Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Brooke
“Moooooo.”
I crane my neck to make sure the cows are still at a good distance. Thanks to Jeffrey, we couldn’t get a field to practice on this week. Unless we settled for starting at nine p.m.
Our property is covered with apple trees and farm equipment, and Morgan lives in town on half an acre. Even the church soccer field was already claimed for a preteen laser tag party. That leaves the good old community pasture.
Aniston gets out of her van with Carter. She sips her energy drink as she leans closer to me. “You know, I have a pasture without cows.”
“Yeah, but it’s not as big. Plus, you have a pool and a pond to distract everyone and you live farther out of town.”
She shrugs. “Just sayin’ . . .”
“I appreciate it.” I smile at her, then focus on the other parents and kids coming toward the gate.
Ethan holds it open for them to enter. Georgia squeals when her heel sticks in a cow pie. She tiptoes toward the edge of the field and rubs her foot against a tall patch of grass. When it’s almost off, she looks at Aniston pitifully. “I am so sorry I made you shovel manure last year.”
Aniston snorts and smiles. “Welcome to the dark side.”
Georgia perks up a little at her approval. It’s probably to her benefit she stepped in poop, since she and her son are dressed like they’re attending the US Open, or maybe playing in it.
Tami’s girls are picking weeds that resemble flowers, and Maribelle’s kids are running circles around her.
“Is that kid wearing a cape?”
“Appears so.” Aniston laughs.
Oh shoot, I said that out loud.
The last few people enter and Ethan closes the gate.
“Thank y’all for coming, and for being flexible with our, uh, venue.” Morgan cuts side-eye at me.
She told me before everyone arrived that she’d have it out with Jeffrey later. I can’t decide if I want to be there for that. I witnessed enough of his craziness during Toy Bowl when I helped coach cheerleaders.
That, I signed up to do.
“We’ll get an idea of where all your kids are in ball.” Morgan scans the group.
So do I, and I don’t like what I see.
“I brought all my kids’ supplies in case some of y’all don’t have gear yet.” Morgan nods to Ethan. “That’s my oldest. I’ll make him throw to them and stuff.”
Everyone looks back at us with blank stares. Except for Georgia, who raises her hand.
“Yes, Georgia?” Morgan sighs.
I nudge her, and she clears her throat.
Morgan doesn’t care for Georgia since she caused Aniston so much trouble last year after she moved back to take care of her niece and nephew. After lots of fights—verbal, then culminating in physically fighting in a bouncy house—they finally called a truce. However, Morgan isn’t as forgiving as the rest of us.
Maybe if my husband left me and our four kids, I’d find it hard to forgive too. Of course, I’d first need a husband for that to happen.
“I bought Herrington a bat and glove.”
“Lemme see.” Morgan motions her over.
Georgia grabs a golf bag and drags it toward us. I assume this means she didn’t buy a bat bag. “Here.” She hands Morgan a bat, then a glove.
“Uh, sorry to tell you, but this is a T-ball bat and a first baseman’s mitt.”
Georgia’s eyes widen.
“Don’t peel off any stickers and you can return them.”
Georgia blinks. “But I had them personalized.” She flips the bat to show initials engraved on the end. A matching monogram is embroidered on the thumb of the glove.
Morgan offers her best non-verbal “bless her heart” face. “Maybe try eBay?”
Georgia nods, then packs it all back into the golf bag.
“Okay.” Morgan slaps her hands together. “We can discuss equipment and uniforms and such in our group chat. For now, let’s practice.”
I stand aside as she instructs the parents where to set up their lawn chairs. Another cow moos in the distance while Ethan gathers the kids to work on basics.
I walk toward the moo to make sure there isn’t a bull around. At least the grass hasn’t grown so high that we can’t find the cow patties. Give it a few more months and we’ll be practicing in a jungle.
“Brooke?”
That voice.
I take a deep breath and turn my head to Nate crossing the road from his property. It’s been a week since I last saw him, which is either way too long or too short. I can’t decide, and I don’t want to.
“Hey. What are y’all doing out here?” he asks.
“It was either this or practice at nine, according to Jeffrey’s field schedule.” I roll my eyes.
“That’s ridiculous. Y’all can’t do anything with cows and poop all around. Come across the road to my place.”
