Travis

by Duncan Leigh

  No trips to the park. No video games. No television. Maybe for the rest of his life.

  One glimpse of the clear blue eyes that bore no sign of the surly attitude she’d come to expect from her son, and her resolve collapsed.

  “Maybe later,” she conceded. “For now, we need to get your sister down for her nap.” The baby had fallen into a loose-limbed sleep on the ride home. “Then I could use your help in the café.”

  “But, Mo-om—”

  Courtney cut him off. “You got into a fight at school today, Josh,” she reminded him quietly. “There are consequences for your behavior.”

  Silence filled the car while her son averted his eyes and stared belligerently out the window. Though his jaw was clenched, Courtney noted the sheen of angry tears. She exhaled. Somewhere beneath that glowering exterior existed the soft-hearted boy who used to climb onto her lap for bedtime stories.

  Would she ever see that child again?

  She’d scoured the parenting books looking for answers. They all said basically the same thing—that one day, tempered by all he’d been through, Josh would outgrow this phase. It would just take time. Time and love and patience.

  The last two she had in spades. As for the other, thanks to this most recent dustup, it sounded as if she and Josh would be spending plenty of quality time together. She crossed her fingers and hoped the experts were right.

  “You can wait for me in your room,” she said at last. “I’ll come see you as soon as I finish with Addie.”

  On her way up the stairs to the back entrance of their apartment, she considered the best way to get through to the boy. She doubted another long talk would do any good. She’d lectured until they were both tired of hearing her voice, and it hadn’t changed a thing.

  For the millionth time, she wished she had someone to share the burden—and the joys—of raising her two children. It was the one thing she missed the most about the early days with Ryan, but once baseball had made him famous, he’d treated his family more like a burden than a blessing. She shook her head. Dwelling on the past wasn’t going to solve her immediate problems.

  At the top of the wooden staircase she flinched when the door to Josh’s room slammed shut. Still, Addie stirred only briefly as Courtney settled the little one in her crib. Dreading the heart-to-heart chat that was next on her agenda, she knocked on her son’s door and, exercising a parent’s prerogative, stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. She ignored the posters of superheroes that dominated the walls, her focus drawn to the small figure huddled on the bed.

  She stiffened her spine. “So what happened at school today? Why were you and the other boy fighting?”

  For one long heartbeat, she was afraid Josh wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t turn to face her. At last, with a noisy exhale, he rolled over onto his back. He stared up at the sloping ceiling for a long minute.

  “Dylan and some guys were arguing,” he finally said, his voice taut. “Dylan said Manny Ramirez was the best player who ever lived. One of the other guys said Dad was. Then Dylan laughed and said Ryan Smith was a washed-up has-been.”

  Since Ryan’s death, Josh so rarely spoke of his father that getting into a fight over him surprised her. Looking into her son’s pain-filled eyes, she searched for the right words.

  “I know that must have hurt. It hurts me when people say things like that about your dad.”

  “Dad was a jerk, but I couldn’t let Dylan get away with that stuff.” As if daring her to contradict the truth, Josh folded his arms across his chest. “So…so I…I pushed him. And he…he pushed me back. Then Mr. Oak was there. He wanted us to shake hands and be friends, but Dylan, he said…” Josh shoved himself into a sitting position.

  “What’d he say?” A long list of accusations had been hurled against her late husband. Most of them were true. Afraid Dylan might have chosen one of the juicier tidbits, she held her breath.

  Her little boy’s chin wobbled. “He called Dad the biggest joke in baseball. He said the Twisters were better off without him.”

  Courtney swallowed. She studied the tiny face where a smattering of freckles dotted smooth skin beneath eyes that looked too old for their years. She suspected Josh knew far more about the circumstances surrounding his father’s death than any ten-year-old should, but apparently, Dylan hadn’t. Relieved she wouldn’t have to have that talk with her young son, she patted his arm.

  “And that’s when you punched him?”

