Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Nate
“How did y’all manage to score an actual baseball field?” I toss and catch a ball a few times.
Morgan huffs. “I had a few choice words with Mr. Jeffrey when he came by the Pig this week.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and continues toward the dugout.
“I think he felt sorry for us.” Brooke wrinkles her nose.
“Well, hopefully we can remedy that tonight,” I tell her.
“Thanks for helping again,” she says.
“Of course.”
Bags clank against the metal fence and Morgan grunts. Brooke and I exchange a look.
My heart thumps harder when I look her in the eye. Sharing an inside laugh with her makes me wish we could share more. I miss those moments.
I miss her.
“What are we working on tonight?” she asks.
I palm the ball and come out of my trance. “According to everything Timothy told me about the practice game, I’d say base running is high on the list.”
She frowns. “Sorry about that. There’s so much he doesn’t know. I could’ve taught him that, but...” Her voice trails off with a sigh.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your place to teach him ball. He’s young, smart, and willing to learn. He’ll be fine.”
Her lips curve into a slight smile. My eyes follow the movement and I allow them to linger on her mouth a little too long.
She turns her head.
Dang it. I got caught gawking.
“I can help them with batting too, and knowing what’s a ball and a strike.”
She turns slowly and nods.
Morgan comes our way with a bucket. She’s waddling stiff-legged with it in front of her. I meet her halfway and take the bucket in one hand. I set it in the pitcher’s circle.
“I had that, you know,” she calls from behind me.
“Most women would just say thank you.”
“I’m not most women.”
That she is not. I shake my head and chuckle. Brooke laughs too. We share another glance, and I soak that in before a bunch of dirt-eaters hit the field.
Morgan whistles to call their attention. “Coach Nate has some ideas to help us.”
I turn to Brooke and whisper, “When did I become Coach?”
“Morgan has a way of voluntelling others.”
“I see.”
I cross my arms and make my way to the fence. Jeffrey stands on the other side. He stops near me, chewing a toothpick.
“So I see you’re helping with practice.” The toothpick rolls across his mouth.
“Yeah.”
“You know only parents on the field at games.”
“Yeah.”
I narrow my eyes. He’s trying to run me off and I don’t like it. Two can play at this game.
“It’s nice of you to find them a practice field.”
“I figured they needed rescuing from that bullpen.” He laughs obnoxiously at his corny joke.
“I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I opened up my personal training facility anytime Morgan and Brooke need a place for them.”
His jaw drops and the toothpick falls to the ground. I meet his dumbfounded stare and wait for that to sink in.
“I wasn’t aware you were letting teams work at your home, with your equipment.”
“I wouldn’t say teams.” I emphasize the S. Really just this team.
I smile, and Jeffrey’s nostrils flare. I take a few steps back and wave a hand at him. “But we needed a change in venue. Astroturf and pitching machines can only help us so much.”
Jeffrey’s entire face turns the color of the Apple Cart Armadillo mascot on a sponsor sign. He may have won the first competition, but as long as I’m around, he won’t get the championship.
“Have a good practice.” I turn and jog toward the kids.
They listen eagerly as I describe our stations for today. Ethan has practice, so I enlist a few parents to come help and break them into groups.
“Where do you need me?” Morgan asks.
“You and Brooke will stick with me today. I think our coaches need practice too.”
She snorts.
“I don’t expect y’all to throw strikes, but you have to give them something to work with.”
“Yeah, we suck.” Brooke twists her mouth, then turns to Morgan.
“I didn’t say that, but y’all do need practice.”
“You didn’t have to, Coach,” Morgan chimes in.
“You don’t have to call me Coach.”
“Okay, Coach.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, bad habit.”
“You can go first, then.”
Her sarcastic smile fades. I give her a ball. “See that torn spot in the fence behind the plate?”
“Yep.”
“That’s your target.”
She narrows her eyes, then goes through the cliché motions most pitchers use. Her foot drags a country mile and takes about as long. I study everything from her stance to her arm, taking mental notes.
The ball makes it to the plate, but wildly.
“All right, let’s start with your stance.”
“What’s wrong with my stance?”
“It’s throwing you off balance. I think you’re so focused on how you’re standing and moving your feet that it’s messing with your arm.”
