Chapter 13
I’M ONLY HERE FOR THE SNACKS.
Dallas
Mitch
Good luck tonight, Coach.
Tyler
Oh, that’s right. He’s coaching the kids tonight. Fuck yeah.
Tyler
Don’t show them my text. It has a curse word.
No shit.
Tyler
Don’t say that in front of them.
Mitch
Ty, respectfully, shut the fuck up. Hope you have a great practice, Dallas.
Tyler
Anyway, don’t forget to keep us updated.
Thank you, guys. Heading in now.
“I’m so glad you asked me to tag along.”
“Tucker, you invited yourself.” I scoff.
“But if I didn’t, you’d still want me here. For moral support and all.”
Sage tugs at my arm. “What’s moral support?”
“It’s—”
“Encouragement,” Tucker chimes in. “In case your dad needs a reminder that he’s the best.”
“Oh, I can do that!” Sage jumps up and down. “I got all the moral support.”
We all laugh as we enter the doors of the elementary school gym.
The town was eager to get this started after I offered, and told us we could use the gym for some indoor practices after school while we wait for the weather to warm up.
Everyone was just as adamant as Nan and Tucker about practicing in the cold, and they all claimed to be used to it. I’m not, though.
Since it’s the first practice, I thought inside would be best anyway for some basic introductions, a little game of catch, and learn how to swing a bat.
I don’t know a thing about the athletic abilities of these kids.
What the hell am I even doing here?
Taking in the space, it’s much larger than I expected for an elementary school.
The entire area is about two basketball courts wide, with bleachers retracted against every wall.
I try to suppress my laugh when I see a massive bulldog painted on one of the walls with the words Bluestone Lakes Bulldogs written under it.
I never would have expected the school to have a bulldog as a mascot.
Then again, I don’t know what I expected.
My thoughts trail to Poppy—the way they always do lately. The last time I was inside this school, it was for a meeting where I found out she was my daughter’s teacher.
Is she still here or has she left for the day?
A small part of me hopes I run into her because I haven’t seen her since the last grocery trip I took with Sage.
Scratch that, a huge part of me hopes I do.
As I cross the gym, I count the number of kids who showed up. There are nine of them, and their parents, waiting to play. They are dressed in mismatched sweatpants, and most of them are either wearing superhero T-shirts or glitter.
I can’t help the smile on my face because this is exactly what I need.
Whether these kids have played before or not, I hope to provide them with an opportunity to learn the game and perhaps fall in love with it, just as I did at their age. And hell, a chance to keep myself busy enough so I’m not sitting with my racing thoughts.
A few heads turn when they spot me. Two boys I remember, Austin and Archie, are the first to jump up from their seats simultaneously, their eyes lighting up.
“Is this really happening?” Archie asks.
I nod. “It’s really happening. Are you ready?”
“I was born ready!” He leaps in the air, picking his glove up off the ground. “Where do we start? When do we play at the barnyard? Can I pitch?”
“I want to catch,” Austin adds.
“I’m a killer outfielder,” another girl adds.
I laugh. “Whoa there, we have a few things to do first before we get started.”
“Fine,” Archie grumbles.
“I think the first order of business is getting to know each other, and then from there we can start with the basics to see what we need to work on for future practices. To start, my name is Dallas.”
“Westbrook,” Archie adds for me. “I knew you looked familiar that day I saw you on Main Street. But I couldn’t figure it out then.”
“Are you famous?” a girl who looks to be a little older than Sage asks.
Archie looks at her. “He’s the head coach for the Staghorns. The Dallas Westbrook.”
“You know your baseball.”
“I live and breathe baseball,” he emphasizes. “I’ve been following you since you were drafted as a starting pitcher. I want to be a pitcher just like you when I grow up.”
And that right there is confirmation that this is what I need to be doing.
I didn’t understand it a few minutes ago before walking in here. I wasn’t supposed to be standing here with a clipboard in my hand and coaching a group of kids when I could barely coach adults to win a game to put us in the playoffs.
But I said yes—the way I always do. Too fast. Too eager.
Just another impulsive Dallas Westbrook moment I can add to my list.
But his response makes me feel like, for once, I’ve made the right decision.
I get the chance to be a part of this kid’s future when it comes to baseball. Hopefully, be someone who can help him learn the game and new skills the same way Clark taught me all those years ago.
“I was so sad when I learned you retired early from your injury,” he continues. “Are you okay now? To coach us and all?”
I nod. “I’m ready,” I offer the best answer I can. I’m not ready to bring up the pain of losing my ability to play to a group of kids.
A young boy with his hat backward raises his hand. “Is this the real sport? Or is this more like gym class? Because I’m only here for the snacks.”
“Or is this like that time I joined the cookie seller club and never got a sash?” a girl with glittery shoes asks.
I clear my throat. “It’s as real as it gets, kid.”
“I’m Tucker,” he says at my side. “You can all call me Tuck. I’m going to be assisting coach here.”
I give him a side eye because we never agreed to that.
“And I’m Sage,” she chimes in. “This is my daddy, and I love baseball, too.”
I watch her as she walks over to the girl who just told us she would be a killer outfielder and introduces herself. My daughter is so bold and brave. She’s open to opportunities and making friends. She reminds me so much of myself, and I hate that it’s taken me so damn long to see it.
After we go through a round of introductions, the kids all grab their gloves.
I hope I can remember their names by the end of practice.
“Okay, let’s get this started. Since we’re inside, we’ll focus on the fundamentals, such as catching.
I brought some tennis balls to start. Now let’s form two lines. ”
The kids scatter around the gym like a group of cats in a bathtub.
“Two lines,” I shout again, gesturing with my hands like an airline marshal.
This is going to be harder than expected.
