by R. C. Martin
“I’m ready,” he proclaimed.
Ryann couldn’t silence her soft chuckle as she looked down at his disheveled state. His Round Rock Express ball cap was crooked; his plain, royal blue t-shirt was on backwards and left untucked; and his cleats were untied. Even so, it felt good to see him in pinstripes again.
“Oh, Cohan. Let mommy help you. Bag off,” she instructed as she crouched down to her knees.
Cohan did as he was told and allowed Ryann to pull his arms into his shirt before she spun it around. He pushed his skinny limbs through the short sleeves, and Ryann moved on to his cleats. When his laces were secure, she reached up and tucked his shirt into his pants. Once finished, she playfully swatted at his bottom.
“Okay, handsome—grab your things. Meet me by the door.”
“Yes! Let’s go, go, go,” he cried as he began to race down the stairs.
“Cohan, no running in the house. You know better.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She listened as he slowed his pace before she continued toward her room. Upon crossing the threshold, she caught sight of the time on her alarm clock and felt mocked. Somehow, seven of their eight allotted minutes had already passed. She no longer had time to change. Still, even the thought of sitting out in the Texas heat in her button-up made her want to sweat. With that in mind, she made a split second decision and hoped she wouldn’t regret it.
After she freed the first few buttons from their slots, Ryann pulled her work shirt over her head. She then turned to face the vanity mirror on top of her dresser. She always wore a plain, black, cotton cami underneath her uniform. It wasn’t exactly her choice of attire all on its own, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She quickly lifted each arm for inspection, in hopes that she hadn’t smeared deodorant on the fabric. While her cami was free of any white smudges, she grimaced at the state of her armpits. It had clearly been a day or two since she’d shown them any attention.
“Well, don’t lift your arms,” she muttered at her reflection.
It wasn’t until she glanced at her face that she became aware of the state of her hair.
“Mommy!?”
“Coming. I’m coming,” she called as she searched her room for her Texas Rangers ball cap. When she found it in one of her drawers, she snatched it up and then proceeded to do exactly what she’d just told Cohan not to do.
Racing into the kitchen for her purse, she tossed the hat onto her head and pulled her ponytail through the back. She’d never really been a huge fan of baseball hats. Her distaste for them only increased when she had to start wearing one for work. Nonetheless, she couldn’t argue they were good in a pinch.
“Okay,” she sighed as she approached the garage door. “Out we go.”
Cohan wrenched open the door and leapt down the stairs. Running toward Ryann’s vehicle, he shouted, “Let’s play ball!”
IT TOOK THEM twenty minutes to reach the practice field. They were five minutes late upon arrival, but they’d made it. Even more, when Cohan ran around the front of the vehicle and reached for Ryann’s hand, she saw they weren’t the only latecomers. Much like the pick-up line, they may have been at the back of the pack, but they hadn’t kept anyone waiting.
“Are you ready to have so much fun?” Ryann asked Cohan as they came to a stop.
The team’s manager and his assistant were busy greeting the father and son in line ahead of them. This gave Ryann a second to calm herself. Cohan, who was always a little shy around new people, simply smiled up at his mother and offered her a quiet nod.
Intuitively, Ryann gave his hand a squeeze and assured him, “I’ll be here the whole time. Promise.”
“’Kay,” he murmured. He then shifted his attention up at the two men who now awaited them. Ryann looked up at them, too.
She wasn’t a short woman, standing at the height of five-eight. Except, that meant very little as she approached the coaches—both of whom had to have been no shorter than six-five. Craning her neck back slightly, so she could see them without the bill of her cap obscuring her view, Ryann stared mutely. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting—but he was not it.
The man before her was mesmerizing. The worn, Rough Rider’s baseball cap he had on over his curly, maple brown locks was pushed up a little—as if he wanted to make sure everyone he spoke to could see into his eyes. And his eyes, fitted perfectly beneath his thick eyebrows, were amazingly blue. He had a strong, pointed nose, a masculine, chiseled jaw, and—as if all that wasn’t enough—the light beard he’d grown made him ruggedly handsome.
