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CHAPTER ONE
Evan
“Hi. I’m here to see Christy,” I say to a woman who greets me as I enter the hair salon my sister found for me online.
“That’s me.” A pretty, reddish-brown-haired woman pops her head out from the station behind the front counter.
I step around the ornate table and head her way with my hat in one hand and my other stretched out to greet her. “Hi. I’m Evan. Thanks for getting me in.”
“Of course.” She motions toward her chair. “Have a seat and tell me what you have in mind.”
I sit, then look at her in the mirror as she stands behind me. “Just a normal cut. Nothing special.”
“One low, tapered fade coming up!” she replies with enthusiasm I’ve never gotten during a haircut as she wraps the drape around me. “So, I heard you’re new to Nashville. Your sister said you’ve moved a lot the past few years. Are you a singer?”
I touch the hat that’s now sitting on my knee, glad it’s covered by the drape so she can’t see it. When I put it on today, a sense of humility washed over me. I’ve waited years to wear this hat, but now that I can, it feels like I’m bragging if I do wear it. All my other ones are still packed though, so I put it on my head and walked out, knowing I’d feel naked without one.
“Nope. Not a singer.” I leave it at that and don’t say anything more.
The fact that I made it to the bigs is still sinking in. I’d been in the minors for seven years, grinding it out and fighting for that one spot on a forty-man roster.
When I started out in High-A, I was in a small town that felt like the middle of nowhere, and most people didn’t even realize the team was affiliated with the major leagues. No one knew or gave a damn who I was. I just got to play ball and go about my business. Now that I’m in Nashville, playing for the Tennessee Terrors, it’s going to be a different ball game altogether.
She places her hands on my shoulders and leans in to quietly say, “Good, because I’ve seen too many people crash and burn, and I didn’t want to watch another one go through that.”
I don’t want to say the same could happen to me next week if I don’t play like I was in Triple-A, so I just grin my response while she gathers her cutting tools.
That’s one thing that’s been on my mind for years. The only reason I’ve made it as far as I have is because someone else failed and was let go or dropped down a level so I could take their spot. You don’t think about that when you see a name go across the ticker about so-and-so being called up from Triple-A. They celebrate that person’s success, but nobody talks about the guy whose dreams were just shattered.
Baseball is a tough world. The game of failures could have you riding high one day and the lowest you’ve ever been the next. Coaches always told me I’d be judged not by the fact that I failed, but how I acted when I failed, and I’ve always taken that to heart.
When they pulled me into that office at spring training, I knew there was a possibility to go up, but I’d seen so many guys walk in there, thinking they were finally getting their shot, only to be traded—or worse, let go completely.
You just never know what is in store for you.
I’ve moved so many times over the last seven years that it’s been hard to have any life outside of baseball unless it involved my teammates. It’s sad to say, but sometimes, the only consistent thing in my life is my haircut every two to three weeks. That’s why my sister took it very seriously to make sure I found a salon I’d like.
I look in the mirror just as the woman behind me gives me a soft grin.
“Okay, here we go!”
A small laugh escapes my lips at how cheery she is—I mean, this is just a haircut.
She laughs herself. “Sorry, I have a seven-year-old boy, so sometimes, I forget I’m talking to adults.”
Memories of my mom when I was seven come flooding in, and I can’t help but smile. “My mom was the same way,” I say, trying to make her feel not so silly. “She ran a day care out of our house when my sister and I were little. She always said she forgot how to talk to adults after being with kids all day long.”
She works a comb through my hair, assessing her next cut as she speaks. “I talk to adults all day long, so I shouldn’t have that problem, but when I go home, it’s just me and my little man, so maybe that’s why.”
I take her in some more as she puts the comb down and reaches for the clippers.
“What’s your son’s name?”
“Nolan,” she says with a smile.
“With a name like that, he’s got to be into baseball.” I grin.
She lets out a hard laugh as she points to a photo sitting on her stand of her and a young boy wearing a Nashville Little League hat. They’re standing on a baseball field, and he’s holding a baseball up for everyone to see. “Do you know how often I get asked if that’s why I named him that?”
“Well, it’s kind of a given. That’s like saying you named your kid Madonna, but then you say it has nothing to do with the singer.”
She stops cutting my hair and looks at me in the mirror. “Nolan is not as famous of a name as Madonna,” she deadpans, trying to hide the smile on her face.
“Umm …” I squint my eyes, bouncing my head back and forth.
She laughs and holds my head still so she can continue cutting my hair.
“So, no. That’s not why I named him that. But, yes, because so many people have asked that—directly to him now—he knows all about the famous pitcher and begged me for a poster of him to hang in his room.”
“Please tell me you got the one with blood dripping down his face.”
“Um, no.” She chuckles. “He’s seven.”
“That photo is badass.”
She raises her eyebrows at me in the mirror. “He’s still seven.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. How much does he know about the man?”
“Everything,” she says with a sigh. “He says he’s the only kid who has such a famous name and he needs to know everything about who he was named after.”
“But I thought he wasn’t named after him?” I smirk.
“Believe me, if I had known people would assume I’d named him after the famous pitcher, I wouldn’t have.”
“So, if he wasn’t named after him, then where did you hear the name?”
She stops what she’s doing, and her head drops to her chest. “Probably from him.” She’s quick to add, “But it wasn’t because of him.”
“Okay, fair enough. What’s his middle name then?” I hold up my hand even though it’s covered by the drape. “If you say Ryan, I’m not going to believe he wasn’t named after him.”
She laughs out loud again. “No. It’s not Ryan. It’s David, after my dad. Nolan David Freeman.”
