Sway (Landry Family #1)(28)

“Linc, I need a favor.”

“Fuck me,” Graham mutters, collapsing back into the wall again. “You do realize whatever stupidity you pull tonight is on my watch, right?”

“You aren’t my babysitter, Graham. I’m a grown man.”

“So please make grown man decisions,” he fires back.

Linc’s head volleys back and forth. “You guys are losing me, but I do like the sound of this.”

“There’s a little boy about four rows back,” I tell Linc. “Blond hair, wearing a mitt. He’s sitting by his mom. She’s my age, blonde hair, white t-shirt.”

“And?”

“Go get the kid.”

He steps away from me and laughs. “Why? What do you care about a kid sitting in the stands? You don’t even like kids.”

“That’s not true. I just don’t like Sienna’s last boyfriend’s little kid. Fucker vomited on my suit.”

“Kids do that,” Graham points out.

“Not that one. He’s nine or ten or something.”

Lincoln looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but being the troublemaker he is, he kind of likes it. I can tell. The side of his mouth curls into a smirk. He shrugs, knowing his reaction, favorable to me, will piss off Graham and his carefully constructed and now void plans for the evening.

“I’m game,” Lincoln says. “I’ll get him. But what do you want me to do with him?”

“Just bring him down here like he’s won some sort of prize or something.”

“And his mother?” His smirk deepens, matching mine. “She’ll never let him come down here alone.”

“No,” I agree. “She won’t. I’ll bet she’s a good mom and won’t let her kid out of her sight.”

Graham pushes off the wall and stands between me and our youngest brother. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through? You realize that the wrong photograph can be, and will be, floated a million ways in the paper tomorrow.”

“How? Lincoln is going to be seen with a little boy, doing his baseball thing and making this random kid’s day. I’ll never be photographed with Alison, so there’s no problem.”

“I don’t like this. Just for the record,” Graham contends, scrubbing his hands down his face.

“Ah, G,” Lincoln teases, clapping him on the back. “Live a little, man.”

“Yeah, sure. Then who’ll take care of you assholes?”

“Mom,” Linc says and bounds up the stairs.





Alison

“MOM! LOOK! CAN I GO down there?” Huxley shoots from his seat, his finger pointing towards the field. “Please! Mom!”

I follow his gaze, my breath stalling, to see Lincoln Landry at the fence directly below us. Children scramble from their seats, thrusting hats and pictures and Sharpies in his direction. He takes it in stride, just like Barrett does in a crowd, and plays it off like he does it every day. Maybe he does.

“Mom! Please!”

“Yes, go on. I’ll watch you from here.”

He climbs over Lola and races to the fence, a spring in his little step that’s impossible to miss.

“Look at him,” Lola sighs.

“I know. I love watching him have so much joy. I wish I knew more about baseball, but it’ll be the same way with cars and things that blow up some day. I hate it that his father was such an incredible asshole.”

Lo gives me a look. “I was talking about Lincoln.”

“Of course you were.”

Huxley makes his way to the front of the line, one of the last kids left standing. Lincoln takes his glove, running a hand through his hair. He looks straight up in the stands, at me, his eyes full of mischief.

The smirk that spreads across his face is more playful and less sexy than Barrett’s, but still a panty-dropper. He tosses me a wink before motioning for me to come down too.

“Oh my God he wants you,” Lola nearly shrieks. “Go. Get your ass down there, Ali!”

I can’t respond because you can’t do that without air. I don’t move, either, because I’m partially frozen in my seat.

Lincoln motions again and Huxley turns around, his face nearly swallowed by his smile. “Mom! Come here!”

Rising slowly, which garners another chuckle from Lincoln, I make my way to the fence. There’s still no sign of Barrett, but I know he’s close. I can feel it. His energy teases me from the shadows.

“Hey, there!” Lincoln says, his voice dripping with a little extra gusto. “I have Hux here and no Sharpie.”

“Oh, no!” I say, feeling like I just struck the biggest mom-fail of all time.

“Good thing I’m always prepared,” Linc grins.

“He has one, Mom! In the dugout!”

Lincoln smirks.

I give him my best ‘I’m sure you do’ look.

He laughs.

I roll my eyes, but can’t help but laugh as well. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Well, my reputation as a real-life Superman does precede me. Now see that gate right down there? Go through that and meet me in the dugout.”

“Can we do that?” I ask, looking for security.

“Yeah, this is a charity game. They don’t care. Just don’t charge the pitcher’s mound or anything.”