It wasn’t until the man who stood to his left cleared his throat that Ryann realized, as she stared at the blue-eyed stranger without a word, he had done the same to her. Recognizing this to be true, she looked away from him, suddenly awash in embarrassment. She didn’t know what was the matter with her. Single as she might have been, with Cohan’s small fingers wrapped around hers, she knew she had no business getting lost in any man’s eyes—let alone the blue gaze of one of her son’s coaches.
“Uh, hi,” muttered the man who’d cleared his throat.
Ryann shifted her focus in his direction. He was a little shorter, but not by more than an inch, and he was handsome in his own right. His eyes were blue, but much darker, and his hair was longer; his maple locks curled up around the edges of his hat, like wings. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. He then chuckled and peered up at the man beside him.
Ryann felt the slight heat of what could only be a blush as it tinted her cheeks. She wouldn’t dare follow his gaze. Instead, she studied the amused man. He looked younger—though, she couldn’t tell if it was his clean shaven jaw that had such an effect or not. Either way, she recognized an undeniable resemblance between the two.
“Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—sorry for being rude. You look—familiar. I didn’t mean to—”
The stuttering attempt at a save beckoned Ryann’s attention to that of the captivating blue-eyed stranger once more. He extended his hand and announced, “I’m Leslie—I mean, Coach Moore.” He shook his head and scrunched his brow even as a hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth. It made him look confoundingly more attractive, which only bewildered Ryann even further. “We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago,” he finished.
“Oh, right,” Ryann replied. She let go of Cohan’s hand to shake Leslie’s and then immediately looked down at her son. Trailing her fingers over his ball cap and along his neck, she rested her palm around his small shoulder and said, “This is Cohan.”
“Hey, Cohan,” greeted Leslie, his tone decidedly lighter and less befuddled. “I’m Coach Moore—and this is my brother. He’s going to be helping us out. You can call him Coach Aaron.”
“’Kay,” Cohan responded, his neck craned back as he stared.
Ryann smiled to herself, relieved she wasn’t the only one to be awe-struck by the man.
“You ready to play some fall ball?”
“Yeah,” answered Cohan, the enthusiasm in his voice a little stronger than it had been a second ago.
“Awesome. Let’s go join the others,” said Aaron. He nodded toward the rest of the team and then shifted his body, to imply he intended to walk over with him.
Cohan glanced up at Ryann, as if asking for permission. She winked at him before she gave him a little push. “Go ahead. I’ll be sitting right over there with the other moms until you’re done. Have fun.”
He turned toward her and hugged her legs, melting her heart a little, and then followed after Aaron. Leslie wasn’t far behind them. Only, before he got too far, he turned toward her and muttered, “It was nice meeting you.”
Fortunately, he spared her the opportunity to respond. Instead, she made her way toward the small set of bleachers to take a seat, where she’d noticed the other mothers were already settled. In a single glance, she felt as though she wasn’t going to fit in with any of them. A year ago, she would have—but that afternoon, in her black pants that smelled like cake batter, he
r cami that barely counted as a shirt, and the Rangers hat she’d thrown on last minute—she believed two things to be true. She was barely shy of a train wreck; and regardless of what she knew or didn’t know about the women who occupied the bleachers, they were far more put together than she was.
As she took her seat on the left corner of the first bench, her eyes drifted toward Leslie. She only let her gaze linger for a second, and then she stared unseeingly at the other dads who’d shown up to help with practice. Except, even with him out of her sights, her mind replayed the awkward exchange she’d just had with Coach Moore. Who he thought he saw when he looked at her, she wasn’t sure—but it wasn’t Ryann. There was no way he found her worth a second glance in her current state.
