Mom Ball, page 8
I ride slow enough to look and listen in case Timothy isn’t close to the road. I call his name a few times and get no answer.
I’m all but panicked when I hear a faint dinging sound by Nate’s property. It calls me in like a siren to a ship. Out of instinct, I turn down his drive and follow the sound to Nate’s baseball shop. The dings get louder as I park the four-wheeler and walk toward the metal building.
I open the small door to Nate tossing balls to Timothy. Despite wanting to wring his neck for running off here when he told Mama he was talking a walk, I stand in awe with my jaw dropped as he hits every ball thrown to him.
A few seconds later, Nate turns his head toward the door. I step back, hoping he won’t see me, but I’m not quick enough.
“Hey, Brooke. Come in, he’s a natural.”
I enter and close the door behind me, a little embarrassed that I opened it without knocking.
“Timothy, why didn’t you ask to come here?”
“You were at work.”
“Why didn’t you ask Granny or Smith?” I cross my arms and walk toward them.
He shrugs.
Nate stands when I get within a few feet of them. “I’m sorry. I had no idea y’all didn’t know he was here.”
“Sorry.” Timothy hangs his head.
I unfold my arms. “It’s okay, but we were worried. We need to know where you are, and Mr. Nate might have been busy.”
I glance at Nate. He smiles. “I told him I’d help him anytime I’m home, didn’t I, buddy?”
Timothy smiles and nods.
“I appreciate it, but we never want to impose or be a burden.”
“Brooke, you and Timothy are never a burden.”
My heartbeat speeds to an unhealthy level. I can’t answer that without revealing how I truly feel about him and more. Especially since my gut instinct is to ask him to marry us.
After the shock of those words coming from his mouth wears off, I manage to respond in a more conventional way. “Well, thanks for helping him again.” I turn to Timothy. “We need to get home for you to eat and shower.”
Nate pats him on the back. “You did good tonight, bud.”
“Thanks, Mr. Nate.”
“Call me Nate, since we’re friends.” He jerks his gaze toward me. “If that’s okay with your mom, of course.”
“It’s fine.” I smile, but my stomach pinches. I’ve worked so hard to keep things professional between Nate and me that I haven’t tried to keep them professional between Nate and Timothy. I guess it’s fine if they’re friends.
That is, until Nate is gone all the time playing ball.
“Come on, Timothy.” I wrap my arm around his shoulder and help guide him toward the door.
Nate follows us. I don’t turn to see, but I’m fully aware of his presence. His big body looming over me and his signature scent drifting in the air. You’d think he’d have switched to more sophisticated deodorant by now.
We continue out the door and toward Nate’s house, where I parked.
“You came on the four-wheeler?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is hesitant. Something in me doesn’t like him saying “the four-wheeler,” as if implying he remembers that particular four-wheeler.
Either he’s thinking of me driving off in my bathrobe, which isn’t good, or he’s thinking of when we rode it through the apple trees in our younger years. Also not good.
Knowing he remembers it conjures up my memories of us on it together. Back when we were together.
That was a simpler time when nobody was worried about adulthood or where we’d end up. And I sure as heck wasn’t worried about half-a-dozen plastic sticks on my dorm room desk that had every indicator from double lines to pink pluses that a baby was growing inside of me.
“You can drive, Timothy.”
“Yes!” He smiles and hops on.
I knew that would encourage him to leave.
I climb on behind him and ignore how his hair matches his daddy’s and how Nate used to drive this thing. Nate takes a step toward us, and I nudge Timothy to drive ahead.
“Bye, Nate,” I say swiftly before he can continue a conversation.
Then we drive toward the apple trees and away from the forbidden fruit.
Nate
Morgan called me this morning about practice. I’d have much preferred Brooke call me, but we’re not there yet.
At least after Morgan’s rant about Jeffrey screwing her over again and then attempting to butter my ego about how much I helped, I got to ask something.
“Is Brooke involved with someone?”
She laughed until she was out of breath, then assured me that was a big NO.
That was all it took for me to agree to run practice here, however she wanted. Now I’m setting up stations and eagerly awaiting Brooke’s arrival.
I should say the team’s arrival, but who am I kidding?
I hear cars outside and open the large rolling door. I told Morgan everyone could park in my backyard instead of by the road.
A few days after we moved Mom’s trailer to the back of the property, I had a pathway graveled from the front of my house to hers. As much trouble as Jeffrey had moving the trailer down the hill, I knew I needed to do something.
The first person to get out is the woman who carries a golf bag. Her son follows with the bag. Next is the woman with twins and the kid who kept picking his nose.
I make it a point to learn some names tonight. If I’m going to continue helping these kids, I can’t call them Quidditch and Booger Boy.
Brooke’s car crawls down the new drive, and everything else disappears from my sight. I’m laser focused on her as if I’m staring at the batter from the pitcher’s mound. The crowd and noise around me no longer exist.
She parks and climbs out, and I savor the sight of her bare left ring finger.
“Charlie, cut it out!”
That noise breaks through my wall of focus. I turn to the woman with twins yelling toward the edge of my shop. One of her kids is peeing on an ant bed by the doorway.
