Page 6 of The Scout

Fifteen years since I’d stepped foot in the quaint town. Fifteen years since I’d seen Hannah Hall—if that was still her last name. The last I’d heard, she’d moved on with some college guy. Hannah had everything. She was smart, an artist, loving, and one of the nicest people. From the first day I met her, I knew she was special. And after our first kiss, I knew she’d always be mine.

Until she wasn’t.

Everyone from my parents to my agent thought it best to cut ties as I embarked on my career. Being only eighteen, it made sense. I wouldn’t be around much, she’d be going to art school, and if I wanted to make the bigs, then I needed to focus. The cocky teen thought I could do it all, but I ended up listening to everyone. Even Hannah ended up agreeing. When we went our separate ways, it had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. Although seeing her after all these years with some other guy might trump that.

I got into my Range Rover, put my phone into my cup holder, and headed home to write reports on the young players. Out of four of them, one, a shortstop, would be the only one I’d look at again. The rest wouldn’t cut it in our Single-A division.

Being a professional baseball scout had its ups and downs. The best part was it kept me active in the sport that I’d dedicated my life to. I remember when I was scouted for the Hawks right out of high school. That wasn’t unheard of, but it didn’t happen often. Granted, I first played for their minor league team, but that lasted only forty-three days. My ERA was 1.2 in the minors. When I was called up to the majors to fill in a gap while the starter had Tommy John surgery, my ERA increased by a mere two-tenths. After that, I found myself in the starting rotation.

I walked into my house, tossed my keys onto the side table, and headed into the family room.

After grabbing my laptop, I did what I’d stopped myself from doing for the past decade and a half. I typed her name into a search engine and hit enter. What did she look like? Did she still have curves that could stop a man in his tracks? Was her hair long or short? Was she still a brunette? Aside from looks, was she married? These were questions that kept me up at night. Several results populated, except none were the Hannah Hall I knew. Rather than look through them all, I took it as a sign and closed my laptop. As I was getting ready to grab a beer and veg out on my sofa, there was a knock on my door, and then it opened.

“You really should lock that,” my buddy Cal said, strolling in as though he owned the place.

“I need to change the code on the gate. That’s what I need to do.”

He chuckled, wandered into the kitchen, and helped himself to a beer. Illuminated by the appliance’s light, he asked, “Want one?”

“Yeah.”

Cal handed me my beer before plopping himself down on the sofa.

“Make yourself at home,” I chided.

Kicking his feet up on my coffee table, he twisted the cap off the bottle, and I did the same with mine. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Ignoring him because lately, Cal was at my place more than his own, I couldn’t help but ask, “Trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise. That’s rich.” He took a long pull of his beer. “We’re over. Macey and I just aren’t clicking anymore.”

“What happened this time?”

“Antonio happened.”

“The accountant that was at your house a few weeks ago for her birthday?”

Cal nodded. “One and the same. Workplace romance or some shit. I don’t know. She claims they’re in love. Too bad she didn’t tell me that before I moved in with her. Tried to get my place back, but it’s gone. Have a meeting with a Realtor tomorrow. Fucking sucks.”

I felt bad for the guy. He and Macey had been together for a little over two years. “You can stay here. It’s not like I don’t have the space. Plus, I’m going out of town next week. Just don’t bring women here. Not a fan of them knowing where I live.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Cal shot up off the sofa and walked across the room and out the front door, only to come in with a large suitcase and a small duffel bag that moved on its own right before a whimper sounded.

“What the hell is that?”

He looked inside as though he had forgotten. “Thor.”

“Thor?” He released the handle of his suitcase and placed the duffel on the coffee table. As soon as the zippered top opened, a little white furry head popped out. “You have a dog?”

“Technically a puppy, but he’s potty-trained. Macey wanted him.” Cal reached inside with one hand and scooped out the small dog I was sure could fit into my morning cereal bowl. “Thor, this is Uncle Cash. Cash, this is Thor.”

All I could do was blink. “If Macey wanted a dog, why is it here?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Antonio had two cats, and they were being mean to this little guy.” He lifted it up in front of his face and started speaking in a voice I prayed I’d never hear again. “Who’s a good boy? You are. That’s right. We don’t like those cats, do we? No, we don’t. No, we don’t.” The dog’s tiny pink tongue lapped at Cal’s cheek before he turned to me. “Want to hold him?”

“No, I’m good.” I sat back down on my recliner. Cal took the couch and set the dog on the cushion next to him. He gave him a toy that he seemed to produce from thin air.

“What’s wrong with you? Is it Thor? I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t just leave him somewhere. I promise we won’t be here long.”