Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Brooke
The best way to break up anything mundane is for Morgan to text you that she has a surprise for practice.
Per her request, I’m wearing gym clothes and tennis shoes, and I brought a cooler of waters. I’m not sure what she has planned, but at least I’ll be comfortable and hydrated.
Timothy squeezes his new glove open and closed. I had to pry it off his hand before he got out at school. I’m not sure if it’s more about the glove or that it came from Nate. Either way, he’s treated it like we would a prize-winning bushel of apples.
I roll the cooler past several fields used by other teams. Morgan waves me over from the T-ball field. She’s got to be kidding. It’s little more than a glorified circle of mud with a rickety fence around it.
A swarm of gnats funnel around us as if warning me to turn back before it’s too late. I’m more scared of Morgan than gnats, so I trudge on. Timothy follows behind me, coddling his glove.
“Hey, girl. Park that Igloo over here.” Morgan fans her hands toward the fence.
I park the cooler and drop the handle. The fence bounces when it makes contact. If anyone has a chance of hitting something over a fence, it’s today.
“We’re scrimmaging the boys today!” Morgan slaps her hands together and rubs them like she’s scheming.
“We’re what?”
She scans my Nike shorts and shoes. “You’re dressed for it, and everyone else will be too. We’ve got water. What else could we need?”
“Uh, younger knees and an energy drink?”
She snaps her fingers. “Oh shoot. I could’ve gotten those out-of-date Monster drinks we chucked when restocking the Pig.”
“I think we’re good.” I wince.
Note to self: Never accept prepackaged snacks from Morgan unless the date is visible.
She grins. I turn and follow her gaze to the rest of the team and parents. Easton in particular catches my attention.
He’s dressed in a camo shirt with a flag bandana and eye black. Until now, he’s had two looks: doctor scrubs and lawn-care casual. This is the only time I’ve seen him wear shorts except at the pool, which would explain the huge skin-tone difference in his legs and arms.
“Look at Rambo.” Morgan punches his arm. “I like it.”
I spin to face her. “Wait, so everyone else knew about the scrimmage?”
“Yeah.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell your assistant coach?”
Morgan crosses her arms. “Because my assistant coach would not be in favor of it.”
I raise a brow. She’s got me there.
“I can keep score, or maybe be the cheerleader.” I clap my hands and smile.
Morgan frowns and shakes her head. “I have coaches and scorekeepers coming.”
“Wait, what?”
Before she can answer, Isabella and a few of her softball friends come from the opposite end of the park.
Morgan wiggles her eyebrows. “Here comes the boom.”
She whistles to get our kids’ attention. They come running like a pack of dogs. At this point in the season, they have come to expect her signal.
Four teenage girls with long legs crowd around the fence. Every kid’s eyes are on Morgan, except for Maribelle’s twins. Charlie and Jack stare at the softball girls like Morgan stares at those all-inclusive island-vacation ads polluting her Facebook feed.
“Afternoon, Gray Armadillos.” Morgan slaps a bat against her hand. “We are going to play a little practice game tonight. Parents versus kids.”
The kids go crazy cheering.
“I don’t think they understand,” Easton mumbles.
“Are they kids or adults?” Charlie points to the teenagers, bringing his finger dangerously close to Isabella’s chest.
She leans back and scrunches her nose. Maribelle slaps his hand down and gives him a stern look.
“They are half-adult, half-kid, and they are our coaches.” Morgan smiles. “Armadillos, meet some of the sophomores on the Apple Cart County High School softball team.”
The girls wave. Jack is close to drooling as he waves back with a dumbfounded look. I sincerely hope their dad doesn’t act this way. As much as he works out of town, Maribelle may be in trouble. Although I’m not certain a lot of women frequent offshore oil rigs.
Morgan hands the bat to her daughter. “Passing the torch to you, Isabella. Take it away, honey.”
