Swing and a Mishap

by Tara Sivec

  “I hope you all have a wonderful evening. It’s always a pleasure seeing you.”

  For some ridiculous reason, I add a curtsy with my big smile for all of the women with wide-open mouths and then start walking away as fast as my feet will allow without taking off into a full sprint and looking like even more of an idiot.

  “Was it a pleasure seeing me too?” Shepherd shouts after me, and I can hear that damn humor in his voice.

  In reply, I continue walking faster and stick my fist up in the air. And since I’ve already disgraced this children’s ballpark with my foul language enough, I don’t stick my middle finger up with it like I want to, but I know Shepherd gets what I’m throwing down.

  “Is that a yes, or are you trying to imitate John Bender in The Breakfast Club when he walked across the football field at the end?” Shepherd cheerfully yells.

  “Don’t you… forget about—”

  I tune out the sound of all the moms in the bleachers suddenly belting out the iconic song from that ’80s movie, along with my traitor of a sister shouting over top of them.

  “Oh my God, I love this song!”

  Dropping my fist in defeat, I speed walk the rest of the way to the parking lot, seriously hating my life right now.

  CHAPTER 6

  Shepherd

  “Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”

  The last few nights of practices with my new team have been crazy, to say the least. They’re a great group of kids with a shit-ton of talent. Being out on the field with them, teaching them new techniques, and the thrill of watching them succeed, along with being able to still eat, sleep, and breathe baseball but in a much more relaxing and fun way, just makes me realize once again what a good decision I made by coming back here.

  But we just finished with practice number three, and it still takes me over forty minutes to calm the boys down at the start of each one and convince them to get to work and stop asking me questions about what it’s like playing pro ball. I can’t fault them for their enthusiasm. It’s actually pretty damn sweet. Until around the thirty-five-minute mark when no one has picked up a bat or a ball yet. But I still go easy on them for now. I couldn’t even imagine what I would have done as a freshman in high school if one of my baseball idols came to my school and started coaching my team. I’m trying as hard as possible to get them to see I’m just a normal guy who grew up on this small island just like the rest of them. It’s just taking a few of them a little longer than others to chill out, but that’s fine. I’ve got all the time in the world now.

  When I hear the putter of a golf cart as it pulls into the Summersweet High School parking lot, I smile to myself as I lean against a light post on the sidewalk in front of the baseball field. After the last few days of showing up to practice a half hour early to get set up and finding Owen already there setting up for me, followed by watching him get rides home from everyone in his family except his mother, I came to the conclusion that Wren is avoiding me. Deciding to show up to practice an hour early today, I keep my smile firmly in place even as she scowls at me the entire time she pulls up to the curb.

  “What’s up, Owen?” I greet my favorite player, although I will never tell anyone he’s my favorite player, because coaches aren’t supposed to have favorites, just like parents. But they do. Oh, they do. It just depends what day you ask them.

  Owen mumbles out a quick hello with his eyes downcast, bumping his fist against my outstretched one as he quickly climbs out of the passenger seat of Wren’s golf cart. I don’t know if Owen is my favorite kid because he’s the spitting image of Wren and even after only a few days I can see he has just as big of a heart as she does, or because he is the only kid on the team who hasn’t fawned all over me since I got here. He hasn’t asked for an autograph, he hasn’t begged for a picture, and he hasn’t hounded me with a thousand questions about my career. He’s reserved, a little shy, and mature for his age, always the one scolding his teammates when they won’t stop with the questions, pulling them away from me and telling them to get to work.

  But I’ve been dealing with fans since I was twenty years old. I know what it looks like when one of your biggest fans is standing in front of you, but he or she is doing everything they can to play it cool and not look crazy. Owen Bennett could be the poster boy for that kind of fan. Which just makes me chuckle to myself as he grabs his bat bag from the back of the golf cart and starts to quickly scurry away to the field.

