And I mean it so fucking much.
Chapter40
J.T
I’m covered in sweat, grime, and that damn baseball diamond sand that stains everything burnt orange and never comes off.
My shirt is soaked through.
My back aches.
I’m pretty sure I twisted my wrist pitching in the third inning, and I know for a fact I wrecked my left knee trying to slide for a ball like I’m still twenty-five.
And there’s a big, fat circular chocolate ice cream stain across my chest where Evan nailed me with his cone when we were taking pictures after the game.
Worth it.
Every single second of it.
The kids beat the hell out of us.
Not even close.
They ran the bases like little demons while the rest of us dads and stepdads wheezed around the field pretending we weren’t winded.
Half the time we were laughing too hard to play properly anyway.
Thatcher—our coach and grossly biased umpire—definitely called a few plays in their favor.I caught him at least twice.
“Safe!”he yelled when the kid was clearly out by two feet.
“Bullshit!”I barked from the mound.
He just grinned at me like the cheating bastard he is.
“Scoreboard says otherwise, old man.”
But I didn’t care.
Not really.
Because every time Evan hit the ball he’d look straight at me first.
Like he wanted to make sure I was watching.
And every time he crossed home plate he’d grin that big crooked grin that looks so much like Kelly’s it almost knocks the air out of my lungs.
The stands were full of families.
Kids yelling.
Parents clapping.
The smell of fresh-cut grass and popcorn drifting from the concession stand.
And every time I glanced toward the bleachers Kelly was there.
Watching us.
