Mom Ball, page 12
“Good news, I’ve got your balls,” she says louder than I’d like.
“What?”
She drops two baseballs from the window. They roll toward me. I shake my head and stop them with my foot.
“Come here.” She motions me over.
I sigh and walk away from my truck before putting in the last quarter.
“Brooke and her parents are feeding the team tonight.”
“That’s nice of them.”
“Yep. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”
“No.” I look down.
“I’m inviting you, then.”
I lift my head and sigh.
“You know she wants you there.”
“If she wanted me there, she’d have told me herself.”
“No, not Brooke. She’s not assertive like—”
“You?”
Morgan smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I can’t bust up on a team gathering.”
“I think the team would prefer it.”
I suck in a deep breath and exhale before looking back at her. “I’ll think about it.”
“You should.” She drops the sunglasses from her hair to her eyes and peels out of the parking lot.
Her van moves to reveal Jeffrey’s kids playing with the air hose. The older one is trying to shove it down the smaller one’s underwear. I shake my head and hurry to wash my truck.
This place makes Waffle House look upscale.
CHAPTER 14
Brooke
“Here’s some more burgers.” Mama lets the screen door close behind her and brings a pan to the kitchen counter.
“All right.” I move them to a platter with the other patties and cover it with tinfoil.
“I hate we missed the tournament. We’d already signed up to bring pies to that farmers’ market.”
“It’s okay. Not much to see.”
She touches my arm. “It’ll be fine. They’re new at this.”
I half smile. “Timothy did get some hits.”
“See.” She squeezes my arm, then moves toward the refrigerator.
“Thanks for helping with all this. I want to keep their spirits up.”
“Anytime. You know I love to feed people.”
I laugh. That she does, and people love her for it.
The screen door slams, and I turn, expecting Timothy. He’s not the best at letting it close slowly, especially on windy days.
Morgan lifts her chin. “What’s up?”
“Hello, Coach Morgan.” Mama smiles at her.
“Hey, Mrs. M. Thanks again for having us.”
“Of course. Sawyer’s always happy to grill.”
“What can I do?” Morgan slaps her hands together and scans the kitchen.
I nod toward the table. “You can make sure one bag of each kind of chips is open and get the dip from the refrigerator.
“Got it.” She washes her hands and gets to work.
“Thanks for coming early. You didn’t have to help.”
“Well, as coach, for better or worse, I wanted to help.”
I smile. Morgan’s had a long day. We only played two games, but it was way more than she’s used to throwing. If we’d lasted longer, I might would’ve had to pitch. That would make things even worse.
“You’re a good woman, Morgan.” Mama side hugs her.
“Thanks, Mrs. M.”
“You will make a good man very happy one day.”
Morgan glances at me behind Mama and laughs.
I’ve thought of setting her up before, but she’s never let on like she wants another relationship. Her ex left her alone with four kids, and she’s the most independent person I know. I wish I were as strong as her.
If I didn’t have my supportive family, I never would’ve made it as a single mom.
“Where are your kids?” Mama asks.
“They found Timothy outside. Except for Isabella. I took her to the park earlier for practice, then she’s spending the night with a friend.”
“I don’t see how you keep up with multiple kids playing ball at the same time,” I say.
“My house is a mess, and we live off overstock cereal from the Pig half the week.”
“Enjoy it. One day they’ll grow up.” Mama’s eyes soften as she gives me her sentimental face.
Cars come down the gravel drive. I check my phone, shocked at how fast the afternoon passed. I’m not used to spending half my day at the ballpark.
I grab the tablecloths from the side of the pantry and go outside to cover the folding tables. Daddy is cleaning the grill beside the porch steps, and the kids toss a football between their house and mine.
I’m halfway to the tables when Nate’s truck pulls up. My heart catches in my throat. I’d almost invited him when we decided to feed everyone tonight.
Either he chose now to randomly stop by . . . or someone else invited him.
I crane my neck and stare inside the kitchen window. Morgan waves and winks.
Yep, someone else invited him.
“Hey.”
I turn to Nate standing a few feet away. The wind whiffs his just-showered scent my way. I suck in the smell as my eyes settle on a clean white shirt tugging against his chest muscles.
“Hi,” I manage to whisper.
“Morgan invited me. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.” I shake my head to reset my vision. “The kids will be glad to see you.”
“Just the kids?” He raises one eyebrow and I swoon.
He should not have this effect on me. Especially in the presence of kids, with my daddy a few feet away wielding sharp grilling utensils.
“We’re all glad to see you.” I emphasize the use of second person. The last thing I need is for him to realize he still has me if he wants me.
“Hey, Nate.” Tami comes out of nowhere.
She’s wearing what I’d consider a cross between a cocktail dress and spandex workout wear. Her thigh tattoo is on full display, and she doesn’t seem to notice—or care—that her baby is pulling the top of her dress.
I clear my throat to get her attention. She slowly turns from Nate to me, and I nod at her chest. I’d be happy if someone discreetly let me know my bra was showing, but I don’t think she gets my signal.