  “Yeah. Dylan swung at me, too, but I was the one who had to go to Principal Morgan’s office. He only had to see the nurse. That’s not right. He started it. He shoulda gotten in trouble.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze. “Principal Morgan will take care of Dylan. I want to talk about you. You know it was wrong to push him. And worse to hit him. You should have walked away.”

  Josh’s chin jutted out. “Dad got mad. Plenty of times. He argued with the umpires. He was in fights.”

  “Yes, but what you don’t know is that he paid for those fights.” Courtney winced, remembering the last time Ryan had charged the mound after a wild pitch brushed his shoulder. If she had to name the one incident that had started the downward slide for baseball’s legendary hitter, she’d point to the bench-clearing brawl that followed. “Every single time he got tossed out of a game or argued with the umpire, he had to pay a big fine.”

  “Really, Mom?” Josh’s eyes widened slightly.

  “Really.” She took a deep breath. “Now, you have to pay for your mistake. You’ve been suspended from school. You might be expelled.” She watched her son’s brow wrinkle. “Do you know what that means?”

  Josh plucked at the covers on his bed. “Not exactly.”

  “Principal Morgan said you can’t go back to Citrus. Because you broke a very important rule, he says you might have to transfer to the Alternative Center.”

  The creases on Josh’s face told her that even her son had heard of the special school.

  “But that’s where they send the really mean kids!” he protested.

  “And you’re too good to go there,” she assured him. “Instead, I’ll be your teacher for now. We’ll set up a desk for you here in your room where you can do your lessons.”

  “No school?” Josh’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped open.

  Courtney maintained her matter-of-fact expression despite her roiling insides. She’d appeal the principal’s decision, of course, but until someone higher up the chain overruled him, homeschooling her son was the best option.

  Josh stared at the four colorful walls as if he were looking at a prison cell. “That’s not fair!” he shouted. “I hate it here! I hate you for making us come here.” He wrenched his pillow from the bed and threw it across the room. “I miss my toys. And my friends. And my old school. Why’d you make us leave?”

  The angry outburst struck Courtney straight in the stomach. Even though she knew he didn’t mean what he was saying, that he was simply giving in to the heat of the moment, it took every ounce of her control not to double over.

  Buying them both a much-needed minute, she stood. Her heart felt as if it weighed a ton as she crossed to the door and closed it. Every tear that streamed down her son’s beet-red cheeks tightened her chest when she returned to his side. She placed a trembling hand on the boy’s leg. “No matter what you say, Josh, I love you.”

  He swiped at his face. His voice strangled by angry tears, he demanded, “Why, Mom? Why’d you make us come here?”

  She didn’t want to heap more blame on his dad—the press had done a good enough job of that. But it was past time her child learned that sometimes even adults had to make tough choices. She struggled for an answer a ten-year-old could both understand and accept.

  “A big house like our old one is expensive,” she said, as simply as possible. “Without the big paycheck your dad made playing baseball, we didn’t have enough money to live there anymore. This little apartment and the café downstairs—it’s all we can afford.”

&n
bsp; Josh’s mouth gaped wider. “We can’t ever go back to our old house?”

  “Is that what you thought, honey? That one day we’d move back there?”

  His head bobbed.

  A lot of her son’s anger and frustration over the past few months made more sense if he’d been biding his time, waiting for things to return to normal. More than anything, she wanted him to understand, to start accepting their new life. Whether they liked it or not, this was their new normal.

  “You and your sister are the most important things in the world to me, Josh. I want you to be happy. Now that you know we can’t ever move back to Orlando, do you think you can work with me here? Try a little harder to be a good boy?”

  For a second, she thought she’d gotten through to him. She watched him study the room the way he might if he were seeing it for the first time.

  “Mom,” he said after a long pause. “Mom, I can’t get homeschooled. There’s no place to put a desk.” He pointed to the furniture that crowded the walls. “Can’t you tell Principal Morgan I’m sorry? I’ll…” He took a quivering breath. “I’ll tell Dylan I’m sorry. And Mr. Oak, too.”

