Page 18 of Double Play

“But I feel like an asshole. I should have checked in with you.” He eyes me sheepishly a second before lowering his head, glaring at the glass of ice water in his hands.

“And I don’t feel like . . . discussing how I keep up with routine checkups and the latest research on A.L.L.” I offer a hesitant smile to soften the blow of my words. I don’t like to feel pitied about my childhood health history, so I hope my response assures him I take care of myself.

The comment seems to pacify him as he gives a sharp nod. Subject closed.

“Tell me more about your daughter,” I ask next, shifting the focus off me.

Declan hooks his brow. “Off the record?”

I tilt my head. “Does something about me imply this might be recorded?”

For some reason, Declan glances down at my feet. I tap my high-heeled toes under his inspection. He scowls.

“As I told you, Montgomery is almost fifteen. She’s my entire world.” The smile on his face matches the love in his tone. “Her mother and I have a co-parenting relationship.”

“Which means?”

“We never married, as you know.” The implication is that I remember this fact. When he eventually offered more details, explaining how he’d gotten a friend pregnant, and they agreed to an amicable relationship which included sharing the responsibility of parenting.

“Every other weekend was never our thing. Michelle honored my crazy schedule when I coached for Louisville.”

I nod. “Remind me how you ended up there.” A reminder of how he went from playing professionally for the Chicago Anchors to coaching a collegiate team outside of Nashville.

“The Anchors were talking trade. Michelle wanted to be closer to her family. I didn’t want to miss out on being Montgomery’s dad.” He drops his gaze, staring down once again at the ice water in his hands. “You might remember that Dasher and I lost our parents.”

“I remember,” I whisper, recalling the painful story he once told my family about losing his parents in a horrible car accident. He was only fifteen; his brother Dasher eighteen. Dasher took care of them, putting his own dreams of baseball success on hold until his younger brother was in college.

“So you left the Anchors . . .” I prompt, still confused because Declan had been in his prime. He was only thirty-something then and still on fire. Wylde Thing.

With his head still lowered, he continues. “The first year we had Montgomery, we tried to make it work. Not as a couple, but me on the team. But between the length of the season, the practices and games, plus the traveling, I wasn’t around much. I was missing out on precious time with Montgomery, and Michelle wanted to get back to work.”

“She didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom?”

Declan shakes his head. Whether she stayed home or not wasn’t my business. Some families need two incomes. Some women want to stay in the workforce. No matter how you slice it, motherhood makes women superheroes. But, financially, Declan could have afforded for Michelle to stay home, if she wished.

“Her family owns a construction company in Louisville. The stars aligned because I was able to get a job at the local university.” The laziness of his smile suggests he enjoyed his time coaching young men.

“And you liked coaching the kids,” I surmise, teasing the truth out of him.

Declan sits up straighter and blows out a breath. “There was so much potential for greatness, on and off the field at that age.”

Tipping my head to the side, I assess him a second. The slope of his nose, which he’s broken a time or two. The curve of his mouth, and a soft dimple hidden within the auburn and silver mix on his jaw.

“Do you think you haven’t accomplished great things?” I sound like my therapist. The one who helped me accept I had more worth than I’d been giving myself credit for in my nearly forty years. She’d been equally instrumental in helping me accept a distant relationship from my father was in my best interest.

Declan shrugs and glances at the lowering sun. “I played professional baseball. Not many guys can say that.”

“No, they can’t,” I chuff, offering him a sympathetic smile. My brother is an example of those who didn’t get to fulfill that dream. Thousands don’t ever come half as close as Isaiah did.

“And you’re a father,” I add, because that’s no small feat either.

“The thing I’d never trade.” He brings his attention back to me. “Not for the highest contract imaginable.”

Baseball players are notoriously high paid within the sports industry, and Declan’s talking about some serious cash rejection. But I imagine not even billions could keep him from one of his greatest achievements. Montgomery.

“So you gave up the Anchors and moved to Louisville?”

“You know . . .” Declan sighs, looking at me with a playful gleam in his eyes. “You sound very on-the-record right now.”