Unforgettable: A Small Town Second Chance Sports Romance

by Melanie Harlow

  He frowned. “That is not as hot as I wanted it to be.”

  Laughing, I set the spoon back on the rest. “Well, after what happened my first time, I was scared of having sex again because I was worried about getting pregnant. So you were the only guy I ever had sex with for a pretty long time.”

  “How long?”

  “About four years. And even then, I was a nervous wreck.”

  He looked contrite. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I got over it. It’s not like it was a mystery why I got pregnant, Tyler, or even bad luck—it was biology. We had unprotected sex. We were eighteen. It’s like the most fertile time in a girl’s life, which is just a cruel joke, but that’s another issue.”

  “I still feel bad.”

  “Don’t.” I couldn’t resist giving those lips a quick kiss before turning off the burner beneath the sauce. “I told you—I was glad you were my first.”

  He caught me around the waist from behind. “Me too.”

  Later, after we’d had dinner at the kitchen table, dessert on the couch in front of the television, and sex on my living room floor because we were too impatient to make it upstairs, we laughed that our pace was getting closer to what it had been in the back of his truck.

  “I can’t help it,” he said, lying on his back next to the coffee table. “You just make me lose control.”

  I was straddling him, my hands braced above his shoulders, my hair dangling over his chest. “I’m not complaining. And I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. I won’t even make any rifle jokes.”

  “Good.” He squeezed my hips, then sighed. “I should probably go.”

  “You don’t have to.” Leaning forward, I rubbed my lips back and forth against his. “You can stay over again if you want.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I’ll even give you a toothbrush.” I grinned. “But if you leave the cap off my toothpaste, I’m kicking your ass out.”

  He laughed. “Deal.”

  While I was at work Tuesday afternoon, Tyler called and asked if I wanted to go watch the high school baseball game with him. I did, but the game started at 4:30 p.m. at a neighboring school about thirty minutes away, and I had a meeting with a prospective bride at 5:30.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I told him. “This is potentially a big wedding. The bride is kind of a local celebrity. Is your lefty pitching?”

  “Yeah, he’s starting.”

  “Shoot, I wish I could be there.”

  “Dinner when I get back?” he asked.

  “Sure. Want to come over again? Although I should warn you, I was just planning on leftover spaghetti tonight. Kind of boring.”

  “I’ll take leftover spaghetti and being alone with you over a crowded restaurant any day. You know how I feel about people.”

  I laughed. “I do. Okay, just head over here when you’re back.”

  He arrived around 7:30 with another bottle of wine, a grocery store bouquet of roses, and his luggage.

  “Are you moving in?” I joked as he shut the door behind himself.

  “I’m running out of clean clothes,” he said with a guilty expression. “I only packed for a long weekend. Do you mind if I do some laundry?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  He handed me the flowers. “These are for you. Sorry they’re not too fancy.”

  “They’re beautiful, thank you.” I put my nose in them and sniffed. “But what’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion. I’m just thankful you’re putting up with me and my dirty laundry tonight.”

  I smiled. “You’re sweet.”

  He put his finger on my lips. “Don’t tell anybody.”

  “So tell me about the game,” I said, watching as he stuffed an alarming amount of clothes into my washing machine, which was located in a utility closet off the kitchen. “Did they win?”

  “They did,” he said, shoving dark jeans, white T-shirts, and boxer briefs in all different colors into the drum. “They played really well.”

  “You know, you shouldn’t put all that in together. You should do darks and lights separately.”

  “But I don’t even have that much stuff. I can probably do this all in one load,” he said proudly, like that was a good thing.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I set my wine glass on the counter and pushed him aside. “Do not do it all in one load. Those T-shirts will never be white again.” I started pulling out all the non-white stuff and dumping it into an empty laundry basket.

  “But that’s going to take longer.”

  “Do you have somewhere else to be tonight?” I glanced at him over one shoulder.

  He shrugged, then gave me a wry grin. “No. But I’ve got things I’d rather do with you than laundry.”

  “We’ll get to that. But let’s not ruin your clothing in the process. Tell me about the game.”

  While he talked animatedly about baseball, I added some of my whites to the machine, poured in the soap, and turned it on. Then I separated the rest of his things into my three-bag sorter.

  “I was really happy with the way that lefty applied my advice,” he said. “I could see him slowing down, thinking through each pitch, breaking down the motion like we talked about.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said, happy to see him in such a good mood.

  “I’m going to work on pick-off moves with him tomorrow. He’s got balance issues there too.”

  “What’s a pick-off move?” I pulled pasta bowls down from the cupboard, and Tyler shut the cupboard doors behind me.

  “It’s a throw from the pitcher to a fielder to prevent the runner from stealing a base.”

  “Ah. Got it.”

  While we ate, he continued talking about the game. “There was a scout there today watching the lefty. He’s got interest from several really good schools.”

