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That’s when he’d found out Lily wouldn’t be around this evening because she had dinner plans with Blair Hubber. Apparently, she’d made her plans a week earlier and they couldn’t be changed.
He called bullshit. If Hubber meant nothing to her, then why the hell didn’t she tell him to stuff it?
He’d been pissed. Hell, he’d been more than pissed.
But Mac had played it cool—what else was he going to do? She told him that the dinner was a “nothing kind of thing” and he needed to respect that. But the knowledge that she would be with Hubber tonight worked on him all afternoon. It was the reason for his current state of—“You’re being a dick. You mind telling me why?”
Mac ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
Cain gave him a questioning look before he glanced out at the field where the boys were stowing the bases.
“Does it have anything to do your sister?”
“No.” His answer was curt, and most people would have heeded the warning and backed off. But this was Cain. And Cain Black had been in Mackenzie’s business since they were younger than the boys they’d been coaching.
“Then it must be Lily.”
Mac shot Cain a warning glance, which only managed to make his friend chuckle.
“Holy shit. She actually turned you down?”
“Who turned who down?”
Both men turned to the end of the dugout as Jake Edwards jumped inside.
“What’s going on?” Jake asked.
Christ. Jake was going to love this.
“Can we just get out of here?” Mac said roughly. “I need a drink.”
Jake shrugged. “Raine’s out of town with Maggie for a few days, so I’m good.”
Cain grinned. “Yes, our Mr. Edwards is rocking the single life.”
“I don’t know about rocking, but a night out with the boys sounds good to me,” Jake replied.
“Okay.” Cain grinned. “I’ll meet you guys at the Coach House. Michael’s spending the night at Timmy’s, so I’ll drop him and then swing by for a drink. But I’m not staying out all night.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Mac grumbled.
Mac grabbed his gear and jumped out of the dugout, following Jake back to the parking lot. He tossed his stuff onto the seat and watched Jake pull away. Some loud rap shit blasted from the radio, and with his ever-present scowl deepening, Mac changed the station to alternative rock.
He put the truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove a few yards when he skidded to a halt, his eyes on his rearview mirror. Staring back at him, from the dugout, stood a kid.
“Shit,” he whispered to himself.
Liam.
Great. Just fucking great. The kid w
as going to tell his sister that he’d almost forgotten him at the damn ballpark, and he’d have to listen to her barking in his ear for God knows how long.
Reversing back into the parking lot, he honked the horn and waited for his nephew to make his way over. By the time Liam reached the truck, Mac’s temper was starting to flare because the kid was walking slower than Mrs. Lambert from the Market—and that woman had a bum knee and used a goddamn walker.
“I don’t have all night,” Mac said tersely as Liam climbed into the cab and stowed his gear on the floor.
Liam shrugged but didn’t say anything. He pulled his seat belt into the clip and turned toward the window.