“Uh, Tami.”
“Oh.” She slaps a palm to her head. “Are y’all like together?”
Nate and I lock eyes. There’s a lingering silence between us, and I halfway wish he’d answer one way or another.
“Gotcha.” Tami laughs. “Been there. Anyways . . . I’m about to go take a snap break.”
“Snap break?” This must be some teenager lingo I haven’t heard.
“Yeah, I have a smoke, then a nap.”
Nate lifts his chin, then cuts his eyes back to me with a half smirk.
Tami fans a hand. “Don’t worry. I pass the baby off to someone before doing that.”
I nod. “Good to know.”
“Y’all kids have fun.” She struts past us and slaps Nate on the butt.
He jumps, and I burst out laughing. He holds his butt and watches her leave with a disgusted face. “I can’t say I didn’t expect to feel violated today. But I can say I expected it to happen at the park.”
I laugh more and he joins me.
More people drive up, and I remember the tablecloths in my hand. I start to unfold one, and Nate takes it. “Let me help you.”
He flaps open the cloth, sending his scent soaring and putting his biceps on full display. I blink and focus on the other cloth still in my hand.
We cover the two serving tables in time for Morgan to come out with food. “Hope I’m not interrupting,” she says sweetly.
I give her a dirty look and she bats her eyelashes.
“I can bring out more food.” Nate climbs the steps.
I follow him inside, keeping my eyes on the door. I can’t look at Nate’s butt or Morgan. Both are equally dangerous on different levels.
Mama made small baseball-shaped candies from white chocolates. Nate grabs that tray and grins. “Remember that coffee place we found that had all the chocolate-flavored stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it still around?”
I nod. “I still go there sometimes when I’m in Tuscaloosa.”
“Huh.” He pops a chocolate in his mouth and chews, then swallows. “We should go sometime.”
“We should. Timothy’s never been.”
He looks at me. “I meant just me and you.”
My heart beats faster, and I catch my breath.
He grabs another tray and brushes past me in the doorway. I slowly pick up some plates and cups, trying to snap out of whatever trance I entered since he arrived.
Nate laughs with my friends and their kids as he helps set up the food. Then he shakes my dad’s hand and helps him push the grill out of the way.
He would fit into my life seamlessly. That is, until he has to report back to Atlanta for ball.
And that brings me back to the reason I chose this solo life for myself and Timothy.
I step onto the porch to Nate’s big smile. He does seem happy, and he does live partly in the house down the road.
Could it be possible he wants this life too?
Nate
I stop and catch my breath, then toss the Wiffle-ball bat toward a row of trees.
“That’s enough for now.”
Some of the boys moan, and others have already lost interest and found the food. Mr. Sawyer sees the game disband and rings a bell on the back porch. A literal dinner bell.
The kids run toward the house, and I lag behind. My shoulder hasn’t given me much trouble since earlier today, but I don’t want to push it. And I’m getting tired.
Even though I’m in shape, I lack the gung-ho of an eight-year-old. Especially when a plate of burgers and chocolate is within reach.
By the time I make it to the table, Sawyer is finishing the prayer. All the kids yell “amen” and descend on the food like a pack of dogs on a dead squirrel.
I strategically get in line beside Brooke and pile my plate with two burgers and chips. I plan on coming back for dessert, until I watch how many chocolates the kids are grabbing. Brooke puts two on my plate and smiles.
She knows me so well.
When I first moved back, I was skeptical. I thought it was because I’d been gone so long, or because I moved into a much bigger house than where I grew up. I spent more time in Atlanta than here and had all but convinced myself Apple Cart was no longer home.
Then I saw Brooke hanging on the fence across from my house.
Everything changed that day. The house, the town, my mood. This is my home, and it’s all because she’s here.
I want to tell her that. No, I need to tell her that. I just haven’t figured out when or how.
The last thing I want is to confess my love and jet off to Atlanta for another season. That’s not fair to her or Timothy. I would never ask her to leave her job or take him out of school to follow me. That’s unfair.
People start finding seats on the porch and around the yard. Between the kids and adults, the rockers and swings fill up fast. I take my drink and plate to the front porch.
Not until I sit on the swing do I realize Mrs. Margaret might not want people venturing to the front of the house. Southern women can get a little territorial about their homes. They might not want you going in certain areas they haven’t cleaned and decorated specially for the occasion.
I’m standing to leave when Brooke comes around the corner with her plate and cup.
“Mind if I join you?”
I shake my head. “No, come on.”
She smiles and climbs the steps. I sit slowly, more to the side to give her room. The swing moves slightly when she sits. I smile at her short legs barely touching the ground.
I’ve always towered over her. After we broke up, I grew another two inches and put on about thirty pounds of muscle, making her look even tinier next to me.
“I’m glad the weather is pleasant for this.”
“Yep.” I settle back and take a bite of my burger. “Too bad pollen is starting.”
