{Redacted} BCB 3
Taking a six-year-old to his first Major League Baseball game is a lot like giving a puppy a shot of espresso and hoping for the best.
“Hunter?” Rowan’s eyes are huge. His little body leaning against his car seat restraints. “Hunter, is this it?”
Hunter laughs from the driver’s seat. “We’re here. Now, we need to find a parking spot.”
Rowan groans and shoves himself back, his impatience still somewhat endearing. We’d meant to get here earlier, but traffic is a nightmare, and apparently every person within a hundred-mile radius has also decided tonight is the perfect night to watch men in tight pants hit a ball with a stick.
“Look,” I say, pointing to an open space. “There’s a spot right there.”
“Yay!” Rowan squeals. “Mommy, you can find anything.”
I lean over, my hoop earring catching on Rowan’s jersey for half a second before I kiss his forehead, wishing that were true.
I might be able to find lost shoes, Frank the hippo when he’s wedged between the couch cushions, and the exact snack Rowan suddenly cannot live without, but the one thing I haven’t been able to find is love.
My phone buzzes in my hand bag. Again.
It’s been nonstop since I reset my location to the city. Suncrest Valley isn’t exactly a hot spot for single men. Not unless I’m willing to date someone way too young or someone old enough to be Rowan’s grandpa.
Another buzz.
I glance down, fully intending to ignore it, until the username catches my eye.
CowboyKing88
I should know better. Truly, I should. But apparently hope has me in a chokehold, because I open the message anyway.
Bet I could handle a woman like you.
I stare at the screen.
Then I blink.
Then I stare some more because surely grown men are not still out here typing things like this and thinking, nailed it.
“I give up,” I mutter, tossing my phone into my clear bag. “I’m almost certain there isn’t a man within this entire state who already has his life together.”
“That bad?” Hunter eyes me in the rearview mirror.
“His username is CowboyKing88.”
Hunter coughs out a laugh. “Oh no.”
“It gets worse,” I say.
Sutton twists in the front seat, lipstick in hand, her engagement ring catching the light in a way that still makes my chest squeeze. “Define worse.”
“No,” I say, tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear. “I’m protecting the sanctity of your recent engagement from my dating app woes.”
Hunter glances at Sutton, all soft eyes and stupid happiness. “I appreciate that.”
“C’mon,” Sutton whines. “Read it.”
“Absolutely not.”
Rowan kicks his feet against the back of Hunter’s seat. “Why are we going so slow?”
“Because,” Hunter says patiently, “if I hit one of these people with your mom’s SUV, we’re probably not making it to the baseball game.”
Rowan gasps, his Outlaw hat nearly slipping over his eyes. “You can’t hit baseball people.”
“I know, buddy. I’m trying not to.”
A car cuts across three rows without looking, and Hunter brakes hard enough to make Sutton grab the dashboard. The car swoops into the spot before any of us can process the audacity.
“What an as—”
“Little ears,” I say, gripping Hunter’s shoulder.
Hunter leans toward the windshield, whispering asshole under his breath.
“Bad driver.” Rowan points his finger at the car.
“Terrible,” Hunter agrees as he pulls down the next aisle. “You’re not allowed to drive like that, okay, buddy?”
Rowan’s giggle fills the car. “I can’t drive, Hunter.”
“You can’t?” Sutton says with mock shock.
“Nope, I’m only six.” Rowan sticks his hand over the side of his booster seat, flaring his fingers. I smile and interlock mine with his.
Sutton laughs, and Hunter finally finds another spot in the next aisle over. He puts the SUV into reverse, slow and careful.
“We’re going backward!” Rowan giggle-shouts.
“Mmhmm,” I hum, squeezing his hand. “Very exciting stuff happening here.”
“Baseball is exciting,” Rowan corrects.
“If you say so.”
The second Hunter parks, Rowan’s entire body locks into position like a racehorse waiting for the gate to open. “Can I get out now?”
“Not yet.” I grab his foot and check that his sneakers are double-knotted. Once he sets foot outside this car, he’ll be going one hundred miles an hour. Last thing we need is a skinned knee to ruin his first MLB game.
“Now?”
“Still no.”
