Thinking about my mom, my sister, my teammates.My girl.There was no shortage of people to worry about.
“Carolina,” I heard from somewhere close by. I’d recognize that gruff voice anywhere. “Be careful, cutie.”
“Look, Daddy. Watch me when I twirl, and—”
A glop of something hot and gooey fell out of the sky, hitting me square on the chest. Talk about a perfect pitch down the middle.
“Oh, honey. Don’t cry.” I peeked over the edge of the chair, shocked to see my coach on one knee, hugging his daughter to his body. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I dropped my nachos, Daddy.”
Well, that explained the hot Velveeta smell.
I came to my feet and came around the chair. “You might have a pitcher there, coach. She’s got incredible aim.”
Coach Ward took in my wrecked T-shirt. “Oh, hell. Pink—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I swiped a finger through the mess and tucked it in my mouth. “Not bad. Your recipe, coach?”
“Tostitos recipe.”
At least he was honest.
I turned my attention to the little girl at his side. Her dark curls were a stark contrast to her dad’s Wranglers. Hell, the top of her head barely scraped the bottom of his thighs.
“Hey, Carolina,” I said in my best singsong voice. “My name is Jared, but my friends call me Pink.”
She tucked herself further into her father’s leg, muffling her sobs against his pants. It was hard to tell if she was more upset about spilling her nachos or mucking up my shirt.
“You know what? I think you did me a big favor.”
“Wha— What do you mean?” she asked between broken sobs.
I glanced up at her dad, searching his face for some sign of approval. Coach Ward called every pitch, every swing of thebat, so there was no way I was going to have a one-on-one conversation with his six-year-old daughter without getting his approval first.
His sharp nod had me squatting down until my face was even with Carolina’s.
“Well,” I told her. “We were having trouble picking teams for capture the flag, and becauseeverybodywants me on their team . . .”
More than one of my teammates snorted from behind me.
“. . . I didn’t know whose team to choose.”
Carolina wiped her little button nose against her dad’s shorts. “You didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.”
I smiled. “That’s right. But thanks to you, I figured it out.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
I reached behind me, tugging the stained shirt off over my head. “See? Team Skins.”
The little girl giggled. There was nothing more adorable than a freckle-faced kid with fruit punch-stained lips.
“Your tattoos are prettier than Daddy’s.”
“Hey,” Coach Ward protested. “Watch it, cutie.”
