Finish What You Started

by Alexandra Evans

  The trainer lifted his shoulders. “Your decision. Just sayin’, last guy I know put it off now drives one of them vans with a wheelchair lift instead of some fancy sports car. Can’t bend his legs enough to get in ’em.”

  With that, Jerry wiped his hands on the towel hanging over one shoulder, tossing it into the laundry bin as he walked away.

  Later, as Ty sat in front of the TV halfway watching the Rangers’ game, he folded and unfolded one of the informational brochures the orthopedic surgeon had given him months ago. His chest stung. Baseball was all the job he’d ever had, other than mowing lawns as a teenager, and even that money went to new bats and gloves. What would he do? Once he finished his degree in history, he could maybe get his teaching credential in one of those special programs. He was pretty sure he could coach, but could he teach?

  Tossing the brochure back on the table, he rubbed at the new wrinkles on his forehead where a headache was beginning to form. Shit, what did you do when the only thing you’ve ever loved doing is about to end?

  His brother was right. Time to make plans. Maybe he had another season or two in him, maybe he didn’t. Either way, he needed to know where his life was going after his stint in baseball was over, and nobody could make that decision but him.

  4

  Ty sat quietly as Professor Tight-Ass read over his old assignment once again. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even make a sound other than clearing her throat.

  When she’d opened her office door, she’d greeted him with a smile and another apology.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Johansen. Won’t you sit down?” She’d motioned to the straight-back wooden chair in front of the tiny wooden desk in her equally tiny office. “I’d had a bad day, and I wasn’t at my best. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

  As she reread his paper and jotted notes in the margins, he looked around at the shelves, which housed all kinds of books. Some leather-bound classics, some paperbacks on the craft of writing fiction. One in particular stood out to him—Vampires, Burial, and Death. Interesting, if not a little creepy. Hopefully that was a reference book for some novel she was working on.

  On top of a filing cabinet, a little plant of some kind struggled to be more green than brown. Lack of light could be a factor. The room was dark. Dark walls, dark furniture, a couple of overhead canisters, and a desk lamp that was currently turned off, the only light coming from the single small window in the opposite wall. He wanted to ask her how she wasn’t going blind, but decided against making any noise that might disrupt her focus. He needed her help.

  His gaze returned to her as she bent over the papers, and he suddenly began to wonder what she looked like when she smiled. Did she smile? He suddenly had the unreasonable urge to do something, anything that might allow him to see what she looked like, whether she had those creases in her cheeks, if her eyes had laugh lines at the corners. The vampire book was something quirky about her. What other quirks did she have? He wanted to learn them all, but that was stupid. She was his college prof, and that wasn’t something he should even be thinking about. Right?

  She took a deep breath, pulled up the pages, and tapped the bottoms on the desk to straighten them. “I think I owe you another apology. This isn’t really that bad.”

  “Thanks…I think.”

  “No, really. The main reason your grade was lowered, as I said before, is that it was late. If it’d only been a day or two, I might have been able to give you a pass, but it was nearly a week. I knocked off the same amount for others who were equally tardy, and I don’t really feel comfortable making an exception.”

  “Understood.” He did understand, but it didn’t make him feel any better about his grade. Not that he wanted a free ride or anything, but now he’d have to work harder to bring his average up to passing.

  “I did make some notes where you can improve flow, and a couple of places where you veer off topic. Perhaps you can use those to improve on the expository essay due next week?”

  She turned the papers around to show him where she’d made comments, in purple, he noted, instead of the red ink preferred by most teachers.

  “Nice color,” he noted. She smiled.

  “To me, red ink just says you’ve done something bad. I prefer to use other colors so my comments and corrections don’t seem quite so harsh.”