“I—”
“I’ll go tell them.”
I’m trying to respond when he jumps the fence and jogs toward the parents. I watch for a few seconds, then follow him.
By the time I make it to everyone, they’re folding chairs. Morgan whistles, and Ethan’s head whips around like a dog’s. “Bring it in, we’re going to Mr. Nate’s house.”
The kids cheer, and Tami gives Nate a look that momentarily makes me jealous. Then I realize Nate is not mine . . . and it’s Tami.
Ethan gets the gate, and we funnel to the other side. Paul and Ms. Dot zoom by in a golf cart. Maribelle jerks her twins back before they get run over. Paul honks, and Dot yells out, “Sorry,” as they speed toward the orchard.
Chances are he plans on trying to pick apples that don’t yet exist. Ever since my mom said he could come pick apples anytime, he’s taken full advantage.
I’m so focused on the kids and the golf cart that I don’t notice Nate’s hand on my back until he slides it away. My stomach tingles. He was likely holding me back from death by Paul’s drive-by.
Yeah, that’s it. Nothing more.
We look both ways and cross the road, dragging chairs and equipment behind. Nate jogs ahead and points past his house. “I have a makeshift training center in my shop and a nice level lot in the back.”
Without hesitation, the kids hurry behind him and race to the shop. One kid falls down and gets tangled in his clothes. Unsurprisingly, it’s the boy wearing some type of cloak.
I help him up, and his mom thanks me.
“You’re welcome.”
After he catches up with the others, she sighs. “Hi, I’m Agatha.”
I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Brooke, Timothy’s mom.”
“This is Reece’s first sport ever. He has so many allergies that I’ve always homeschooled him and kept him from team involvement.”
I nod.
“Our allergist suggested I start integrating him into society to get used to germs. I thought an outdoor sport might be a good start.”
“So is the cape something to do with his allergies?”
She laughs. “Oh no. That’s our compromise. He wanted to play Quidditch.”
I think that’s a Harry Potter thing, but I’m not certain. I decide not to ask.
Aniston slaps a hand on my shoulder and smirks. “Looks like your man came through for us.”
“He’s not . . .” I shake my head.
She winks, and my face heats up. Then she rushes inside before I can protest.
I’m the last one inside, except for Georgia. She had some trouble rolling the golf bag down the hill. I wait on her to be polite and help her drag it over the threshold.
Timothy waves at me from the batting cage. I wave back and scan the area. Even though there are ten different families in here now, I still have jitters since I’m in Nate territory.
Families.
That word alone makes me more nervous. Technically my family is here too, but neither of them know they’re family.
Within five minutes, Nate has the boys at three different stations. Ethan is running one and Morgan another, while he mans the third.
For the first time, I appreciate him as a baseball coach. Until today, I’ve looked at him as a baseball player. As someone who wanted to be a teacher for most of my life, I can sense he has a real knack for it.
The kids rotate through the stations. I make it a point to talk to all the parents and welcome everyone. I’m still much more suited for the role of cheerleader than anything to do with baseball.
An hour later, I’m helping Georgia pick up balls scattered across the floor. I mindlessly reach for one in the corner and a hand falls on mine. My eyes lift to Nate. He grins, and I drop my gaze to our hands.
I curl my fingers around the ball. His hand slips away when I lift mine. “Here,” I say.
“Thanks.” He takes the ball, causing our hands to touch again.
This time I’m sure it’s intentional because he takes his dear time removing his hand. I clear my throat and stand. “Thanks for...” I gesture around at everyone.
“You’re welcome.” He smirks at Morgan talking to the parents, then narrows his eyes. “What’s up with the kid in the cape?”
“His mom mentioned something like Quidditch.”
“Ah, Harry Potter .”
I laugh. “I forgot you’re a fan.”
“Only of the books and movies. Not the sport or wardrobe.” He nods toward the boy. “But I can work with that now that I know.”
Some of the people exit the building, including Morgan. She must have officially ended practice. I attempt to leave, but my feet won’t budge. Nate isn’t leaving either.
“So I can pay you for this.”
He lifts one brow.
“For using your facilities.”
He laughs. My face warms. When there’s awkward silence, I tend to try and say something helpful or kind.
“Y’all can use this place anytime.”
“I know you said Timothy could come, but a whole team and all these parents is another level.”