She stares at me blankly.
“Are you trying to mimic anyone?”
“I dunno?”
I cross my arms and wait for her to answer honestly. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Brooke’s face glow with amusement and try not to laugh.
“Maybe the pitcher on Ethan’s middle school team, and the guy I saw on TV the other night, and sometimes Roy in pickup softball at the church picnics.”
I raise one brow.
“That’s fair, I see your point.” Morgan grits her teeth.
“Can you stand more—” I catch myself before saying “normal” and get in my stance instead. Morgan follows my lead.
“Good. Now when you bring your foot up, maybe don’t take so long.” I hand her another ball. “Try it.”
She squares up, sets, and pitches. She hits just below the spot I told her to.
Brooke gasps.
“I did it!” Morgan jumps and claps once the shock wears off.
“You did. Throw a few more. One isolated pitch doesn’t mean you can pitch.”
We watch her throw several more pitches, most of them decent.
“Good job.”
She lifts her chest and smiles. I scan the field to see what’s going on with the circus outside the ring. “Can you help with the kids hitting off tees while I coach Brooke?”
She follows my gaze to the corner of the field. I set up a station for the boys to hit off the tee toward the fence and put Carlton in charge. He seems like a bright enough guy. After all, he is a pharmacist.
But he’s also a golfer, and he’s got the kids taking golf swings at the baseballs.
Morgan’s face sours when she watches him try and get Charlie to start swinging low. “Yeah, someone needs to fix that.”
“I think that could be you.” I give her back an encouraging pat.
She hands me the glove she’s wearing and marches toward Carlton.
Brooke and I watch her a few seconds, then face one another. My pulse picks up when I realize we’re only inches apart. I hold up the glove as a makeshift buffer. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Her fingers touch mine for a millisecond, but it’s long enough to keep me wanting more. She puts the glove on and takes a deep breath. “I’ve never tried to pitch before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” I drop a ball in her glove to keep from accidentally touching her again.
“Do I stand like this?”
“A little to the left.”
She turns her entire body.
“Not so much.”
She turns back the way she was before.
“Just your hips turn.” I reach one hand and gently put it on her waist.
So much for not touching her.
My hand falls to the curve of her back and it’s all too familiar. Like slipping on my favorite pair of sneakers. It just fits.
I take longer than I should sliding my hand away. Her breathing is heavier, either from the nerves of pitching for the first time or from me touching her for the first time in almost a decade.
I clear my throat to reset. “You watched me tell Morgan, so do what she did.”
“I’ll try.” She goes through the motions and pitches the ball.
It falls short of the plate, but also looks a little low.
“You’re a good bit shorter than her. You’ll need more power behind that to get it farther and higher.”
I hand her another ball. This time it makes it to the plate, but it’s still low.
“Too low, huh?” She turns to me with a panicked look.
“Not if we get Carlton to ump.”
She laughs.
“It’s fine, really. Y’all are both doing great, I swear. It’s not easy to pitch, especially to kids.”
“Let me try again.”
I hand her another ball. It goes the same way.
She throws her head back to the sky. “How in the world do I get it higher?” She drops her head to face me.
“Go through the motions without a ball so I can see what you need to change.”
I watch her arm all the way through.
“All right. Bring your elbow up more.”
She lifts her elbow in an awkward position.
“Hang on.” I stand behind her and cup my hand behind her arm. Then I bring it higher. “How’s that feel?” I say, close to her ear.
“Good,” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
She slowly turns her head, and for the second time in a week, we’re within kissing territory. My throat constricts and I can’t get a word out. But I’m not sure what I might say if I could. There are no words for this moment. Actions would speak louder than words.
I dip my head the tiniest bit to put my mouth maybe a centimeter closer to see how she reacts.
“You didn’t do all that with me,” a familiar voice taunts behind me.
I flinch and drop my hand from Brooke’s arm. Morgan stands a few feet back, grinning like a possum.
Busted.
* * *
Brooke
Nate is waiting by the park entrance when we pull up. Timothy smiles and waves at him through the back window.
Today is the Apple Cart County Little League Opening Tournament. I’ve never been, but heard about it over the years from others.
