by Karen Rock
He smiled, and his ultrabright teeth glittered as he walked beside her to the kitchen area. “Wonderfully. Haven’t seen them this fired up in a long time. Not since that local singer came through and played for them.”
“Tamara Parks?” she asked as they sat on wicker stools at the granite-topped island, pulling themselves closer to the steaming pie.
“Great folk singer.” Mr. Lettles nodded when her father pointed at the pepperoni pizza. “And a nice young lady.”
Heather mouthed a thank-you to her father and accepted the slice he passed her. “I knew her in high school, though she was kind of a loner.”
“She’s terrific with the kids. Made a lot of them want to become musicians. We had to write a grant requesting funds for guitars after her last stop.”
Heather’s stomach grumbled as she bit into the warm, cheesy slice. It was the first thing she’d eaten all day.
“I hope we’ll get some of them thinking about playing college-level sports as well,” she replied after swallowing another large bite.
“No doubt about that!” Mr. Lettles smiled (or had he ever stopped?) and pointed his pizza crust at her father. “Your dad’s been with the kids every day, directing the first phase of the camp, prepping the field and giving them some baseball tips when they finished.”
She lowered her slice and stared at her father’s sheepish expression. A lot had changed since she’d been away. He’d gone from resistant to helping out? He was not only on board but also practically driving the train.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He poured them all sodas and spoke without looking up. “Just wanted to make sure this idea of yours worked out,” he grumbled.
His words made her breathe easier. She’d been worried her idea might flop, despite the pep talks she’d given herself. But with her father involved, it couldn’t fail. The Falcons needed to be known for more than their record. They should be role models, giving back to the community. In turn, she hoped the region would support them and start attending more games.
Air wheezed out of her father when he lowered himself to the stool beside her. “We should take a walk out there tonight. I’ll show you what the kids accomplished. They did a heck of a job.”
Heather smiled. There it was, the compliment that always seemed aimed in any other direction than hers. But still. This had been her idea. Any tribute he gave them was one for her. “I knew they would. Thank you, Mr. Lettles, for agreeing to this.”
He reached for another slice and nodded. “Of course. It’s great for the kids, and they’re very excited to meet the players now that you’re home. We’re still starting on Monday?”
Concern rang through her as she nodded. She could barely get her team members to take a critique, let alone volunteer their time. What if they didn’t agree to give the kids their attention? The boys had faced enough rejection in their lives. They didn’t deserve it from athletes in their hometown. But her concern might be premature. She wasn’t asking them to change their style of play. She’d be appealing to their goodwill. Ideally their frustration with her wouldn’t get in the way. She bit hard into her crust and polished it off in two bites.
Tomorrow she’d call a team meeting and fill them in, officially, on the Falcons’ new role and her expectations. She pictured Garrett and the kids’ response to him when they’d attended a game earlier this season. Like it or not, he was a local hero. A role model. Was there any chance he’d changed his mind? She had to convince him—show him he could make a big difference.
Make him see how much she needed him...
* * *
“DAD. ARE YOU sure you don’t want to come with me?”
Heather double-knotted her laces and glanced across the room at her father. He was sitting in his usual spot, a recliner they’d had as long as Heather could remember. Despite other updates through the years, the gray plush chair had faced their television forever. A lopsided heart in faded purple marker still graced its back. It was something her six-year-old mind had thought would pretty up the contraption. Why he hadn’t gotten rid of it after she’d ruined it, she’d never know.
When the seat had started sagging, the seams fraying, Heather had tried persuading her father to buy something else. Failing, she’d ordered chairs—high-end models he sent back as quickly as they were delivered.
Nope. He liked what he liked. The chair was comfortable and it stayed, no matter how big an eyesore it was. After a long day, she could always find her dad there, his feet propped up on the tilted footrest, soda and peanuts by his side as he watched his favorite late-night talk shows, his rumble of a laugh reassuring because, unlike everything else in her life, it was always the same.
“Nah. Guess I’m feeling a bit tired tonight, after all. But you go out and see what those kids did. You’ll be impressed.” The remote shuffled the television through a few channels before stopping on a news station with a fast-talking anchor woman.
She squatted beside him and kissed his leathery cheek. A life spent outdoors had made him tough, inside and out.
His mouth hooked upward a bit, and he grunted when she pulled away. “And wear a coat. Hill nights are colder than you remember after all that time in California. Managers never get sick. Got it?”
She smiled as she stood. Nope. Some things never changed. “Got it, Dad.”
“And don’t go hanging out there on your own too long. There’s plenty of wild animals.” He peered at her around the side of his chair, his close-set eyes studying her until she nodded.
“I hear you. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“We still need to talk about that series.”
Her stomach soured. With Mr. Lettles’s visit, she’d hoped she might have dodged this conversation. Especially since they’d had it on the phone twenty different ways already.
“I know,” she said, keeping the disappointment out of her voice. Dad didn’t tolerate weak. Or emotional.
She reached for the door and paused, waiting for a final question. He always had one.