“Yeah. Sweet home Alabama. The few weeks we have between cold and blazing hot is covered in yellow dust.” She laughs a second, then asks, “Do you still have allergies?”
“Not as bad. The professional fields aren’t as rural and allergenic as high school.”
She nods and smiles.
“You know what they say?” I cock a smile.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” we say in unison.
“Well, I know where to find some apples if I ever need them.” I smile wider and nod at the orchard beside us.
“Help yourself anytime.” Her eyes widen. “Paul does.”
“Still, after all these years?” I chuckle.
“Yeah. If anything, he’s gotten worse. Now that he’s dating Ms. Dot, he takes her to get pies for dates.”
I turn to Brooke and laugh. “I thought they were a little attached lately.”
“It started not long after her husband passed.”
I shake my head. “Small-town romance. Always a scandal.”
She laughs nervously, and I drop my eyes to my plate. Maybe now isn’t the best time to suggest we pick up where we left off.
I continue eating and allow her to carry the conversation. Discussing Aniston’s ideas for music at the games and the new coffee maker in the hospital isn’t ideal, especially when I’d rather talk about us. But for now I’ll take sitting on the porch together.
“Mama,” Timothy’s voice calls from behind us.
We both turn to him grinning excitedly.
“What is it?”
“We’re going to have a dance contest, and Miss Aniston says you have to come. She said you’re a good dancer.”
“Did she now?” Brooke sucks in a breath.
I’m guessing she doesn’t dance in front of Timothy. His eyes move toward me as if asking for my help.
“Your mom is a good dancer.”
A grin crosses his face, but Brooke shoots eye daggers at me.
“What? You are, or were.”
“Were?”
She moves her plate to the side and jumps from the swing. My insides heat up at the old Brooke coming back to life.
“You want to prove it?” I stand to challenge her.
Without another word, she hurries down the front porch and rounds the house. Timothy grins wider as I follow and motion for him to come with us.
Aniston has a speaker hooked to her phone’s music. She raises her eyebrows when we come around.
“I’m trying to sell the kids on our songs for the games. They said they need something danceable.” She narrows her eyes on Brooke. “That’s where you come in, prom queen.”
Brooke huffs. “It’s been a while.”
“You were prom queen?” Timothy asks.
“It’s been a while,” she says to him this time.
“Who was prom king?”
Without answering that, I grab her hand. As if right on cue, “Shut Up and Dance” blares across the speaker and I sing with it.
Brooke follows me to the center of the backyard. Her eyes twinkle, making my fingers tingle as I hold her. “You hate dancing fast,” she says.
“Not with you.” I spin her around and dance like a fool.
She laughs when I dip her, and the kids clap and cheer. A few cheesy moves later and everyone is dancing, even Brooke’s parents.
Aniston eventually abandons her phone to autoplay when Tami tries to cozy up to Easton. Georgia and her husband are doing some sort of dance with actual steps I’ve seen on Dancing with the Stars, and the kids are jumping and going crazy.
Jack tries to do the worm and Reece runs around with the porch broom. Everyone is cutting a rug until the speaker transitions to a slow song. Most of the kids lose interest, and the adult couples start to slow dance.
I lock eyes with Brooke and try to read her thoughts. This isn’t just a slow song for us. It’s the slow song.
It’s the song that played during our prom king and queen dance. Right after I told her I was entering the MLB draft. She teared up, and terror covered her face as our futures became uncertain. Then she ran off crying.
We didn’t break up that night, but I can say in hindsight that things were never the same after that. She became guarded and skeptical, no longer totally carefree.
I lost a piece of her that night, and I never got it back.
The song goes into the chorus, and she slides her hands around my neck. I lean closer and start to sway. I dip my head and snuggle my face against the top of her head. Her hair smells like springtime—minus the pollen.
A million memories rush through my brain. Proms, homecoming dances, impromptu dances on the front porch, and a ton of other times when I held her close without dancing.
For one song, everything holding us apart disappears. Nine years, two hundred miles, and all the questions of whether she’s with someone or if she wants to be with me.
She doesn’t have to tell me, and I don’t have to ask. Right now, I know.
Then the song ends and Taylor Swift starts belting out “Bad Blood.” I open my eyes and lift my head. This is not the song I want to snuggle to.
Brooke bats her eyes up at me, and everything in me wants to kiss her.
Then I notice Morgan, her parents, Aniston, and a few other random parents staring at us. Everyone is smiling, except for Tami. She’s licking her lips. Whether at me or at us together, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s gross.
I take a step back, embarrassed at going all high school in Brooke’s backyard at a Little League cookout.
Her face reddens as she notices everyone too. Morgan turns and starts talking to Brooke’s parents rather loudly about the game schedule. Others slowly turn too.
I run a hand through my hair and clear my throat. “Want me to help y’all clean up the food?”
“Sure.” She shakes her head, as if dislodging another thought.
I nod and walk to the table holding empty chip bags and candy dishes with crumbs. Brooke walks in the opposite direction and starts cleaning another table. Morgan slides beside me and smiles.
