Chapter 15

This year I will drink more wine and wear less pants.

-Sway’s New Year’s resolution

Hancock

I jogged up to the stadium’s side entrance that the players used and yanked the door open, practically falling inside the moment I felt the cool air.

“Motherfucker it’s hotter than a cow’s balls outside,” I gasped, leaning against the first wall I came to.

“That was eloquent,” Gentry drawled, arriving just after me.

“Fuck you,” I grumbled. “Why the fuck do I run with you, anyway?”

“Because you don’t want to be fat like your brothers,” Gentry shot back, reminding me exactly why I ran with him. “Well, all brothers but one.”

I didn’t want to be fat like my brothers.

Or my dad.

Not that they were fat, per se. But they did have beer bellies, and I knew for a fact that I would have one if I stopped working out and forcing myself to eat healthily.

I had a weak spot for beer and fried chicken.

I was a Southern boy, born and raised.

I liked my food fried, my beer cold, and my ladies soft.

Like Sway.

Gentry threw his arm out and caught me side armed in the shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. “Now, we have to go see your cute, little…”

We both stopped when we heard the anguished scream, then started running.

Rhys, the third baseman, came running out of the room like his ass was on fire.

“What the fuck, man?” I asked, stopping him before he could get too far.

“Something happened to George’s kid. I think…I think he died,” Rhys explained quickly, his face a mask of worry. “He’s pulling his goddamned hair out. I think we need to call 911, but I don’t have a phone.”

I slammed Rhys on the arm with the side of my fist.

He was a good man, but he didn’t know how to handle emotions. He was like a fucking blank wall. Getting the man to crack a goddamn smile was like pulling teeth. I wasn’t sure he even comprehended half the jokes that were said. Mostly because he had to be a fucking robot not to laugh at one of them.

And for him to think that George needed an ambulance was telling.

George, or Furious George, was the six-foot-six powerhouse who was the biggest man on the team.

He played centerfield and was damn excellent at what he did.

His hitting average was almost unheard of, and he was an all-around great baseball player.

Furious George, though, had a problem.

His temper, even on the best of days, wasn’t so great.

In fact, he’d lose it over just about anything if it rubbed him wrong.

“Gentry,” I pointed to Rhys. “Go get the truck.”

Gentry nodded and darted off, sprinting as if he hadn’t just run four miles with me.

I headed into the locker room, freezing at seeing a man as big and full of life as George was, on his knees crying.

For real, tears were streaming down the big man’s cheeks like they were never going to end.

“George,” I said roughly. “George. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He didn’t answer at first. In fact, I had to repeat myself three more times before I finally got anything out of him.

And what I heard was enough to gut me forever.

“My boy,” he cried. “He was in an accident, and they don’t expect him to live.”

“Which hospital?” I barked, trying to break through to him.

George’s back stiffened, and he turned his face up to mine.

And that’s when I saw the pure devastation there.

The anguish was apparent, but he seemed to shelve some of it, compartmentalize it until he had his head on straight enough to function.

“They flew him to Dallas. Children’s,” he answered, his voice breaking halfway through.

“Let’s go,” I ordered, snapping my fingers at him.

The ride to Children’s wasn’t very comfortable.

The entire time George kept his eyes straight ahead, staring blankly at the road in front of us.

I’d had to pee for at least the last hour of our drive from having downed two bottles of water right before the incident, but I wasn’t stopping.

Not until we got to the hospital.

“He was hit by a drunk driver,” George muttered into the quiet cab.

My heart fell.

I didn’t dare reply.

I didn’t want him going ape shit in the truck with me. I also didn’t want him to talk if he didn’t want to.

What I wouldn’t do for Gentry to be here right now.

I’d intended for him to come. Gentry was the smooth talker. The man that could get anyone to talk.

But George had taken one look at him and told him to go away.

Gentry had looked at me for guidance, and I’d shook my head, telling him without words not to bother.

Which led us to now.

Two hours into our silent trip.

“He was riding his bike with my ex-wife at the park, and the fucker lost control of his vehicle at the stop sign. Instead of turning right where there was a ditch, he turned left, right into my kid who only learned how to pedal the wheels of his bike last week.”

Tears burned my eyes.

The devastation in George’s voice was killing me.

