Chapter 31

[Ross]

"Don't you think she's a little old for you?" Landon asks as soon as I close the door on that awkward as hell exit from Vee and her daughters. Sarcasm drips from my oldest son's tone.

"Excuse me?" I glare at Landon, who was an ass the entire evening. His tense body language. His sharp responses.

"I mean, your tastes typically run younger and flashier." His voice is full of accusation, one that expresses his displeasure.

My glare narrows even more, jaw clenching as I warn him, "Watch your step, son."

Not backing down, he continues. "She's almost . . . normal." The comment clarifies what I've known about my son for a while. He hasn't approved of me dating younger women, based on their age alone. A woman in her early thirties is closer in age to my twenty-two-year-old son. But I doubt it's always been their age that bothers him. It's their distance from him, as models, movie stars, and reality TV celebrities.

"She reminds me of Mom." Harley says.

The truth hits me hard.

Vee doesn't look anything like Patty, nor are they similar in personality. But I also understand what Harley means. Vee is sweet and considerate. Kind and gracious. She's fun to be around, funny in many instances, easy going in others. And she believes in me, like Patty once did. Vee is just . . . spectacularly Vee.

Glancing at Landon, I realize that's the crux. He's angry that I'm with someone resembling his mother because she is more my age. Vee has lived longer than his mother, too.

Jesus . How do I tiptoe around this?

"Got an issue with me dating her?" I question, not that his opinion would sway me, but I'd still like to understand what his problem is.

"You do you," he snarks and turns away from me.

"Hey," I bark, causing him to pause. "What's going on here? "

Harley is suddenly very still, head lowered, eyes aimed at the floor.

"Do you have any idea what it's like being your son?" Landon rounds on me.

Of course, on a literal level, I have no idea what it's like, but figuratively, I imagine it's difficult at times. Kids can be cruel and when your dad coaches a beloved professional team that loses occasionally, kids have mouths that hurt. Then again, if your dad is a success, kids only want to be your friend because they think you have pull. Free shit, game tickets, special passes.

That bullshit I understand, and I've apologized over the years for other people's children.

However, I don't think Landon is specifically talking about how others react to him being my son. Rather, he's asking if I understand what it's like to be the child of Ross Davis.

"Lonely," I admit because I've been as present as I can but not present enough. Rena used to tell me I was doing the best I could. However, Patty had complaints before she passed.

Landon stares at me.

"Look." I brush my forefinger and thumb around my mouth. "I know I haven't always been the best dad. Maybe you think I'm the worst. But I am really hopeful moving here will be a positive change for all of us."

"I've heard that before," Landon mumbles referring to our original move to Philadelphia after Patty died. I had thought the change would be good for all of us. My sister was there to help. I could continue with baseball on a new level. My boys could have a fresh start. Chicago . . . hurt.

However, they did not need a new beginning back then. They'd needed me, and guilt eats at me that I hadn't been present often enough. With them both in the Midwest now, coaching for the Anchors was the fresh start I needed with them. The location keeps us relatively close to each other, at least geographically.

"Dad came to my play," Harley reminds Landon, his voice low, but defending me. "Vee brought him. "

I sigh. "I brought Vee." It isn't that Vee wouldn't have willingly gone to see the play, if I'd told her beforehand where we were going. It's just . . . I asked her to attend. I wanted to see my son. That date was all me. "Because I wanted to be there for you."

"You haven't—" Landon starts but is quickly stopped when Harley raises a hand.

"But he is here now," Harley defends me again. My sweeter boy is becoming a stronger man.

I force my shoulders lower, but my back remains tight. One step doesn't give me a free pass to father of the year, but it's a start on the climb to building a better relationship with my boys. A start I need.

And Vee in my life is helping me do that.

I've never purposely brought a woman to my home. Never purposely introduced my boys to a woman I'm dating. Vee and I need to clarify that vocabulary.

Harley interrupts my thought when he says, "Mom is gone. And I miss her all the time."

My chest squeezes tight. Fuck, the ache for Patty runs deep sometimes.

"But we can't bring her back." Harley pointedly looks at his brother, sharing some secret conversation between them as siblings. Siblings who lost their mother too young and have had a relatively absent father. "And we can't live in the past either. We can't change if Dad had a game or not. If he was present or not."

Ouch . The truth hurts. It always hurts.

"But he's here now."

Jesus. Again . This kid will be my undoing as he sticks up for me with my other boy.