Isabella introduces her friends Suzie, Ainsley, and Daphne. They split up, and Ainsley and Daphne coach us. Easton pops his neck and jogs in place a little. Either he’s preparing for a boxing ring or he had one of those discarded Monster drinks. I narrow my eyes at Aniston.
She takes a step closer and talks from the corner of her mouth. “He found his first gray hair the other day and is trying to reclaim his youth.”
I cover my mouth to hide a laugh.
“That’s exactly the reaction Adrianne had when he asked her about hair dye.”
So much for hiding my laughter. Aniston bites her lip and smiles.
“All right, people. Let’s get our teams ready!” Morgan calls.
We join the other adults on the left side of the field and listen for the batting order. It’s a little like middle school kickball, waiting for Daphne to call my name. I’m near the bottom of the order, which is to be expected. They put Easton at cleanup batter. Must be the eye black. Or the bandana. Probably the combination of both.
I take my place at the edge of the fence beside Tami, who’s wearing high heels designed like baseballs.
“Tami?”
She glances at me, wiping bright red lipstick across her mouth.
“Are you sure you can run in those?”
“Girlfriend, I do everything in these.” She winks. “And I do mean everything.”
I quickly jerk my head in the opposite direction. Morgan is first batter. She hits decent, and makes it to first. Timothy fields the ball with his new glove, but she beats him to the base.
The next two batters put the ball in play. The pitcher catches Carlton’s ball, putting him out. With two on base, Easton comes up to bat. He slings his batting arm in circles, puffing out his cheeks.
From all the games I’ve watched because of Nate, guys like that either hit it out of the park or strike out.
He gets up to bat and sways back and forth in his stance. Ainsley frowns and throws a strike. Isabella calls it, and Easton gives her a look. She shrugs.
He hits the next pitch into the outfield. Surprisingly, Angel gets to it quickly. She tosses it to Herrington at second, who gets it to Timothy. Easton is safe, but only because he slides into first base.
Morgan yells “time” and slaps her hand on her forehead.
Daphne rushes toward Easton. “What are you doing, Dr. West?”
“Am I safe?” he asks from the ground.
“You’re not supposed to slide at first. You need to run through the bag.” She blows a stray hair from her face. “But it counts.”
Easton pumps his fist in the air and cheers from the ground. He hops up, then grabs his knee almost as quickly. “Oomph.”
Aniston rushes over and wraps an arm around his shoulder.
He grits his teeth and slowly straightens.
“Babe, are you okay?”
“It’s my knee again.” He narrows his eyes at us. “Can I get a base runner?”
Aniston shakes her head, then glances my way. “Can you bring Carter home from practice?”
“Sure thing.” I pat Easton’s shoulder. “Get better, Doc.”
Aniston gives me a pitiful smile and helps him hobble off the field. Someone starts clapping, and we all join in.
Carlton scribbles something in the scorebook and rips it out. He hands it to Aniston. “Take this by my pharmacy. It’s a low-grade painkiller.”
“Thanks, Carlton.” She takes it with the hand not holding Easton, then waves to us and exits the field.
Morgan reaches for the paper as they pass, but misses. I frown at her, and she shakes her head. “Shame to waste a good prescription on another doctor.”
“Still need a base runner?” a man’s voice asks from the fence.
Morgan and I face him at the same time. He appears a little older than us, with a slight smile and eye wrinkles, but he’s also in much better physical shape than anyone else we have. Aside from the softball girls, of course—and my Nate. Ugh, I miss him already.
“Sure?” Morgan half smiles.
He holds out a hand. “Elijah Bowing.”
“Morgan Archer.” She shakes his hand.
He smiles. “Firm handshake. I like it.”
Morgan notices she’s still holding on to his hand and suddenly drops it.
“I’m Brooke. Go ahead and take the base.” As he marches toward the field, I call out, “Thanks!”
I take my place in line beside Tami. She lowers her sunglasses and nods toward first base. “Who’s the hunk on first?”
“His name is Elijah Bowing. Ever heard of him?”
She drops her jaw. “Uh, yeah, he’s like this bodybuilder dude that starts up gyms.”
