Page 45 of Feel My Love


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“I’m sorry about Ben. He’s just worried about Abby,” Brooke said to me kindly.

My jaw was tight as I gathered my things and moved Brody toward the door to leave. “As he should be.”

I wasn’t a good guy. How could I be with Austin as my brother? She deserved someone who could give her everything she wanted, and there was no way I could deliver. I’d just bring her down.

Brooke looked at me helplessly as if she wanted to fix the last few minutes but didn’t know how.

“It was nice to meet you,” I said woodenly as we left.

“Is something wrong?” Brody asked.

“Of course not.”

Brody was supersensitive to people, which I thought had everything to do with Austin’s inattention. He was worried I’d leave too.

“Do they know about my dad?” Brody asked, his face had lost the excitement it held all evening.

“Yeah. But they’re not worried about you,” I assured him, hoping he’d drop it.

He tipped his head to the side. “They don’t want you to be my coach?”

“We just can’t get too close to anyone.” Our family’s reputation tainted other people. It was a good reminder to keep to my lone wolf routine. I worked alone and didn’t have many friends for a reason. They always found out and kept their distance. I was sick of the pain associated with it, so I pulled back before they could. I hardened my heart against them. It was easier that way.

“I like Hunter.”

Hunter and Brody were very similar. Obsessed with baseball. They just wanted to play. “You can still play with him.”

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully as we got into my truck.

I just needed to stay away from his mother.

“I just want to fit in and be normal.”

“Should we have moved out of town?” I asked myself that several times a day.

We could still do it. Except he was already established in school, and we had the travel team to think of.

“I want to be on the team. I like it.”

“I don’t want to lose it either.” Coaching had satisfied some need deep in my soul. I enjoyed teaching kids about baseball. Especially ones who were so eager to learn. I could only imagine that watching them improve over the course of a season would be just as fulfilling.

“Sometimes I hate my dad.”

He’d said that often over the years. Usually the few times he’d called me because he was hungry or needed gear for baseball. He didn’t like needing someone who couldn’t be there for him, and I hated how my brother’s inaction hurt him.

“You don’t hate him.” I always said, even if I wasn’t sure I meant it. “You hate what he’s done.”

He was quiet for a few seconds and then he said, “At least I can live with you now.”

An ache formed in my chest. I wanted him to live with me permanently, but I wasn’t sure that was possible. I wasn’t his father. “I love it too.”

“Sometimes I wish I could just forget about Dad. Pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t think you mean that.” I’d felt the same way throughout my life. “Let’s just focus on school and baseball. Everything will work out how it’s supposed to.”

He was quiet the rest of the way home. Surprisingly, he didn’t fight me on the shower before bed, and he went to bed easily excited to read a new book I’d gotten for him at the library about a professional baseball player.

I hoped baseball gave him something to strive for, like it always had for me. Even if major league dreams were unrealistic, they were still good to have. They motivated you when you had no hope, and both of us needed that in our lives.

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