“What about now?”
“Rowan Michael.”
He snaps his mouth shut, but his eyes are practically vibrating.
Sutton and Hunter snicker. I shoot them both a glare. They set their mouths to straight lines, but I see the laughter in their eyes.
Hunter cuts the engine, and the moment the truck goes quiet, the sound of the stadium reaches us. A low roar beyond the rows of cars. Music pulsing somewhere in the distance. The rise and fall of thousands of voices gathered in one place for one thing.
Rowan hears it too.
His face changes as he melts back into his car seat. The impatience softens into something smaller. Brighter.
“Oh,” he whispers.
And just like that, my heart does that thing it always does when he sees the world become bigger. It aches in the best and worst way.
Because I can give him a lot. I can give him packed lunches and bedtime stories and matching socks when the laundry gods are merciful. I can give him stability and laughter and a mother who shows up even when she’s tired down to her bones.
But moments like this remind me there is still so much I want for him. So much I want with him.
A full life.
A big one.
The kind that stretches wide and open in front of us.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing the emotion before it can turn into something inconvenient. “When we get inside, you’re to stay with someone at all times. Got it?”
Rowan nods emphatically.
“I mean it, Row. Mommy knows how excited you are, but this place is really big and full of lots of people. I don’t want to lose you.
So no running ahead or talking to strangers or touching anything.
” I shiver imagining all the germs he’ll be covered in by the end of the night.
“You need to hold someone’s hand at all times, capeesh? ”
Rowan folds lips between teeth, eyes sparkling, nodding fiercely.
“Alright, let’s get going before you spontaneously combust.”
Hunter opens his door. “You heard the woman. Let’s go.”
The next few minutes are chaos in the way all group outings with children are—seat belts unlock, doors open, someone asks where the tickets are, someone else asks if we need sunscreen even though the sun is already starting its slow descent behind the stadium.
Luke and Vinnie wait at the back of the vehicle.
Rowan sees them and tries to dart away before I finish grabbing Frank.
“Sir,” I say, catching him from the back of his shirt. “We do not launch ourselves into parking lots.”
“I wasn’t. I was…” a crease forms between his eyebrows, “baseball walking.”
I narrow my gaze. “That is not a thing.”
Luke and Vinnie try very poorly to cover their laughter.
I hand him Frank, who is already looking a little worse for the wear despite having done absolutely nothing but exist in my son’s grip for the last six years.
It was a gift from his father, Caleb, when he’d finally been allowed in the room to meet his son.
Rowan tucks the stuffed hippo under one arm and adjusts his shirt with the other.
“Frank’s ready,” he announces.
“Thank goodness,” Sutton says, peeking around the car door. “I was worried.”
“He likes baseball.” Rowan steps toward Luke and reaches out for his hand.
“Does he?” Luke smiles and grasps Rowan’s hand.
Rowan gives him a look that says, adults know nothing. “Well, yeah, he likes what I like.”
“And this is why I love kids.” Sutton presses a hand to chest.
“Give it ten minutes,” I say. “He’ll be asking for a hot dog, cotton candy, popcorn, and a second mortgage.”
Hunter shuts the back hatch. “Good thing Uncle Hunter came prepared.”
“And Auntie Grace,” Grace says joining the group, hands resting lightly on her protruding belly. Her and Adam will be welcoming their first child soon. It’ll be nice having them to commiserate with over the joys and pitfalls of parenting.
“You are not buying my child everything in this stadium.”
She looks offended. “I would never.”
“Well, I plan on buying this kid whatever he wants.” Luke rubs his other hand on top of Rowan’s head, making him giggle again.
We start toward the stadium in a loose, loud cluster. Rowan tugs Luke forward every few steps. Around us, people move in jerseys and ball caps, their voices bright beneath the evening sky. Kids dart between adults. The smell of grilled onions and stadium pretzels float through the warm air.
The closer we get, the bigger everything feels—the lights, the gates, the banners snapping above us. The enormous team logo—The High Plains Outlaws—stretches across the front of the stadium.
My dad used to love baseball.
At least, I think he did.
There’s a faded picture somewhere of him taking me to a game when I was little, but I don’t actually remember it.
