Page 17 of Defensive Indifference

She’s gorgeous. Just downright, no way around it, gorgeous. Which is fine. I’m not in a competition here. I’m just present to watch my son learn to play baseball better, to be a supportive mom, and to survive this ninety-degree day with some dignity.

“He’s eight, but I swear he was just two yesterday,” I admit.

“I wish I had kids, but there are literally zero prospects for even so much as a husband. So, you know, patience, I guess.” She waves it off as nothing, but it sure grabs my interest.

“What do you mean? I thought he was your boyfriend.” I point toward Koa, who has yet to hit a home run, but has my child running laps instead.

Eleanor glances between me and Koa and her eyes widen. “Oh, absolutely not. No. I’m only here because my brother took pity on him. I’m an image consultant for his teams.”

“Teams?”

“My brothers own several sports teams in the southeast, including the Sharks. When things went, shall we say, kablooey, Quade, my brother, asked if I’d be willing to come here and make sure things didn’t get out of control.” She glances at me and chuckles. “Well, no more out of control.”

“I see.” Nope, there is no chance I’m going to get into a conversation with a billionaire about my issues with Koa. Instead, we refocus on the practice and periodically shout insults at Koa about his inability to hit a home run pitched from an eight-year-old.

“All right, I’ve had just about enough from the two of you!” Koa turns around and motions for Dustin to pitch again. “Don’t go easy on me, kid!”

Dustin pitches a perfect opportunity for Koa to blast it out of the park. The bat comes down and nails the ball so hard, the crack echoes through the entire field. Dustin, even at eight, squeals with delight and chases after it, no doubt to ask Koa to sign it. Koa chases after him, both racing to get to the ball first.

Tears well in my eyes, the kind that come from too many sleepless nights, too much weight on my shoulders, more hits than I can take alone, and watching my son’s favorite player in the whole world having fun with him. What I wouldn’t do to be able to love again, to open up to someone and let them inside my life, to father Dustin the way a kid his age deserves and needs. I can’t take the risk. I can’t chance that same man would hurt my son when things get too hard and he leaves. At least this, this one-on-one coaching, can give my son something I can’t. A chance to spend time with a man who has his best interests at heart.

I fully believe that’s true, too, because the smile on Koa’s face can’t be faked.

Chapter Nine

Koa

The telltale jingle of the ice cream truck grows louder, grabbing Dustin’s attention. His eyes widen and ears perk just like mine did when I was his age. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had ice cream, I can’t help myself.

“You like ice cream?” I adjust my hat and try to get a location on the truck so I don’t miss it. It’s just turning the corner when Dustin replies.

“Yes! I love those cones with the chocolate on top. What’s your favorite?” Those wide eyes go wider as the truck nears.

“Same, kid.” Jogging over to catch it, I wiggle my wallet free. The driver slows to a stop just on the other side of the massive oak where Evalina and Eleanor chat.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“Four cones, please.” I fork over a few bills and wait while the driver digs through the freezer. Once the cones are produced, I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my face. Man, I haven’t been this happy about a food item in a long time, which may or may not speak to how boring my life has become…at least, until this unsavory attention on my family blew up.

“Here you go. Wanna take that one to your mom?” I hand Dustin another cone, but I have no idea what he mumbles with half the ice cream stuffed in his mouth. I saunter along behind him, working hard to keep the ice cream from dribbling over my cone. “And one for the lady,” I say, handing Eleanor the last one.

“Oh gosh, it’s melting everywhere.” She giggles and takes a big lick around it, successfully covering the tip of her nose in chocolate drizzle. “I’m going to Coach’s office to see if he has any napkins and grab my briefcase. I’ll be back.”

Eleanor skips along, seemingly as excited about ice cream as me. There is, however, one person who is less than pleased about the impromptu treat. Evalina sighs and fusses that Dustin had better eat his dinner. It hadn’t occurred to me that I should ask his mother before stuffing him full of sugary food that would, without a doubt, destroy his appetite. At least, for a while. If he’s anything like me at eight, he’ll be hungry three more times before bed.

Still, I can’t help thinking this is one more strike against me. Straddling the bench beside them gets her attention. “I’m sorry. I should have asked before getting him ice cream.”

“It’s fine.” She’s curt. Not mean or rude, but a mom who has a lot on her plate, has had to do it all on her own, and has had yet another wrench thrown in her plan, thanks to me.

“It’s not. I’m not used to…you know…kids one-on-one. I should have asked you first. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes—which are undoubtedly her most beautiful feature—soften. She shrugs and takes a bite of the cone. “It is what it is. It’s not the first time someone gave him something without asking, won’t be the last.”

She keeps biting the ice cream. Bite, bite, bite, as if it’s a cookie or something.

“I’m sorry, why are you biting the ice cream? Who does that?” I chuckle.

Evalina peers down at her snack, scrunches her nose, and shifts her gaze back to me. “You’re going to criticize how I eat ice cream now? Who are you? Mr. Busybody McNosy Pants?”