  The boy had a point. Though she’d taken pains to turn the small room under the eaves into a homey, welcoming space, there was hardly enough room for his bed, dresser and bookcase. Downstairs wouldn’t work, either. It was bad enough that she divided her time between Addie and her customers. Adding an active ten-year-old into the mix would spell disaster for her struggling business. Besides, Josh needed to be around kids his own age.

  Her heart sank. She could give him what he needed. But it would mean doing the one thing she’d sworn she’d never do again.

  One season, she told herself. One season.

  She gritted her teeth and offered, “There is another choice. Principal Morgan said if you played Little League for Coach Oak, he’d let you come back to school on Monday.”

  Hope brightened Josh’s eyes. “Please, Mom,” he begged. “I’ll do better at school.”

  “You’ll study hard? You know your grades need to come up.”

  “Yes, Mom. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything?” She grinned and poked him in the ribs. “I need to go downstairs and clean up the mess I left there this morning. You—” she pushed Josh’s hair out of his eyes “—you need to clean up this room.” She gave the pile of dirty clothes on the floor a meaningful glance.

  Josh scrambled off his bed. By the time she made it to the door, he’d scooped up the first few items. He looked around the room as if he had no idea where to put them.

  “In the hamper?” she suggested. She shook her head and wondered if ignoring the laundry basket was somehow embedded in the male genetic code.

  As first steps went, Josh’s cooperation wasn’t much, but thankful for even the smallest change in his attitude, she headed downstairs. In the café’s open kitchen, she quickly swept the spoiled salad ingredients into the trash and ran the soup through the garbage disposal. While she worked, she fretted.

  Could she really let Josh play Little League?

  It went against everything she wanted for him. Every baseball player she knew was egotistical, self-centered, cocky. They lived, breathed and dreamed the sport. She knew firsthand they didn’t start out that way. Yes, Ryan had been serious about making it into the pros, but he’d changed after he’d made it big. Baseball had changed him.

  Would it change Josh?

  A lot would depend on his coach. The man would have a huge influence over her son. Quickly she reviewed the little she knew about Travis Oak. Tall, ruggedly handsome, sure of himself. But his willingness to sacrifice winning by putting Josh on his team didn’t quite fit the big-league player mold. Still, that didn’t mean she trusted him.

  At the first sign that baseball was having a negative impact on Josh, she’d yank him off Travis’s team. Of course, to do her duty as a parent, she’d have to watch the coach very carefully. And if she happened to enjoy the view, what was the harm?

  Chapter Three

  Saturday morning Travis rounded third and headed for home while chalk spilled, thick and straight, from the cart he pushed along the base path of Field Number One. Across the diamond a dad anchored second base into place. More fathers hauled long tables from the rec center to a tent where volunteers would pin numbers on T-shirts and check names off lists. Returning players, on the lookout for broken bottles or other dangerous objects, walked shoulder to shoulder across the freshly mowed outfield as coaches and parents wrapped up preparations for tryouts.

  Finished with the line marker, Travis slapped his hands together. The move created a cloud of white dust that mingled with the odor of hot dogs and popcorn from the snack bar. Though he’d never admit it, the smell was one of the things he loved best about baseball.

  As the first of several minivans pulled off Barton Boulevard into McLarty Park, he staked out a good vantage point. Searching for likely candidates to fill the open spots on his team roster, Travis swept over novices who didn’t know better than to show up in shorts and tennis shoes. Instead, he focused on kids in baseball pants worn at the knees, cleats that had seen a season or two of use. A tiny little princess in a tutu marched past carrying a bat far longer than she was. He gave the girl a wide grin before making note of a dozen more-likely candidates to watch.

  But did he need three new players? Or four?

  The answer depended on whether or not Josh Smith showed up, and Travis scanned the families milling about the parking lot.

  No pretty baby-toting woman with a lanky young boy in sight.

