Mom Ball, page 21
The kids give him a blank stare. But the rest of us burst out laughing.
“Go to the dads.” Nate points to the field.
As the kids run that way, Easton lifts his hands as if asking why everyone is staring and laughing at them. He’s wearing a straw cowboy hat and boots while standing next to Jim. If only he knew, he’d rethink his grass-cutting wardrobe.
Nate turns to us. “I’ll have Morgan whistle when we want to swap stations.”
I’m not sure she heard him, since she’s still doubled over snorting at the Village People comment.
Aniston and I regain control more quickly and go inside to our station. We have our own kids first, for better or worse. I can’t decide as they correct us on how to put the ball on the tee. Both do pretty well, and Timothy announces what Nate told him to watch for with bad swing habits.
They’re pretty much practicing together. I honestly think we’re just warm bodies to keep the balls coming at a steady rate, which is fine by me.
Nate climbs in the other side of the batting cage with Reece. I listen as he holds a bat and explains how it works like Harry Potter’s wand. Weird, but when he tells Reece to cast a spell, the kid hits better than ever.
I’m in awe the rest of practice when Nate finds a way to personally motivate each kid on what he or she needs to work on. He even told Tami’s girls that if they do good on the field, he will get their mom to video them and make a TikTok. They liked that idea a little too much.
Thankfully, Timothy is more motivated by candy than the allure of becoming a social media star.
Practice runs smoothly with everyone rotating through each station and having their one-on-one time with Nate. Around six-twenty, we wrap things up with a quick prayer.
I hug and kiss Timothy, and he climbs in Aniston’s van. She was happy to let him spend the night so that Nate and I could stay out as long as we wanted. Then I hurry home to change into something a little nicer, and Nate does the same.
My hands are so shaky, I can barely touch up my mascara. Nate and I are going to eat in Tuscaloosa, just the two of us. So much of that makes me feel eighteen again.
And I love it. But not nearly as much as I love him.
CHAPTER 24
Nate
Typical for anyone living within an hour of a larger city, we spent half our drive to Tuscaloosa discussing where to eat. I suggested all the nicest restaurants I found on Google when I couldn’t sleep the other night.
Brooke never liked making final decisions, but she perked up when I mentioned Italian. I love that I can still read her expressions after all this time.
We ate at a nice little Italian place downtown, then walked to the coffee shop that opened not long after we graduated high school.
“It’s crowded tonight. Maybe we should go someplace else,” Brooke suggests.
I shake my head. “This is one of the few coffee places I like, and I have memories here with you.”
She smiles sweetly. I wrap my arm around her back and squeeze in line. I really am a sucker for nostalgia.
I scan the room, both surprised and content at how little it’s changed. There are a few extra photos on the wall, since Alabama has won several national championships since I’ve been here. They added a wall of coffee mugs and updated the card readers at the register. But that’s really all that’s changed.
I’d like to think the same for Brooke and me. We’re older and well into our careers, unlike before. She’s a mom, and I’m mulling over the decision to retire from ball every few months. More like every few hours since I reunited with her.
Still, we’re the same people and have the same feelings for one another.
When we get to the register, the barista grins and wags a finger at me. I stare at his hand, wondering what I’ve done wrong.
“You’re Nate Miller, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I clear my throat. “You look familiar too.”
I’m not just making conversation. He does look familiar.
“I’ve worked here for almost nine years. Finally saved enough to buy the place.”
I turn to Brooke, and we smile.
“You want fries with that?” we say in unison.
I face him again, and he laughs, clearly not remembering.
“We don’t have fries, but we have some pastries.”
I chuckle. “Chocolate coffee is fine.”
Brooke orders a vanilla cold brew, as I assumed she would. She always favored vanilla over chocolate and got hooked on cold coffee our last summer together when it was so hot.
I take out my card, but he waves it away. “On the house, man. It’s rare we get to serve an MLB player.”
I try again, but he stops my hand and slides a card from his pocket to cover the cost.
“Thanks, that’s generous.” I nod, and we move aside for others to order.
It’s so crowded that we can’t find a table. But that forces us outside, and we take a stroll by the river. The sun is setting behind the trees, and the weather is just right.
I take Brooke’s free hand in mine and exhale. It doesn’t get much more relaxing than this. Why Ace prefers playing pool and dancing with random women over walking with someone like Brooke is insane.
“How crazy is it that ‘fries with that’ guy owns The Coffee Loft now?” Brooke’s eyes widen as she turns to me.
“I’m actually not that surprised.”
“Really?” She does that cute thing where she wrinkles her nose.
“Would you have ever thought I’d have started as a pitcher for the Braves?”
“Yes.” She smirks.
I kiss her on the cheek. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but aside from you and my mom, I’m not sure anyone else had that much faith in me.”
We walk in silence a moment. The sun lowers enough for streetlamps to glow faintly. We’re getting close to my truck, so I slow the pace. Brooke sips her drink, then speaks.
“I never questioned your talent or drive. That’s why I removed myself from the situation so you wouldn’t have anything holding you back. If you weren’t going to make it, it wouldn’t have been because of me.”