I bite back a laugh and walk away.
It doesn’t take long for Morgan to find me. “Hey, Nate. I told the parents what kind of bats were legal for this age, so maybe they won’t show up with random crap today.” She cranes her neck, then looks back at me with a snarl. “Except for Reece wearing that stupid cape.”
“I have a plan to hopefully get him out of that.” I give Morgan a reassuring smile and commit the name Reece to memory.
“Oh, and Brooke’s looking nice tonight, huh?” Morgan elbows my bad arm and I let out a little grunt.
“I asked about her status to see if Timothy had a dad around.”
“We all know that’s an entirely different deal.” She winks. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I open my mouth to refute her theory—even though it’s dead right—when someone taps my shoulder. I turn to the woman who goes with Quid—uh, Reece—standing behind me.
“I appreciate you letting our kids practice here. Reece is allergic to outside.”
My eyes widen, and Morgan snorts.
“Ma’am, I plan on taking them outside for some drills in a bit,” I say. “If you’d like to go out and watch to monitor him, you’re welcome to.”
“Thanks. How thoughtful.” She smiles and walks away.
Morgan shakes her head. “You handled that better than I could’ve.”
“What would you have done?”
“Told him to suck it up, buttercup, but don’t suck the buttercups.”
I laugh. “And earlier you said you weren’t a natural coach.”
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Brooke’s voice calls from behind me.
I stop laughing with Morgan and look at her. “Uh, I’m going to do some stations again, then have everyone group up at the end.”
“Let me know what I can do for you.”
Morgan snorts, and I grit my teeth at her. She cowers and her face pales. I’m not one to scare women, on purpose at least, but Morgan is the exception.
I should’ve never asked her about Brooke.
“Can y’all get everyone’s attention so we can start?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Brooke says.
She turns toward the parents and kids coming in. Before she can speak, Morgan sticks her fingers in her mouth and lets out a shrill of a whistle. I shake my finger in the ear closest to her. Brooke laughs.
Adults and kids alike stop and stare our way. That’s one upside to her crazy ways.
“If everyone can gather here in the middle, I’ll explain what we’re doing tonight,” I say.
I scan the crowd for the kids I want to practice hitting first. My eyes land on my mom holding a Tupperware dish. “Mom? What are you doing out here?”
“I thought the kids could use a snack.” She opens the lid.
“We haven’t even started yet.”
My warning is too late, as the twins crowd the bowl and fight over the same cookie. Their mom jerks them back.
I could end this snack interruption in a millisecond by telling Mom that one of them peed right before sticking his hand in the bowl. For the greater good, I keep that to myself.
Every kid gets a cookie except Reece. I assume his allergies include foods too. Once everyone is settled with a cookie in hand, I get back to business.
“Okay, thank you, Ms. Miller, for the snack. I’ll explain everything while y’all eat.”
I use Ethan to help with ground balls, then put Morgan to the side with a hitting stick. She seems strong enough to handle that with a group this young.
“When I call your name, go to Ethan.” I call four names from the list Morgan texted me, and commit each one to memory when I watch which kid joins the group. I do the same for the next two groups.
“Brooke, could you help me run the pitching machine while I teach them technique?”
“Sure.” She follows me to cage.
I lift the net for us to go under and notice Mom standing with her bowl. She’s smiling widely.
“Thanks, Mom. We’re good on cookies for now.” That’s my subtle hint asking her to leave and let us get to work.
“I was just going to say how nice it is to see you together again.”
“We’re not—” Brooke and I answer in unison.
We face each other, and I’m tempted to say “jinx,” but act my age. I’m more focused on the “not” being part of both our answers.
“Nate’s kind enough to help us get this team going. He’s being a good friend.”
Mom nods, looking a little sad. When we don’t give her any more grains of gossip, she turns and heads for the door.
“Okay, Timothy, you’re up first.” I hand him a bat and have him stand at the plate.
“Hey, Mama?” he calls while I’m adjusting the pitching machine.
“Yeah?” Brooke asks.
“Why did Ms. Miller say it was good to see you and Nate together again?”
I take a deep breath. Kids ask a lot of questions, and I’d been prepared to answer them all day. But the questions I rehearsed concerned baseball, not my past love life.
“We grew up together and went to the same school.” Brooke half smiles at Timothy.
He nods. “Oh yeah.”
She turns to me and bites her bottom lip. I swallow. That should not make me want to kiss her, but it does. However, I need to focus on helping these kids and not helping myself win back Brooke.
Just because we grew up together doesn’t mean we’re destined to grow old together.
CHAPTER 10
Brooke
After Anne’s slight interrogation, I could really use a cookie. Too bad she took off as soon as we shut down her idea.
I can’t say whether she would want me to be with her son after I broke his heart once. Still, Anne has never been anything but sweet and supportive of me and Timothy. Even though she has no clue he’s her grandson.
Nate turns off the pitching machine, and I start collecting the rubbery balls we used for it. He points to the ground where Reece dropped his cape.
“Don’t forget your cloak, bud.”
Reece ducks back under the net and grabs the cape, then hurries toward the center of the floor with everyone else. I smile at Nate. “That was pretty impressive how you got him to take off the cape.”
