Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
brOOKS
One month later
I thought the off-season would be hard. I dreaded it when spring ball began, because I figured I would be grinding away in a gym all by myself, hoping to gain that one extra pound of muscle that would make the difference.
Instead, I love the off-season. I’m coaching tee ball to a bunch of four- and five-year-olds, and I’m giving lessons to the high schoolers on the side. And none of it is for the money. It’s to keep me near the game, and near the girl.
And that muscle I thought I needed? It’s probably good.
I finished the season hitting three-fourteen, with seven homers and a Sweetwater record for RBIs.
I’ll never be the slugger Roddy was, but I’m not looking to fade out as a designated hitter.
I want to be known for doing it all. And this season, I feel like I did.
Texas didn’t call me up, but they didn’t pull up any position players for the last few games.
I got some looks from the right people. Coach likes me, and he’s a direct line to Corey Bustos, the manager in Texas. As long Corey doesn’t get shit-canned before he has a chance to call me up next season, my chances are good.
For now, though, I’m vested in teaching this rag-tag crew how to throw to the chest. If only my two star players were here to use as examples.
I glance over at Lindsey, who is watching Holly roll from side to side on a giant blanket under the tree.
My girl is officially a scooter. Her crawl is a bit start-and-stop, but I can tell she’s itching to get places on her own.
Fiercely independent. That’s what Lindsey calls her.
I hope so. But also, I hope a little part of her always needs her dad.
I sometimes think that when I see Lindsey talking with her dad, Dale. He was really close with her sister, Renleigh, but there’s a kinship between Lindsey and her father than Renleigh doesn’t quite have yet—parenthood.
The two of them are yapping beyond third base, her dad rattling on about how kids at this age should master the basics.
I bet he was one hell of a high school coach.
I bet he goes back to it, in fact. He’s doing so well now that his cast is off.
When he broke his leg in the middle of stroke recovery, Lindsey and her sister were both worried that he’d backslide.
But his injury actually seems to make him work harder.
I also feel his second chance with his wife fuels him some.
He picked up his balance quickly so the two of them could start ballroom lessons, though she has to lead.
And if he didn’t need that cane to steady himself when he walks, he’d be right out here with me, shagging balls and rolling grounders.
At the very least, he’d be driving his pickup toward the city to pick up his grandkids, who have now missed two practices in a row.
I wander over to Lindsey, and she shifts her gaze to the parking lot.
Her soured lips tell me everything I need to know about the disappointment she’s feeling.
Her ex promised to bring the boys to practice today since he missed bringing them to the last one.
He had office hours, apparently. And when Lindsey asked to pick the boys up so they didn’t miss out, the guy got super cagey.
It’s obvious he doesn’t want his sons hanging out with me.
It’s also apparent the woman he was having an affair with is now living with him and watching Deacon and Riggs when he’s not home.
“They’re too busy playing house,” Lindsey mutters.
Her dad coughs out the word, “Asshole.”
“I agree,” I say.
She twists her body to face me, and her eyes squint as her lips bunch up with a pensive expression.
“I should go get them. Should I go get them?”
I shake my head, because I really don’t know the right move here.
I wish I could take her hand and kiss it.
Her parents have us figured out, so I don’t feel the need to pretend in front of them.
But also, Lindsey’s still worried about her ex using anything he can against her in court.
And some of these judges out here are pretty sexist when it comes to separated couples fraternizing before divorces are final.
Brandon gets to keep playing house with his mistress, but meanwhile, Lindsey and I have to stick to her carefully crafted script.
It’s getting harder to stay out of her room when the boys are home, though. The only good part about them being at their dad’s—we don’t have to be so guarded. Holly’s too young to tattle on us.
“Wait, I think that’s him,” I say, gesturing to the Land Rover that just pulled into the parking lot near the playground.
The back passenger-side door flings open and Deacon and Riggs come flying out of the SUV.
They each are carrying new bat bags, and running in bright orange cleats that look like they just came off of the production line.