It took her a second before she was fully cognizant of her thoughts. She then inhaled deeply and blew out a huff as she ran her hands across the tops of her thighs. She couldn’t understand how she’d managed to let her mind entertain the notion that whatever had transpired between them had anything to do with attraction. She hadn’t thought about a man like that since Brady. It caught her off guard. It was as if Coach Moore had come out of left field. That said, the last thing she needed was to spend the next hour thinking about him. Rather, she forced her eyes to find Cohan, and then she let her mind go silent. They’d been in such a rush, and now the reprieve the moment granted her was welcome.
However, she wasn’t alone.
As she quieted her mind, she couldn’t tune out the chatter which took place behind her. She knew in an instant what they were saying was purely gossip—but at the mention of Leslie’s name, she had a difficult time shutting out their words.
“You know Leslie’s the most coveted coach in all of Frisco.”
“I bet he could coach any team he wanted,” piped in another voice. “It amazes me that he’s chosen little league. The man is a saint.”
“Oh, he’s more than that. You know why he’s in little league, don’t you?” There was a pause before the woman went on to murmur, “Their nephew. When their sister’s husband died in that accident, Leslie and Aaron stepped up and stepped in. My Jackson was on the same tee-ball team as Sheldon his first year. They’ve been volunteering every year since.”
“God, that’s hot.”
“Tell me about it,” one replied with a giggle.
“Oh, hush. You’ve got a husband,” chimed in yet another.
“Yeah—who spends half the year traveling for business. When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
“Connie, you’re too much. Leave him be. Some of us are actually single.”
Connie chuckled mischievously before one of the others replied, “I don’t want him, but he is nice to look at. I’d heard the rumors, but they didn’t do him justice. My husband had to work his contacts to get Danny on this team. Coach Moore is as easy on the eyes as he is great with the kids.”
“You’re lucky Phil had the connections to secure a spot for Danny. Most of the boys on the team have been playing together since they were three. Leslie handpicks his team, like the veteran he is. With his background, the league lets him have what he wants so he’ll stick around. I have no idea who that new kid is—but I sure hope he can play. The last thing we need is a little novice pulling us down.”
“For god’s sake, Connie—it’s fall ball, for crying out loud.”
“Hey, they might not keep score, but I sure as hell do.”
Ryann’s spine stiffened at the mention of the team’s new kid. She couldn’t be certain if Cohan was the only child on the field who hadn’t played with the other boys before, but it didn’t matter. It prickled her nerves to think that anyone would be sizing up her son. The kids out there were six and seven. They were still learning the fundamentals.
Confident it would be better to shut out the women and their chatter entirely, Ryann cast aside all thoughts of Leslie, the peanut gallery behind her, and the frustrations that had come with her afternoon. After a small, contented sigh, she focused her attention on the little boy who owned her heart. If she’d learned anything valuable in the last five minutes, it had been that Cohan was in seemingly good hands. That said, she hoped with all her might the next twelve weeks would be everything Cohan dreamed they’d be.
RYANN PULLED INTO the pick-up line with time to spare. Not one to waste the gift of a free moment, she decided to use the opportunity to check her email. Killing her engine, she pulled her work hat from over her hair and tossed it into the seat beside her. She dug her phone from out of her purse as she freed her mane from her drooping ponytail. Ryann settled back in her seat and opened her Gmail app to find the normal amount of spam, which she immediately deleted; her cell phone bill, which she intended to pay later that evening; and two unread messages in regards to Cohan’s little league team from two different men—which made her pause.
It was silly to think anything of it, but she did anyway. Even so, how she felt was a bit unclear. Thinking it best to open the message from her ex first, she clicked on the thread and let her eyes drift over the text.
from: Brady Clynch
to: Ryann L. Clynch
date: Thur, Sept 12, 2019 at 10:43am
subject: Re: Cohan’s 1st Game
Sorry this is last minute. Won’t be able to make it. Got to be in San Antonio Saturday night. Doesn’t make sense to drive all the way up there just to turn around and come all the way south. I’ll make it up to him. Next game, I’ll come up and stay the weekend.
