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As much as I wanted her to, I shook my head. “No. Thank you, though. I’ll call you later and let you know what happened.”
She nodded and opened her door. Before getting out, she looked at me. “Jimmy loves you, and he’s a smart kid. He’ll understand.”
“I hope so.”
Her door closed, and I drove home, praying I could handle whatever was coming my way. Although I had a feeling celebrating with Cash wasn’t going to be it.
Chapter6
Cash
Losing had never felt better. Yes, as an athlete, no one enjoyed losing, but seeing the kids play their hearts out and their smiles after they won made it worth it. The pitcher, Jimmy, had talent. His delivery was on point, and that bunt was genius. Not only that, but it didn’t take long for me to realize he was the kid I’d seen practicing in the yard behind mine.
When I made it through the line, he was the last one to shake my hand. “Great game, kid.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jameson. That means a lot to me. You’re my all-time favorite player. Sorry about your shoulder. That sucked.”
“Call me Cash, and you’re right. It did suck.” I chuckled, letting go of his hand. “You have an awesome arm. How old are you?”
And just like that, my scouting cap was on. This kid didn’t look old enough to be a junior and definitely not a senior. Something deep inside me said to get a preliminary contract in front of him and his parents.
“Fourteen. I’m a freshman.” When I furrowed my brows, doing a bit of math, he must have read my mind. “I skipped a grade. I should be in eighth.”
“And you play varsity ball?” He nodded. “Ever think about playing for the big leagues?”
Jimmy blinked a few times and laughed. “Is that a trick question?”
“No tricks.”
He studied me. “Yeah. Who doesn’t think about that?”
Before I could ask if his parents were there, a teammate of his ran up to us. “Hi, Mr. Jameson.”
These kids were making me feel older than my thirty-two years.
“Jimmy, my granddad is ready to go,” the kid continued.
“Okay.”
He handed Jimmy a Hawks jersey before holding out a ball and marker for me. “Mr. Jameson, can I have your autograph?”
“Sure can. What’s your name?”
“Max.”
“Nice base running.”
His mouth gaped. “Wow, thank you. Couldn’t let the perfect bunt get wasted. Man, I thought Coach was gonna lose it.”
I scrawled my name on the ball and handed it back to him. “Yeah, why’s that?” I couldn’t help but want to know. “Was the play not designed that way?”
“Nah,” Max said. “The coach gave Jimmy the sign to swing. He’s the leader in home runs. That was all him. Best on our team.”
Jimmy shoved his shoulder. “Didn’t matter how good my bunt was. You’re the one who scored.”
The humbleness and maturity this kid showed blew me away. A lot of teenagers—hell, a lot of adults—would have been happy to take the credit. Max was right. That bunt was genius. Knowing that he did that on his own was amazing—better because it paid off. Which I was positive the coach told him. If it had gone a different way, we might have been having another conversation. That said, the kid had talent, and if anyone could recognize that, it was me.
Max finally looked at the ball in his hand. “This is so cool. Thank you, Mr. Jameson. Jimmy, I’ll meet you at the car.” Max hustled off the field, hopping the fence that led to the parking lot.
