in Afghanistan and almost never touched alcohol, even though they co-owned Finn’s Pub.

  Chuckling, Brogan said, “Good.” Looking at the clock on the microwave, he straightened his muscular, tatted body and said, “Gotta go. Ginny’s home so I wanna hang with my wife.”

  “How’s she doing? Morning sickness and all that?”

  “Not a problem at all,” Brogan shook his head. “She says she’s one of the lucky ones and I’m not supposed to tell Katelyn that.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, Katelyn was a nightmare.”

  Brogan blew out a breath at that understatement. “See you at Finn’s this afternoon.”

  With a chin lift, he watched his brother move to the door. His hand on the knob, Brogan turned and looked over his shoulder, “You know, the Eastern Shore Mental Health Group has helped a lot of us. Just remember it’s there if you need it.”

  He did not give an answer, but knew Brogan did not expect one. Watching him leave, he felt a pang of envy. It was a new emotion and one that he had trouble understanding. Brogan had returned from his time in the Marines even more taciturn than he had been as a teenager, but falling for the pretty, town police officer, Ginny, had given his brother a new outlook on life.

  He loved his sister-in-law and was so happy for both of them, but had never felt the desire to settle down. Even in high school, he never dated just one girl. Known as the jokester of the family, he always said there was too much awesomeness for just one woman, a comment that never failed to elicit an eye roll from his mom and sister and a laugh from his friends.

  Walking back into the kitchen, he washed out his cup and looked around at his apartment. Just a block off of Main Street where Finn’s was located, it was in an old, renovated brick building. The outer walls were exposed brick and the inside walls were still the original, white painted drywall as when he had first moved in. The space was small, but open, with a kitchen in one corner a
nd a small dining area next to it, which he had set up with a card table and four folding chairs for poker nights. The other side of the room was the living room, furnished with a sofa, chair, coffee table, and one end table. Obviously, a large, flat-screened TV sat on the opposite wall. After all, there were some things he spent money on. Other than that, he lived simply, saving his money for…something. He just had not figured out what yet.

  Down a short hall were his one bedroom and bathroom, both modest, overlooking the yard of the backdoor neighbors who had a little garden and a few trees.

  Checking the time, he pushed off the counter and stalked to the bathroom to take a shower. He needed to wash off the rest of the whiskey smell and get ready for coaching the kids at the game. Standing underneath the warm spray of water, he wondered, What more could I want? Not having an answer, he nonetheless felt something was missing, and so the question rang and rang through his head.

  3

  The sun shone brightly down on the town’s ball field and Aiden pulled his ball cap off to wipe his brow. Sliding it back on his sweat-soaked hair, he appreciated the shade it provided his eyes. Standing in the dugout, which was more like the sidelines behind the fence, he kept his eyes on the game and the young, uniformed kids nearby.

  “Jeffrey, you’re up next,” he called out and nodded at the signals sent to him from Jason at third base.

  Jason Boswell was not one of the original Baytown Boys but had come to live there at the request of Zac Hamilton, the town’s Fire Chief. Jason and Zac had served in the Navy together. The Baytown Boys had experienced the comfort of a welcoming place to return after the military tours but knew many of their friends had not. So, they invited any who might need a friendly place to land, to move to Baytown and become part of the community and the active American Legion they had founded.

  His gaze moved lazily around the rest of the ball field, seeing the other coaches, all good friends. Mitch Evans, the Police Chief, and Grant Wilder, one of the police officers in town, were coaching next to him. Gareth Harrison, Katelyn, and Ginny were standing near the teenage girl players. Hunter Simmons, another transplant from the Navy, was near first base, talking to the young boy on base as they eyed the pitcher. Callan Ward was still in the Coast Guard and was currently in the outfield.

  Hearing the cheering from the stands, he glanced at all those who had come out. He was glad to see the crowd. A lot of townspeople came to support the kids playing. The AL sponsored the teams of boys and girls, of all ages, providing them with uniforms and coaching at no costs to the parents. With North Heron County listed as one of the poorest counties in Virginia, their donations of time and money were appreciated by everyone. Their efforts allowed children, whose parents might not be able to afford such a luxury as youth sports, a chance to participate.

  He tossed a wave to the group of women sitting together, all wives of his friends. Tori, Jillian, Belle, and Jade were married to Mitch, Grant, Hunter, and Lance, respectively. Their eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but he knew they had seen him when they waved in return.

  Looking up at the blue sky with only a few white, fluffy clouds rolling by, he pulled in a deep breath of salty air. He had taken living near the bay for granted growing up but, after the mountains of Afghanistan, Baytown was a welcome reprieve and the breeze was blissful.

  As the inning came to an end and the players switched places on the field, he noticed a small girl standing to the side, her eyes intently watching what was happening through the fence. He knew all of the children and youth who played on one of the AL teams but had not seen her before. The front of her dark brown hair was pulled up with a pink bow, letting the rest fall down by the side of her face and back. Her pink dress seemed incongruous to the sporting event, where most of the kids who were not playing were running around in shorts and t-shirts.

  She cocked her head to the side in an interesting mannerism and he wondered who she belonged to. Before he had a chance to approach her, a woman came running up, kneeling directly in front of the little girl. “Emily, don’t wander off. I could not find you.”