I cock my head. “And he’s in Apple Cart?”
“Good thing for us.” Tami licks her lips.
I start to reprimand her and try and tame her behavior, but it’s no use. My energy would be better spent warning Elijah instead.
And stretching. The last thing I need is to end up like Dr. Slugger.
Tami and I both strike out, which is a surprise to nobody. I’m a little relieved since I don’t want to follow her on the bases—or anywhere.
“It’s okay, Mama!” Timothy calls.
I side-hug him as my team goes into the field. They put me in left field and Tami in right. She’s every bit as unfocused as her daughters. I wanted to sit out, but they needed me after Aniston and Easton both left. The mysterious gym man is in center field.
Our kids are hitting better. Isabella helps correct their swings, so I give her all the credit. Several get on base, but the adults are better fielders.
We play two more innings and beat them nine to one. I hate that, but they’re still smiling.
Morgan whistles everyone in and gives a quick ending speech. “I’m proud of y’all.” She nods around. “Adults included.”
“I’ve never played any ball before,” Jim comments.
“I can tell,” Morgan says. He frowns, and she continues. “But you hung in there, and you got better.”
He nods and the sides of his face lift, curving his mustache.
“Neither have I,” I say.
Jim’s mouth forms a real smile. I squint at Morgan, but she’s already continuing with her speech.
“It’s tough playing bigger, better people, but we learned some new things.”
“Like don’t slide at first base,” Jack yells.
“You should already know that,” Morgan corrects. “But yes, that’s one of them.” She pats Isabella’s back. “And we had some great coaches today. Let’s give them a hand.”
Everyone claps.
“Isabella, honey, break us down.”
She sticks her hand out and the kids circle around. Jack and Charlie shove at each other until both are touching an older girl’s hand.
“Gray Armadillos on three!” Isabella counts down and everyone yells in unison.
I remind all the adults of the extra water, mainly because I don’t want to roll it all back to my car. Elijah engages Morgan in a conversation, so I sneak past her.
“Mama, can I have your phone and call Nate?”
“Sure.” I unzip my shorts pocket and hand him the phone.
He calls while I hand out waters to anyone who will take them. Then I drain the excess water from the cooler and pull it toward the car.
Timothy holds out my phone after I put the cooler in the trunk. “He didn’t answer. I left a message.”
“Okay, I’m sure he’s practicing or eating.”
Timothy nods and jumps in the car.
I shake my head to clear any doubts that he’s with another woman. He was at our house this morning, kissing me.
Of course he’s not with anyone else.
* * *
Nate
Yesterday was jam packed with visits to the team physical therapist and doctor, as well as my coaches. They put me on a specific workout plan that will hopefully have my arm in pitching shape by start of the season.
I roll over and blink at the sun coming through my window. It’s odd looking out at palm trees instead of fruit and pine trees. And Mom’s trailer if you’re near the back of the house.
Spring training couldn’t be any farther from Apple Cart, and I’m not referring to distance. It really feels like a world away without Brooke.
I sit up and stretch. Every muscle in my back pops when I arch it. Then my shoulder twists and I lower my arms. That’s what I’ve got to work on.
Good thing I slept so long.
I stand and make my bed, then grab my phone from the nightstand. There’s a missed call and voicemail from Brooke.
I listen and smile as Timothy’s small voice comes across the line. He says they did good at practice and asks how the Braves are. I laugh.
The man who fathered him is missing out on a great kid. I hope he knows that.
I sit on the edge of the bed and call Brooke. She answers on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hi, I’m at work so I only have a minute.”
“That’s fine. I just saw you called last night.”
She makes a cute noise that sounds a lot like a smile. “Timothy called. He said he left you a message.”
“Yeah, I heard it.” I chuckle. “To be honest, I really wanted to hear your voice.”
She sighs. “I wanted to hear yours too.”
Something sounds like metal clanking in the background.
“I better go check on that. We have an ornery person waiting in the X-ray room.