I chug my coffee, glad it’s no longer steaming hot. We talked briefly about the breakup on our first date. She mentioned how she didn’t want to hold me back. I managed to keep the conversation light and assure her that wouldn’t have happened, mainly through kisses. If she gets on a tangent again, I’ll have to kiss her right here on the walking trail.
I’m not a fan of rehashing the past. What good will that do?
“Brooke.” I squeeze her hand in mine. “Please stop saying you would hold me back. I don’t like it when you put that on me, making assumptions I would’ve quit ball if we stayed together. I never wanted to choose between you and ball.”
She stops walking, pulling me to a halt. We turn toward one another.
“I know,” she whispers.
“Then why?” I whisper back.
Tears pool in her eyes and she sniffles. What in the world could make her cry? Was it something I said? A bad memory of our breakup? I don’t get it.
She blinks, allowing a few tears to fall. Then she swipes at the corners of her eyes with her thumb and glances around the walking trail and park. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, and I’m shocked it even worked.
I drop her hand and wrap my arm around her tightly. We walk snuggled together toward my truck. It’s only a few yards away, but my stomach is a mess by the time we get there.
I chuck my coffee in a trash can beside the parking lot, even though about a third of it is left. My body can’t handle any more sugar with Brooke in this condition. I’m a nervous wreck and I don’t know why.
Not knowing is probably why. What is wrong?
She hops in my truck as soon as I unlock the doors. I climb in my side and close the door. I twist to face her, but she stares blankly out the windshield.
“I broke up with you because I got pregnant.”
Forget my stomach. Now my entire body is hemorrhaging. I analyze every conversation and interaction we had at the end of our relationship. Just as I did for months after she ended things.
Only this time, I take a deeper dive into her mannerisms and excuses for not seeing me. It’s all starting to make sense. But why?
Brooke is a porcelain doll, stiff and expressionless in my passenger seat. I narrow my eyes, as if I could read her better that way. For once, I have no idea what she’s thinking and why.
Several excruciating minutes pass before I process everything and gain my composure.
“I’m shocked you cheated on me, but I admire you for telling me after all these years. I still love you.”
A sad laugh-cry comes from her. She shakes her head and turns to me. Her eyes are dull and lifeless, making her still more doll-like than human.
“I never cheated on you.”
I tilt my head, more confused than ever. “But you said you got pregnant when we—” My heart rate accelerates to an unhealthy level.
We were together one time. Like together together. We both knew we should wait, and we both wanted to. But at some point we both wanted to not wait more.
Did I regret it? Yes.
Not at the time. I’d never felt more alive, and I’d always planned on marrying her one day. However, our relationship changed after that. She became distant, and then she didn’t want to be with me. I blame myself as the guy for allowing it to happen. If I hadn’t, we may have never broken up in the first place.
I’m pretty sure we’re now on the same page, but I need her to say it. Her chest rises and falls, and her neck gets red and splotchy as she watches me figure it out. Still, I need to hear it from her.
“I’m Timothy’s dad?”
She nods slowly.
Wow. An eighteen-wheeler could plow over me and my head wouldn’t spin so fast.
That explains so much. The kid loves me. I love him. He’s left-handed and good at baseball. He loves baseball. It pretty much explains everything except for Brooke keeping him a secret from me—and me from him.
A string of curses dances in my head. Unlike a lot of athletes at my level, I don’t have a dirty mouth. I keep them inside, even though a bomb like this could make a preacher cuss.
Instead, I crank the truck and back out of the parking lot. When I glance past Brooke to see if it’s clear to enter the road, she blinks at me with her mouth half open.
Is she shell-shocked? Good for her. How does she think I feel?
We’re on down the road, stopped at a main intersection light, when she breaks the silence.
“Nate, please talk to me.”
“I don’t think you want me to,” I answer.
The light turns green. I white knuckle the steering wheel and gas up my truck. Some kid in a sports car beside us lays on his gas.
Just great. Punk thinks I’m wanting to race. I slow down and let the kid pass. Then I take a smaller side road when I get a chance.
“Say something.” Her voice is shaky.
I wait a minute and mull over different responses. This news cuts deep, hurting me even more than our breakup. I’m furious, but I still love Brooke—and Timothy. I don’t want to talk, but she’s not going to let up until I do.
Of all the times to be stuck in a truck together.
“I can’t believe you kept this from me so long.” I glance at Brooke.
The doe-like sweetness is back in her eyes. Although there’s an underlining sadness and no twinkle to them. I clear my throat and look back at the road.
“I missed the first eight years of my son’s life. I missed nine years with you. We could’ve been a family all this time.”
Brooke
I am the scum of the earth. I kept my son and his father from one another for almost nine years.
Okay, that makes me worse than scum. I am whatever kind of scum grows on scum, with a big pile of dog poop on top. Even Tami is a better parent than me right now.
The veins on Nate’s neck bulge, as do his biceps. Normally, the biceps would turn me on, but they are bulging due to his kung-fu grip on the steering wheel.