He tosses the ball and catches it, then looks at me. “Seriously, I enjoyed tonight.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. It’s fun to teach baseball, especially when so many kids are brand new to the sport. It’s like I get to introduce them to something I love.”
My throat catches when he uses the word “love.” It’s a word I’ve heard him say countless times—mostly to me, about me.
I sway uncomfortably, as if doing so will loosen my cemented stance and allow me to walk away.
“When do y’all practice again?”
“That would be a question for Morgan.”
“Well, let me know when you find out. As long as I’m in town, y’all are welcome to come over.”
“Thanks.”
“Mama,” Timothy calls.
I turn to him jogging toward us. Nobody else is left in the building, which kicks my temperature up another notch.
“Miss Morgan said we’re done and that she’s going to skin Jeffrey’s hide before next practice, whatever that means.”
Nate chuckles. “That might not be necessary, buddy.”
Timothy grins. Nate reaches out and rustles his hair, and I choke back a tear.
“I told your mom to let me know about practice from now on. I’ll be happy to help whenever I’m here.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’ll walk y’all to your car.”
My legs finally agree to work, and the three of us make it to my car parked in the ditch by the pasture. Nate opens my door for me, bringing on some nostalgia I don’t need to deal with right now. Timothy hops in the other side, oblivious to anything between his mom and Nate the Great.
“Seriously, Brooke. Call or text me about your practice schedule.” He smiles at me, then Timothy.
Timothy smiles back, and I swallow.
“Thanks, Nate.” I smile and close the door. “For everything,” I add under my breath as I glance toward our son.
* * *
Nate
Brooke and Timothy drive into the setting sun.
I stand at the edge of the road and watch until their car is no longer in view. Then I walk down the hill to turn off all the lights in the shop. Or should I say training facility.
Luckily there is enough space between Mom’s trailer and the building for us to practice some fly balls next time.
I enter the shop and shake my head. What am I doing? Morgan is the coach, and I all but took over. Not that she seemed to mind. She literally stepped aside and told me to do what I thought was best.
It’s not like I don’t enjoy helping these kids. It’s that doing so means I’m around Brooke even more. And that may not be best considering I still have feelings for her.
However, I did get a good look at her hand today. She had on regular clothes and makeup, even earrings, but no rings. I’ll make sure to check next time I’m at church to confirm it.
I stack the buckets of balls to the side and grab a resistance band. Before finding everyone in the pasture, I was on my way to work out my own arm and shoulder. I hit off a tee this morning and ran a few miles. Then I made myself take it easy on yard work.
The more I’m here in so-called recovery mode, the more I contemplate coaching. I’ve helped with lots of high school camps over the years, at first for extra money and then for fun. It’s nice to do that on a smaller scale, where I can really get to know the kids.
I loop the band around a pole to execute a different exercise and close my eyes as I pull it tightly. My shoulder has been better today, but it still stings at times. If I hadn’t stopped weed eating when I did, I’d likely have it on ice by now.
As I work through the mundane routine of stretching my shoulder a million different ways, my mind drifts to Brooke and Timothy.
Even if she’s single, he still has a dad. He might not live here though, since nobody’s mentioned him and I haven’t seen him with Timothy. Once they start having ball games, I should know if he’s in his life.
What dad wouldn’t want to watch his son play baseball for the first time?
Mine .
I let loose of the band and it pops against the wall. My father is always a sore subject. In high school, I tried to find him online through any means possible—Google, Facebook, inmate searches for the local county jails. Nothing.
It’s like the man no longer exists. For all I know, he may not. But the one thing I didn’t do was ask Mom.
She worked herself to the bone for the two of us and supported me in every way possible. For the most part, she was all I needed. But I’m still human, and as I got older and watched my friends with their dads, I got a little FOMO.
I’d hate to know Timothy is going through the same pain as me. At least he has a grandpa and uncles nearby. He also has me down the road.
As long as I can keep from hitting on his mom.
I sigh and rotate my shoulder. When I’m done with all my therapy requirements, I cross the room to the kitchen area. I may not be in pain, but a little ice never hurt.
Instead of going in my house, I plop down on the nearby couch with my Ziploc bag of ice and the TV remote. I have a sudden desire to watch some Harry Potter .