"And I like Vee." Harley turns his head, inspecting me. "She's good for you."

My face heats. My heart hammers. How does he know me so well?

"She is good for me. I like her," I openly admit. "She makes me laugh." I mean, what the hell was with that outstretched hand like she wanted to shake mine? I wanted to pin her to the wall and kiss her senseless right before our kids' eyes.

Fuck dating . Fuck defining us. Vee is mine and I am hers.

"She makes me smile." My face heats. "I like her quirks and her kindness. And she gets me."

I glance from Landon to Harley and back. "Maybe she is older than other women I've dated."

"In the past eight years," Landon mutters his correction, his gaze lowered.

"But." I exhale, setting my hands on my hips. "That makes her better." Wiser. Compassionate on a different level. A finer thing in my life. "She understands me."

That I need reader glasses and my knees creak when I stand upright, like after kneeling on the floor between her legs last night.

"She believes in me. That I can change. That I can be better. And I'm not giving her up." I stand taller, facing my boys. I want them to like Vee, but I don't need them to accept her. Vee is for me, not them.

"She's nicer than Chandler," Harley states.

Chandler wasn't cruel to my boys, she was worse, she'd been indifferent. She liked the idea of a single dad but not the reality of it. She didn't like kids, and although my boys are young, she didn't relate to them on the one occasion she'd been present around them.

Vee won Harley over with chocolate chip pancakes. Apparently, Landon is a tougher sell.

"It's your life, Dad. Date who you want," he dismissively states.

Still not liking his insolent attitude, I reply, "I will."

"But what's with this sleeping thing?" Landon wrinkles his nose in disgust while Harley laughs.

Yeah, I'm not finding it funny that Harley spilled the beans with the watered-down version of my relationship with Vee. The one where I told him I felt lucky Vee stayed in our home, and the Anchors had a winning streak on the road.

"Moment of truth?" I question which perks up both boys, their attention suddenly riveted to me. "I met Vee the night the Flash lost the championship. We got stuck in a hotel elevator together. Feeling sorry for myself, guilty that the loss was somehow my fault, I went to her hotel room, and we talked. Only talked ." I emphasize. "And the next day, I got the call from the Anchors, wanting me as their coach. I took the offer as a sign. Vee was good luck."

"That was one night," Landon reminds me, scowling and skeptical.

"But then I saw her again in Arizona, after Sylver and Valdez got into it on the field."

Landon groans. As much as he might have resentment toward my coaching position, he loves baseball. He played all through high school. He was a student athlete, and hoped for a college scholarship, but ultimately his choice had to come down to what he wanted to be in life. The scholarships came from universities that didn't interest him. He wants to be an engineer, and he recognized he needed to follow his heart more than money.

"And the Anchors won again." Maybe not as consistently as recently, but with Vee in my life, the Anchors had more ups than downs.

"Can't you just have a lucky pair of socks or something?" Landon asks. His concern shows despite the joke.

Tilting my head, I stare at my son. "Are you worried I'm using her?"

"Aren't you?"

Since when is my son such a defender? Then I recall my thoughts about people using him to get closer to me or a team. I fight a smile, pride swelling in my chest. My son isn't against Vee, he's actually more upset on her behalf. He wants to protect her.

With a smile on my face, I say, "I am not using her."

"She said you weren't dating," Harley reminds me. His brows creased with worry.

"And I plan to change that misconception."

Because as far as I'm concerned, Vee is my girl, not a good luck charm.

+ + +

"Hey," Vee sleepily whispers into the phone when I call her later that night. The hour isn't late, but I've clearly disturbed her.

"Are you in bed?" My ribcage tightens. I wish I was there with her, or she was here with me.

"Sudden headache."

"Is there anything I can do?" The boys are more than capable of taking care of themselves. I can go to the pharmacy for her or order a delivery. Or—

"It will pass. I just need to close my eyes and melt into this dark room."

My heart begins to hammer. I don't want her to brush off a simple headache. Patty did that too often.

"What can I do?" I ask, preparing to grab a jacket and leave the house. I'll stay with her all night.

"I'll be good by morning. Just need some sleep."

Did I keep her up too late the other night? The play, dinner, her living room, and talking.

"Did you write today?" We haven't discussed if our night together inspired her.

"The words can wait," she states drowsily.

"Okay, sweetheart. You rest. Call me in the morning?"