“That’s cool that you named him after your dad. I have my grandpa’s name as my middle name—Randall.”
“Evan Randall. What’s your last name?”
I hesitate for a second, then just say it, knowing she’s going to find out who I am eventually. “Parker.”
“Evan Randall Parker,” she repeats back to me. “That has a nice ring to it.”
A sigh of relief washes over me that she has no clue who I am. Spring training in Florida is amazing, but players really have to be careful around there when it comes to girls who are just trying to snatch up a meal ticket and become arm candy on a professional athlete. Most girls knew who I was before I could even introduce myself. That was a huge red flag, so I kept my head down and just focused on the game while I was there. I need to remember that I’m not at spring training anymore and this area isn’t as focused on baseball as Florida was during those few months.
“What’s your last name?” I ask.
She nudges me playfully. “Freeman, just like my son’s.”
“Hey, I never assume these days. I didn’t see a ring so …”
“Nope. No ring, no baby daddy. Just me and Nolan from day one.”
Sadness flashes across her face that she’s quick to change when she sets the clippers down and places her hands on my shoulders again. “Let’s get you washed up now.”
I stand and follow her to the area containing the washbowls. I sit and lean back so she can wash my hair.
I noticed her perfume earlier, but now that I’m so close, the smell is much stronger, so I ask, “What scent are you wearing? It’s nice.”
“Thanks. It’s Thousand Wishes. It was my Mother’s Day gift from Nolan. I let him go into the store with my credit card and come out with what he liked best.”
“Good man. He chose well.”
“Thanks! I thought so too. I have to admit, when he said he wanted to pick it out himself, I was a little scared, but I was pleasantly surprised, and now I wear it every day.”
She dries my hair, and I follow her back to her chair so she can do the final touches on the top now that it’s wet.
When she’s finished, she reaches on her shelf for product and holds it up to me. “Do you want it styled?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I have my hat, so it doesn’t matter.”
“I gave you one hell of a haircut, and you’re going to cover it with a hat as soon as you leave here, aren’t you?”
I rub my lips together, guilt covering my face, not sure what to say.
She giggles, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve heard in a while.
“You look like my son when I catch him doing something he shouldn’t be doing.” She removes the drape from around me and places her hands on my shoulders. “I’m kidding. It’s okay to wear your hat.”
I place it on my head with a smile and look at her through the mirror.
“Ah. You’re a Terror fan. Okay, that makes more sense now with all the baseball talk.”
“Guilty as charged.” I smile, but don’t correct her from fan to player because that would just feel like I’m bragging at this point.
I stand and pull out my card to pay her. She takes it and processes it on her phone, then hands it back to me with the screen up for me to tip and sign. I do both, then hit Done.
“I need to reschedule too,” I say.
“Nope. Your sister already has you booked out for months.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “She takes good care of me.”
“That she does. I must have talked to her for an hour about anything and everything. It was fun. She told me she’s a hairstylist too.”
“Yep. It drives her crazy when my hair isn’t right. I’ve moved so much that it was hard to find someone who cut it to her standards. Since I’m here for good now, she wanted to make sure I’d be fully taken care of.”
“That sounds about right for both a sister and a hairstylist,” she says with a chuckle. “She said she had your schedule so she could go that far out, but do you want to check the dates?”
I pull up my calendar on my phone, which has all of our games and locations already entered, and see I have over ten requests to add to it from my sister. I hold my phone up to show Christy. “Yep, she’s got it on here.”
“Then you’re all set. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“See you then.”
I wave goodbye and call my sister, Samantha, once I’m outside.
“Hey, sis,” I say after she answers.
“What’s up, little bro?”
“Just finished my haircut. Thanks for scheduling my next ones too.”
“I know, sometimes, the only consistent thing in your life is your haircut, so if I can’t be with you, at least I know you’ll be taken care of there.”
We lost our mom when I was just ten years old. My dad had to work a lot to provide for us on one income, so she may be my sister, but she’s never hesitated to fill the mother role as well.
“So, what did you think of Christy?”
I unlock my truck with the key fob and open the door. “She was nice.”
“Just nice?”
“I mean, what else should she be?”
“Was she cute?”
“Samantha …” I say with a sigh, sitting back in my seat after starting the truck. “What are you up to?”
“I just figured since you know you’re staying in Nashville now, maybe you can meet someone.”
“And you want that person to be my hairdresser?”
“Hairstylist,” she corrects me as she always felt that sounded better. “And yes. How else are you supposed to meet someone? Every two weeks, you’re set up to be with her, so don’t be shy; see if you like her.”
“Samantha, I just met her.”
“Yeah, but I did extensive research, and I think she’s awesome.”
I laugh out loud at my sister’s antics as I pull away from the curb and head toward the stadium. “Is that why you had her on the phone for an hour?”
“See! We totally hit it off. She was into our conversation just as much as I was. I really like her.”
“You don’t know her!” I laugh some more.
“Hey, I did my job. Now it’s your turn to get to know her better.”
“Did you know she has a son?”
“Yep, named Nolan. How perfect is that?”
“You didn’t tell her who I was, did you?”
“No. I know how you feel about that. She’ll find out—you do know that, right?”
“I know. I just don’t want that to be the first thing anyone knows about me.”
“Oh, my little humble lamb. You’ll never change …” she says with a sigh, making me shake my head. “Just tell me this …”
I inhale a big breath, not sure if I want to know what’s coming next, then know there’s no way around it. “What?”
“She’s cute, right?”
“Yes, she’s cute. I’m hanging up now.”
“Bye. Love you!” she singsongs, making me laugh again.
“Love you too.” I hang up, not able to stop the smile on my face even though that woman drives me nuts sometimes.