There’s nothing I can say to make this any better, and it’s all my fault. Nate is furious at me.
I’d feared he might be mad about me not telling him, but the more I watched them together, the more I was sure it would all smooth out and everyone would be happy with the news.
Wrong. So wrong.
He’s mad that I kept Timothy from him for so long, and he has every right to be.
I’ve spent my twenties raising him with the help of my parents. I was there for his first steps, words, day of school, pulled tooth, and everything else that comes with raising a child. All the while, Nate was playing ball and had no idea the child even existed.
How selfish could I be?
Apparently, very.
I sink against his leather seat and drain the rest of my coffee drink, which is now watery vanilla slush. It gives me an instant brain freeze. I welcome the headache for once, because I deserve to feel pain.
For eight and a half years, I acted as if raising Timothy alone was noble of me. I changed career aspirations and moved back home. I gave up any extra hobbies or romantic life to focus on him.
In my mind, this was my penance for getting pregnant. I’d allowed myself to go too far with Nate, and this was my fate.
In hindsight, it wasn’t the burden I’d made it out to be. My parents were nothing but accepting and loving. As was our community. Even some of the older ladies who’d whispered when I’d come home pregnant crocheted baby quilts and loved on him in the church nursery. The church gave me a baby shower like they would any expecting member, and my cousin helped me paint a nursery.
Maybe I’d secretly wanted them to judge me. At the time, I felt ashamed and wanted to be blamed. I could’ve lived with those consequences.
What I couldn’t have lived with was bringing down Nate’s career with it.
Only now do I realize he deserved to know the truth. I can’t make decisions for him, and I took away his right to do so by keeping Timothy a secret.
Heck, as much as everyone loved on me, they would’ve loved on me even more had they known the baby was also Nate’s. His mom would’ve helped out too.
Oh crap. Poor Miss Anne! That’s another yard of yarn I’ve yet to unravel. How will she react when she realizes she’s had a grandson all this time?
I bury my head in my hands and swallow hard.
I don’t lift my head until we’re close to Apple Cart County. Nate hasn’t said a word in probably half an hour. My pulse races, and I fidget with the ends of my hair.
We turn onto the road leading to both our houses. Nate finally relaxes his grip on the wheel. I’m sure his shoulder is sore from all the tension. He passes his house and drives straight to mine. He parks in front and kills the engine. The darkness and silence are more than I can take.
“Nate, I never meant to hurt you.” My voice is so shaky, I barely recognize it.
“I know,” he whispers.
I sigh and throw my head back against the seat. “This sounds so stupid now, but at the time I really thought I was doing what was best for you. I didn’t want you to quit ball, and you would’ve, wouldn’t you?”
I twist my head to face him. The veins in his neck slowly sink back to normal. He shrugs, then lets his shoulders droop like a whooped puppy. “You’re probably right. I wouldn’t have wanted you to quit school and follow me. But I would’ve asked you to marry me either way.”
I close my eyes. Luckily, I’m fresh out of tears. If not, they’d be flowing like a creek after a rainstorm right now.
The biggest irony is I quit school anyway. I went to JuCo in Apple Cart, but not for teaching. If we had stayed together, I could’ve gone to school online or even delayed the wedding. It would’ve been hard to stay apart, but he would’ve been in our lives. Timothy would’ve had his daddy.
“I’m a horrible person. I love you more than anyone, and in trying not to hurt you, I hurt you more.”
I suck in a breath. Saying that out loud is oddly therapeutic. At the same time, it stings.
For the first time since I dropped this bomb on him, Nate reaches for my hand. His is sweaty and stiff, yet offers comfort. The fact that he even wants to touch me gives me hope.
We sit quietly, staring out the windshield for a moment. His hand relaxes, and he rubs the back of my mine with his thumb. I breathe in and out slowly, my heart rate returning to a safe speed for the first time in an hour.
“Brooke, I love you more than anything. And I love Timothy too, even more now that I know he’s mine.”
He sighs and continues rubbing my hand. Our eyes meet, and the sadness in his breaks my heart. I want to ask where we go from here, but bite my tongue. I’ve made enough decisions about us for a lifetime. It’s time he gets to drive.
“I wish you had told me. It hurts—really, really hurts. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad you kept this a secret, but I realize how scared you must have been.”
He reaches his other arm across the truck and cups my cheek. “I hate that you went through all that alone. We could’ve done it together. We are more important than ball or anything else. Timothy is more important than anything else.”
He stares at me as if waiting for a response. I nod against his hand. He’s right. However, I’m struggling to string together words, since I’m still trying to process all that’s happened between us in the last hour. He slides his hand from my cheek and drops it on top of our intertwined hands, adding more warmth and comfort.
“Who else knows?” he asks.
“Nobody. Not even my parents.”
“How is that possible?”
I turn my gaze toward the big house. The only light visible is from the spare room upstairs that Daddy uses to watch TV.
“I suspect they know. I’d prefer that to them thinking it was a random guy at school.”
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