“You got your phone?” he called over the sound of something exploding on screen.
A small laugh escaped her. “Locked and loaded.”
“Huh?” He raised his voice and squinted at her again around the side of the chair. “Speak English. Is the darn thing charged or not?”
She held up the phone and waved it in the air, then pulled open the door. “All set, Dad. Really. I’ll be back, okay?”
“Yeah, well—” he grumbled, then trailed off, twisting around to switch channels as Heather slipped out the door.
Phew.
Freedom.
Living with her father again was definitely taking some getting used to. She’d complained about his daily cell phone check-ins. But now that she was home, it was the Dave Gadway show, 24/7, at least until she felt he was strong enough for her to look for an apartment and move out. She strode down the steps, Scout at her heels. She’d forgotten how hard her father was to take in big doses.
But she wouldn’t complain...much. He’d scared the heck out of her with his heart attack, and seeing him get stronger every day felt like a blessing she should never take for granted. Though she did sometimes. She’d admit it. No one was perfect. Especially not her, he’d be quick to remind her.
Was it too much to wish that, just once, he’d believe she was strong and capable? That she was an awesome daughter? The best he could have hoped for instead of a disappointment?
She looked up at the stars, knowing that’d be a pointless wish. Better to prove it to him by turning around her dismal win-loss record.
The baseball camp was another way to show him her worth. And she couldn’t wait to see the new and improved field.
She picked up the pace, and the collie trotted along beside her as they skirted the new field. In the distance, lights shone down on the old park. Maybe her dad had kept them on for her. Either way, they helped guide her as she followed the familiar path.
She let herself in through the locker ro
om entrance, smiling at the way the tiled space shone when she snapped on the lights. Her dad was right. The boys had used their elbow grease. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she made her way to the field, eager to see the rest.
The wind picked up and tossed her hair around her face, blinding her for a moment as she stepped onto the field. When the breeze died down and her vision cleared, she gasped. The blazing overhead lights illuminated neatly painted stands and railings and a clipped field. And the kids had painted colorful wooden banners advertising local businesses. Her call for help through the chamber of commerce had been answered. Holly Springs businesses had supported her as she’d known they would.
Her heart swelled for the boys, Holly Springs and the Falcons. Joy bubbled inside her, and she twirled, her arms so wide, Julie Andrews would have been proud.
Scout barked like mad and pawed at her until she fell on the grass, dizzy and laughing.
Yes!
This was exactly the boost she’d needed after her flop in Florida. Tomorrow was a new day. She hoped that showing the players this field, the hard work the kids had done, would motivate them as well.
“Are you okay?” asked an all-too-familiar voice. One that got her heart thumping.
She scrambled to her knees and peered up through her mussed hair, unable to believe her eyes. Above her loomed Garrett, looking as tall and muscular as ever, a lopsided smile on his handsome face. He’d said he wanted nothing to do with her baseball camp. What was he doing here?
“Fine,” she breathed. How much of her The Sound of Music imitation had he seen? What he must think of her. If she’d behaved like a real manager, she would have simply crossed her arms, eyed the field, nodded and spit out sunflower seed shells. But nooooooo. She’d had to recreate Maria’s dance in front of the Alps and fantasize about bringing self-discipline and respect into the lives of motherless children.
Sheesh.
His strong hand enfolded hers as he helped her up, and warmth exploded up her arm. She forced herself to let go, although it was tough. Dimples dented his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes making her wonder if he was silently laughing at her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Not looking for Julie Andrews, but thanks for the show.” His white teeth flashed. “If only I’d had my phone to record it.”
A bubble of laughter escaped her. “You wouldn’t have dared.”
“And ignore a perfectly good blackmail opportunity? You underestimate me.”
The light in his eyes turned up her own temperature. Charisma at his level had to be taken in small doses—and definitely not as such close range.
She moved a safe distance away and shoved her wind-tossed hair out of her eyes. No. She would never underestimate him or his effect on her.
“Other than spying on me, why are you here?
His face sobered as he looked over the transformed space.
“I was planning on getting in a little throwing before bed. Forgot the kids were doing this.”
Their arms brushed as they stood side by side, surveying the empty space. Scout circled them, occasionally stopping to bark out a demand to play. But she was too aware of the man beside her to do more than ruffle Scout’s ears. Gone was the peaceful moment she’d planned. She was too on edge, her footing off, feeling as though she was about to cartwheel over a cliff she hadn’t seen coming.
“They did a good job, didn’t they?” she asked, her voice as steady as she could manage given her jitterbugging nerves.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree, soft light touching the field as the quarter moon rose. Shadows performed puppet shows along the walls as clouds drifted overhead, stars winking in and out like Christmas lights.
She waited for a reply and got none, her heart dropping to the grass between her sneakers. So his reaction at the foster home hadn’t been a fluke. Some strange overreaction that he’d had time to rethink and regret. He definitely had nothing good to say about the baseball camp. But why? It still made no sense. She’d planned to get him to support her when she rolled out her plan for the team, but that seemed more unlikely with each silent moment that passed.