  He’d almost given up hope when he spotted Courtney beside an aging sedan. The objects she pulled from the trunk of her car dashed cold water on a budding fantasy, but the stroller and assorted items that soon littered the ground at her feet seemed like a lot for her slight figure. Never one to be remiss in his manners, Travis wandered over to lend a hand.

  On his way, he couldn’t help but run through a few opening lines. Nothing seemed good enough. He was working on some new material when he spotted Josh climbing out of the Smiths’ back seat. Travis groaned. Making a pass at a widow in front of her ready-made family was such a bad idea he shoved it aside.

  “Hey, Josh,” he said, focusing on the child. He gave the kid’s baggy shorts and tennis shoes a once over. Okay, so the youngster was going to need a lot of help. “You ready for tryouts?”

  While Courtney rounded the car to stand beside her son, Josh smacked his fist into an adult-sized fielder’s glove. “There’s a lot of kids here, Coach Oak. Does everyone get to play?” Staring at all the activity, he looked like a child who’d never stepped onto a Little League field before.

  Which he hadn’t, Travis reminded himself.

  “Yep. Today we’ll separate all these boys and girls into two divisions—majors and minors. In the minors, younger players learn and get the experience they need to make it to the next level. Older kids and ones with better skills play in the majors. I coach the Sluggers,” he said, pointing to his bright green jersey. “We’re in the majors.”

  For a kid who’d never swung a bat outside of P.E., Josh was sharp enough to know the score. Doubt colored his little face. “I might not be good enough to make your team.”

  Travis caught the same uncertainty in Courtney’s expression.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as much for her benefit as the boy’s. “We’ll practice for a month before our first game.”

  He averted his eyes and fought the urge to whistle “Dixie” while Courtney stretched into the back seat to retrieve her daughter.

  How was a man not supposed to gape at slender thighs and well-turned calves?

  The answer emerged from the car propped on Courtney’s slim hip. She blotted a bit of drool from her daughter’s chin, then tilted her head to look into his face. “So what’s the, um, game plan?”

  For a moment, Travis got lost in the light dusting of freckles across Courtney’s upturned nose, the slight pout of pink lips
. Something in his chest shifted, and he started, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. He quickly explained the sign-in process. Then, eager to move on, he started to say he’d see her later.

  A single glance at Josh stopped him. The boy stared at the fields where fathers and their sons tossed warm-up pitches to one another, and Travis’s throat constricted. He gave himself a mental kick in the pants. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t leave an inexperienced child to fend for himself.

  He rolled the shoulder of his pitching arm. “In the rush to get things ready this morning, I haven’t had a chance to warm up.” With a pointed glance toward her son, he turned to Courtney. “Think you and Addie can get him signed in while Josh and I throw the ball around?”

  “I think we could do that. If it’s okay with Josh.” Courtney’s gaze swung to the youngster, whose longing was too poignant to ignore.

  “Yeah.” The boy sucked in a breath that was half relief, half eager yearning. “Yeah, Mom.”

  When the tiniest smile tugged at the corners of the young mother’s lips, Travis slapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He gave Josh a grin and aimed a wider one at Courtney before he steered them to a patch of grass none of the other players had claimed. Telling himself he was only making sure she knew the way, he spared a quick glance in Courtney’s direction.

  “Ready, Coach,” Josh called.

  Travis gave himself a shake.

  “Let’s start by letting me see how well you can catch.” Mentally, he crossed his fingers, hoping the kid at least knew the rudiments.

  Josh sank into an effortless crouch, his knees bent, his feet planted shoulder width apart. Except for the huge glove, the kid looked like a major leaguer, but Travis tossed him a slow grounder. The boy scooped it up and fired it back at him as if he’d been playing shortstop all his life.

  “This isn’t your first time doing this,” Travis observed when the ball smacked into his glove harder than he’d expected. Slipping the leather off his hand, he gave his fingers an exaggerated shake to let the boy know he’d thrown some heat. He pitched again, this time putting a little more zing on the ball, and watched the kid field it easily. “Your dad teach you how to throw?”