  “That’s great,” I said, pouring both of us a little more wine.

  “It is, but David, the head coach—Virgil’s son—is worried that he’s not gonna take any of their offers.”

  “Why not?”

  “Apparently, this kid’s dad died last year, and he doesn’t want to leave his mom and sister alone.”

  My heart ached a little. “Sounds like a sweet kid.”

  “I met his mom today too. She’s got the same concern.”

  “She wants him to go?”

  “Yeah. David asked me to talk to him about it, but I don’t know . . .” Tyler’s voice trailed off as he took another bite of pasta. “Seems too personal.”

  “But you know he’ll listen to you, right?”

  Tyler shrugged. “He might.”

  “Then why not try?”

  He picked up his wine glass and took a drink, his forehead furrowed.

  “I mean, it’s good that he’s thinking about his mom and his sister and not just about himself,” I said. “It means he has a good heart.”

  “Yeah. He’s definitely not like I was at eighteen. I couldn’t wait to get out of here and go be a big shot, and nothing was going to stop me. This kid is different. He’s more like you.”

  I laughed. “Like me how?”

  “He’s not self-centered,” he said. “His mom said he’s always been that way. He puts other people first.”

  My heart melted a little more. “Well, this is one instance where I think he needs to be told it’s okay to think about what he wants for his future. That putting himself first does not make him a bad person. I know I’ve certainly been in a spot where I had to make a tough choice, and it helped me to hear that.”

  Tyler was quiet for a moment, then he spoke with finality. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Fifteen

  Tyler

  When the dinner dishes were done and the last load of laundry was in the dryer, we stretched out on the couch to watch TV. I practiced my sharing skills again by letting her control the remote, which was how I ended up watching something called Kids Baking Championship.


  “What the hell is this?” I teased her. “Making cookies is now a competitive sport?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry, it’s not mean. They’ve created a very supportive environment, and the kids can always get help or a hug when they need it.”

  “Oh good, because I was very concerned,” I said, which earned me an elbow in the gut.

  But I didn’t even really mind watching the show, since it felt so good just to lie on her couch beneath a blanket, an arm curled over her stomach, her back against my chest. In fact, I got kind of into it and found myself rooting for this little kid with thick glasses and a huge smile, who’d tried out for the show three times before he made it.

  “That’s some serious determination,” I told April. “I dig that.”

  She was all for this little dark-haired girl named Talia, the youngest contestant, but the one who spoke the most languages—her mom was Brazilian, her father was French, and she lived in Austin, Texas.

  “Can you imagine speaking three languages?” she asked.

  “No. One was hard enough. Remember how you used to have to write all my English papers for me?”

  She clucked her tongue. “I didn’t write them for you—I just helped you organize your thoughts.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure it was more than that. School was never my thing. I hope our kid got your brains.”

  Holy shit. Had I just said that? I couldn’t believe it—what the actual fuck? I’d never even thought anything like that before, let alone said it out loud.

  Our kid?

  April was silent, and her body seemed frozen.

  “Sorry,” I said. “That was a weird thing to say. I have no idea why I said it.”

  “It’s fine.”

  But she was quiet after that, and I felt like I might have upset her. After a few more episodes, she turned off the TV and rolled to face me.

  “I feel like I need to tell you something,” she said, playing with the buttons on my shirt.

  “Okay.”

  She looked at my chest while she talked. “I didn’t tell you this the other night when we talked about—about the adoption, because it just seemed like a lot all at once, but I . . . I recently reached out to the parents.”

  “The mom?”

  Her eyes met mine. “The people who adopted our son.”

  “Oh.” My gut clenched, then turned over—again and again, just like it had the night she’d told me she was pregnant. “Why?”

  “Because I want to meet him.”

  My pulse had started to race. The blanket was too hot. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  I had no idea what to say.

  “It’s okay if you don’t,” she said.

  “I don’t,” I admitted, hoping it was better to be honest. “I’m sorry if that makes me sound like a dick. It’s just not something I’ve ever wanted.” Especially now that my name was synonymous with choke in major league baseball. The kid would just be embarrassed. The media would have a field day. My life would be upside down again—and I felt like I was just starting to right the ship.

  April nodded. “I understand. And it doesn’t really have anything to do with you. But for me, I think it’s an important part of making my final peace with the decision to give him up. I think it will help me to be more open about it moving forward. And . . .” Her eyes filled. “Part of me just wants to see the person he’s grown up to be. In my own way, I still love him. I always have. Does that make any sense?”

  “Sure,” I said, forcing myself to act like the man I wanted to be. I had no desire to come face to face with my biological son, but if she did, I’d support her. “And if it will make you feel better to meet him, I think you should do it.”

  “You do?” she asked, her voice full of surprise.

  “Of course. You deserve to have that peace. And he deserves to know the woman who loved him so much she gave him up because she knew it was the best possible thing for him.”