  Like mother, like son. It seems they both want to make sure my ego stays in check.

  “Hey!” Wren shouts to Owen’s back, the scowl momentarily disappearing, since she’s no longer looking at me. “Are you forgetting something?”

  I look back over my shoulder as Owen pauses and does the same to look back at his mom.

  “I love you. You’re the best mom in the world,” he deadpans, making me laugh again as he gives his mom a wave and then keeps walking.

  When I turn back to look at Wren, a smile is lighting up her face as she stares after her son. She’s so goddamn beautiful, especially when she’s looking at her son with so much love shining all over her face, it makes my chest get tight. I heard one of the kids on the team say something to Owen about how he keeps forgetting his mom isn’t blonde anymore. It doesn’t occur to me until this moment she’s now a brunette. I hadn’t even noticed her hair color change the couple of times I’d seen her since I’ve been back.

  All I’d seen was her. And all I see now is her, sitting behind the wheel of her golf cart, her hair up in its usual messy, adorable pile on top of her head with long pieces hanging down around her face. She can hide it from most people, but I can clearly see the exhaustion, mental and physical, from all the responsibilities she has to handle and decisions she has to make alone. I’ve never felt like more of an asshole than I do right now, standing here beside her, knowing I gave her a shoulder to cry on, two ears more than willing to listen, and never hesitated to help her with anything she needed. And then I took it away, because I was stupid and selfish. She needs to know how sorry I am and give me a chance to fix things between us, if she’d just stay in one place long enough for me to tell her.

  “So, I thought maybe after practice, we could—”

  My words immediately die on my tongue when Wren’s happy, loving smile immediately turns into a Grumpy Cat frown when she finally looks away from Owen and at me.

  “Eat shit.”

  Her golf cart sputters back to life, and she zips away from the curb before I can even take my next breath. I’m only in shock and feel a little defeated for about thirty seconds before I throw my head back and laugh.

  Getting up from the bottom bleacher, I smile and grab the large peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream that I know is Wren’s favorite from her mentioning it a few times during our chats. Owen told me she had to be at the Dip and Twist for a delivery at five this morning, so I know she must be running on fumes after working all day and then coming straight to Owen’s game.

  I watch Wren walking toward me in a pair of blue-jean overalls with a white tank top underneath, and she’s so fucking adorable I don’t understand why she’s single. I don’t understand how I got so lucky that I came back here and no one has snatched her up yet.

  She pauses when she gets to me, since I’m blocking the way for her to get past and go up into the stands with the handful of other parents that are here early.

  “How was your day? I got you a peppermint mocha.”

  “Thanks!” Wren smiles at me cheerfully.

  Too cheerfully.

  She takes the cup from my outstretched hand, and with her eyes still on mine and a smile still on her face, she leans to her right and drops the coffee right into the trashcan.

  “Right.” I nod, making sure I absolutely do not laugh even though I want to, stepping back and turning to the side with my arm out so she can pass. “Carry on then.”

  And she does. Making sure to stomp on my foot as she goes.
/>   “Excellent night for practice, don’t you think?”

  “Bite me.”

  “I can certainly arrange that… I’m kidding! Put that lighter away. Why do you even have that on your person?”

  “I’d like a double-scoop of toffee crunch, please.”

  “We’re out.”

  “Okay… mint chocolate chip.”

  “Out.”

  “Chocolate chip cookie dough?”

  “Oooh, just sold out.”

  “Let me guess. You’re out of every ice cream flavor I could possibly want.”

  “Who says professional baseball players are dumb?”

  “Do people say that?”

  “I say that. About you.”

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Eat shit.”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “Is that what they call picking up dinner to go from The Barge? Kids these days… always coming up with some kind of new slang.”

  “You are so annoying. Go away.”

  “I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to enter this great establishment with the best diner food in the world when you’re here. Should we set up a schedule? Friday’s are pumpkin pancakes day, so I’m gonna need that one.”

