It’s all Lynley.
We’ve been messaging on and off for the last month, but I haven’t actually seen her since the night she confronted Christopher. When she told me about the game this morning, I couldn’t resist, even knowing I was pushing the boundaries.
The urge to see her is like an itch under my skin—one I can’t get rid of, no matter what I do. It’s still here now, like an undercurrent of torture, knowing she’s sitting in the stands just to my left.
I made sure to position myself just out of sight. I’m not here to pull her focus away from Mase, who is thrilled that they found a replacement coach for the one who broke his leg. He steps forward now, catching my attention as hesquares up to the home plate, his grip on the bat confident. He eyes up the pitcher, tilting his chin back, a determined glint in his eyes. He’s got one teammate sitting on second, rocking on his heels as he waits.
Mase shifts his weight, watching as the pitcher moves, lifting his left leg and pulling his arm back. The ball goes sailing quickly toward the plate, but Mase doesn’t hesitate, his bat swinging forward, connecting with the ball with a solid thwack.
I suck in a sharp breath as the ball flies through the air, a still hush covering the crowd as everyone else does the same. But then the coach is yelling, “Run, run, run!”
Mase and the kid on second both take off. I hear someone screaming, “Yes, Oakley!Go!”
I turn, looking for the ball. It’s landed out in the right field, and the other team is scrambling for it. Mase sprints past the coach on first base, hitting second just as the outfielders grab the ball. The other kid makes it home, but Mase hesitates.
“Keep running, Mase!” That cry comes from Lynley. He glances in her direction for a beat, and then he’s moving again, running faster this time. The coach on third base is swinging his arm around, gesturing at him to keep going.
The kid who just made it home is standing beside the head coach, both of them watching Mase with wide eyes. “Bring it home, Mase!” the coach yells, a confident grin already stretching across his face. The second baseman catches the ball, his arm immediately going back to throw it to the catcher, but it’s too late. Mase slides into home, a loud cheer immediately shooting up into the air from the team and the home crowd. The coach jogs forward, a hand out for a high-five, and the grin on Mase’s face is blinding.
I can’t stop the swell of pride in my chest for this kidI’ve never even met. It’s an easy win for the Sterling Sluggers after that, and as the parents swarm the celebrating team, I head for the parking lot, which has the perfect view of the entrance to the field. I lean against the hood of my SUV, crossing my arms over my chest.
I don’t have to wait for long, catching sight of Lynley and Mase walking toward me, the red undertones of her dark hair shining in the sun. Mase’s navy-and-white uniform is grass-stained and dirty. He’s looking up at her, chatting animatedly, and she’s grinning, her attention completely on her son.
My heart jumps in my chest, but I shake it off, waiting until they’re almost even with me to call out, “That was a good game.”
Lynley’s head whips around so quickly, I’m a little worried for her neck. “Grafton?” The breeze steals the surprised whisper, but there’s no hiding the flash of pleasure in her blue eyes.
She’s been holding me at arm’s length. I don’t blame her for it, especially after everything Thatcher tried to drop on my doorstep the night she confronted Christopher and her sister. I’m not even sure how much she knows about Angelica, but that glimpse of happiness at seeing me just now… It confirms that the risk I took in coming today was worth it.
Mase comes to a skidding halt, his lips twisting into a scowl. “Who’s he?” he demands, and then looks at me. “Who are you?”
I push off the car and close the distance between us. “I’m Grafton. I’m your mother’s?—”
“Friend!” Lynley blurts, her voice too loud. Mase shoots her a surprised look. She gives him a tight smile, saying at a more reasonable level, “Grafton is a friend.”
I lift a brow, shooting her a wry look as I wonder what she thought I was going to say. Her skin already has a rosy glow from the sun, but it deepens at my amusement, her eyes sliding away from mine.
“I’ve never met you before,” Mase declares with no small amount of suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Well, your mom told me what a great baseball player you are. I had to come check out the game.”
That surprises him, his mouth dropping open. “You…you came to watch me play?”
His reaction seems a little over the top for a stranger watching a baseball game. I tilt my head to the side, watching him carefully. “I gotta admit, I don’t know much about baseball. I played football in school, but once I graduated, I didn’t play much of anything.” I roll my shoulders in a shrug. “Your game looked really good. The home run you hit? It was pretty impressive.”
His mouth snaps shut, his eyes gleaming with exhilaration. “I’ve been practicing a lot.”
Lynley presses a hand to his shoulder. “You have,” she agrees warmly. “And everyone could tell.” She looks back at me. “The coach has started a new tradition of naming an MVP every game?—”
“That means Most Valuable Player,” Mase informs me importantly.
“—and today, that was Mase,” Lynley finishes, nudging her son with her hip.
He holds up his hand, still covered in his glove, and shows me the dirty ball tucked in the center. “I got the game ball,” he crows. “Cale even signed it!”
“His coach,” Lynley answers my unasked question.
I meet Mase’s dark blue eyes. “I’m impressed,” I tell himsincerely, and then hold a fist out for him to bump. “And that means we need to celebrate, yeah? If you guys don’t have plans, how about some ice cream? On me.”
