15 - Haley
15
Haley
“What did you do!” I hissed at my sister.
“Nothing!” she insisted. “He literally just parked while we were talking.”
“You must have invited him!”
“I swear to God I didn’t.” She held up both palms.
“COACH JORDY!” Bran squealed.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Jordan said, letting himself into the fence.
“Did you come to teach me how to play?” Bran asked.
“Actually,” Jordan said, turning his piercing blue gaze on me, “I’m here to see your mom.”
“How did you find out where I live?” I asked.
“Phone book,” Jordan replied while approaching the porch. He stopped at the base of the steps. “Sara, right?”
Sara glared at him. “You hit me with a snowball when I was in ninth grade. In the face . The bruise lasted a week. It ruined class photo day.”
Jordan grimaced and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve done. Would you accept an apology, or is seven years too late?”
“Eight years would have been too late,” she said, standing. “Seven is just in time. I’ll leave you two to talk alone.”
She gave me a pointed stare. I glared right back at her. This wasn’t a random meeting. It wasn’t a sign.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Well, I came here to give that seven-year-apology to your sister.” He grinned broadly. “Now that’s over with, I can finally move on with my life.”
I chuckled, and he laughed with me.
Jordan unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and reached up to hand it to me. “Your son mentioned he wants to play baseball. Tryouts were last week, but it’s not too late to join.”
I took the paper from him. It was a sign-up sheet.
“That’s why you came here?”
He nodded. “I think he’d do well in our Coach Pitch league. The minimum age is five, but we sometimes take boys his age. Especially when they show talent.”
I gave a start. That’s right: I had lied about Bran’s age in order to keep Lucas from figuring out he was the father.
“I have talent?” Bran asked.
“Boatloads of it, kiddo,” Jordan said, mussing the boy’s hair.
“I don’t know,” I said. “This seems like a big commitment…”
“It’s really not,” Jordan replied. “If Bran realizes it’s not the right activity for him, you can pull him anytime.”
“Well… money’s tight right now,” I said. “I’m saving up for tuition in case he gets into the Worthington Academy.”
Jordan smiled. “Tell you what. Bring him to practice for a week, and then make a decision.” I hadn’t noticed until that moment, but he was holding a black leather glove and a baseball. “You can borrow these while you decide. Here you go.”
“For me?” Bran asked, eyes as wide as if this was Christmas morning.
“You bet, kiddo,” Jordan said. “If you practice really hard, your mom might bring you to practice next week.” He looked at me. “We meet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
“Thanks, Coach Jordy!” Bran exclaimed.
Jordan gave me a little wave, then walked back to his truck and drove away.
“ That’s the Jordan Mayfield you slept with the other night?” Sara said, rejoining us on the porch.
“What do you mean? You said you remembered him.”
“I remembered the string bean teenager who was a goofball half the time, and an asshole the other half,” Sara said, licking her lips. “I didn’t realize he had grown up to look like that . No wonder you can’t stop thinking about him.”
“I never said that!”
“A sister can tell,” she replied. “Are you going to sign Bran up?”
“You know how Bran is,” I whispered. “He gets excited about hobbies for a day or two, then grows bored. By next Monday, he will have moved on to something else.”
But Bran didn’t move on. He spent the rest of the evening playing with his baseball and glove, then slept with them that night. Over the weekend, he recruited me, Sara, and Harper to throw the ball with him. It was all he wanted to do, all the time.
By Monday, I couldn’t deny it. This wasn’t a phase he was going to drop.
I was still resistant to putting him on a team coached by someone I’d slept with, so I spent Monday morning doing research while I was stuck greeting people at an open house. Unfortunately, tryouts had ended last week. If Bran wanted to play baseball, he would need to wait until the fall.
Or play for Jordan’s team.
“You can’t come,” I told Sara that evening while Bran and I got ready to go.
Sara stamped her foot. “Why not!”
“Because I don’t want you whispering in my ear about how this is fate,” I replied. “I just want to watch my son attend a baseball practice for the first time.”
“Fine,” Sara said unhappily. “But if he joins, I get to come to the next practice.”
“Deal,” I agreed.
Bran was a bundle of energy as we loaded up the car and drove to the baseball field. As we walked across the parking lot, I smiled at the house on the corner. The for-sale sign now said: “UNDER CONTRACT.” Fingers crossed the inspection went fine.
Jordan was easy to spot on the field—he was already a tall man, but he absolutely towered above the five- and six-year-olds that were gathered around him. His gaze collided with mine from across the space, and a sexy shiver ran up my spine. It reminded me of the way he’d gazed down at me when we were…
“Coach Jordy!” Bran shouted, then took off running in that direction.
“Put your gear in the dugout,” Jordan commanded. “We always start practice by warming up.”