  As he leaned over to read the notes she pointed out, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hair was tucked behind her ear, and the tiny pearl earring in the lobe. Her dark blonde hair was streaked with lighter strands. Natural, not put on with those foils like Joe Upton had done to his spiked doo. And she smelled…edible. Like oranges and some spice he recognized but couldn’t put his finger on. He wanted to move closer into her, breathe in her scent, reach out and touch her—

  “Does that make sense?” She looked up from the page and used one finger to slide the brown tortoiseshell frames back up her nose. A very kissable nose that turned up slightly at the tip. Those glasses framed eyes that were the sort of greenish-brown of the moss that grew on the stones near the lake back home, but with little dots of yellow around the center. “Mr. Johansen?”

  Ty blinked. What had she been saying? He’d been so busy thinking about what it might be like to kiss her— Shit, he was not hot for teacher. Nope. No way. She simply smelled a lot better and was a lot prettier than the guys he spent the majority of his time with. That was it. Just the last hurdle he had to get over in order to get his degree and plan his future. But, damn, she smelled good. And she was pretty. Not in a supermodel sort of way, but a girl-next-door. Like that actress who did the credit card commercials and had been married to Ben Affleck. He preferred girl-next-door types.

  “Earth to Johansen…” She frowned, which made her full pink bottom lip even more kissable. “Maybe you have adult-onset ADD? I’m being serious, by the way.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I just lost focus for a minute.” Thinking about putting my tongue in your mouth.

  “I don’t have time to waste, Mr. Johansen,” she scolded. “If you really don’t want my help…”

  “I do, seriously. Just tired from the game yesterday, and then early workout today.” He sat up straighter and cleared his throat, pushing all thoughts about what they could be doing with all that time besides going over his paper. “I really do want your help, and I’m happy to pay for tutoring.”

  “I’m not allowed to take money for that.” She smiled. “I’m happy to help, but I want to make sure it’s time well spent. For both of us.”

  “I’m all in. Seriously.”

  They put their heads together again, and he did his best to keep his concentration on the paper and her comments. He was mostly successful. Kind of. Thank God she had notes in the margins. Maybe he’d be able to recall something of their conversation when he left.

  “If you do all the things I’ve suggested,” she said as their time wound down, “I’m sure the grade on your next paper will be a vast improvement. Assuming you turn it in on time.”

  A knock sounded at the office door. It opened slowly, and a woman who looked an awful lot like the professor poked her head through the crack. “Hope I’m not too early,” she said.

  “We’re just finishing up,” Teach told her. She looked back to Ty. “Did you have any more questions for me?”

  “I think I’ve got it. Can’t thank you enough for your help.” Tyler stood and reached out a hand to the older woman, who’d entered the office. “Tyler Johansen. Nice to meet you.”

  “Harper mentioned you were in her comp class,” she said, shaking his hand. “Hopefully she’s not as mean to you as she is to her other students.” She chuckled.

  “Mom!” Harper’s—now he felt comfortable using her name, at least in front of her mother—cheeks bloomed red. “Tyler, this is my mother, Elizabeth Baker.”

  Ty let a chuckle out of his own and nodded as they shook hands. “She’s pretty ornery, but she’s been really helpful to me, and I appreciate it.”

  “I’m glad
to help.” Harper removed her glasses, folded them, and placed them in the center drawer of the desk. “Don’t hesitate to ask if an assignment is unclear.”

  “Enough with teacher mode,” her mother said, giving her daughter a side-hug. Ty picked up his essay and edged his way toward the door. “I’m here to go to lunch with my daughter, Ty. Care to join us?”

  “Mother,” Harper warned between gritted teeth. He could see the color rise in her cheeks and wondered if it was because her mother was so obviously a fan or from fear he might actually take her up on the offer. He decided to give Teach a break, even though he had no plans for lunch and thought the experience might be interesting. From a purely fan-interaction basis, of course.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Ty always did his best to reach out to his fans, though, so he did what he normally did and said, “Hey, I can get you guys tickets to Saturday’s afternoon game against the Cards. Would you like a couple? Great seats.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Love them,” Harper’s mom said at the same time. “I’ll even drag this one with me.”

