Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I can’t believe I just did that.
My head spins, relief washing over me with the finality of my decision. But in the second wave that comes around, I feel a surge of anxiety at how this might play out.
He takes a step back, pressing a finger to his lips as if he’s sealing in the taste of my mouth.
“Cole . . .”
“I’m not about to press my luck,” he says, backing away toward the door. “So I’m going to go back to my team.”
I nod, gulping. “Yes. Do that. Please.”
He stops, moves forward again, and grabs a bucket of balls. His gaze lingers on me, silently making promises that feel like threats, before he turns and walks out of the shed.
And I clean faster and with more energy than I ever have in my whole entire life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
COLE
Okay. Let’s gather around for a minute.” I motion for the kids to join me on the pitcher’s mound.
Fourteen boys scramble toward me. One has his shoes untied and nearly trips over his own feet. Another is carrying his friend on his back. A third has taken off his shirt. Again.
“Hey, Braylon—get your shirt back on,” I say as he approaches. “It’s not warm enough for that. Your muscles will get cold, and you’ll pull something.”
I added the last bit to make him feel like an athlete. It works. Thank God.
“I saw a lot of hard work today,” I tell them. “Did you have fun?”
Their heads move up and down.
“Good. There’s no sense in being out here if you aren’t having fun. That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to ask you to work hard and hustle—because I am. Everyone understand?”
They nod again.
“Hey, Coach,” Braylon says. “When do we get to practice hitting dingers?”
“What’s a dinger?” The boy who nearly tripped over his own feet wipes his nose with the back of his hands. “I don’t get it. A dinger? Like . . . a wiener?”
The group laughs, much to the delight of the jokester.
“A dinger is a home run,” I say once the laughter subsides. “And you can’t hit one if you don’t make contact with the ball. Right?”
I wait until they all nod or mutter their agreement.
“So we practice hitting the ball, using good mechanics, making contact. The dingers will come,” I say. “But baseball is about so much more than home runs, guys. It’s about working together to move the runners around the bases. Backing each other up. Communication. The little things like that are what makes the game both fun and successful.”
I can see that I’m losing them, and I don’t want that. The last thing I want to teach unintentionally is to tune me out.
“We’ll meet here again on Monday at five thirty,” I say.
“Not until Monday?” Ethan asks.
I smile at him. “The field is being used until Monday. It stinks, I know, but we have to use what we have.”
“Okay,” he says, kicking at a rock on the ground.
“All right. Let’s get in here and give me ‘Team!’ on three.” I hold my hand in the air and wait until a gaggle of gloves meet it. “One, two, three—team!”
We all drop our hands, and the boys mosey away.
I glance at the dugout to find the two fathers who have situated themselves as my co-coaches instructing the boys to get their stuff. They’re nice guys, and I’m happy for the help, even if Dad said that they’re name-dropping me all over town. Comes with the territory.
“Thanks for the help,” I call out to them as they guide their own kids toward their trucks. They wave.
I’m turning toward home plate to gather the balls when I notice Ethan walking across the outfield. I follow his line of sight until I see Palmer waiting for him by the fence.
She kissed me.
A warmth blooms in my chest.
She tasted like cinnamon and sugar—like the top of a cake doughnut. Her lips were like pillows, soft and silky, and it took everything I had to pull away when I did. Because, if I didn’t, I would’ve touched her body, and it would’ve been game over.
I walk toward her, knowing I can use the team mom excuse to talk to her if she balks.
And I have half a notion that she might just do that.
Ethan reaches her before I do. He hands her his stuff before hopping the fence.
“Hey,” I call out, even though she sees me coming.
She smiles like we share a secret. Because we do.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m glad you came over here.”
I smile. “Really?”
“Yeah. I was going to ask you about the shed.” Her lips press together, hiding a smile. “Bud said he’d be by to lock it up, but he hasn’t come back. I don’t want to just leave it open so someone breaks in, but I can’t lock it up either.”