  “Well then, you’ll definitely want Wednesdays. That’s bullshit sandwich day. You seem to like the taste of bullshit in your mouth.”

  “Moooom! Why are you being weird? Oh my God!”

  “How long do you plan on keeping this up?”

  “What day is it?”

  “Monday.”

  “Forever. Fuck off.”

  “Get in.”

  “Oh no, it’s fine! I’m cool!”

  My golf cart idles on the curb of a side street just around the corner from the high school. After I put all the equipment away in the storage shed next to the baseball field, I made sure all the guys on the team had left and no one needed a ride home. I started heading to my cottage and noticed Owen stopped on the sidewalk to get a better grip on everything he’s carrying.

  “Seriously, Owen. Get in. I’m not letting you walk that far with a bat bag and a heavy bucket of balls,” I tell him when he doesn’t move from the sidewalk and bites his bottom lip as he looks down at the bucket almost overflowing with baseballs.

  My original assumption that Wren had been avoiding me during drop-offs and pick-ups from practice last week was only half true. She definitely made other people pick him up for a few days so she wouldn’t have to see me. But she didn’t drop Owen off a half hour early to avoid me. I found out from the varsity coach that Owen Bennett has been coming to practice early since he was in tee ball, and according to the coach, “Driving his mother crazy wanting extra practice all the time.”

  I guess when Owen was younger, Wren would go out onto the empty field with him, playing catch to warm him up before everyone else got there and timing him while he ran sprints between bases. Once he got older and no longer needed a parental chaperone, he now takes it upon himself to make sure he gets here early every single day before anyone one else. He reminds me so much of myself it’s almost scary. And I know for a fact he never drove Wren crazy, because she’s exactly like my parents. Working her ass off day in and day out to make sure he has the best coaches, the best equipment, the best training, and the best opportunities. My parents worked their fingers to the bone, never really enjoying what life had to offer until all their sacrifices paid off and I was able to make sure they never had to sacrifice again.

  “It’s fine. I swear!” Owen tries to reassure me. “It’s not my mom’s fault. I was supposed to go home with Dominic, because he has his golf cart license and he’s the only one of my friends my mom trusts to not act like an idiot behind the wheel, but his girlfriend asked him to come over, so he ditched me. I could call my mom, and she’d totally come get me, but I don’t want to bother her, because she’s busy. It’s fine. I don’t mind walking. I walk all the time. It’s good exercise!”

  Jesus… the way this kid is making absolutely certain I don’t think Wren is a bad mom, and how overenthusiastic he’s trying to make walking two miles home with a heavy bat bag and an even heavier bucket of balls sound, makes me want to cry like a fucking baby.

  This past week has been fun, poking at Wren, driving her crazy, and forcing her to acknowledge me, even if it’s just to insult me, but that’s all I’ve been doing. Driving her crazy and just adding one more thing to her plate that she has to deal with. She still has to deal with me, but maybe it’s time I make it a little easier to do so. Starting with making her life a little easier.

  “I know it’s not your mom’s fault,” I tell him softly, getting out of my golf cart and rounding the front of it until I’m standing right in front of Owen. Bending down, I grab the handle from the bucket of balls and heft it up. “You have a pretty awesome mom. She reminds me of my mom. And my mom would have absolutely kicked my ass, whether she was busy or not, if I didn’t call her for a ride home.”

  Owen’s eyes finally meet mine, and for the first time in a week, they aren’t filled with nerves when he talks to me as he grins.

  “Yeah. She’d totally kick my ass if she knew I walked two miles home.”

  Both of us laughing, Owen follows me to the cart, tossing his bag into the large, heavy-duty plastic cargo box attached to the back that turns my cart into a sort of makeshift pick-up truck, while I lift the bucket up over the edge and set it down inside.

  Not wanting him to get all quiet and nervous around me, I don’t waste a second keeping up the conversation as we get in the front of the cart and I pull away from the curb.