“Thanks.” He grins. “It might backfire on me later when he figures out there are no Quidditch games to save it for.”
I laugh. “Whatever works. When you’re a parent, you do what’s best for the present and worry about the repercussions when they come.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He grabs the bucket I filled with balls and holds the net up for me.
“Thanks.” I duck under it and wait on him.
“For what it’s worth, you’ve done a great job with Timothy.”
“Thanks.” My voice is almost a whisper. The guilt of knowing he doesn’t know Timothy belongs to him is almost too much. Speaking of later repercussions, I’m afraid the day he finds out will be brutal.
Luckily, Nate leaves me to round up the rest of the kids. I hang back and watch while Reece hands his cape to his mom. She almost tears up and mouths a “thank you” to Nate. Now I almost tear up.
He would make a great dad. Not that I ever had any doubt. My only hesitation was making him a dad before he needed to be.
Morgan stands in the center of the parents while the kids follow Nate and Ethan outside. By the time I reach the group, only Georgia and Aniston remain. Everyone else is out the door.
Georgia’s arms are folded and she narrows her eyes on me. Aniston wears a mischievous smirk, and I’m a little scared to know what’s going on.
“Georgia here would like to buy Timothy’s number?” Aniston taps the top of Georgia’s high ponytail.
“Wait, what?”
Georgia bats her eyes. “It’s nothing personal, just that sixteen is a special number to our family.”
“Yeah, I think Timothy only chose sixteen because it’s Nate’s number,” I say.
A sad little laugh-cry comes from Georgia’s clenched jaw.
“Ladies.” Aniston moves between us and hooks an arm around our shoulders. “Step into my office. Let’s negotiate.”
She walks us to the kitchen area and stops at the edge of the counter. Georgia takes a seat on a bar stool, and I watch Aniston grab a napkin and a pen from near the sink.
“Okay.” She returns to her spot at the end of the counter, between us. “Both boys want number sixteen, but right now Timothy’s got it, correct?”
Georgia nods slowly.
“Let’s see, he is a coach’s son, so technically he should have first pick.” Aniston glances at me and lifts the corner of her mouth.
I want to protest that I’m not officially a coach. I’m simply the person keeping Jeffrey from killing Morgan. However, I’m more eager to see how this plays out.
“I met my husband for the first time when I was sixteen, on the sixteenth of March, at the sixteenth hole of a golf tournament.” Georgia beams.
I don’t have to respond, because Aniston does it for me. “Then we have Timothy, who has no father figure to look up to and nobody to help him with ball until a kind pro athlete moves down the road and offers him a positive role model.”
Aniston did a great job of painting my son’s point of view like a sad Hallmark story. Georgia squirms in her seat. So much of this is messed up that I can’t begin to comprehend it all.
“So the question to be answered is what is this number sixteen worth to the both of you.” Aniston points the pen at me, then Georgia. “Georgia, write down your price.” She sets the pen on the napkin and slides it toward her.
Georgia twists her mouth and scribbles something on the napkin. She slides it toward me.
Aniston intercepts it. “I think you can do better than that.”
Georgia grabs the napkin and adds a zero. She drops the pen beside it and pushes it across the bar. “That’s my final offer.”
Aniston studies the napkin as my stomach flips. Our eyes meet, and her lips curve into a devious smile.
“What do you think, Brooke?” She taps the edge of the napkin as she shows it to me. “For this price, could you possibly break the news to your son that he won’t get to wear his role model’s number for his inaugural ball season?”
I sigh. “You know, he will be disappointed, but I think this price shows how much it means to Georgia’s family.”
Georgia’s large white teeth shine like Chiclets. I nod, and she gives me a huge hug. “Thank you so much, Brooke. You are just precious!”
When she moves back, I let out a breath. Georgia jumps from her stool excitedly. “I’m going to write you a check.” She holds up a finger. “Let me get my wallet from the golf bag.”
Aniston watches her hurry toward the opposite end of the room. I pick up the napkin and widen my eyes to make sure I’m reading it correctly. “I would’ve given it to her for nothing,” I whisper.
“Good thing you got a friend like me, then, huh?”
I shrug. “It appears so.”
Georgia returns, fanning a check in my face. I take it and stare at the number. It has the same zeros as the napkin. Not that I care, but she has a reputation of not doing things by the book.
“I’ll go tell Morgan the good news.” Georgia grins.
“Tell me what?” Morgan sticks her head in the doorway before Georgia makes it there.
“Timothy and Herrington are trading numbers.”
“Are they now?” Morgan cocks her head at me.
“Yes, Georgia was kind enough to buy it from me.”
Morgan lifts her chin.
“Can you make note of that on your little sheet, Morgan, so nobody gets confused?” Georgia bats her eyelashes.
“Yes, Georgia, I’ll get right on that. Soon as I pick up a batch of pies from the orchard and get my kids in bed.”
“I really prefer you do it now, since you sometimes forget and all.” Georgia adds a fake little laugh.
“Why don’t you do it if you’re so worried. My papers are in the corner.” Morgan points to the edge of the room.
