And it didn’t matter. Wrong or right or something in between, it did notmatterbecause this was not what she wanted. This change. This different life. Even if her body was trying to tell her otherwise.
Her body didn’t seem to understand that too much was changing. Too much felt…unsteady and different and out of her control. She couldn’t survive under the weight of it.
So she stepped away from him. Turned away from him. That’s all it took. Just a little distance.
Of course that distance wouldn’t last, because as she got into the driver’s seat, Ty said, “Good luck! I’ll see you tonight.”
Ty left the meeting with Mr. Stolt uncomfortable and out of sorts. Mr. Stolt had acted like Ty was the Second Coming. No matter how often Ty had reminded the principal that a few hitless games in the majors didn’t mean anything, Mr. Stolt had argued and fawned all over him.
It was disorienting.
Nothing was official—there were some hoops he’d have to jump through in order to be employed by the school—but they were easily jumped.
The problem was…did he want to jump them? Mary Lou and Lara wanted him to, but what didhewant? Aside from to make them happy.
He’d lived his life trying to make someone else be happy or proud oranythingpositive, and now that he was letting that go, he realized it was a hell of a lot harder to make a decision when it wasn’t in response to an overwhelmingly controlling force in his life.
On his drive back to the cottage, he tried to ignore what everyoneelsethought and focus on himself. Picture himself…coaching a team. The same team he’d played for all those years ago.
High school ball had been probably his favorite time. His dad hadn’t been able to exert much influence there, so it had really been about the coaches and the teammates and thebaseball.
Mr. Crooks, the varsity coach at the time, had been his favorite coach. Tough but kind. High expectations, low intensity.
Tycouldpicture being a coach like that. If he really thought about it, really settled into the realities of it, he could admit to himself that the idea of it…excited him. He’d spent a lot of time failing, yes, but that meant he knew how to usher these kids through their own inevitable failures—because baseball was a game of failing and coming back and giving it another go anyway.
He… He actually really liked the idea of being the adult in the room who encouraged the kids to have grit, without tearing them down, without instilling fear or shame. He could be a positive impact on someone’s life, beyond just baseball, just as Mary Lou had said.
And if he didn’t like it? If it sucked? What was the harm? He’d quit. He’d find something else. Failure wasn’t fatal.
God, he was still alive after failing just about everything, wasn’t he?
The coaching position wasn’t a full-time job, though Mr. Stolt had mentioned some support staff openings at the school that he could potentially apply for. Maybe if he got one of those positions and liked working in the school,hecould go back to school, get a teaching degree or something.
He’d been careful with his money—wanting to differentiate himself from his father. He could take his time to find the right thing. There was no driving need to have it all figured out now. If there was one thing his life had taught him it was that he was resourceful, flexible.
He pulled up to Mary Lou’s cottage. Stared at it. In a lot of ways, this was home. At least a homebase. But he was nearly thirty, and if he was serious about staying, he needed his own home. His own place.
Hell, a bed instead of a couch.
He could start looking at rentals, but it felt too temporary. The interview with Mr. Stolt had brought home the fact that he wanted some permanence. He wanted to plant some roots and watch them grow.
He could maybe afford a downpayment on a house—it’d deplete his savings, but if he got one of the support staff jobs on top of the coaching position, he could swing it.
Because he wasn’t going anywhere this time around.
No matter what.
With that thought firm in his mind, he got out of the car and marched into the house. It was quiet when he entered, but there were a pair of dress slacks and a button-down shirt laying over the back of the couch—hisclothes. Perfectly pressed.
“Ty? Are you back?” Lara was fastening an earring to her ear as she walked in, concentrating on that. “Grandma was adamant we get dressed up,” she told him as she came into view. “She rummaged around in your bags and ironed that. I hope you don’t mind.”
He wasn’t sure any of her words penetrated, because she was…stunning. He was used to seeing her in her museum outfits—skirts and sweaters, or her more casual wear for beach walking or grabbing a pizza. She always looked pretty or beautiful. She always looked like a breath of fresh air to him, so he didn’t know what struck him as different.
Maybe all these choices he was making, and that her hair was curled, and whatever makeup she’d put on made her look like some mystical ocean siren. The dress she wore in a pretty pink that seemed to tease out the reddish hue of her hair skimmed the lines of her body, and he…
He was damn tired of pretending. “You look beautiful.”
She paused a little, as if surprised by the compliment. She didn’t meet his gaze. “Well, you said celebration and Grandma was insistent, so…”
