LACHLAN
“This is utter crap, and you know it,” I seethed, jaw tight, fingers digging into my palms as I fought to keep my voice low.
The last thing I needed was to draw any attention to myself, especially after the night I just had. Thankfully, my agent was prepared, as always, with a change of clothes, ball cap, and sunglasses. To everyone else sitting in the diner on the outskirts of Atlanta a little after seven in the morning on a Saturday, I was simply another hungover schmuck who’d hit it too hard last night.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
“You haven’t exactly left me with much choice here, Lachlan. You’re lucky I was able to persuade them to hold off on filing charges for the time being.”
Brett leaned closer, his dark suit still crisp and clean, despite having spent the past twelve hours running damage control on my behalf.
“You punched three cops. One of whom you pinned to the ground and proceeded to go to town on his face, breaking his nose and jaw. Landed him in the hospital. You should be kissing my feet and thanking me for making the deal I did.”
“It’s a shite deal.” I grabbed the steaming mug in front of me and took a sip of coffee to help calm me down, to no avail. Nothing had been able to since I’d gotten that blasted phone call, informing me my sister had been found unresponsive.
The past twenty-four hours had been a constant battle of wondering how I could have missed the signs, then arguing with the police that she never would have taken her life. For all I knew, she was…happy. It didn’t make sense, especially considering what she’d shared with me during one of our last conversations.
That in and of itself made this a difficult pill to swallow.
The guilt.
The remorse.
The regret.
Was I to blame? Should I have handled her questions differently?
Should I have believed her?
“That may be true,” Brett said, his even tone cutting through my thoughts. “But it’s the best deal you’ll get right now. Hell. I thought I was going to have to suck dick to get them to agree on not filing charges against you. At least not yet. You put a goddamn detective in the hospital.”
“He deserved it.” I glowered at him, giving Brett a knowing look. If anyone would be sympathetic to why that detective’s line of questioning pushed me to the point of violence, it would be Brett.
I’d just been informed my sister was dead, and that prick of a detective had the audacity to bring up a ghost of my past. Of both our pasts. Asking if one had something to do with the other. Reopening wounds that still hadn’t healed properly.
I doubted they ever would.
“I understand you’re known, and arguably loved, for your slight temper on the mound,” Brett continued, “but that’s baseball. A game. This is real life, and as such, throwing punches has serious consequences, especially when you assault law enforcement. Now, the department is willing to make some concessions, considering who you are. For them to do so, you have to agree you won’t do anything to interfere with their investigation.”
“Investigation.” I barked out a laugh. “It’s a sham of an investigation. All they did was learn my sister had been seeing a therapist for depression before concluding she clearly took her own life.” I mimicked the detective’s pompous voice to the best of my ability and slammed my fist on the table. The sound cut above forks scraping against dishes and the low hum of the morning news on the television I’d tuned out the second we got here. A few patrons glanced my way before returning to their meals.
At this hour, the diner wasn’t busy. There were a few college-aged kids who’d obviously been out all night, and this was their last stop before stumbling to their apartments and collapsing into bed to sleep it off the rest of the day. Other than that, a handful of men sat at the counter, their dirty jeans and work boots giving the impression they most likely worked construction.
Then you had Brett and me… I wasn’t sure what impression we gave, but if anyone recognized me, they didn’t let on, allowing us to conduct our discussion in private.
“I know my sister.” I leaned closer, eyes on fire. “She would never take her own life.”
“I thought the same about Anthony Bourdain. Robin Williams. You never know what demons someone’s battling while making everyone else think everything’s okay.”
“I know exactly what demons Claire’s battling.” I swallowed hard, then corrected, “What demons Claire battled.”
With every syllable I spoke, my irritation only grew. Brett’s words came from a place of concern, not wanting me to go down a road that may never lead to the answers I hoped to find. But Claire and I had a bond. We were as close as two siblings could be. She always told me when she felt low. When she struggled. When she was happy.
And lately, Claire had been happy. At least until our argument two months ago.
It was the last time I saw her.
And now I had to live with the fact that my last words to her weren’t those of love, but anger.
Then there was the strange voicemail she’d left on the night she died. Broken words interspersed with static, the connection too shitty to make much sense of it.
“She wouldn’t do this,” I added, voice wavering. “I can feel it in my gut, but the police refuse to so much as lift a finger to find out what really happened.”
“Listen…” Brett folded his hands on the chipped tabletop. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. And I’m sure it must be harder to come to terms with because of…” He paused, searching for the right words. But there weren’t any. Not for this. “Well, because of everything. Management has agreed to a ten-game bereavement leave. That’ll give them time to decide how they’re going to handle this.”
I blinked, his statement catching me off guard. “Handle what?”
“Really, Lachlan? You assaulted three law enforcement officers, one to the point he required hospitalization,” he reminded me yet again. “You broke his nose and jaw.”
I glanced down at my fist. It was still red and swollen, even more than twelve hours later. Even if I wanted to get back to work, I wouldn’t be able to pitch right now. Not like I normally could.
“Someone had to stand up for Claire. It was obvious those buffoons weren’t going to.”
Brett closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident. He took a deep breath and returned his gaze to mine. I noticed a few strands of gray in his otherwise perfectly groomed dark hair. With his crisp suit and perpetually clean-shaven face, his presence always exuded professionalism. It was a complete contradiction to my appearance — t-shirt and jeans, unshaven jawline, disheveled brown hair that could use a good haircut. I had no doubt anyone who walked by assumed he was my attorney and I’d just been bailed out of jail.
It wasn’t too far from the truth.
“As your agent, I have a duty to advise you about the best course of action. And right now, that is for you to stay out of the news.”
“And as my friend?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What would you advise me to do as my friend?”
Brett may have initially approached with an offer to represent me because he saw dollar signs. But over the past four years, he’d become more than someone with whom I discussed business. He’d become a friend, giving me advice I’d rarely gotten from anyone else.
He briefly dropped his professional demeanor. “As your friend, I’d tell you the best thing to do is to go home. Be with family. Your real family. Honor Claire’s life and memory the way she would have wanted.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, blowing out a long breath. It had been years since I’d felt like I had a home. Not since the night that changed everything. The night I watched all my hopes and dreams disappear with the flash from the gun barrel. I’d avoided returning there for a reason, not wanting to be surrounded by the memories.
Now it looked like I had no choice.