  “Great.” Ty smiled as Harper looked down and shifted her feet, her cheeks now flaming red, along with the top part of her chest visible above the collar of her shirt. He had a feeling Mom was going to get a lecture of her own when he left. He turned to Teach. “Just consider it a gift of appreciation for your help. I’ll leave them at Will Call for you. Hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, we will,” her mother promised as he gently closed the door behind him.

  Well, that was certainly an enlightening tutoring session. Besides being intelligent, Harper was attractive in a wholesome way, was kind, and didn’t seem at all impressed by his fame or money, unlike the women who generally hung around the ballpark waiting after practice and games. In fact, he was pretty sure she didn’t like baseball, or baseball players, much either. Yeah, Ty could admit it. He was hot for teacher. Was there a rule against them getting together that would keep the gorgeous rule-follower from succumbing to his charms? Could he make teacher hot for him?

  Harper looked at the door as it closed behind Ty. Then she turned to her mom and fixed her with her most withering look. “Mom, what were you thinking?”

  The look didn’t work. Her mother’s lips spread into a grin, and she said, “I was thinking here’s this gorgeous guy in your office, offering you tickets to watch him show off, and you’re standing there letting that opportunity pass you by. That’s what I was thinking. I took the initiative.”

  “But he’s my student. I can’t—”

  “You didn’t. I did.” Her mom sat in the chair Ty had just vacated. “Damn, this seat is hard as stone. Do you do that on purpose so the students feel uncomfortable while they’re in here talking to you?”

  “No, that’s all I could find in the storage room, and I’m not about to go buy a chair, and don’t change the subject.” Harper rubbed at the slight headache she felt building between her eyes, then sat on the edge of the desk. “I can’t accept gifts from students. It’s against the rules, and you know that.”

  “Yes, but like I said, you didn’t accept anything. I did.” Her mom let out a breath, her lips pressed together in obvious frustration. “Look, you and I haven’t been to a game together in…well, since your stepbrother, Jamie, played. And even then you refused to watch, just kept your nose in a book. You used to love the game, before… This is just you and me, girls checking out hot guys in tight pants. So many muscles, so little time.”

  Harper laughed because her mom was right. It had been a long time since they’d attended a professional baseball game together. Since her father died. Really, before that, if she were honest with herself. Harper couldn’t remember going to a professional baseball game since she was eight and her father left them. She didn’t care if she ever saw another game, really. But her mom was important. Doing things with her mom—important. “Are you sure Sean wouldn’t like to go with you?”

  “Sean just sits there with his cell phone playing Tetris or some such game. He’s no fun. And he never wants to check out the guys’ butts.” Her mom laughed, and Harper groaned.

  She felt like she should get the skeevies at the idea of checking out guys with her mom, but strangely, the thought made her smile a little. She was glad to be at a point in her life where she could consider her mom a friend. But she couldn’t help joking, “That’s kinda gross, Mom. I’m not sure checking out guys’ butts with your mother is a thing. Or should ever be a thing.”

  “Then we’re just two girls at a game, having a good time, eating garbage and drinking beer.” Her mom lifted her shoulders. “Sound better?”

  “I guess I can deal with that.” She gave her mom a hug, dragged her bag out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, and grabbed her keys. “But no catcalls, okay? Or wolf whistles.”

  “Okay, if you force me to, I’ll behave.” She sighed. “Just so I don’t embarrass my stuffy professor daughter.” She gathered her own purse and stood. “Where to for food?”

  “I could eat some barbecue,” Harper said, her mouth watering at the thought of a stack of fried onion rings and pulled pork on a soft bun.

  “No, that’s so bad for you.” The “mom” mode came back out. “You barely eat. When you do, it should have some nutritional value. I’d be willing to bet if I looked in your pantry, there’d be a box of Twinkies and a couple of bottles of diet soda.”

