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“They were desperate.”
“Obviously.”
“That man from earlier? The boy’s dad. He lives in Texas with hisfiancée.”
“He came all the way out here for his son’s game?”
“And she didn’t even let him stay.”
God, slap some southern accents on them and I’m right at home.
I try to ignore them. I focus on the game, on my son. I damn near bite a hole through my lip trying to and succeeding in keeping my mouth shut. When the tournament finally ends, I’m naive enough to assume their little gossip session will too. But even as the whistle blows, as I descend the bleachers to meet August at the bottom, as my kid gets within earshot of their freaking bitching, they don’t stop.
“A child raising a child.” Kristal tuts. “That poor boy.”
It physically hurts, watching August’s tired but exhilarated beam be erased by a handful of flippant words. Face pinched, his gaze flits between me and the mom from hell. “Is she talking about us?”
Even if I did have a habit of lying to my kid, it would be pointless; it’s like Kristal is purposely making the topic of her conversation undeniable, staring right at us with a tight-lipped grimace. “Ignore her.”
That poor boy of mine goes bright red.
“August,” I warn, chastise, and soothe all at once. “It’s okay.”
His head shakes along with his voice. “No, it’s not.”
“No one else heard.”I hope.“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to embarrass you, I swear.”
“What?” August scoffs, knuckles white as he grips his borrowed helmet—spray painted bright pink, I hadn’t noticed until now. “I’m not embarrassed. She should be embarrassed. Her son can’t pitch.”
I wince, slanting a look in the hopefully oblivious moms’ direction. “August, c’mon. Let it go.”
He does not. He does the very opposite. He turns to the bleachers and, at exactly the same volume Kristal was talking, he says, “And she’s a bitch.”
“August.” Oh my God.Oh my God.I can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a weep bubbling up in my throat. “You—”can’t say that, I start to say but a noise I can only describe as a screech cuts me off.
“Excuse me?”
As enraged footsteps stomp towards us, I take a moment to glare at my lovely child. The unwilling cause of two of today’s altercations, neither of which I blame him for. But the lucky third? Oh, he issoon dish duty for the next month. “I kinda hate you right now.”
Unbothered, August shrugs. “She started it.”
“Ms. Lane.” Two spat words draw my gaze forward, and I almost flinch at the sight of Kristal, Shireen, and the rest of the Mom Squad gathering in a semicircle around August and I. “Did you hear what your son just called me?”
“I did.” I side-eye August, kinda-hating him a little more for the words that I have to say next. As much as I itch to defend my kid, whether he deserves it or not, I’m not in a position to make waves. I can live with having no friends here but a posse of enemies would be bad for both of us. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
Lie. Sometimes, I wonder if Willow is making up for all those years our parents forbid us from cursing by injecting one or two in every sentence.
A sharp shake of Kristal’s head sends her perfect ponytail whipping from side to side. “This is unacceptable.”
“I know.” I discreetly flick August’s ear as I sneak an arm around his shoulders, giving him a shake and Kristal a tight, commiserating smile—oh, the joys of raising a young boy, am I right?“I’ll talk to him.”
Not good enough, Kristal’s crooked brow retorts. “I wanthimto apologize.”
“Of course.”Do it or suffer, little boy,says the expectant look I aim at my son.I hear baseball bats make excellent kindling. “August?”
Don’t make me, he silently pleads but unfortunately for him, I’m all out of shits to give today. Used them up on his father and his coach. Tough luck. Time to consequate those actions. John will be so proud.
With a huff and an eye roll that I really hope Kristal is too pissed to notice, August obliges. Reluctantly and so lackluster, it’s truly a miracle our new nemesis deems it good enough, but he apologizes, with real, non-mumbled, big boy words, and Kristal accepts it with a brisk nod, and I breathe a sigh of relief becausehalle-freakin-lujah.