Mostly, I remember him leaving.
Rowan slows, drops Luke’s hand, and reaches out for mine. I look down to find his mouth slightly open, his eyes reflecting the lights like he’s looking at the edge of the universe.
“Mommy,” he says softly. “This is so cool.” He slips his hand in mine.
I squeeze lightly. “It is.”
“C’mon, guys.” Hunter waits at the closest metal detector, waving for us to hurry up.
“Do you think the players are already in there?” Rowan asks.
“I would hope so. Kind of hard to play without them,” Vinnie answers, slight teasing in his voice.
We make it through security with only a minor delay, mostly because Rowan feels the need to show the woman Frank the hippo and spout off at least ten facts about hippos she most likely doesn’t care to know.
When the ticket agent asks him if he’s excited for the game, Rowan once again launches into a lesson and recites every bit of Outlaw knowledge he’s managed to cram into his brain since he first mentioned baseball a little over six months ago.
He even asked Santa for a glove last Christmas, only to realize a week later that it’s hard to practice catching when your backyard is buried under in snow.
I’d assumed the obsession would fade by spring.
Instead, the second the weather warmed up, I found him outside with Frank tucked under one arm and his glove on the wrong hand, waiting for someone to play catch with him.
Thankfully, Caleb taught him a few things because organized sports have never exactly been my area of expertise.
Next week, he’ll officially start T-ball. I’m already preparing myself to not become one of those baseball moms.
“Do you think they hit the ball really far?” Rowan
I smile, knowing this will be one of his never-ending question nights.
“I think that’s generally the idea,” I say.
“Do you think I’ll catch one?”
My chest pinches thinking of him getting taken out by a line drive. “I think if a ball comes anywhere near you, I’ll be throwing my body in front of it like a Secret Service agent.”
“But then I won’t catch it.”
I shrug, adjusting the waistband on my flowing peasant skirt. “At least it won’t hit you in the face.”
Rowan frowns. “But what if it’s my ball?”
Laughing, I reach for his hand as we follow the crowd toward our section. “I’ll take my chances.”
The stadium opens around us in a rush of noise and color.
The field stretches out below, impossibly green beneath the lights, every line sharp and perfect.
The crowd hums with energy. Music pours from the speakers.
On the giant screen, players warm up while kids in oversized jerseys point and shout.
Rowan stops dead.
People flow around us, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are fixed on the field. And for the first time all night, he is completely still. Not bouncing or asking me six questions at once. He’s just taking it in. The awe of it.
The magic.
Then his face breaks open into the kind of smile that makes every hard thing worth it.
“Mommy,” he breathes. “I love baseball.”
I laugh, even though my throat feels tight. “You’ve been here for thirty seconds.”
“I know.”
And somehow, to him, that’s enough.
I glance toward Sutton, who is watching him with soft eyes.
Hunter has his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his thumb brushing over the curve of her ring like he still can’t quite believe she said yes.
Greer leans into Luke, whispering something that makes him shake his head and smile.
Grace and Adam are trying to keep Vinnie from buying every snack at the concession stand.
My heart pinches at all of us here together. We’re loud and messy and imperfect in all the best ways, but family all the same.
I tell myself that’s enough.
And most of the time, it is.
But then my phone buzzes again in my bag, a tiny reminder that some part of me is still looking. Still hoping. Still foolish enough to believe maybe there’s someone out there who could walk into the chaos of my life and not immediately look for an exit.
I ignore it.
Because Rowan is pulling me toward our section now, and the field is glowing beneath the lights, and for tonight, I don’t want to think about men with terrible usernames or messages that make me want to throw my phone into traffic.
Tonight, I want to watch my son fall in love with baseball.
That seems safer.
Less complicated.
Less likely to break my heart.
We find our seats along the third-base side, close enough that Rowan gasps like Hunter personally arranged for a special VIP treatment. My guess is, Hunter probably did. Over this last year, all of them have come to love Rowan almost as much as I do.
“Mommy,” he says, climbing into his seat and clutching Frank to his chest. “This is the best day of my whole life.”
I smooth a hand over his hair and smile.
“And it’s just getting started,” I whisper.