Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Mine was bigger.
“You need to stop,” I said.
“I need to stop what, you fucking has-been?” he asked, jerking his chin at me.
I shrugged, feeling my temper spark but trying hard not to let it catch fire. “Stop being an asshole, and go sit down.”
He stuck a meaty finger in my face. “Who are you calling an asshole?”
“You. You’re making the entire team look bad, and you’re not doing your son any favors. The ump is less likely to give us the close calls if he’s pissed off.”
“What the fuck do you know about it? I don’t even get why you’re here—you suck, Shaw! You couldn’t throw a strike if you tried!”
People were watching, I reminded myself. Players were watching. Kids were watching. “Look, let’s not argue here. This isn’t about me, or even about you.”
“The hell it isn’t. You’re telling me I can’t support my son. And I’m telling you to go to hell.”
My hands curled into fists, and at that point I realized I had to remove myself from the situation or it was going to get ugly. So instead of smashing the guy’s jaw like I wanted to, I turned around and went back to the dugout.
His voice followed me. “That’s right, get the hell out of here, you head case. You don’t know shit.”
Seething, I stood with my arms crossed over my chest. Virgil, who was also in the dugout, shuffled over to me. “Brush it off. There will always be overbearing parents.”
“That guy is more than overbearing,” I snapped.
Virgil shrugged. “Part of the game. Let it go.”
But I couldn’t. The team lost, the players were dejected, and Chip seemed especially down. He came over to me after the game, cap pulled low. “Sorry, Coach. I couldn’t get it right.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll work on it. Rest that arm.”
He nodded and walked off toward the locker room with a couple buddies. I rubbed my face, feeling exhausted and good-for-nothing and craving a drink. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I texted Mack, who’d given me his number and said to reach out if I ever wanted to grab a beer.
Me: Hey. You busy? Could use that beer.
Mack: Sounds good. Give me a minute to check with F.
I was starting my car when he texted back.
Mack: I’m good for a beer. Jolly Pumpkin has great brew.
Me: Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.
I walked into the bar with my head low and took a seat way down at the end of the bar, hoping no one would recognize me. I’d just ordered a beer when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey.” Mack slid onto the stool next to me.
“Hey.”
“Were you at the game? How was it?”
I shook my head. “Rough.”
“What happened?”
I gave Mack a rundown of the game over a couple beers apiece. Since I was hungry, I ordered a burger and fries, and Mack ordered two pizzas, which he said he needed to bring home for Friday night movie night. The order was complicated, since in a house with four females, nobody ever wanted the same thing on their pizza.
“And I’m sorry I don’t have more time,” he said. “I wish I did. I could sit here and talk baseball all night.”
“No big deal. You should go home to your family.” I tipped up my glass.
Mack rubbed his jaw. “This might not be my place to ask, but is everything okay?”
I shrugged. “I had an off day. Nothing seemed to go right.”
He nodded. “I saw the news story. Fuckers.”
I signaled the bartender for another beer. “Yeah, well. I’m used to it. But I don’t like that April’s name was dragged into it. I don’t want them going after her because of me.”
“I get it.” He paused. “Frannie said you might be moving back here for good? Taking a permanent coaching position?”
I looked at him. “News travels fast.”
He shrugged. “I think Chloe might have told her. But the Sawyer sisters have some kind of psychic network, I swear to God. They know everything about each other within minutes. So it’s true?”
The bartender brought my beer, and I took a sip. “I was thinking about it. But today was the kind of day that just makes me want to go back to my cabin in the mountains and say to hell with it. People don’t want to give anybody room to make mistakes. They just want perfection.”
His pizzas arrived, and after he paid the bill, he stood up. “I don’t know, man. Everybody loves a good comeback story.”
I tried to smile. “Thanks.”
Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he grabbed his pizza boxes off the bar. “Take care. Let’s do this again—I’ll get out of movie night next time.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved him off, fighting a small pang of envy, which surprised me. I’d never wanted a family at all, let alone a family tradition taking up my Friday night. But watching him walk out of the bar with dinner for his wife and kids while I sat there by myself was pretty fucking depressing.