Brandon steps out finally, dressed in khaki pants with the cuffs rolled up, white sneakers, and a linen short-sleeved button down. He looks ready for a cruise.
“I guess they had to go shopping first,” I say.
“Hmm, always buying their love,” Lindsey says, rolling her eyes and turning her back to her ex as he walks up. She busies herself with Holly, and I position myself in front of her, so her ex has to go through me if he wants to make any comments.
I stand my ground, high-fiving the twins when they reach me. I send them off to play catch and warm up, and they give their grandpa a quick hug before racing off and leaving me alone with their father.
“Sorry we’re late,” he says, pulling his sunglasses from his face and tucking them in his shirt pocket.
“Yeah, it’s best if you can get the boys here for the start. It sets a bad example.”
I had zero parents around when I was a kid, but I always made it to practice on time.
“They’re four,” he says, pursing his lips.
“Yeah, and you’re twenty-seven.” I could take my sunglasses off to match him, but I kind of like that he can’t see my eyes behind the lenses. Means I can glare at him all I want.
“Relax. I got them here this time, didn’t I?” Brandon moves toward Dale and reaches out a hand. Lindsey’s father stares at it for a beat, then looks up at the man who used to be his son-in-law.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Dale says.
Brandon huffs, then utters, “Fine,” and pushes his fists into his pockets.
The three of us stand together and look on while the twins throw the ball back and forth, missing with their aim more often than not.
They’re laughing, though, which is what I remember most about my first few baseball practices.
It was all about the fun for me. It forged a life-long love affair with the game.
I want that great beginning for the twins.
“You want to grab a glove and join us?” I prompt Brandon. The silence had gone on long enough.
“Aww, I wish I could, man. But I just stopped in to talk to Linds about something.”
I glance to my right, where Lindsey is still crouched next to Holly. Her shoulders have risen, and I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s anxious about talking with her ex or because he called her Linds. Both, I think.
“All right, well, I’ll be out there running drills.
If you change your mind, I have a spare glove in my black bag.
I mean, unless you ran out and bought a brand new one.
” I turn my back on him and shake with a short laugh.
That’s all I can do to the dude, make jokes about his money and the way he’s trying to buy his boys’ affection.
My jab doesn’t seem to faze him. It would be so much easier if I could punch him in the nose.
“Come on, Dale. I could use your help with this drill.” I urge Lindsey’s father to walk out to the middle of the field with me, and he obliges.
We gather the kids into two lines and walk them through a relay race where they have to run to the other side of the infield, then field a slow-rolling ground ball and throw it back.
It’s going to be chaos, like it always is, but the kids will love it, and they’ll start working as a team to figure things out.
Plus, it will give me time to keep an eye on the conversation happening between Lindsey and her ex.
“I don’t like the way she gets small around him,” I say to her dad as the kids get started. Already, both balls have been missed, and half of each team is racing to retrieve them.
Dale grunts and covers his mouth, though not well, and leans toward me.
“I hate the way he’s standing there breathing on this side of the ground.”
I flash my attention to him, a bit shocked and definitely glad his grandsons aren’t nearby, then we break into heavy laughter.
He shrugs.
“I said what I said. Never liked the guy. He doesn’t like sports. Who doesn’t like sports?”
It’s a fair assessment, especially from a guy who spent his life coaching and who raised two daughters who know more about baseball than most of the dudes doing color commentary on TV.
After a few minutes, it seems as though the conversation has ceased between Brandon and Lindsey, though they’re still standing next to one another.
Her arms are crossed over her chest, and I’ve learned enough about her body language to tell she’s either fighting not to cry or holding in anger.
I don’t know Brandon well, but he reads like a kindergarten book with his posture—smugly relaxed with his hands in his pockets, his sunglasses back over his eyes.
Lindsey bends down eventually, picking up Holly and feeling her bottom to see if she needs a change, and Brandon takes a few steps away to give her some space. My guess is he never changed the boys’ diapers, so he’s doesn’t know how to handle what Lindsey’s doing.
“Can you watch these guys for a sec?” I say to Dale.