Chapter 4

Four

Nick

I hadn’t spent any time in my hometown since my cousin Ethan’s wedding. It was only a few months ago, when I’d slept with the wedding photographer and she slipped away in the middle of the night without leaving a note.

The next morning, I thought about asking Ethan about her, but it was clear she didn’t want to see me again. I’d run that night through my head multiple times, but I couldn’t see where I’d messed up. There was the glaringly obvious mistake—we wanted a one-night stand, but then I’d asked her to stay.

The problem was I couldn’t forget about her. Every once in a while, she’d appear in my dreams, and I’d reach for her only to come up empty. She disappeared like she was never there at all. I was starting to wonder if any of it was real. Maybe the whole thing was a dream, or I’d imagined her.

It was one great night. Never to be repeated. If only I could get that through my head.

“Brody settling in okay?” Ethan asked as the boys warmed up on the field, tossing balls back and forth.

“As good as can be expected.” I moved back home because that’s where my brother, Austin, lived with his son, and my nephew, Brody. I’d moved away, wanting to escape my brother, even for a short time, but I always came back to clean up one mess or another. Brody needed me, and I didn’t want to interrupt his schooling.

“His dad being held without bail has to be tough.”

“I think it might be better for Brody. This way, I can step in and be his guardian. There’s no question. Austin isn’t flitting in and out of our lives.”

“I guess.”

I could tell by Ethan’s tone, he wasn’t convinced.

“Thanks for helping out.” Before I moved to Annapolis, I researched travel baseball teams. The local 8U travel team didn’t have a coach, so I volunteered. The only problem was I didn’t have anyone to ask to be my assistant besides Ethan.

When I picked a team, hopefully other parents would step forward. In the meantime, it was just Ethan and me when he had time.

“We’re not too late, are we?” a woman with dark hair pulled back into a slick ponytail asked Ethan.

My breath caught in my chest. She looked like the photographer I’d slept with at his wedding—Abby.

“We’re just getting started. What’s your son’s name?” Ethan asked, grabbing his clipboard.

“Hunter Langley. I think we met at your wedding. I was the photographer.”

Before Ethan could respond, I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest. “Abby?”

Her eyes widened as her gaze flitted to my face. “Nick? What are you doing here?”

“I’m the coach.” I wasn’t sure how to process that moment because I was the guy in charge. The one who was supposed to evaluate the kids today. I didn’t have time to ask her questions about why she left the hotel room that night without a note, a kiss, or even an explanation. Besides, I was very aware that Ethan was watching our interaction.

Her forehead wrinkled. “My son is trying out for the team.”

She took a step back like she wanted to bolt.

“You’re in the right place,” Ethan said reassuringly.

I needed to stop thinking about our night together. “What was his name?” I took Ethan’s clipboard and the pencil, eager to have something else to focus on.

She licked her lips. “Hunter Langley.”

Had she told me about having a son that night? I thought I’d have remembered that detail. I hadn’t had that much to drink, and I’d racked my brain for any personal detail I could use to find her without alerting Ethan.

My stomach rolled. Was she married? I never caught her last name, so I wasn’t sure if it was the same as Hunter’s. I wouldn’t let my gaze drift to the ring finger on her left hand.

Instead, I focused on the boy standing next to Abby, Hunter. He had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. So different from his mother’s dark locks.

I forced myself to switch to my role as baseball coach. “Hi, Hunter. How long have you played?”

His gaze lifted to his mother’s. “Three seasons?”

“That’s right,” Abby said encouragingly.

It wasn’t a long time, but I’d see what he could do. Some kids had played since kindergarten. Three seasons meant he hadn’t started until spring of first grade. Some kids got better with each season; others had a natural talent. I wondered which one he’d be.

“Grab your glove and a ball, and warm up with the other kids.” I gestured toward the outfield where the others were already warming up.

Hunter nodded and took off for the dugout with his bag. He seemed eager to get started.

“I’ll help them warm up,” Ethan said, following him.

“How long are tryouts?” Abby asked tentatively.

“Two hours. Maybe less, depending on how it goes.” Thirty-four kids had checked in. We only needed twelve, maybe thirteen, to make a team. I needed a couple of pitchers, another catcher, and a couple of good fielders and hitters.

Hunter jogged over to the two lines of kids lobbing balls back and forth. He spoke to a group of three, the one kid separating from his group to pass to Hunter.

“Is it okay if the parents stay and watch?” Abby asked.

“Of course,” I said, tipping my head toward the other parents. A couple leaned on the fence to watch the progress, and others sat on the bleachers talking to each other. It was clear some of them already knew each other. It was likely a few had played together before.

The key was figuring out which ones had potential and were motivated to learn.

Instead of walking away, Abby moved closer. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t affect your decision today.”

My brow raised, and I lowered my voice. “Are you asking if our one night together would influence my decision about your son’s ability to play baseball?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “He’s obsessed with baseball. I don’t want to mess this up for him.”