“Okay. I’ll call you tonight when I get a chance and talk to Timothy too.”
“That would be great.”
“I love you.”
She lets out a breath, then answers with, “I love you too.”
I fall back on my bed like a teenage girl rather than a grown man. That’s the first time she’s told me. Well, the first time since we’ve gotten back together.
The phone is silent. I hold it back to see the screen and realize she hung up after that. Who cares? That’s all I really wanted to hear.
I spent half the drive to the airport and most of my flight analyzing why she didn’t say it back yesterday on her front steps. She said “same,” so I guess that counts. But “same” is not the same.
“Same” is the response you give when you’re indifferent about something.
Someone says they want sweet tea. “Same.”
Someone says they prefer country music. “Same.”
Someone says they love you. Then you need to say it back.
I drop my phone and fold my hands behind my head. Brooke is the only person who makes me like this. Sure, I want to please my coaches and my mom, but it’s more seeking their approval than affection.
I used to never question Brooke’s love for me. That is until she pushed me away.
Things are great right now, but the slightest fear bubbles in the back of my brain that her feelings don’t run as deep as mine. Either that or she wasn’t ready to say she loved me in front of Timothy.
I choose to believe the Timothy excuse and hoist myself from the bed. Time to work on my professional life again.
* * *
“Nate the Great-Grandpa.” Aaron lifts his arm and smirks.
I nod and turn in the opposite direction. He’s a hotshot young pitcher who’s too cocky for his own good. Many days I’ve come close to knocking that smirk off his face—permanently.
Two things have kept me from it thus far. The memory of Mom’s voice quoting “do unto others” and my public image. The media would love nothing more than to post stories of a starting pitcher beating down the young guy brought in to possibly replace him.
My time and effort are better spent working on my arm to keep my position and knocking Aaron’s ego instead of his face.
“What’s up, brother?” Ace waltzes up from the corner and slaps me on the back.
“Hey, man.”
He grabs a pair of dumbbells while I stick my arms inside a resistance band. “What’s your poison right now?” he asks.
“Fifteen.”
He grabs a pair of fifteen-pound dumbbells and puts them in front of me, then gets a heavier set for himself. He starts overhead squats, while I work on my shoulder techniques.
I’ve always babied my arm, and now I’m even more cautious. I can’t help but notice Aaron maxing out across the room. He’ll regret it when his shoulder turns to rust.
“How was your little vacay in the country?” Ace asks in between his sets.
“Good.”
“It’s gotta be better than that. You’ve had a stupid grin on your face since you’ve gotten in town.”
I laugh. Ace was one of my first roommates. We lived in a trashy apartment. Unlike me and Dom, our other roommate, he came from money. He could’ve lived in a nicer place, but took a deal with his dad for spending money instead.
“Okay, great.” I grit my teeth through the last reps in my exercise. “You ever miss Nashville?”
He shrugs. “No more than going home to visit. I’ve been away so long, it’s no longer like home.”
I set down the weights and reposition the band for a new exercise. Weight rooms were always a stress relief to me. The noise of metal meeting hard rubber and guys grunting out one more rep energizes me in a Neanderthal way. Oddly enough, I prefer the weight room to my actual condo back in Atlanta.
Once or twice I almost put an offer on a house outside of town. A few buddies with families live in the suburbs nearby. I even went as far as going to one home with a Realtor.
But it didn’t feel like home.
Another house on twenty acres came up for sale, and I kept making plans to go look. When it sold to someone else a week later, I was relieved.
That let me know the only reason I’m in Atlanta is the Braves. And the only other place I want to be is with Brooke. On some subconscious level, I believe that’s what drew me back to Apple Cart.
I got all nostalgic about the house I bought, idolizing it as a child and playing ball in the field across from it. Heck, I wasn’t sure Brooke still lived in town. But her family’s orchard was down the same road, and that was all it took to sell me.
That town, that orchard, and that field always belonged to us in my heart. Nowhere else could ever compare. Not even a stadium full of cheering fans.