I wanted to offer him words, but he knew, just as well as I did, that they would be empty.

I didn’t know if his kid would be alright. I didn’t know if George was ever going to see him again.

So again, I kept silent.

If anything, I could give him the knowledge that I was present. I was there for him if and when he needed me.

My phone started to vibrate against my leg, interrupting my thoughts as I drove.

My phone had rung no less than fifteen times since I’d gotten into the car with George.

I let it go to voicemail.

Again.

Three of the calls I knew were Sway. Two of them I knew were my mom.

Sway and I had played with my phone a couple of nights ago and made everyone I knew that called me specific vibrations that would alert me as to who was calling without looking at the display.

“This is the exit,” George pointed, no inflection at all in his voice.

I signaled and took the exit, then started to wind my way through the crazy amount of downtown Dallas traffic.

I didn’t drop him off at the front like most would.

I parked, knowing he’d scare the staff if he went in there with the way he was acting.

The moment I parked and got out, I got in front of George and turned, halting him in his progression to the door.

“Stop.”

George was three inches taller than me, and although it didn’t seem like much on paper, when you were looking up into the eyes of a six-foot-six man who was bound and determined to bowl you over, it was quite intimidating.

“Look at me.” I ordered.

George looked at me, his hands clenched into fists.

“Take a deep breath.”

He took a deep breath.

“Right now, your son and your ex-wife don’t need to see the crazy,” I ordered. “Your boy needs his dad, and your ex-wife needs her baby’s father. Don’t go in there flipping out on the first person you see, okay?”

I knew George. I’d spent the last six years of my life playing with him.

He didn’t get the name ‘Furious George’ for no reason.

I also knew, for a fact, that he was still very much in love with his ex-wife, and although I didn’t know the circumstances of their parting, I knew they both still spent quite a bit of time together. She came to his games. He went to her softball games, although they weren’t professional ball games.

They literally spent time together like husband and wife, minus the actual husband and wife designation.

“Thank you,” he said, and without another word, he walked around me and started into the hospital.

I made it to the receptionist first, making sure that George wouldn’t get a chance to bark at anyone if I could help it.

“Micah Hoffman,” I said to the man. “He was brought in by air-med about two hours ago by my count.”

The man’s face widened as he looked at me and George.

I knew what was coming, and I shook my head minutely at the man.

This wasn’t the time to be recognized, and luckily the man caught on and turned back to the computer.

“He’s in surgery. That’s on floor two. Use the bank of elevators right there, press number two, and when the doors open, turn to the right and the waiting room will be directly on your left,” he instructed.

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

We followed the man’s directions, and the moment we showed in the waiting room, George’s wife—ex-wife—barreled toward him.

“Georgie!” she wailed, throwing herself at him.

George’s arms surrounded her, pulling her in so closely that there was no space at all between them.

They both buried their faces into each other’s necks and started to cry.

I backed away to give the two of them privacy, stopping at the end of the hall where there were no rooms or doors.

Once I was far enough away, I pulled out my phone, ignored the missed calls, and immediately called Gentry.

“I got him here,” I said the moment he picked up.

“Good,” Gentry exhaled. “Any news?”

“No.” I shook my head. “When we got here the guy at the front desk said he was in surgery.”

Gentry exhaled. “It’s awful.”

It was.

“I’ve had calls from Sway and your mom. You might want to call them back,” Gentry continued. “They didn’t tell me why they called, but they both know that you had to take George to Dallas.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll call them back now.”

The moment we hung up, I scrolled to Sway’s name and tapped it.

It rang twice before she answered.

“Is he okay?” she begged the moment she answered.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s still in surgery.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“Fuck,” she cleared her throat. “Your mom called me.”

“Yeah?” I asked in confusion. “Why?”

I could feel her hesitation, and my stomach started to sour.

“Something happened.”

“What happened?” I pushed.

“Something overseas. Your dad got a call. They think your brother was hurt on a mission.” she said quietly.

My stomach dropped for a second time that day and stayed somewhere around my knees.

“I’ll call you back.”

The moment I hung up, I called my mother.

“What’s going on?” I asked the moment she picked up.

My mother started crying.

“Mom!” I barked, not liking the hesitation.

“Your brother…he was hurt over there…they said,” she moaned between crying jags.

