20. Cale
cale
The bat swings, connecting with the ball with a solid thwack, sending it shooting out between first and second base. The kid sitting on second, Mase, lunges into motion, sprinting around to third, where the assistant coach, Kyle, is waving him forward. “Keep it going!”
Mase’s face is drawn with intense concentration, his eyes laser-focused on the home plate. The fielders are still scrambling for the ball, and the way this kid is running, they don’t stand a chance.
Seconds later, his feet hit home, a grin splitting his face. He’s breathing hard as he comes past me, and I hold my hand out for a quick high-five. “Good hustle, Mase. You’re on fire today.”
“Thanks, Coach,” he breathes, eyes gleaming and cheeks flushed with a mixture of exertion and pleasure.
“Alright, batter up!”
This is only my second practice as the head coach of the Sterling Sluggers.
It’s gone pretty much exactly how I predicted—they’re a great group of kids who all seem to love the game, which makes it an easy team to coach, even when one kid in particular is still giving me the iciest shoulder he can manage.
Oakley steps up to the plate, bat already in his hand, eyes firmly on the kid pitching.
“Alright, Killer”—the name slips out, and regret curdles in my stomach when Oakley’s expression darkens—“relax your hands. You want them loose, like cooked spaghetti, yeah? Pull your elbow back.”
He doesn’t even twitch, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the bat.
His eyes stare firmly ahead, unblinking, acting like I’m not standing there.
I blow out a quick breath, crouching down beside him.
Aware of the rest of the team, I keep my voice low as I say, “Just trying to help you out here, Oakley. Get us ready for our game this weekend, hm?”
His jaw is taut as he shifts his feet, and he still refuses to look my way, his grip on the bat unchanging.
“Okay, kid. You do your thing.” I straighten, taking a big step back. The best thing I can do right now is give him space, especially when there are so many curious eyes on us.
I cross my arms over my chest, keeping quiet as he strikes out twice before finally adjusting his grip.
He shoots me a dark glower out of the corner of his eye just before he swings for the final time, sending the ball sailing into the outfield.
He makes his run, and I watch, letting out a short sigh.
Oakley has mastered the art of following instructions while looking right through me.
His tenacity is impressive, even more so when I think about how honestly he comes by it.
I never wanted to put him in a position where he’s forced to spend time with me, especially when he can’t imagine anything worse. But this means too much, though.
Oakley means too much.
The idea of him losing baseball on top of everything else…It was unbearable. So even if he hates my guts for the rest of his life, I can still give him this baseball season. It doesn’t diminish what I did, but it’s something.
As the last kid takes his turn at batting and makes his run, I wave an arm over my head. “Alright! Bring it in, Sluggers!”
I wait as they all gather around me, most of their expressions intent as we do a quick recap over all the skills we’ve gone over this practice.
Oakley has put himself behind a taller kid, smacking a cap on his head and pulling it down low, his shoulders tense like he’s prepping himself to make a run for it.
Still, I have to try, so after dismissing the team, I ask, “Can I have a word, Oakley?”
His head jerks up, surprise clear on his face before he scowls. “What?”
I tip my head to the metal bench set just behind the chain-link backstop, where the kids will sit to wait for their turn to bat.
Oakley hesitates, eyes bouncing between me and the bench before he huffs, feet stomping across the packed dirt as he follows me over, shooting a look at the parking lot.
I know I won’t have long before Melanie sees that the practice is over and comes to collect him and Jacob.
I sit down, the metal creaking ominously under my weight. His mouth trembles, like he wants to say something, and I send him a challenging look, daring him to do it. After a moment, he just looks away.
Inhaling deeply, I plant my elbows on my knees, locking my eyes on his face, appreciating we’re on the same level, even if he’s staring at a spot over my shoulder.
“First of all,” I say calmly. “If you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to.”
His eyes flare, the tips of his ears going red. “I kinda do,” he mutters, tugging at the brim of his cap. “You’re my coach.”
“That’s not why I took the job. I wouldn’t do that just to force you to talk to me.
” His frown deepens, so I explain, “I knew the Sluggers wouldn’t be able to play without a coach, and I knew how important it was to you.
I already had permission. You know what that means?
” He shrugs, then shakes his head. “It means the school already knew and trusted me. They wanted someone quickly so the team wouldn’t miss out on any more games.
” I give him a crooked smile. “And I know baseball, even though it’s been a few years, so I wanted to help.
” He crosses his arms over his chest, his expression unchanging, but I know he’s listening.
“Anyway, my point is that if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to.
I’ll still be the coach, no matter what else happens. ”
His mouth works from side to side, his stormy eyes filling with uncertainty.
“I’m still mad at you.” The words are quiet, like he’s forcing them out.
I nod. “I’m mad at me too.”
There’s a long pause before he says, “Mom says even when we’re mad, our ears still work.” He sounds so reluctant that I duck my head, hiding my amusement.
“That’s true. Does that mean you’re gonna hear me out?”
He looks like I asked if I could pull out one of his teeth. “I guess.”
I tip my chin at him, saying sincerely. “I appreciate that.” Oakley kicks his toe into the ground, mouth clamped shut. “I want to apologize to you, Killer.”