B
Ryann scanned the message twice and read between the lines each time. What she saw was how it inconvenienced his woman to be in the car for ten hours on Saturday. Brady’s argument that it didn’t make sense was nonsense, in Ryann’s opinion. Cohan hadn’t seen his father in a month—not to mention Saturday’s game was the first time Cohan would suit up since he was four. The inconvenience of it all was merely an excuse—an excuse that irritated Ryann almost as much as the other assumption she’d surmised from his text.
Next game, Brady would be bringing Cheryl-Ann to Frisco for the weekend.
For obvious reasons, Ryann had no respect for Cheryl-Ann. However, what continued to irk her about their relationship wasn’t merely that it had begun behind her back, but how quickly they had deemed it appropriate to introduce it to Cohan. While the divorce had been final for months, and while Ryann had grieved the loss of her marriage for what she deemed was long enough, she still held tight to that one grudge. At barely five years old, and after only two months away from the home and life he knew, every visit Cohan had with Brady included Cheryl-Ann. He didn’t even like her—for which, of course, Brady blamed Ryann—but that was neither true nor relevant. It had just made everything harder.
Ryann glanced out the windshield and tried to center her thoughts. If she gave Brady too much space in her mind, she’d get upset, and that’s not what she wanted. Furthermore, she’d have to break the news to Cohan that he wouldn’t be seeing his father that weekend. Regardless of how she felt, she didn’t want to tell him with her tone drenched in bitterness. He didn’t deserve that. Moreover, she knew he’d be disappointed. It was her responsibility to be a comforter and nothing less.
With that in mind, she decided not to respo to Brady’s message until later. Instead of hitting reply, she clicked back into her inbox and opened the second message sent earlier that morning.
from: Leslie S. Moore
bcc: Ryann L. Clynch
date: Thur, Sept 12, 2019 at 9:30am
subject: Re: NO Practice/Schedule Adjustment
Good Morning Parents,
Wanted to send a quick thank-you to all of you who could make it to practice last night after we got rained out on Monday. I know how difficult it can be to rearrange schedules, but I appreciate you making practice a priority for your kids. For those of you who couldn’t make it, Aaron and I look forward to having you back and working with the team this evening at our
last practice before our first game.
That said, we’ll be handing out uniforms after practice. I know the boys have been looking forward to this, so I hope you all can make it.
Best,
Coach Moore
It was an email. A mass email. Nothing more. Even still, Ryann read it twice—and she appreciated the sentiment behind it each time. She then stopped and asked herself if Leslie’s message would have been worth a second glance if she didn’t find the author of the text attractive. Ryann bit her lip, blacked out her screen, and tossed her phone back into her purse. The answer to her own question made her feel ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. Greater still, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to. While she didn’t think it necessary or altogether appropriate to entertain any sort of interest in the man, it made her feel good simply clinging to the hope found in having been merely attracted.
The hope she harbored had little to do with him. Of this she had managed to convince herself. She didn’t know anything about Leslie. Nothing real, anyway; therefore, she had nothing on which to build a real interest. However, there was a part of her that had been dormant since her divorce—a part of her womanhood she’d ignored as she tried to put back together the broken pieces of her life. Dating was so far off her radar, it was as if her mind had joined a convent in the remotest part of her brain. Except, remarkably, Leslie had brought her out.
It was silly and nonsensical, but she looked forward to seeing him—if for no other reason than to simply feel. They hadn’t exchanged much more than a hello since their first encounter, for which Ryann found herself grateful. The best part of her attraction was that it existed from afar. In fact, there was so much distance put between the two of them, it made it easier to consider her little crush practically nothing.
Aside from the hour long practices twice a week, she tried not to give the man too much headspace. It was better to be realistic. She was a single mom and disappointingly removed from everything she had thought her life would be at thirty-one years old. Romance didn’t seem like a realistic notion to entertain—with Leslie or anyone else. But awakening her inner woman—the part of her that was more than a mother, or a daughter, or even the dreamer she still sometimes was—it brought with it a sensation she welcomed.
