She waves a hand and keeps walking, and Lucas clutches his chest. “How am I gonna get her to go out with me?”
“Persist,” I say, because I’ve heard Scottie turn down plenty of guys. And Lucas isn’t one of them.
I clap my hands together twice—sharp, attention-getting—and the kids snap to focus. “All right, team, exactly like we practiced: crisp throws, two hands on the catch, and talk to each other out there. Let’s go!”
We win, 10–8.
After the game, I shake hands with parents—too many hands—accept hugs from kids—too many hugs—and even take a few pictures, because apparently that’s what kids want these days. I don’t like the fanfare. I despise the small talk. But they’re good kids, so I nod and endure it.
“You were great out there,” I hear Jeremy’s dad tell him. I get the feeling he’s saying it loud enough for me to hear, but I don’t mind. Because Jeremy is looking at his dad like he can’t believe his ears.
“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed. “I struck out every time I was at bat.”
“Yeah, but you have a great swing, and you’re still new. You’ll get it. And you had a great play throwing that runner out at third.”
“You saw that?” Jeremy asks, the emotion in his voice making my nose itch.
“Course I did,” his dad says. “I loved watching you play.”
Jeremy throws his arms around his dad, and his dad hugs him back, and I have to look away.
At least until I feel arms around my waist. I look down and see Jeremy hugging me. I pat his back, ruffle his hair, and chuckle. “You did good, kid.”
“Thanks, Coach,” he says, before running out with his dad.
The man gives me a tight, grateful smile before walking out with his son.
And all I know is I’m glad Scottie’s not here to bust my chops.
But I wouldn’t mind if I could share a moment like this withsomeone.
Lucas is corralling the last of his kids toward the parking lot, and the stadium is finally quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the overhead lights clicking on as dusk settles in. I grab my duffel bag from the dugout and pull out my phone.
Four notifications, but none of them are fromBeyond Justice.
I kick at the dirt and pull up the app, anyway, navigating to my messages with Grace. The welcome screen appears first:
Welcome to the Beyond Justice private forum!
Beyond Justice is a weekly true-crime podcast that dives into what happens after the verdict. This private forum is limited to verified listeners. No trolls. No catfish.
I tap past it to our conversation, catching up on how we ended things two days ago.
GracieLou
You know what I like best about Christmas? The hope. It adds a spark of magic to the air.
GreenArrow11
That’s frostbite.
GracieLou
Well, it feels delicious.
GreenArrow11
You’ve clearly never had frostbite.
