“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” She takes a tentative step forward, as if unsure what version of Lukas she will get.
He lets go of the grip he had on my fingers and takes a step toward his mom. When he opens up his good arm, her shoulders fall, and she leans in to give him a gentle but steady hug. He presses his cheek to the side of her head. “Sorry I was a dick, Ma,” he whispers. “You’re nothing but good to me, and I wasmean.” I can almost hear the collective gasp around the room at his apology.
When he releases his hold on her, she pulls back, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I was just going to head into the kitchen to bake some bread, can I make you two something to eat?”
He nods at that with a small smile. “Guess we should probably eat something, yeah.”
She beams, her own smile so wide and proud, as if she just won some sort of award, and then she turns to me, reaching for me with both arms to pull me into the tightest hug. “Thank you,” she whispers, so softly that only I can hear. “Thank you for bringing my boy back to me.”
CHAPTER 9
Lukas
TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD
“Knock knock,” I call out, rapping my knuckles against Nana’s kitchen door. “Anyone home?”
“In here,” her frail voice replies. Clicking the door shut behind me, I kick off my boots, propping them up on her colorful woven rug so the snow doesn’t drip onto her tile.
With stocking feet, I pad through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the living room, turning the corner just as the applause sounds from the television in front of her.
“How’s my favorite girl?” I ask, reaching a hand out to squeeze her shoulder.
“Could be the owner of new kitchen appliances if I was on the show instead of this ninny.” She gestures to the television with a frail hand. “She said an entire set of kitchen appliances costs less than a thousand dollars. What world is she in?”
I smirk, taking a seat across from her on the couch, the plastic covering creaking under my weight. “Maybe it’s her technique, closest without going over, you know?”
She nods at that, pointing the remote toward the TV to mute it, then turns to me. “So, how are you holding up?”
“Doing just fine, keeping busy.”
It’s the answer I give automatically these days, whether I mean it or not.
I should know Nana sees right through it. She has that same gift that Mags does to get me to say what I really feel. I don’t even need to turn back to face her to see her eyes glaring at me over her bifocals.
I scrub a hand over the side of my face, feeling my beard bristle against my palm. “I’m bored, Nana,” I whisper. “Restless. All I do is hang out at the farm. Wake up before dawn, feed the animals, dinner with my family, rinse and repeat. The highlight of my week is hanging out with you on Wednesday nights.”
She playfully scoffs. “You could do a lot worse.”
I chuckle at that. “Yes, ma’am.”
I busy myself by picking at a loose thread in the knee of my jeans. “Working on the farm is a fine job. I figured I’d end up doing it someday. I think … well, I just thought I’d live a little before those days came.”
It’s been close to two years since my baseball career died. My surgery was clean. They sewed me together brand new, I was told.“Range of motion is 100%, mobility intact,”the physical therapist said.What they didn’t say is I’m only as good as new to be a regular functioning citizen.
I learned the hard way I’ll never be as good as I once was. I'll be able to toss a baseball for my kid someday, no problem, but the days of one hundred and one mile an hour fastballs are over. I got the final writing on the contract release in the mail the other day.
“You know how I feel about you son, Coach said.I’d love to keep you on the roster and see if we can get you back in tip-top shape for next season, but unfortunately, it isn’t my call.”
Within three days of that call, my contract was sold out from under me, and the release arrived in the mail, stating they were cutting all ties. I’m technically a free agent, but the last thing ateam wants is some no-name rookie who’s been out of the game for nearly eight months. Pitched one game in the Triple-As, but never made it to the Majors.
Nothing but a few local newspaper articles and a scar to show for it.
When I tear my gaze from the hole in my jeans, I look up to see Nana staring back at me. “I wanted more for Magnolia. More to offer for our future.” The words burn my throat as I say them. The plan was always for Mags and me to move back to Copper Ridge someday. Ten or so years in the future when we were worn out and retired. I planned to work on the farm as a hobby, relying on the income from professional ball to pay for everything else.
“Did Magnolia say you’ve disappointed her?”
I furrow my brow at that. “No. Mags would never say that.”