  “Thanks for all your help getting the guys to focus and start practice every night.”

  Owen just shrugs. “I’m glad to help. They’re so ridiculous wanting you to sign all their stuff and take a hundred selfies with you.” He snorts, quickly looking away when I meet his eyes.

  Thankfully, the sun set an hour ago and the handful of streetlights we pass as I whiz down the street aren’t bright enough for him to see my grin.

  “I finally finished unpacking all of my stuff from Washington, and I found an extra shirt and jersey they printed from the last series I was in that I already signed and must have forgotten to give to anyone. And Rawlings just sent me a brand new S100 Pro Comp batting helmet with the aerospace-grade composite fiber shell. Remember those collectors-edition hats for the 100th anniversary of the Hawks that they only made 100 of? I saw one or two of those in one of the boxes. I don’t really need any of that stuff. I could give it to you, but if you don’t want it….”

  “Oh my God, yes!” Owen shouts, his head whipping back to me, before quickly clearing his throat and looking all serious again. “I mean… sure, whatever. If you’re just gonna throw it away….”

  “Right, right.” I nod, biting down hard on my bottom lip when I feel his eyes staring at my profile as I turn a corner. “Well, it’s all yours.”

  “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

  I’ve been around a lot of teenagers, with charity events on the team and with my own nieces. But I don’t think I’ve ever been around one who always remembers his manners. Wren has raised a fine young man, and it makes me even more determined to do right by her. I had the same freshman coach as Owen did before the guy quit, and he was an asshole and an awful role model. But I only played on the freshman team for a week before I was bumped up to varsity. And my varsity coach was one of the best men I’d ever known aside from my father. He molded me into the player I am today, and taught me that winning isn’t everything. That the game isn’t everything. That the paychecks and the fame will someday disappear, and some day your body won’t let you play this game that you love so much, and some day your heart just won’t be in it, and what are you going to do then?

  I want to be that kind of coach to all my players, but especially to the one sitting beside me. Because his mom means more to me than he knows, and not only do I want to fix things between us so I can show her she never has to
do things alone ever again, but I want to fix things between us so I can be here to watch Owen grow into the amazing human being and baseball player I’m absolutely confident he’ll be.

  Owen points out which cottage is theirs, and I pull into the short driveway in front of the small house right on the beach.

  “Thanks for giving me a ride, Coach. And I’d just like to apologize on behalf of my mom for her behavior over the last week. She’s not usually that weird.”

  I chuckle at Owen sounding like the adult in the relationship, turning in my seat to face him.

  “You don’t have to apologize. That’s all on me. I… did something that hurt her a while ago, and I deserve her weirdness.”

  Owen’s eyes suddenly narrow on me.

  “You hurt her?”

  “I did.” I nod, not wanting to say too much, but also not wanting to lie to him.

  “Kevin hurts her all the time, and she won’t let me do anything about it.”

  I can practically feel the anger radiating off of him from two feet away. Gone is the shy teenager trying to keep a lid on his excitement, and in its place is a pissed off young man who’s tired of seeing his mom hurt.

  “Kevin’s your dad, right?”

  “Sure. If you want to call him that.” Owen shrugs. “I usually call him douchebag, asshole, or sperm donor.”

  “Unfortunately, any man can be a father, but it doesn’t mean he should be.”

  Owen snorts. “No shit. She won’t let me do anything about him, but if you hurt her again, I will make you pay.”

  In any other situation, sitting in an idling golf cart being threatened by a fourteen-year-old who barely weighs more than a hundred pounds would be hilarious, but this isn’t funny. Not in the least. The fact that Wren has been hurt so much that her son is more than willing to try to kick my ass when I could easily hold both his arms behind his back with one hand makes my heart break right in half. He shouldn’t have to defend his mother like this. No one should have to defend her like this, because no one should have ever had the chance to hurt her that badly in the first place. Myself included.