Page 35 of Feel My Love


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When the other kids arrived, I sent them to throw a ball in the outfield with Norm, who’d volunteered to assistant coach.

So far, no one mentioned who my brother or Brody’s dad was. I was worried they’d put it together and pull their kids from the team.

In school and after graduation, I’d always been Austin’s brother, even though he was younger than me. His reputation preceded him and tainted our family’s reputation.

Instead of resenting him, I tried to smooth things over as best I could, cleaning up his messes and being as good as I could be to not cause any more waves. He always caused enough for everyone.

My parents moved away after retirement. They said it was to travel, but I suspected it was to get space from him. They saw him as a lost cause.

After Hunter was done warming up, I said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I grabbed my wooden bat standing in the batter’s box on the left side of the catcher. Most of the batters in the league would be righties. My strike zone was higher than the boys’ would be, but I just wanted to get a feel for his speed.

Hunter concentrated on Brody’s glove and threw a fastball down the middle.

“That looked great. You can throw that all day.” I got into position again as he threw one fastball after another.

A few dads were resting their forearms on the top of the fence watching. Everyone wanted their kid to be the lead pitcher. Some of the moms were talking and watching younger siblings play in the dirt.

Hunter threw the next pitch sidearm. It was much slower than the others and flew outside. Brody had to run to contain it.

I set my bat on the ground. “What was that?”

Hunter looked like a deer caught in headlights.

I tended to be loud and intimidating when I got excited about something. I moved closer to him and lowered my voice. “What did you throw?”

When he still looked uncertain, I said, “You’re not in trouble. I just don’t want you to get hurt throwing sidearm. We need to get a pitching coach in here to train you with proper form before you attempt other pitches.”

Finally, he said, “It was my slider.”

I liked how he owned it and saidmy slider, not a slider.

I gave him a pointed look. “I just want to see fastballs right now.”

Hunter nodded reluctantly.

“How many pitches do you throw?” I had a feeling there was more in his arsenal.

“A knuckle curve, slider, change-up, knuckleball, cutter.”

Excitement coursed through me. The kid had the drive. “That’s impressive. A knuckle curve is the hardest pitch.”

“I watched videos to learn how to do them.”

I admired his dedication. “Only fastballs for now, though. Got it?”

Hunter nodded, and I smiled. “Good job pitching. Grab some water, and head out to the outfield to throw with your team.”

Hunter took off.

“Hey, Coach,” a man asked from the fence.

I moved closer wondering what he wanted. “There a problem with his pitches?” he asked.

It was the man Abby had arrived with. Was this the father or her boyfriend? Abby moved closer to stand next to him.

Abby gave me an apologetic look. “Nick, this is Ben, my sister’s fiancé.”

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