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“You… You… fuck wagon!”
“What happened to being mature?” Birdie whispers in my ear as I whirl away from Shepherd’s wide, shocked eyes to face her.
“Eat shit, limp dick!”
“Whoa, hey now!” Birdie shouts, holding her hands up in front of her and taking a step back from me. “I’m on your side.”
“I’m sorry,” I quickly mutter as she lowers her hands and nods.
I don’t even know what is happening with me right now. I feel like I’m going crazy, and now that the flood gates have been opened, I can’t close them, and I can’t stop being mean, and it’s all because of the hot and infuriating man standing right next to me.
“Forgiven. Totally understandable. Carry on,” my sister encourages.
When I hear Shepherd loudly and obviously clear his throat like he’s waiting for his own apology from me, I bend down and grab the red drawstring bag with the Summersweet High School mascot on it that I put a few bottles of water and a granola bar in for myself before standing back up to face him.
“You’re still a fuck wagon. Sorry, not sorry.”
With that, I turn and start to head off to the parking lot victoriously, my feet stuttering to a stop when I realize we had an audience through this entire exchange. All the mothers in the stands sitting huddled together are staring between me and Shepherd with their mouths dropped open in complete and utter shock. I’m not really sure if it’s because Shepherd Oliver is standing right in front of them, Shepherd Oliver is now going to be coaching their sons, or that I just called Shepherd Oliver a fuck wagon. Loudly. Twice. After scolding them for being inappropriate not ten minutes ago.
“I hope you all have a wonderful evening. It’s always a pleasure seeing you.”
For some ridiculous reason, I add a curtsy with my big smile for all of the women with wide-open mouths and then start walking away as fast as my feet will allow without taking off into a full sprint and looking like even more of an idiot.
“Was it a pleasure seeing me too?” Shepherd shouts after me, and I can hear that damn humor in his voice.
In reply, I continue walking faster and stick my fist up in the air. And since I’ve already disgraced this children’s ballpark with my foul language enough, I don’t stick my middle finger up with it like I want to, but I know Shepherd gets what I’m throwing down.
“Is that a yes, or are you trying to imitate John Bender in The Breakfast Club when he walked across the football field at the end?” Shepherd cheerfully yells.
“Don’t you… forget about—”
I tune out the sound of all the moms in the bleachers suddenly belting out the iconic song from that ’80s movie, along with my traitor of a sister shouting over top of them.
“Oh my God, I love this song!”
Dropping my fist in defeat, I speed walk the rest of the way to the parking lot, seriously hating my life right now.CHAPTER 6Shepherd
“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”The last few nights of practices with my new team have been crazy, to say the least. They’re a great group of kids with a shit-ton of talent. Being out on the field with them, teaching them new techniques, and the thrill of watching them succeed, along with being able to still eat, sleep, and breathe baseball but in a much more relaxing and fun way, just makes me realize once again what a good decision I made by coming back here.
But we just finished with practice number three, and it still takes me over forty minutes to calm the boys down at the start of each one and convince them to get to work and stop asking me questions about what it’s like playing pro ball. I can’t fault them for their enthusiasm. It’s actually pretty damn sweet. Until around the thirty-five-minute mark when no one has picked up a bat or a ball yet. But I still go easy on them for now. I couldn’t even imagine what I would have done as a freshman in high school if one of my baseball idols came to my school and started coaching my team. I’m trying as hard as possible to get them to see I’m just a normal guy who grew up on this small island just like the rest of them. It’s just taking a few of them a little longer than others to chill out, but that’s fine. I’ve got all the time in the world now.
When I hear the putter of a golf cart as it pulls into the Summersweet High School parking lot, I smile to myself as I lean against a light post on the sidewalk in front of the baseball field. After the last few days of showing up to practice a half hour early to get set up and finding Owen already there setting up for me, followed by watching him get rides home from everyone in his family except his mother, I came to the conclusion that Wren is avoiding me. Deciding to show up to practice an hour early today, I keep my smile firmly in place even as she scowls at me the entire time she pulls up to the curb.