The desperation for him to hear the genuine honesty of my words makes my voice rough. I swallow hard, knowing there’s nothing else I can do but give him my truth. I owe him at least this. He might be just a kid, but he deserves to know that none of what happened is on his shoulders.
“I’m really sorry for what I said, Oakley. For all of it.”
His brows draw together as he sits down beside me, keeping a big space between us. “Why’d you say it, then? If you’re sorry.” Something pinches in my chest at the hurt in his voice.
“Got no good answer for you, Oak, other than I make mistakes. Same as anyone. I can tell you one thing, though. I got scared.” I look at him just as he gives me the most dubious look.
“You got scared?”
“Yeah,” I say simply. “I did. I never expected to like you and your mom as much as I did. You became important to me so quickly, and I got scared…” I lift a shoulder. “Some people do stupid stuff when they’re scared.”
He screws his face up. “That’s really stupid.” As soon as the last word leaves his lips, he glances around, probably checking that his mom isn’t sneaking up on him. When he realizes he’s safe, he looks back at me. “Why would people being important make you scared?”
It’s a question I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about myself, and I still haven’t managed to come up with a satisfactory answer.
“I think it’s because when someone becomes important, it means you can lose them, and it will hurt. And no one wants to be hurt. But you know what?” The corner of my mouth tugs down. “I lost you and your mom anyway.”
His expression is thoughtful, his lashes lowering to hide his eyes. “My dad doesn’t say sorry. Not ever.”
I have a lot of opinions on Davis the Dipshit, but I just give Oakley a long, considering look. “Is that because he doesn’t make mistakes?”
“I think he makes lots of mistakes.” There’s an edge to his voice that pricks at my skin. “I don’t think he knows how to be sorry, and I don’t think he cares about losing people. He’s scared of other stuff, but not that.”
Before I can ask what that other stuff his dad is scared of, someone yells Oakley’s name.
We both look up and find Jacob waving at him and, in the distance, Melanie walking toward the field.
She’s got her jacket zipped up to her chin, her hands tucked into the pockets.
Her hair whips wildly around her head, her cheeks pink from the cold, and my heart kicks up a notch.
Beside me, Oakley stands, glancing back at me. “I’m still mad at you,” he announces.
“That’s fine, Killer. You can stay mad at me for as long as you need to.”
“Even if it’s forever?”
There’s a knot in my stomach as I give him a small smile. “Even then.”
He shifts his weight, looking torn, but then grudgingly admits, “It’s fine if you coach my baseball team.”
“Appreciate that,” I tell him seriously. I wait a beat, wondering about my next move, before deciding to hell with it. “Can you do me a favor?”
His expression goes suspicious. “I guess. What is it?”
I stored my bag under the bench earlier, and I reach down now, dragging it out. He watches keenly as I unzip the front pocket, pulling out the envelope in there. I hold it out to Oakley, telling him, “Need you to give this to your mom.”
Over his shoulder, I see Melanie stop beside Jacob, her eyes locked on us with interest. She doesn’t approach, and I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t want to talk to me, or if she’s giving me a chance to make shit right with Oakley.
I know which one I’m hoping for.
Oakley is staring at the envelope like it’s a bomb about to go off. “What is it?”
“Your mom gave me money to pay for the window.” His cheeks go chalky white at the reminder. “I don’t think she should pay for it. It wasn’t her fault that it was broken.” I pause for a beat. “Wasn’t yours either.”
He swallows hard, staring at the envelope like it’s about to jump out and bite him. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Maybe,” I say. “We do stupid stuff when we’re scared, and stupid stuff when we’re angry.
” I wait until he looks at me again. “I should never have been talking about you and your mom like I was that day, even if I was scared. And I don’t blame you for being angry. ” A wry smile. “I’m angry at myself.”
“Everyone’s angry at you,” he mutters. “Even Jaz.”
I squint. “She’s my sister. She’s always angry about something.” I lean forward, making sure he hears the weight of my voice. “It is not your fault that the window was broken. It’s mine.”
“Mom said…”
“I can guess, and maybe you shouldn’t have thrown the rock.
But would you have done it if you hadn’t heard me running my mouth?
” He opens his mouth, then closes it slowly, shaking his head.
I wiggle the envelope, and his eyes drop back to it.
“Exactly, but that doesn’t matter. You know whose fault it isn’t? ”
He’s a quick learner, this kid. “Mom’s.”
“Exactly.” I shoot him a proud look, and he straightens his shoulders, his chin going up. “So, I want you to give this envelope to her and tell her I’ve paid for the window.”
“Why can’t you do it?” I give him a look, and he nods. “Right. She’s not talking to you either. I’ll do it, and if she’s mad, I’m telling on you.”
“That’s fine, Killer.” I pretend I don’t notice the way his eyes dip away from mine at the nickname, knowing we still have a long way to go. Jacob calls out again, sounding more impatient this time. I say Oakley’s name again, getting his attention. “Thank you for listening to me today.”
He watches me for the longest moment before saying seriously, “You’re welcome.” And then he’s gone, walking off with the envelope clutched in his fist.