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“I don’t know why he’d think that. I’ve always been there for him.”
I reached over to cover his knuckles with my hand. “People don’t always have rational thoughts. Especially kids. They don’t understand how the world works. The one person who was supposed to be there for him let him down again and again.”
“He was doing the best he could.”
“The important thing is that he’s in a good place right now.”
From everything I’d seen, Nick was doing a great job. “You rented a home in town; you’re consulting with the counselor; you’re coaching his baseball team. All of it is to give Brody a sense of security and safety. But the most important thing is that you love him. Brody needs that desperately. He needs someone to put him first.”
Brody rushed inside. A gust of chilly wind followed him. “Hey, can you be on first?”
“Absolutely. Let me grab my glove.” Nick stood, then asked me, “You want to play too?”
“I have an extra glove if you need one,” Nick said on his way to the bag he’d left in the foyer.
“I have my old softball glove.”
“You played?” Nick asked when he returned with his glove. Mine sat on the counter by the door. Hunter always wanted to practice or play catch. If I wasn’t working, I obliged.
“A little. My coach was nothing like you,” I said as we headed outside.
“Oh yeah, how’s that?” Nick asked as we made our way to first base. Hunter had flat bases he used for first, second, and third, but a more substantial home plate that fit into the ground, so it didn’t slide.
I paused by first, where Nick was supposed to be positioned. “Our coach didn’t break things down like you do, teaching every rule and fundamental. It was very basic.”
Nick smiled slowly and winked. “I can teach you now.”
His wink made every inch of my body heat up. I already knew he was skilled in the bedroom, but he made me think he had plans for other very dirty things.
I shook my head and moved to the outfield.
Hunter was pitching to Brody. A large net was behind him to catch the thrown balls since we didn’t have anyone playing catcher.
Brody ground out to first. Then they switched places. Nick paused to give pointers, but it was more relaxed than in practice. When we paused to get some water, Nick sat in one of the rocking chairs on the back porch. He looked so natural there, like he belonged, and my heart squeezed.
“What happens if the ball is tipped but the ball is caught by the catcher?” Hunter asked Nick.
Hunter stood in front of Nick, his water bottle in his hand, his gaze intent on him. Hunter was so serious about baseball. He watched the games and asked me questions I couldn’t answer.
“A foul tip?” Nick asked.
“Yeah.”
“If it goes straight back, it’s a foul ball. If it goes above the batter, then it’s an out.” Nick demonstrated the trajectory of the ball with his hand.
“What if it’s a foul ball, and there’s a runner on third? Can he tag up and run home?” Hunter continued.
I placed a hand on his shoulder, tempted to tell him to give Nick a break. It wasn’t practice.
“These are great questions, buddy. It shows you’re really thinking about the game. If there’s a runner on third, I’ll tell you to let it drop. We don’t want the runner to tag and run home.”
“He’s always asking questions I can’t answer.”
“Save them up and ask when I see you next. I don’t mind. It’s how you learn. Baseball is a thinking man’s game.”
Nick was so patient with the boys.
I moved to sit next to him when the boys left their bottles on the porch and grabbed their gloves and a ball to throw. “The other parents were complaining that practice is during football games.”