"You got it, Coach. I'm mentally smacking your ass."

Quirky . I chuckle, bidding her to sleep well, even if it is without me.

My bed is too empty without her. My heart full, though, whenever we talk. I love her ticks and teases. Her laughter and smiles. Even her awkwardness, like holding out her hand instead of hugging me goodbye earlier.

I love everything about Vee.

I think I love her.

The thought doesn't hit me as hard as I expect. Not like a fast ball coming at you at ninety-seven miles per hour. Falling for her was more like a perfect hit. One where your eyes are on the ball. The timing. The speed. You know you can't miss. And bam! It's still a surprise but you've been anticipating this hit. Waiting for the right pitch. Hopeful. Eager. Longing for it. With the crack of the bat against the ball, you watch the ball soar and then you race. Run like hell for that first kiss, steal all the seconds for each touch. Marvel as you round third, praising all things heavenly for the opportunity, the chances, the freedom to be this close to her. Then you hit home plate, relief fills your chest, pride fills your heart. And love, so much love, and gratitude. I'll be thankful for every day I get to love Vee.

She's my homerun.

+ + +

The next day, I'm relieved to easily find Vee in the stands with Hannah beside her. The Anchors win, and when the game finishes I climb the dugout steps to the field, hoping to catch Vee's attention. With her back to the field, exiting her row, I call her phone and watch as she stalls, grabs her phone from her bag, and checks the screen. She stops walking, allowing people to go around her as she faces the field and answers.

"Good game, Coach." I hear the smile in her voice.

"Be a better game if you come to my place later."

"Wow, that's quite the invitation."

"So, you'll come."

A heavy pause falls between us, and I consider what I've said.

"You know, I'm a romance author and that means my mind goes dirty places sometimes."

I hum. "Definitely want to go dirty places with you, Vee."

"Is this a booty call?"

I watch as Hannah's head whips toward her mother and I chuckle. "Sweetheart."

Vee laughs as well, perhaps knowing she just embarrassed her daughter.

"If you want this to be a booty call, it can be. Or I can just check out your booty from here, watching you walk up those stadium stairs."

"Would you do that?" More laughter fills the question .

"Absolutely." My grin grows. I meant what I told my boys last night, I like Vee, but the word doesn't encompass my entire range of emotions. My feelings are so much more than just liking her, but I don't want to scare her with their strength. We still have a few things to iron out between us first. "So you'll come . . . over, that is."

"Let me send Hannah off. What about Landon and Harley? Are they both still around?"

"Landon left this morning. Harley went back to this apartment last night."

"Want to cook together?" she asks, not exactly mentioning my utter failure at making dinner yesterday, but it had been a disaster.

"I have a better idea. I'll order in."

"Sounds like a date, Ross Davis."

"See you soon, Verona Huxley."

I click off the phone and glance up to see Romero Valdez and Bolan Adler a few feet away from me. Each of them are chatting up women. Romero is unfortunately speaking with Ford Sylver's ex-wife. Bolan chats with his wife. He was married quickly before the season began and his wife Ruth seems sweet but standoffish.

"Gentlemen, locker room," I call out to them, knowing I've taken my own time to get to where I need to be.

Both men say their goodbyes and the echoing clomp of their cleats trails behind me in the tunnel leading to the locker room.

"Got a girlfriend, Coach?" Valdez calls out behind me.

If I did, I wouldn't trust him around her. Vee and I still haven't officially declared who we are to each other. Haven't confirmed the whole boyfriend-girlfriend terminology. And I wouldn't be sharing anything with anyone before talking to Vee. We're public but I don't need us sensationalized. I don't want that circus for Vee.

I don't respond to Valdez, not particularly liking to speak with him outside what's necessary for the team. It's a difficult position to be in. I want to like everyone. I want to treat them all equally, but Valdez is just one of those players I'm struggling to like as a human being .

"Ah, give Coach a break," Adler says. "We can't all be the Romeo you are," he teases our short stop.

"You were once a Romeo, too," Valdez reminds Adler of his former reputation. The one that sent him overseas for a while to play in Japan. His lawyer got him a new agent and brought Bolan back to the U.S., and the Anchors acquired the thirty-something catcher shortly before this season began.

"Now you've got that ring weighing down your finger," Valdez continues. "I don't know how you handle such a mouse in your bed."