The teams in our county and surrounding counties’ park-ball teams play each other in a bracket tournament. Rings and medals are awarded to the last two teams standing in every division.
I’m not so much nervous about how the kids do today as I am for myself. If for some crazy reason we start winning, we keep playing. I don’t think Morgan has more than two or three games in her to pitch, and I know she’ll look to me as her backup.
Too bad the park board won’t allow Nate in the circle to hold me up.
That’s probably for the best. If Morgan hadn’t walked up at the right time, we may have kissed. Only instead of being alone on his property, we were in the middle of the ball field with families watching.
I don’t know which is worse. Obviously, I’m not a fan of PDA. On the flip side, not having a captive audience could lead to a much hotter kiss.
I climb out of the car and blow a stray hair from my eyes.
“Are y’all ready for today?” Nate asks.
“I am!” Timothy hops. He high-fives Nate before grabbing his bag.
My trunk is loaded down with lawn chairs, snacks, and bottles of water.
Morgan has to work the gate, so I offered to bring backup drinks for everyone. She’s also been known to forget things.
“Let me help with all that.” Nate grabs the cooler and both lawn chairs. I reach for the duffle of snacks, but he beats me to them.
“I guess I’ll shut the trunk.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Thanks.” He smiles.
It’s contagious. For a brief moment I smile too, forgetting the reason I was so nervous.
Nate steps in front of me like a pack mule with a chair over each shoulder, a cooler in one hand, and a bag in the other. It’s hard not to feel like an entitled diva following him and Timothy, who’s carrying a decently heavy bat bag.
We stop at a folding table with a tent covering it. Morgan looks up from her nachos and smiles. “What’s up?”
I reach in my pocket for money.
“Save it, girl. Coaches don’t pay, but your bellman owes us five bucks.”
I frown at her. Despite all my protesting, she still insists on calling me a coach.
Nate scrambles to put down a bag. I hold a hand to stop him. “I got it.” I give Morgan a five.
She hands me two bands. “Nate’s is the red one. You wear the neon orange to show you can go on the field.”
“Thanks.”
“The schedule is posted at the concession stand. We don’t play for another hour.” She tosses a chip in her mouth and chews, then swallows. “If the two of you could get everyone warmed up when they get here, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay.”
“Where do you want me to set you up?” Nate asks.
“Oh right. This way.” I hurry down the hill, but not at a pace so fast he can’t find me. I’ve already made him stand far too long holding my entire trunk contents.
It’s not even ten and several tents already line the fence by our field. I’m sensing a pattern here.
“Should I have brought a tent?” I ask.
“Most people do for all-day tournaments.”
My face falls.
“I can always bring one in if y’all need it. Besides, I doubt the Corolla could hold anything else.”
“True.”
Nate sets down the cooler and drops the chair from that arm. He rotates his shoulder and grits his teeth. I didn’t even consider his injury when I loaded him down with my stuff.
What kind of person am I?
“This spot looks great,” I lie. It’s a horrible view of the field and on a slope. But if it gets Nate to unload, it will work.
He glances around and scrunches his face, clearly realizing the downfall in this spot. Then he smiles at me and sets up the lawn chairs best he can on the slope.
Jeffrey struts our way from the concession stand. His gold watch catches the sunlight, overpowering the rest of his ensemble for once. Between the bright red pants and Armadillos cap, it’s hard not to spot him. Oh, and today he’s added a fake sleeve.
“Why is Jeffrey wearing a compression sleeve?” I whisper.
“My guess is he thinks it looks cool, but if we ask he’ll say it’s because he’s pitching all day.”
I laugh and Nate joins me. We straighten our faces when Jeffrey gets within earshot.
“I guess Morgan filled you in, but the first games are on the board. We’re in a pool of eight and it’s double elimination.”
“Thanks,” I say.
He puts his hands on his hips and spits to the side, barely missing my snack bag. I swallow.
“Nice sleeve, Jeffrey.” Nate grins at me.
“Thanks. I got it at one of those vendor trucks last travel-ball tournament.” He stretches out his arm and admires it. “Should help me with pitching today.”
Nate lifts his chin. “Maybe I’ll look into getting one.”
Jeffrey smiles, then continues toward the other end of the park. I shake my head at Nate.
It’s going to be a long day.