“It won’t affect my decision.” I kept my tone even. I didn’t like that she thought I’d be influenced by what happened. At the same time, we didn’t know each other. That night was purely physical. I hadn’t known she’d had a son, and I was fairly positive I hadn’t told her about my nephew because he wasn’t living with me at the time.

I shouldn’t want a repeat of that night, even if it was the only thing I’d thought about for months. She was the mother of one of my potential players, and this was my home now. Besides she’d made her intentions clear—it was only one night.

Her gaze slid away; her expression uncertain. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m picking the players solely on ability. I don’t know anyone.” Except for you. And I didn’t really know her at all.

I knew how soft her skin was, what her shampoo smelled like, and what it was like to slide inside her. How warm and tight she was. The sounds she made when she came. But I shouldn’t be thinking about any of that while I was in the middle of tryouts.

“I should get back to it,” I said, gruffer than I intended.

I was hyperaware that other parents were watching us, and the last thing I wanted was any murmurings that I was playing favorites with someone’s kid. Tryouts for travel sports could be fierce. I didn’t intend to make it that way, but who knew how the other parents would react if they found out we’d slept together.

“Of course.” Abby moved away to stand with the other parents on the outside of the fence, and I was able to draw in a deep breath.

I moved closer to where the kids were throwing practice tosses to each other. A few had backed up to throw a larger distance. My gaze settled on Abby’s son, Hunter. He had a strong arm. When it left his hand, it literally sailed through the air.

I’d have to keep an eye on him.

After having the kids run a lap and stretch, we moved to the infield, where the children formed a line at each base. I hit grounders to them, watching as they fielded the balls and threw to first.

There were a few missed balls and a lot of poor throws to first. I stopped occasionally to give instructions and praise. A few of the kids showed potential, but others seemed raw, unaware of what to do with the ball once they had it in their glove.

When I hit one to Hunter on third base, he gloved the grounder but rushed his throw to first, and it bounced.

I rested the bat on my shoulder. “Hunter, I know you can throw harder than that. I watched you in warm-ups.”

Instead of bristling like I thought he might, he said, “Sorry about that, Coach.”

I nodded, pleased he’d made eye contact and listened. “I’ll hit you another one.”

He got back into position, and I hit another one to him. That time, he fielded the ball with ease and set his feet before he threw to the first baseman’s glove.

“Much better.” I wanted coachable kids who were willing and eager to learn. So far, I hadn’t seen any with a bad attitude, which was encouraging. I was pleased Hunter just seemed genuinely eager to improve. That was the kind of player I wanted on my team. Plus, his arm was impressive when he took his time to throw.

After fielding, I told the kids to get water, then asked, “Raise your hand if you want to pitch.”

That was the problem. Every kid wanted to pitch. Not everyone could. It would be great if every kid learned to do it, but only a few would be talented enough to be the main pitchers. Those were the ones I hoped to find.

Pitching was king. There was nothing more important to a team at their level than the ability to throw strikes.

“Hey, Coach. You need some help?” one of the dads asked from his spot on the fence.

Grateful for his offer, I asked, “Can you help warm up the pitchers?”

He lifted his glove to show me he had one. “You got it.”

I sent a few kids to the warm-up bullpen on the side of the field, outside the fence, and the others to the outfield. They formed three lines, and I hit pop-ups to left field, center, and then the line in right field.

I hit a particularly difficult ball to Hunter. I whistled as he dove and missed. It was a spectacular dive for an eight-year-old. Not something I usually saw in kids that young.

He immediately got up and hustled to get the ball in. When I heard the satisfying thwack of the ball hitting Ethan’s glove, I called out, “Way to go for it. You’ll get it next time.”

Hunter nodded before jogging to the end of the line.

“That kid has an arm on him,” Ethan murmured.

I dipped my head, so my ball cap blocked my words from any parents trying to read our lips. “He does.”

Hunter wanted it. He wasn’t there to have fun or play with his friends like some of the other kids. His focus was on the drills and my instructions.

I needed to keep my distance from his mother, but that would be impossible if I chose him for my team. Unfortunately, he was talented. He had a rocket of an arm and a love for the sport that came out in his play.

Every few minutes, I’d head over to the pitchers to look. There was one who showed potential, but most weren’t accurate or fast. I was looking for consistency.

Setting the ball in the bucket, I asked the kids to come in. Everyone hustled, which I appreciated. When they stopped in front of me, I asked, “Has everyone had a chance to pitch?”

“I haven’t yet, sir,” Hunter said.

I tipped my head toward the practice mound just outside the fence. “Go warm up, then.”

I told the kids to get a drink, put their gloves away, and get out their helmets for base running. The kids ran through twice, and then I had them take another break to check on Hunter. I watched him dig his foot in the dirt before setting his gaze on the catcher’s mitt. Then he wound up and threw hard.

Goose bumps erupted on my forearms as I crossed them over my chest, attempting to keep my face neutral because the parents were watching. He pitched eight more equally hard strikes. Only one was outside the strike zone.

The kid had it.

“Come over here,” I said after his last pitch.

I leaned on the fence as Hunter approached. I was very aware that the parents were watching us closely. The one thing that stood out with Hunter was that he was confident. He knew he could throw.