The sudden scuffle of cleats and the definitive sound of a body slamming against a cement wall has me turning and rushing toward my players. Of whom, one is plastered to the tunnel wall by the forearm the other is holding against his throat.

"Don't speak about Ruthie like that. In fact, don't even look in her direction."

"Hey," I snap, slipping my arm between them. "Adler, step back." Not that Valdez's comments were warranted, but Bolan is the bigger of the two men, and he's the one holding the other against a wall.

"You're a shit stirrer," Adler states, not letting up on his teammate despite my attempts to whittle between them. "And no one likes you."

" Ohh , you hurt my feelings." Valdez's whimper is delivered in a taunting falsetto.

"Okay. That's enough." If Bolan hadn't pressed Romero to the wall, I might have done it myself. But even if I have a negative opinion of Romero, I can't let the team become divided again. With Ford's injury, and his absence because of it, the team has finally settled down a bit about the animosity between the two men.

And Valdez just came off his suspension for his role in that injury.

"Adler, back up," I warn, still trying to force them apart. Bolan is roughly my size but ten years younger than me, which gives him strength.

With a final shove against Valdez's throat, he presses off his teammate and takes a large step back. I'm left shielding Valdez, who is thinner and shorter, but no less scrappy than his larger teammate .

"Maybe what your little wife needs is a real man in her bed."

Goddammit .

Bolan rushes forward and I spin to face Valdez, attempting once again to body block Adler from getting to him.

"You're fucking toast," Adler hollers around me, his breath heated at the side of my head.

"Hey!" The call comes from my left before feet thunder down the tunnel and someone pulls Adler off my back. My hands have been against the wall, using the strength in my arms to cage in Valdez and keep Adler off his teammate, but I press off the cement and step back.

"You make another comment like that about someone's wife, girlfriend, daughter or female friend or otherwise, and I'll have you off this team."

Valdez's dark eyes narrow. His jaw clenches. He's only on this team because of a midseason trade last year, and I'll do the same to him this year.

"In fact, I'll go one further. I'll make certain you never play for anyone."

"You can't do that," he grits.

"Watch me." I've been in professional baseball for over twenty years. I know managers and front offices, and while my word might not be gold, it still would hold weight. There's a new alignment in sports with what's appropriate and not appropriate behavior, and trash talking someone's person is never acceptable. Not in my house. Not on my field.

"Get your ass in the locker room," Dalton Ryatt yells at Valdez. Dalton has good rapport with the guys, and at times, he's the only one who can handle a hothead. Sometimes I worry he might make a better head coach.

Valdez doesn't lower his head but holds it higher, as he steps away from the wall. But he can't let the situation rest and turns his head, spitting at the cement floor inches in front of Adler's feet.

" Pendejo ," Valdez mutters. Asshole.

Adler struggles beneath the hold of both Kip and another catcher, Cyrus Sawyer .

Dalton shakes his head as he follows behind Romero. As they leave, all the air seems to exit the tunnel.

"Coach, you need to do something about him," Adler addresses me.

"I'm handling him." But am I? One bad pitch doesn't ruin a game. But repeatedly bad throws? That player needs re-coaching or to be let go.

"Are you calm yet?" Kip asks Bolan, stepping back and holding up a hand near Bolan's chest, prepared to hold him back again if necessary.

"Yeah. I'm good." But the edge in his voice suggests he's anything but calm. We could use a few more minutes in this tunnel to settle him down, not to mention give time for Valdez to clear out of the locker room.

I don't want to be babysitter to a bunch of grown men, but I can prevent shenanigans from happening in that room. I'll need to be more vigilant and discuss this new infraction with my coaching staff.

I'd like to offer encouraging words to Bolan. Tell him that Valdez didn't mean what he said or that he won't go near Bolan's wife, but I can't make those kinds of promises.

Instead, I say, "Let me know what you need. For Ruth."

Bolan stares at me. "What do you mean?"

"If you're worried about her. Him getting anywhere near her, I'll file a restraining order myself, if you need me to."

Bolan bitterly huffs. "Yeah, I don't think that will be necessary. He's just talking shit. But that shit needs to stop." My catcher still looks rattled by Romero's words despite trying to dismiss them.

While I think his sudden marriage feels a bit too coincidental to the start of the season and a need to clean up his reputation, I don't question my men's personal lives unless it interferes with the team.

Romero has disrupted this team enough. He's crossed the line to foul territory and there might be no coming back.