Page 10 of View With Your Heart

“Look, Mr. Scott is my dad. How about calling me . . . Coach?” I have no idea where the suggestion came from or how it so easily rolled off my tongue, but as soon as I say it, I realize I like it. Calling me Coach would be an honor and not as stuffy as calling me Mr. Scott. “And I don’t have plans this evening until later.”

“Oh yeah, what are you doing?” her child asks.

“Gee,” Britton hisses. “That’s not our business.”

“I’m here for the film festival in Traverse City. I made a film.” Pride fills my voice as I look from the boy to his mother. I want her to be proud of me for some reason. I’d been a drunken sap for part of that long-ago weekend, wallowing in my fear of failure and begging her to just fuck me.

My God. I asked this woman to do things to me, with me, and I did things to her. Things I should not be thinking about while her son is standing next to her.

“A baseball movie?” he asks.

“Sort of. It’s a documentary about baseball.”

His nose wrinkles. “They make us watch videos like that for gym class on rainy days, and they are so boring.”

“Gee,” Britton hisses again, tightening her hold on his shoulder.

“I remember those. Yeah, boring, but I promise mine isn’t.”

“Can we see it?” he asks, and my head pops up to Britton. Would she come to see my film? I’d be flattered, but I’m not certain all of it is appropriate for a kid who is . . .

“How old are you?”

“I’m twelve.” He stands taller, puffing out his chest.

“My film is probably PG-13.” Brant and a few of the other guys are caught on camera hitting on women or getting hit on.

Gee rolls his eyes. “I can watch PG-13,” he tells me.

“When you’re thirteen,” his mom teasingly warns, and I slowly smile, recalling things we did that weren’t PG-13 and probably shouldn’t have been done when she was sixteen, but she let me. She let me do so much to her body, and from the looks of her now, she hasn’t changed one bit. She has a kid but still looks like a teen herself. Zoey said she never wanted children because she didn’t want her body to change shapes, shift, or sag, or anything. One look at Britton and I can see everything is exactly as it used to be, maybe even better.

She’s so freaking beautiful. I bite my tongue to prevent the words from escaping.

“Maybe we can get in a few pitches before it gets too dark,” I state, noting the heavy filter of trees overshadowing the field. From the view across the lake, it’s going to be a beautiful sunset, but I don’t suppose Britton wants to watch a sunset with me like she used to when we were teens. Plus, I do have dinner plans later this evening, although I’ve lost my sense of urgency to attend.

Gee runs back to home plate, and I use the seconds to step closer to Britton.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. What are the chances?”

“Yeah, what are the chances?” Her voice lowers, not sounding half as pleasantly surprised as me. In fact, she sounds a little displeased that I’m standing before her.

“So, a son,” I say, questioning how, when, who, but then I recall she already mentioned Patrick, her husband. “And he’s twelve.” I don’t know what I’m implying, but a measurement of time comes to me. Her getting pregnant must have happened soon after our weekend together.

“How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”

“Thirteen years,” she quickly snaps. I had already known the answer, but I wanted to see if she remembered.

“Yeah, thirteen years,” I whisper, recalling memory after memory with a smile. I’m actually a little sad to consider she found another guy so quickly after being with me, but we weren’t intended for forever. It was only an amazing weekend.

“You still look amazing.”

Her forehead furrows as if that’s the wrong thing to say to her.

“Thanks for giving Gee a few pitches. Just a couple will satisfy him. I don’t want to hold you up.”

“You aren’t holding me up,” I say, reaching out for her arm, but she steps back at the same time Gee calls out, “We gonna play?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna play,” I reply, but I’m looking at his mother.