“So,” she began softly, “what do you have against foster kids?”
His head fell back as he sucked in a deep breath. “Just keep them out of my way, okay?”
When he turned to leave, she raced around him and stepped in his path. No. The conversation was over when she said it was over. She was the manager. He was the player. End of story.
“What do you want from me, Heather?”
His full mouth drooped, his brows meeting over the bridge of his nose. He didn’t appear angry so much as drained. She wished back the man who’d laughed at her moments ago. Her stomach spiraled downward. Was she being like her father? Pecking at him until he was too exhausted to fight?
“I just want to know what happened the other day at the group home. Why you don’t want the kids around?”
“It’s my business,” he said evenly, though he made no move to leave.
“Since it has to do with the camp on my property, I’d say it’s both of our business.” Yep. She was definitely being as pushy as her dad, but she really wanted to know.
His nose flared, his mouth thinning into a straight line he held as firmly as his jaw.
“You don’t let up, do you?”
She stepped closer, angling her head to meet his eyes. “No. I told you about my mother last week, so you owe me.”
He shook his head, puzzled.
“Owe you what?”
“The truth. How a former foster kid could now hate them.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched at the slap of her words. Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and walked fast, nearly tripping her as she tried to keep up with his long legs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly.
But he marched on faster.
When they reached the dugout he stopped and pointed to the bench.
“If you want the truth, you’ll need a seat.”
* * *
GARRETT BARELY REGISTERED the warped boards that had been replaced, the cobwebs scrubbed out of existence. His attention was snared by the strong, big-hearted woman sitting on a worn wooden bench, her expectant eyes on him. No one else knew what had happened between him and Manny. He’d vowed never to think about it, let alone talk about it, yet here he was, wanting to open up to Heather, needing to share this dark wound in him. Did a part of him believe she could heal it?
He rubbed the back of his neck and his eyes drifted upward as he struggled to speak. Where to begin?
“Garrett,” Heather said, rising. “Forget it. I shouldn’t butt into your business.”
He cupped her shoulders and gently guided her back down, taking a seat beside her. Maybe this would be easier if he put the ball in her court.
“Ask me anything you want.”
She looked at him for a long time before she asked, “What do you know about your parents?”
His chest loosened a bit. At least they hadn’t gotten to Manny...yet. Still. This question was hard enough. And no one had ever cared enough to ask it before.
“I have a couple of memories of my mother I’d rather forget, and I don’t know who my dad is.” His throat burned and heat crawled up the sides of his face, making his temples throb.
“As in, he left you and your mom? Is that why you were in foster care?”
“No. His name’s not on my birth certificate.” He looked down, feeling the familiar shame smothering him. A heavy, dark cloak he could never take off. “Maybe she didn’t know who fathered me. Either way, I’m sure he was a son-of-a—”
A soft hand fell on his thigh and squeezed, the caress quieting his ragged nerves and filling him with more pleasure than he could have imagined. He didn’t deserve sweet gestures from nice girls. But he couldn’t pull away any more easily than he could stop breathing—it felt that right.
“He missed out, then,” she said in the sudden quiet.
&
nbsp; He shot her a sharp look. “On what?”
“On knowing you.”
And the way she said it. So certain. Calm. As if he was worth more than an autograph. Wasn’t on top of the discard pile. He gave himself a mental shake. Still. Heather didn’t know everything about him. Not by a long shot.
Truth time.
“I kept thinking my mother would come back for me,” he said. “And when she didn’t, I started scrubbing up nice whenever couples came to look us over. I was sure I’d have a home one day. A family. Even asked Santa for one the year I turned seven. That’s how I learned the guys in the red suits didn’t really live at the North Pole.”
Her arms were crossed on her stomach, and her soft brown curls blew across her face.
“I’m so sorry. Were you jealous of the other kids who got adopted?”
He looked out at the moon, wondering where those kids were now. Eating dinner with in-laws, planning birthday parties for their own children? None of that had been in the cards for him. Never would be.
“Not really. I wished it’d been me, but I wouldn’t take it away from them.” He inhaled as deep a breath as his tight lungs allowed. “I had a brother. Not blood-related, but as close as one.”
Her eyes lit up. “I didn’t know that. Has he been at any of the games?”
The backs of his eyes burned and it took him a moment to answer.
“He can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s dead.”
Suddenly, her arms wrapped around his chest, her cheek pressed to his thudding heart.
“I’m so sorry, Garrett,” she said into his shirt.
When she made as if to move away, he pulled her closer, savoring her feel and how it warmed the chill inside him. It was wrong to hold her this way. She was his boss. He could look but not touch.
Correction. He shouldn’t even look.
But in his defense, she’d touched him first. Everything inside him twisted with the need to keep her close, this woman who hid her scars almost as well as he did.
“We met when he got moved into my room the year I turned fourteen. He was a year younger.”