  “Want to see,” came the simple reply, a sweet smile on her face.

  “Then you ask Mommy and I’ll take you closer to the other kids. But you can’t just walk off by yourself.”

  He stared at the woman. He was sure she was a newcomer to town because he would have remembered her. Her long, mahogany hair, so like her daughter’s, hung down her back in a low ponytail and he grinned at the pink scarf that held it in place. She wore a pink sundress that hugged her perfect figure without being ostentatious, thin straps crisscrossing her back and the front was modest, but flattering. Scanning her top to bottom, her tanned arms and legs, just enough on display, only served to make the entire package drool-worthy.

  “Hi,” he greeted, walking closer. “You must be new to town.”

  The woman stood, her gaze hidden behind sunglasses, but instead of the wide smile he expected in return, she reached down to take her daughter’s hand and faced him stiffly. He noticed the little girl was still staring out onto the field at the other children. The woman hesitated before replying, “Yes, we are.”

  “Well, let me welcome you,” he drawled, throwing out his best white-toothed grin. “My name’s Aiden. Aiden MacFarlane. I’m one of the businessmen here in town.”

  The woman continued to face him, but her expression was unreadable. The little girl’s gaze drifted up to his face and she smiled a snaggle-toothed grin before ducking her head shyly and stepping partially behind her mother’s body, looking out to the field once again.

  He looked at her a beat longer then focused on the woman again and said, “Uh…your daughter seems to be interested in the game. Is this her first time to one of our events?”

  “Yes.”

  Her one-word answer might have put him off, had she not dropped her gaze down to her daughter, her face immediately softening. Deciding to push, he said, “We would love to have her play.”

  The woman shook her head slightly and replied, “No, thank you. We’re just watching.”

  “Sure, but she’s more than welcome to come to our practices. We have all age groups and there are no costs to parents. That allows kids from all backgrounds to be able to participate—”

  “Thank you, but no.” The woman’s already stiff demeanor turned frosty and she glanced down to her daughter, whose rapt attention was still on the ballfield.

  A slow anger began to burn in his chest at her attitude and snippy replies. Her daughter was clearly interested, which meant the woman had something against the game. And for some reason that really bothered him. “You know, just because you have a hang-up about the games doesn’t mean your kid doesn’t want to play.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wondered why he bothered. Her reasons for not wanting her child to play were none of his concern.

  Whipping her head back to him, she said quietly, “It’s not that. She’s not like those kids. Her needs are different.”

  Rearing back, he stared in stunned silence for a few seconds, not remembering the last time he had met someone so blatantly superior. Gaining his voice back, he leaned forward, his words aimed at the mother and not the child. “Whoa, judgmental much? I’ll tell you, these kids are great and if you’re too stuck up to appreciate that then I’m glad you won’t be involved.”

  Filled with rage, he turned to walk away but, unable to stop his mouth, he twisted his head and tossed out, “Too bad your little girl has to deal with parents that think they’re better than everyone else.”

  Her face paled and she opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly snapped it closed. Squeezing her daughter’s hand, gaining her attention, she said, “Come on, Emily. It’s time to go.” Together, they walked away, the little girl looking over her shoulder at the game the whole time.

  Readjusting his ball cap, he moved back to the fence to cheer from the side. Agitated more than he probably should be at the encounter, he glanced over his shoulder and watched as the tw
o of them walked away, heading toward the parking lot. He was surprised at the woman’s unfriendly countenance and felt sorry for the little girl who so obviously wanted to be part of the other children. The mom may have been drop-dead gorgeous, but her high-maintenance, holier than thou attitude held no appeal to him whatsoever.

  Turning back, Jason nodded toward the receding pair as he came over. “Mom’s pretty. You get her number?”

  Irritated at the assumption, he replied, “No, didn’t even try. Thought maybe the little girl would like to play but uppity mom just stuck her nose in the air and walked off.”

  “Seriously?” Jason asked. “She looked familiar. I guess I’ve just seen her around.”

  Once the game was over, the kids all sent home, and the equipment put away, he and the others went over to the pub. An afternoon of good friends and good food was all he needed to forget about the ladies in pink.

  “Mama, who was that man?”

  Finished folding the blanket in her hands, Lia put it in the laundry basket and looked down at Emily, sitting on the couch, and smiled. “What man?”

  “The one with the kids. The one who talked to you.”

  “Oh. He was just a coach.”

  “I liked the game they were playing.”

  Her heart panged at the longing in Emily’s voice. “I know. It’s called baseball. We can watch some on TV if you like.”

  Emily scrunched her nose and shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

  “I know, baby.” Her heart ached as she watched the myriad of emotions cross her daughter’s face. The same feelings were swirling inside of her, too, but she had to be the grown up.

  Emily sat quietly for a moment before looking back up at her. “Maybe I can play sometime.”

  Smiling softly, she reached her hand down and cupped her cheek. “We’ll see. I’ll try to find out what Baytown might have that would be a better game for you to play.”

  “I liked the other kids.”

  “I promise, once you meet more kids in your class, you’ll have new friends.”