“Give me the phone, woman,” my dad’s barking command broke in.

I took a deep breath and waited.

My dad wasn’t the most eloquent man in the world, but I knew he’d get all the information across without having to hear my mother crying her eyes out.

“Your brother and his team were on a mission when they were ambushed. Three of his teammates are dead. Two were captured, and one was injured. That’s the one they think is your brother.”

“They think?” I pushed.

“Corvallis couldn’t give us much more than that,” Dad explained.

Corvallis was a family friend, and the leader of the team of misfits. When Corvallis left the Air Force, he lured my brother away, too. Helping him join the world of black ops, and together, they formed a covert organization that even I didn’t know that much about.

My dad and Corvallis had served together, and that bond was still as tight now as it was thirty years ago, though somewhat strained when Corvallis didn’t give us all the information we wanted, when we wanted it.

Corvallis had promised to keep an eye out on Hannibal, and he’d done so, giving us updates even though we didn’t sometimes like those updates. Like now.

“Where’s he at?” I croaked.

“Germany, for now,” Dad said. “Gonna head out later tonight.”

I rubbed my sternum, suddenly feeling so much turmoil rolling around in my chest that I didn’t know what to do.

“The All-Star break is coming up next week. I’m going to play tonight’s game, and tomorrow’s,” I cleared my throat. “Then I’ll have a few days to come.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable, Son,” Dad agreed. “I believe they might even transfer him again before then, so it’d be good to wait a few days to come out so we know where he’s headed next.”

I looked blankly at the long hallway, not seeing anything in particular.

“Love you, Pop.”

“Love you too, Son. Be good.”

The familiar saying made a small smile kick up the corner of my mouth, but just as quickly, it fell.

Dad used to say that to Hannibal and I, but he really was talking more to Hannibal than me. Hannibal and I were okay apart, but together we were atrocious. Though, most of that was because Hannibal was crazy.

Not crazy, crazy, but crazy as in he would do anything crazy.

“You better be okay, fucker,” I whispered a quiet prayer. “You better be okay.”

***

I walked into the dugout two minutes before game time.

I’d missed the national anthem. I’d missed the opening pitch that I normally caught. I also almost missed my kiss from Sway.

Though that was something I collected on despite the fact that the whole entire world was probably watching us.

At this point in the day, I was tired of everything. I was literally on the verge of a mental breakdown, and I needed my woman.

“You okay?” she asked once the kiss ended.

She ran her hand over my hair, then smoothed her soft fingers over my beard.

“No,” I told her truthfully. “I’m about as far from okay as a man can get right now.”

She closed her eyes, and then opened them. “He’ll be okay.”

He would.

That I knew.

The question was whether he would be the same.

“Ready to play ball, boys?” Coach Siggy bawled.

He looked at me specifically, and I nodded.

“Ready.”

We weren’t ready.

We sucked it up.

Bad.

Gentry hit three players. I missed the goddamned ball more often than I caught it. Rhys was fucking up and making errors right along with us, and we didn’t get a single hit the entire game.

“Good game,” the other team’s first baseman said as he collected the bat that was laying on the ground next to my feet.

I looked over at him, sweat dripping down my face and into my eyes.

“Yeah,” I lied.

He slapped me on the back. “How’s the kid?”

“Out of surgery. He’s alive…but they’re not sure if he’ll make it yet or not.”

“Fuckin’ A,” he murmured quietly. “Keep us updated, okay?”

I nodded once and watched him leave, wondering if the entire world was aware of what had happened to George only hours before the game.

But they were only aware of one part of the turmoil I was feeling right then, and hopefully, they would never be the wiser.

***

Four days later

I knew the minute I picked up the phone that something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

“Hello?” I answered, disrupting not just my sleep, but Sway’s and my dog’s as well.

“I know it’s late,” my dad’s voice broke into the quiet. “But we need to talk.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up. “Is Hans okay?”

My dad cleared his throat.

“There’s not an easy way to say this…but your brother isn’t the man we came to see. The man that we’ve been giving you updates on over the last week was a young man named Easton Monroe. He’s a part of your brother’s team…but he’s not your brother.”

“Then if he’s not there, and not one of the dead…where the hell is he?”

“That’s the problem.” My dad’s voice was tired. “We don’t know.”