Chapter 16 Bennett #2
“And miss the horrified look on your face? Absolutely not.”
The field was already alive in that perfect early-morning way. Freshly cut grass striped under the rising sun, bases gleaming, portable cages and cones set up along the warning track. A long table near the dugout groaned under stacks of tiny helmets, gloves, and cherry-red Roasters tees.
About thirty kids between the ages of eight and thirteen milled around with parents, some bouncing balls off their gloves, others staring at the empty stands like they’d walked onto hallowed ground.
The second the kids spotted me, the chorus started.
“Bennett King! Bennett King!”
A wave of them circled me, and I dropped to a knee for the usual chaos of high fives and helmet bumps.
Bella hung back a step, clutching one of the pink bakery boxes, eyes wide as she took it all in.
I straightened, stretching my hand around to the small of her back. “Everybody, this is Coach Bella. She brought pastries, which officially makes her the most important person here today.”
That earned an immediate, unruly cheer.
Bella laughed and surrendered the boxes to a volunteer, who whisked them to the snack table.
I led Bella away from the swarm of hungry preteens and lowered my voice so only she could hear me.
“Okay, real talk,” I said, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
“If this feels like too much or you’d rather not spend your morning chasing grounders with sticky-fingered kids, I can set you up in Clarke and Dani’s office upstairs.
They have the best stash of snacks in the building, not to mention a couch made for napping. ”
I hated how uncertain I sounded, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts spiraling through my mind.
What if she hated it? What if she felt dragged here, obligated because I’d sprung this on her? What if this whole “unromantic non-date” thing backfired and she spent the day bored out of her mind, wishing she’d stayed home in bed?
She tilted her head, studying me with those dark eyes that always saw too much. “You’re worried this was a bad idea.”
“A little.” I exhaled harshly, rubbing the back of my neck like it could scrub away the anxiety crawling under my skin. “Okay, a lot.”
Bella’s expression softened in a way that punched the air from my lungs.
I glanced toward the field, then back at her.
“This clinic was locked in weeks ago. Valentine’s Day just happened to fall on the first day.
I couldn’t bail on the kids, but I also really wanted to spend the day with you.
” I swallowed, the confession spilling out before I could stop it.
“But now I’m second-guessing everything. ”
She stepped closer, fingers brushing my forearm.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“What for?”
“For sharing this part of yourself with me.” The knot in my chest loosened, just a fraction. “It’s clearly important to you, and I like getting to see it. Kids, scones, and all.”
Relief hit me hard. “You sure?”
“Just point me where you need me, coach.”
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over and stole a quick, grateful kiss before the kids noticed. The anxiety wasn’t gone completely—it never really was with me—but with Bella’s hand in mine and that smile on her face, it felt a hell of a lot quieter.
We spent the next couple of hours running small group drills.
Nothing too difficult, just fundamentals—catch, throw, move your feet, try again. Matty handled the outfield rotation, while I took on the infielders, correcting their stances and kneeling beside the kids who needed something explained slower or shown a different way.
That was the thing about these clinics. They weren’t about creating prodigies, but rather letting the kids feel capable.
Between reps, we checked in with each of them, quick, low-pressure conversations while they waited their turn. We asked them about school, what position they liked to play, and what had been challenging them the most lately.
Most of the time, their answers were goofy. Sometimes, though, they were surprisingly honest, raw even.
One kid had told me about how he was struggling in math class.
Another had admitted he got nervous before games because his dad yelled from the stands.
And then there was Tommy, who had just lost his dog to cancer and still carried her collar in his pocket like it was a lucky charm, rubbing the worn leather between his fingers whenever things got quiet.
We hadn’t rushed him or tried to fix it. We’d just let him talk.
About her floppy ears and how she used to wait by the door when he got home from school and how weird it felt to come back to a house that was suddenly missing something important.
I’d told him it made sense that it still hurt. That missing someone didn’t mean you were weak; it meant you loved them. And he’d nodded like that was something he’d needed permission to believe.
That was the real work here. Showing kids that what they felt mattered and that there was room for all of it, on the field and off.
Bella drifted naturally into the flow without anyone needing to tell her where to stand. She handed out water bottles, helped the kids retie their laces, and talked a nine-year-old girl who’d skinned her knee through her tears until finally, she bounced back brighter than before.
My chest did that tight, achy thing when she crouched beside Lucas, a sixth grader whose speech processors matched his jersey.
I hear you have one hell of a curveball, she signed to him. Want to show me?
His whole face lit up like the scoreboard on opening night. He signed back rapid-fire, telling her about his new processor upgrade and how much clearer everything sounded now.
“She’s good with them,” Matty said, leaning against the fence with that trademark grin of his.
“Yeah, she really is.”
“She’s good with you, too.” He shook his head. “Never seen you smile so much before. She lights you up.”
I glared at him, ready to deflect, but the words stuck in my throat. We both knew he was right.
Standing here in the crisp morning air, watching Bella laugh with a bunch of kids, hair escaping her ponytail, cheeks flushed from running around—she made the whole world feel brighter.
“Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “She does. By the way, what’s going on with your mystery man?”
Matty snorted. “Wow. Anybody ever told you you’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer?”
“Answer the question. Have you met in person yet?”
“We’re . . . taking it slow,” he said sheepishly.
“Uh-huh.” I bumped my shoulder into his. “Just make sure you take it off the internet sometime this century. I would hate to find out you’re being catfished by a seventy-year-old grandmother named Linda.”
“I don’t know, dude. Seventy is the new fifty-five.”
Across the diamond, Bella caught my eye and waved. Lucas tugged her sleeve, signing something that made her throw her head back and laugh.
I lifted a hand in return before I could overthink it.
Matty followed my gaze, then bumped my shoulder lightly with his own. “You’re screwed,” he said in a way that made it sound like a compliment.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably.”
“Don’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t.”