I sat in the nearby bleachers, which were occupied by a scattering of other parents. Most of them were on their phones. I pulled my own phone out and idly began returning some emails.
But as practice began, I couldn’t focus on anything other than the grown-up version of Jordan Mayfield.
He led the kids in a warm-up that involved jumping jacks, then static stretching. “All right! Grab your gloves and line up for soft toss!” he shouted.
The kids formed two lines about twenty feet apart, and began throwing baseballs back and forth. Bran was on the end; there was an uneven number of kids, so he didn’t have anyone to throw to.
“With me, Bran,” Jordan said, standing across from my son. “Soft toss just means we’re playing catch.”
I winced as Bran’s first throw went high, but Jordan was quick with his glove and snatched the ball out of the air. “Careful there, slugger,” Jordan said with a laugh. “Aim for my chest.”
Bran’s next throw was better, and he quickly settled into a rhythm as they threw the baseball back and forth. After a few minutes, Jordan barked a wordless command, and everyone took two big steps backwards, lengthening the distance they had to throw the ball. Bran had to lean into it a little more, but was still able to send the ball across the space with more accuracy than I expected.
After soft toss, Jordan had them take positions in the infield. He hit ground balls to each position, rotating the kids out after every play. Bran struggled more with this—we had only practiced his throwing in the past week.
“Get your body in front of it!” Jordan instructed. “Go again, Bran.”
He hit another ground ball to him, but Bran couldn’t get his glove out in time.
After fielding ground balls, the kids practiced batting. Jordan stood in front of the pitcher’s mound and lightly tossed a ball to each kid underhand. Some of the boys struggled with this part, but most were able to at least make contact with the ball.
Except for Bran, who whiffed every time.
“Good practice everyone!” Jordan announced when the hour was over. “Wednesday night we’re going to work on running the bases and sliding, so make sure you wear long pants. I’ll send out an email reminder, but make sure you tell your parents, just in case they forget.”
The kids gathered their things and went running off to their parents, except for Bran, who was still standing at the edge of the field with his head hung low.
“What’s the matter, kiddo?” Jordan asked.
“I’m not good,” Bran said.
“Sure you are,” Jordan said. “You’ve only been to one practice, and you’re already throwing heat like Felix Hernandez.”
“But I couldn’t field the ball,” Bran stubbornly insisted. “And I didn’t hit the ball when I was batting. Not even once .”
Jordan glanced over at me, then crouched down to look Bran in the eyes. “Let me tell you a secret. Are you listening?”
Bran nodded.
“Everyone is bad at everything when they first start,” he explained. “It takes practice. Who’s your favorite player?”
“Randy Arozarena,” Bran muttered.
“Oh, he’s a good one,” Jordan nodded. “Do you think Randy could crush dingers when he was your age? Of course not. It took lots of practice before he got good. He spent day after day in the batting cage, and on the field, before he got good enough to make the major leagues.”
Bran sniffled. “Really?”
“Of course, kiddo. And if you practice as much as he does? You’ll definitely make the team next month.”
Bran whirled around to face me. “Did you hear that, Mom? Coach Jordy says I might make the team.”
“ If you practice a lot,” Jordan reiterated.
“We’ll see,” I said. “That mom over there brought orange sliced. Go get one and I’ll meet you there in a second.”
Bran threw himself at Jordan in a reckless hug. Jordan grunted and patted his back, and then the little boy went sprinting off to where the rest of the team was gathered around the snack table.
“Okay, give me the real scoop,” I said. “How’d he do?”
“He has great hand-eye coordination when it comes to throwing the ball,” Jordan explained. “But he’s definitely behind the other kids in batting and fielding.”
I pursed my lips. “That’s what it looked like. He probably shouldn’t jump straight into Coach Pitch, right? I should sign him up for T-ball in the fall?”
Jordan smiled sadly. He was going to say that yes, T-ball was the best course of action for Bran. I could see it in his eyes. And I felt strangely sad that this was going to be the last time I had an excuse to see the blond man who had shared me the other night.
But then he said, “Tell you what. Bran shows a lot of promise, and he’s big for his age. How about I mentor him one-on-one for a few weeks? If I can get him caught up on the basics, he can stay on the team. And if not, then he can start at T-ball.”
The offer felt like I had been tossed a life-preserver. “Really? You would do that?”
“I’ve done that for other kids,” he quickly said. “It’s not special treatment. Can you meet here at the same time, on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”
I glanced over at Bran, who was laughing and joking with the other kids. I could already tell this was good for him. That was reason enough to say yes.
“That would be amazing,” I replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I drove home, I told myself that this was the best thing for my son. That it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted an excuse to see Jordan again.
That was just a pleasant side-benefit.