  “You’re doing that clean-eating thing again, aren’t you.” Harper turned up her nose at the thought of raw veggies and fish. “I don’t think I can do that. I need my grease.”

  “Come on.” Mom grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the office door. “We could go to Venus’s. Their barbecue spaghetti squash bowl is to die for. And it’s barbecue. Sort of.”

  She let the “sort of” slide, rolling her eyes as her mom dragged her out the office. Harper closed the door and locked it, tossing the keyring into her bag. “I refuse to eat rabbit food. But the barbecue bowl sounds…interesting.”

  Her mom sighed. “I miss Babylon Café.”

  “What?” She stopped at the staircase. “What’s that?”

  “This health food place that got condemned. Before your time.” She sighed again. “They had the best black bean quesadillas. Seriously. Awesome.”

  “Condemned? Ew.”

  “Just the building,” her mom said. “The food was very good. The place had this hippie vibe, although it really was falling down. And it had a lovely area to eat outside.”

  “Sounds…interesting.”

  “Like barbecue-squash-bowl interesting?”

  Harper laughed and wrapped her arm in her mom’s as they headed down the stairs and outside into the afternoon sunlight. She could give this friend thing a go, she supposed. She just had to stop thinking of her mom as her mom. Just think of her as an older version of LaTanya, her bestie from high school.

  Like that could ever happen.

  5

  Harper and her mom worked their way to their seats, beers and hot dogs in hand. Well, she had a hot dog. Her mom had some veggie-and-hummus tray they served at concessions. Harper would be willing to bet ten bucks her mom would be back at concessions before the seventh-inning stretch for that ice cream in a plastic souvenir batting helmet. They’d always bought that when they attended games years ago. Chocolate-vanilla swirl with sprinkles.

  Players were on the field warming up. Harper squinted in the bright afternoon sun before grabbing her sunglasses from the top of her head and sliding them into place. She scanned the field, admitting to herself she was looking for Ty. No reason, other than the fact he’d given them the tickets and she should at least watch to see how he did. That’s what she told herself, anyway. She didn’t even know what his number was, and the Blues didn’t put names on the back of the jerseys like a lot of teams did. Soon, though, she spotted him, squatting behind home plate and throwing to the bases.

  If she tried really hard, she could remember when her dad used to be out there, t
ossing the ball around, running the bases, sometimes waving at her from the field. Vague memories, but they were there, and they were bittersweet. He’d left. Abandoned them here when he went on to play for the next team. Didn’t want the burden of a family holding him back, she supposed. She never asked her mom about the circumstances because she didn’t want to bring up past hurts, her mom’s or hers. Harper had made it pretty clear she had no interest in knowing anything about the man who’d loved baseball more than his family.

  “These are great seats,” her mom said around a bite of carrot dredged in hummus. “But I like the third base line better. Easier to check out the guys.”

  “Mom! Does Sean have any idea you’re such a horn dog?” But even as she said it, she looked back at the field and thought, yeah, she’s right. With this view, she could only see the back of Ty. Not that that was a bad thing. He did have a nice tight ass and muscles upon muscles flexing in his thighs as he stood to throw the ball to second. Never mind those forearms…

  “Of course he knows. I’m fifty-six, I’m not dead,” her mom replied with a cheeky grin. “It’s what’s kept us together all these years.”

  Harper felt her cheeks burn. “Let’s don’t carry this girlfriends thing too far. I do not want to know the mating habits of my mom and stepdad.”

  “You asked…”

  “Never again,” she replied. “But these are really nice seats. Do you think the free seats are part of their contracts? Is it the same ones every time?”

  “Oh, these seats aren’t free, dear.” Her mom gave her a wry grin. “They get a discount, but nothing is free except the after-game spread in the locker room.”

  “They’re not?”

  “Your dad and I, when he first made the Show, got tickets for everyone. Family, friends, friends of friends…” she said around a bite of celery. “You know, we didn’t know until the end of the season that we’d spend over a thousand dollars on all those ‘free’ seats.”