“You like to pitch?” I asked him. I liked how he looked in the field, but he was my top prospect for pitching.

Looking at me, he said, “I love it.”

I liked that answer, but I needed to know if he had experience. Some kids could only throw when there wasn’t a batter. “You pitch in games before?”

Hunter nodded solemnly. “Two seasons. I got better this past spring.”

I appreciated his honesty. “The batters score any runs on you?”

His eyes flashed. “I struck ’em out 1-2-3, or they ground out to first.”

I resisted the twitch of my lips at his response. He was justifiably confident. “You played rec ball?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

I held up my hand for a high five. “Good job today. That was some impressing pitching.”

“Thank you, Coach.”

I nodded toward the dugout. “Go ahead and get your batting helmet. We’re batting next.”

The kids lined up outside the batting cage. I hated letting kids wait. In practice, I’d have two or three drills going at once, so everyone got a chance to work. But with limited assistant coaches, I didn’t have a choice for tryouts.

I pitched to the kids in the batting cage. I was looking for good form, full swings, and hard hits. One kid had perfect form and another hit hard. There was potential, but not many standouts. It would be a rebuilding year, it appeared. What the league called a B-team.

When every player had batted, I told them to pack up. “Your homework is to watch The Sandlot movies.”

“I’ve already watched those,” Hunter said quietly.

“Try another one, Twelve .” It was about a kid who didn’t get picked for his local travel team, but he never gave up.

I headed over to the parents to give them an update and answer any questions. “I still have a few other kids to see who couldn’t make it today, but I should have a decision by Wednesday.

“Any questions?”

None had any, so I turned to walk away when a dad caught my attention. The one who’d volunteered to help. “I’m Jackson’s dad, Norm.”

I half-listened to his suggestions for the team. Apparently, Jackson played on the 7U last year. That was his subtle way of telling me that Jackson deserved a spot.

Usually, the coach would stay with the team and keep the kids from the prior year, but I heard the former coach and half the team left for a different league. I wondered if Jackson tried out for that team and didn’t make it.

When the kids filed out of the dugout, Hunter approached his mother with a smile. “I think I made it.”

Pride, then concern crossed Abby’s face before she said, “Great job. Let’s talk more about it in the car.”

I tried not to smile at his cockiness. It was a good sign that Hunter was able to pick up on my cues. It boded well for a coach-player relationship.

I refocused on Jackson’s dad, who was telling me he’d hired a pitching coach for his son. I knew without asking Abby that Hunter didn’t have a coach. She didn’t seem like the type to hire one, and Hunter had natural form.

I sensed Norm would be one of the more involved parents. His son was the second pitcher, so I’d have to deal with it.

When the parents left, Ethan and I put the bases in the shed and raked the field.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ethan asked.

“What? Coaching a team?” I straightened, stretching out the kinks in my back.

“Travel is year-round.”

I nodded, knowing what he was getting at. “Even if Austin gets out of jail at some point, I’ll still be his coach.”

Ethan lowered his voice. “Have you ever thought about going for full custody?”

Brody was in the infield, digging in the dirt. Not within earshot.

I slowly shook my head. “Austin’s his father.”

“You know, he’s a shit father, right?” Ethan asked.

“I know.” I swallowed thickly. “But he’s his dad. I’m just the uncle who helps out.”

“You’re more like a father to him than Austin is. He might go to prison for a long time, if they can pin all the burglaries on him.”

I rubbed the ache in my chest. The thought of Brody staying with me eased something in my heart. I’d always been quick to step in and help, but he’d never been mine.

Austin could potentially be behind bars for ten or more years. He was charged for being responsible for all the burglaries in town, and there was even a pending charge for assault on one of the shop owners, Remi. He claimed he’d only done the one he got caught for, but what were the odds of that?

I was angry all over again whenever I thought of Brody sitting at home alone while his dad broke into stores, causing property damage and stealing money. It wasn’t how we were raised.

“If I take that step, then it makes Austin’s situation real.” It was like I was acknowledging Austin’s guilt. That he’d be in prison for years. And what did I tell his son? His father was a criminal. I’d kept as much of it from him as I could. But I was worried the kids in school would talk.

“You must do what’s best for you and Brody. Right now, Austin’s gone.”

There was that familiar hollow sensation in my chest. I always hoped Austin would get it together, that he’d be the father Brody needed. But it was too late for a turnaround.

“Think about it.” Ethan clasped my shoulder before getting into his car.

“Thanks for helping out today.”

“Anytime.” With a wave, he backed out of the parking spot and pulled away.

With Austin being held on suspicion of burglary, it was likely I’d have Brody for a while. I hated that for him, but at the same time, I wanted him to have stability. The one thing the kid had always loved was baseball. But he couldn’t count on his dad to get him to practice. It would be different with me. It was my chance to be the father figure he needed in his life. I’d give him stability and love.

Filing for custody was an admission my brother wasn’t coming back. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that yet. Just like my parents, I held out hope that he’d get his life together. I just wasn’t sure he was getting out of it. And maybe that was what he needed to truly get a hold of his life.