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He takes off in a sprint toward first base and lands on the white square with a proud hop. When he turns toward us, he’s pumping his fists in the air. Clay and I are still cheering as if he just won the whole game with that one play.
“Nice hit, Jack!” Clay cheers.
I risk a glance in Clay’s direction, feeling the sting of attraction when I see the wide, handsome smile on his face. It’s not the same man who came to the club last night. Today, he’s in a tight black T-shirt, dark-gray joggers, and crisp white sneakers. His hair is hidden in a ball cap, and while I’ve always considered myself a lover of expensive suits, this casual look on him has me feeling surprisingly feral.
His appearance isn’t the only difference from last night. When he showed up this morning, he greeted me with a smile—a stark contrast from the scowl or pure avoidance I received at the club the night before.
We haven’t spoken a word about what our plan is for tonight, and we won’t. Not here. He knows that much. For now, I’d like to pretend I didn’t agree to this plan and that there’s nothing happening tonight.
“He’s doing great,” Clay says as we sit down at the end of the inning. Jack was able to score a run for his team when the girl that bat after him hit the ball clear into the outfield.
“He really likes playing,” I reply warmly.
“It shows.”
We don’t look at each other as we talk, but it’s easy like this. It’s like nothing happened at all.
“Did you play…when you were a kid?” I ask, daring to request something personal.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. All the way up to college. Then I tore my ACL, and it was all over.”
Delicately, I glance up at him. Our eyes meet for only a second before we quickly look away.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “About your knee.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay. I wasn’t going pro or anything. I just liked to play.”
How did I never know how long he played baseball? While I feel like we shared so much about ourselves before, I’m starting to wonder how real any of it was.
“Thank you for coming,” I mumble quietly.
“Anytime. He’s a good kid.”
I nod as I smile at Jack, watching him laughing with the other kids in the dugout.
It’s only quiet for a few moments before Clay asks the question that steals the smile right off my face.
“Where’s his father, Eden?”
I feel frozen as I stare straight ahead.
“He’s out of the picture,” I reply in a whisper.
“Does he know about Jack?”
I turn my head toward him, meeting his curious gaze with a cold glare. This topic is off-limits. Doesn’t he know that?
Instead of backing down, he leans closer, so none of the other parents around us can hear. “I’m part of his life now, Eden. Can’t you see I care about him? Does that entitle me to anything?”
“No,” I reply sternly. “It doesn’t.” Feeling suddenly caged in, I jump up from my seat on the bleachers and walk down to the grass and around the back toward the side of the field. Clay is right behind me the entire way.
“That’s right. It’s always onyourterms, isn’t it?” he replies, sounding annoyed and wearing a sarcastic smirk.
“When it comes to my son, it is,” I snap in return.
“Because you love him, right?”
My brow furrows. “Of course.”
