Page 65 of Double Play

Stepping inside, the warehouse space is dimly lit with two batting cages lined up side-by-side and a flat turf beside them with a raised mound at one end.

“What is this place?” I whisper like I’ll break some code by speaking louder.

“This is BatterUP,” Montgomery states enthusiastically. “Sometimes we go to Private Gym that has all the fancy equipment, but this place is better.”

Declan chuckles. “I don’t know about better, but we won’t be disturbed here.”

I catch his meaning. This place is more private than even the private club which could potentially have other players or professional athletics up early and working out.

Montgomery takes a deep breath like the place is a blooming garden instead of a warehouse with baseball skill-building equipment. The scent is sweaty locker room, bleach, and a hint of lavender. She helps herself to a row of helmets and a set of bats, then walks a bucket of balls to the pitching machine at the end of the first batting cage.

“How do you know this place?” I ask, turning toward Declan. He not only has this friendship I hadn’t heard of, but he’s also brought me somewhere that’s special to him and his daughter, while respecting my need to keep us a secret.

“Monty Hart was a former catcher for the Philadelphia Flash and a former teammate of mine in Seattle, way back when.” Declan winks. “He was a good friend to a young rookie who needed a mentor, and he’s been a constant in my life, checking in on me as the years passed.” He shakes his head, emotion for the man written in Declan’s face. “He’s the reason I have the job with the Tennessee Terrors. He knows people in the front office.”

Gratitude rings in his voice.

“He’s the closest father figure I’ve had, next to Dasher, and Michelle did not like Dasher as a name for our sweet baby girl, so Montgomery won as her name.”

I grin at the sentimentality.

“Okay, so let’s get you suited up and swinging,” Declan declares, placing his hand on my lower back and leading me to the helmets and bats.

“I haven’t done this in years,” I admit. “I don’t think my eye-hand coordination will be any good.”

Declan’s gaze shifts toward his daughter who is busy swinging away and making decent contact with the balls flying at her from the machine.

When he looks back at me, he says, “I’d say there is nothing wrong with your eye-hand coordination.” He winks at the implication but then his expression tightens while glancing back at Montgomery. “And I’m sorry about all this.”

“Sorry?” I blink, taken slightly aback.

“This morning I wanted to show my appreciation . . . again . . . for finding you at my place last night. But then . . .” His eyes point toward Montgomery.

“Never apologize for being a good dad, Declan. Never.” I breathe out the last word. “As far as appreciation, you can make it up to me.” I lean toward him, forgetting myself for a moment and the teenage girl we should behave in front of. Tugging myself backward, like I’m tethered by a springy string, I ask, “Think she is really okay with me being here?”

Declan keeps his gaze fixed on his daughter. “If I know Montgomery, and I like to think I do, she’d have made it known if she didn’t want you present. But she invited you, remember?”

As she was the one to ask me to come with them, I let go of my concerns.

Instead, I hit the snot out of the balls, when I finally make contact with a few. My eye-hand coordination is off after years of not practicing, but it feels good to swing my arms. It feels incredible to make contact.

Montgomery was right. Taking out any anger on a ball with a bat was a bit invigorating.

Eventually, my round is up, as is Montgomery’s, and she quickly refills the pitching machine so Declan can take a turn.

I watch in wonder as his tall, lean body responds to a pitch. The perfect twist of his hips and torso. The extension of his arms. The strength of his legs.

“My old man has still got it.” Montgomery laughs.

My face is probably fifty shades of rosé as I’m caught ogling her father.

“You like him, don’t you?”

And . . . here comes the inquisition I’ve been expecting.

“You could say that,” I tease, bringing my attention to her. “When I was your age, I had the biggest crush on your dad.”

Montgomery wrinkles her nose.