  Her eyes closed, and she nodded. “It was the best thing. I know it was. And this isn’t about second-guessing my decision. It’s about owning it. Being proud of it. Letting it be a part of my life without feeling ashamed of it. And feeling like I still deserve to have a family in the future, even though I gave away a child.”

  It made my chest hurt to hear her talk about being ashamed of what she’d done. “Of course you do. You’re so fucking brave. Do you know that?”

  She opened her eyes and laughed a little. “Thanks. Believe it or not, I actually feel brave.”

  “Good.” I paused. “So when is this happening?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard back yet. I might not ever hear back, if he’s not interested in meeting me.”

  “Would you be okay with that?”

  She sighed. “Yes. I would be. I hope I get a different answer, but if that’s the case, I’ll be okay.”

  “And still be able to have peace and move on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” I pulled her closer to me, wrapping her tightly in my embrace. My stomach was still not entirely okay, but this time around, I was determined to remember this wasn’t only about me. In fact, it wasn’t about me at all. This was something she needed to do for herself, and she wasn’t asking me for anything—again.

  The least I could do was be there for her this time.

  Even if it was from a comfortable distance.

  At practice on Wednesday, I worked with Chip Carswell for a solid hour on both his pitching motion and his pick-off throw. He was definitely the most talented pitcher on the team, but there were a few other kids that threw the ball fairly well, and David asked me if I might start working one-on-one with some of them too.

  “They’re asking,” he said once practice was over. “And after seeing what you’re doing with Carswell, I know they’d benefit from your lessons on mechanics. We haven’t had a pitching coach really hammer those since my dad retired.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I mean, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be around, but I can work with a few more guys.”

  “Some of the parents are calling too, inquiring about private coaching sessions, how much you’d charge and all that.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want their money. If what I’m saying helps them, I’m good with that.”

  “Oh, it’ll help. I wish you didn’t have to leave.” He looked out across the field. “Any chance you’d consider staying longer?”

  “How much longer?”

  “Until the end of the season? Hell, how about permanently? Would you consider moving back home and coaching full-time?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? You could even split your time between here and California. Spend winter out there, spring and summer here.”

  “I don’t know, David. Kinda seems like something an old man would do—letting the cold weather dictate his life. I’m not ready to be an old man yet.”

  He nodded, folded his arms over his chest. “You think you’ll play again?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. If it hasn’t come back yet, it’s not going to.”

  “So what’s the plan? What are you gonna do for the next fifty years?”

  Exhaling, I adjusted my cap and stared out at the field, thinking, Right there is where I stood and struck out nineteen batters in a row. That fence over there in left field is the one my final home run sailed over. Those bleachers were where my sister and my dad and April sat and cheered me on while I stood on the mound staring down the next victim of my fastball.

  I did have a lot of good memories here.

  But coming back after such a public failure to take a position as a high school assistant coach? It was the opposite of the triumphant return I’d envisioned myself making one day, where I might throw the opening pitch of the season’s first game, sign autographs and baseballs in the stands, shake hands with fans who’d watched my whole career start to finish—the right finish. Coming back after what actually happened would j
ust be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Instead of returning a hero, I’d return a disgrace.

  “Look, just think about it, okay?” David clapped me on the shoulder. “You could do some real good here. I know the majority of these kids won’t even go on to play college ball, but a good coach will give them things they take with them no matter where they end up in life—things they’ll remember forever. And you’ve got something to give, Shaw.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  We started walking toward the parking lot. “I didn’t get a chance to do it today, but if I have the chance, I’ll encourage Chip to take the Clemson scholarship. I think that’s the best place for him,” I said.

  David nodded. “I like that for him too.”

  We said goodnight, and I drove over to Sadie’s house to bring in the mail and put out her trash and recycling. While I was there, I noticed a box sitting on the floor in the dining room. It was the one from the attic that Sadie had rescued when she moved out of our old house. I’d gone up and gotten it the day I’d painted the bedroom and then forgotten to take it with me.

  As expected, it appeared to contain mostly junk I didn’t need or want—championship trophies, some ribbons and medals, old photos, stacks of papers. I hadn’t gone through it yet, but I was ninety-nine percent sure it all belonged in the trash. Shaking my head, I picked up a framed eight by ten photo of me in uniform my first high school season. I’d played varsity, while all my freshmen friends had been stuck on the ninth-grade team. On my face was the cocky smile I’d already perfected. In my hands, a bat and glove. At my side was six-year-old Sadie in pigtails, looking up at me instead of the camera. We were standing in front of the crab apple tree at our old house. I wondered if that tree was still there.

  Not wanting to hurt my sister’s feelings, I took the box and tossed it in the back of my SUV, which Rental Car Steve had said I could rent for the week . . . not that I’d booked a new return ticket to San Diego yet. I really needed to get on that—it was already Wednesday. I’d been here a full week at this point. Wasn’t it time to get back to my real life?