When they finally form two lines as best they can, I look around. Most of them are ready to go. Except I have one spinning in circles and another lying on the ground.
“Gabe, I’m going to toss you the tennis ball. Put your glove out in front of you to catch it.”
He nods in response, but when I let the ball out of my hands as lightly as possible, he leans forward dramatically, and it hits him in the forehead.
“You tried to kill me!” Gabe shrieks.
Tucker laughs off to the side, and I give the kid a knowing look before grabbing another one and tossing it to Sammy, the girl with the brightest glitter shoes I’ve ever seen. But she misses it completely, moving her glove just before the ball would have landed safely inside of it.
“You throw like my baby cousin,” she huffs, stomping her foot and crossing her arms over her chest.
Coaching isn’t new to me.
But coaching these kids? I feel completely fucking out of my element.
I decide to let them play catch with each other, standing off to the side and watching as they run around, chasing balls in twelve different directions.
I notice Tucker watching me from the corner of my eye and do a double-take.
“You know, you can stop staring at me like a butterfly that’s going to fly away.”
He laughs, and it echoes in the gym. “You’re nothing like a butterfly. More like a bear. You’re like a bear we don’t normally see in town.”
“I…have no idea how to take that.”
Just as he opens his mouth to respond, the gym door behind us opens with a creak.
We both turn to find Poppy walking in. My eyes trail over her body without skipping a beat.
She’s wearing a pair of slim-fit jeans and a T-shirt covered by a yellow cardigan hanging over one shoulder.
Once I reach her face again, the sounds of the kids shouting and their sneakers scuffing across the court are drowned out by the smile on her face.
God, she’s beautiful.
It’s not the first time I thought this, and it won’t be my last.
Her hair falls in loose, natural curls, and she tucks some behind her ear as she walks in our direction.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It sounded like someone was being attacked as I was heading out for the day, and I thought I would check it out.”
Gabe runs to stand next to me, entirely out of breath. “That was me, Miss Barlow. Coach tried to assassinate me with a tennis ball.”
Poppy’s eyes widen, and Tucker barks out a laugh. “Pop, this is the most interesting afternoon of my life. I’m so glad I was asked to be an assistant coach because this is going to be the new highlight of the week for me.”
“You? Assistant coach?”
I roll my eyes. “He wasn’t actually asked.”
“Now that I believe.” She laughs.
And the sound echoes off the walls, vibrating through me. It wasn’t loud in the sense that everyone could hear it, but it shook me. Hearing her laugh will always have that effect on me. I want to bottle it up and listen to it whenever I feel I need a smile.
But she stops herself quickly as soon as she sees the corner of my lips twist up. Her cheeks turn pink, and I want to take her face between my hands and beg her never to stop laughing like that.
“Are you okay, Poppy?” Tucker asks her, dipping to her eye level with a hand on her shoulder. “Why are your cheeks all red?”
“Dammit, Tucker,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Oh,” he says before looking between both of us. “Ohhh! Wow. I mean. Cool. Great.”
“No, no. Nothing is going on between us, Tuck,” she defends, pointing a finger in his face. “So don’t start any rumors around town.”
He winks. “Got it, Poppy.”
She groans. “I’m being so serious. Dallas is just my neighbor, and I’m Sage’s teacher.”
And there it is again. The reminder right from her lips that she’s off-limits.
I’m about to open my mouth and ask her how her day was, anything to hear her keep talking, but there’s a tap on my arm. Looking down, I see Ethan with the backward baseball cap next to me.
“Coach, is it snack time yet? My blood sugar is basically crashing.”
My eyes widen. “Oh my god, Ethan. Are you diabetic or something? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“No, but I have the metabolism of a horse. Or so my mom says.” He shrugs.
“I don’t know what it means, but I just really like snacks.
My dad says that all kids my age are like this.
And then my parents argue for about one whole minute about how I can’t live off snacks.
But little do they know, I can live off snacks. I need them to survive.”
I stare down at him in disbelief as he rambles through his words.
Poppy and Tucker are both giggling behind their hands next to me, and the weird tension from before is gone.
Thank you, Ethan.
“There’s a bag on the bleachers for you,” I say, and he scrambles off.
“Seems like you have your hands full with this coaching thing, huh?” Poppy says.
I look around the gym. Kids are throwing tennis balls in all different directions, and others are playing with the plastic bats I brought, so we don’t mess up the gym floors with real ones.
They’re using them like their lightsabers.
One kid is even running around the gym with a bat between his legs, as if he’s riding a horse.
And then there’s Ethan trying to negotiate snack time like he’s part of a hostage situation.
I nod in response. “I’ve coached adults before, never making it to the championship game. But I think I’ve made it.”
Poppy tilts her head to the side in question.
“Are you going to coach us or what?” Archie shouts from across the gym, interrupting my thoughts.
I lean in so only Poppy can hear. “I’ve made it to the championship game of patience.”
“I’m not sure you’re going to win that either,” Tucker mutters.
She rests a hand on my shoulder, the friendly touch igniting the fire within me. “Welcome to elementary school.”
And with those parting words, she takes her hand off of me—and I fucking hate it—before she walks away. I stare because I can’t help it. I’ve been drawn to her from the moment I saw her, and this isn’t any different.
The urge to run after her is strong, but I have a team to coach.
If that’s even what you want to call it.
“Are you okay?” Gabe asks. I had no idea he was even standing so close to me. “Your face is doing something weird.”
“I agree,” Tucker says, adding fuel to the fire.
I clear my throat and avert my gaze from the door Poppy just left. “All good.”
“Oh good,” Gabe says, sounding relieved. “Because you look like my dog when my dad brings home a rotisserie chicken for dinner and starts drooling all over the kitchen floor. What a mess that is to clean up.”
This is going to be an interesting season.