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“One ball and one strike,” Kimmy’s voice echoes out from the speaker.
Ryder rolls his shoulders; he’s laser focused and I can only imagine that he wants to not only to win the game but impress his dad also. Rhett winds up and the ball goes in the dirt, ball two. The next two pitches, Ryder fouls another one off and the other one is a ball outside the zone. Rhett catches the ball back from the catcher and swings his arm around in a circle, like he’s trying to loosen up. I can tell the heckling from the club is messing with his head. In high school he hated losing at anything, even when it was against me. I can see that he is warring within himself, trying to tamp his competitive nature down for these boys.
“Count is three balls and two strikes,” Kimmy says into the mic.
I’m holding my breath. What happens next will play a huge factor in how their relationship will start. Will Rhett let his pride win out and strike him out for principal, or will he walk his son and let the winning run on third score to end the game?
Rhett takes his position on the mound and lets out a deep breath as our son gets settled in the box. He takes a signal from the catcher and nods before looking over at the runner leading off the bag on third base. For a split moment Rhett turns his head towards the stands where I’m seated on the edge of the metal bleacher. The crowd is cheering as the coaches are yelling at the players to run no matter what, but they all fade away when our eyes meet and hold for the briefest second. The corner of his lip pulls into a smirk and his left eye gives me the same wink that used to melt me into a puddle. He rears up into motion and whips his arm around and the ball shoots towards the plate. It all happens so fast but when the crack of the bat connects with the ball, I gasp. Ryder rips the ball between the left and center fielder, then takes off towards first base. The ball makes it all the way to the fence before either of the dads can throw it in. Two runs score and the game is over with the boys winning by one run. The dugout clears as the boys celebrate and huddle together for their victory. The crowd goes wild and I find myself doing the same.
Once both teams line up and high five each other, everyone pitches in to help cook the meals. The men from the club start grilling under the second pavilion and I find myself migrating over to their side rather than the other one where the parents are all set up.
“Did you see it, Mom?” Ryder comes rushing over.
“Sure did, buddy. Your form was perfect,” I praise. He’s been working so hard on his stance and making sure not to dip his shoulder when he swings.
Rhett comes over at that moment and puts his arm around Ryder. Our son jolts slightly at the contact but recovers quickly. A smile I’ve never seen before molds to Ryder’s face and it makes me want to cry.
“You’re a natural,” Rhett declares. “Would love to see how you throw the football.”
Ryder bounces up. “I can show you,” he rushes out so quickly it was almost hard to make out his response. “Got one in the car,” he says, then turns to me. “Is it locked?”
I dig in my back pocket for the keys and hand them over. Ryder snags them while taking off for the parking lot before Rhett can even agree.
“How does he still have so much energy after the game?” Brass asks as he comes to stand by us.
I snort. “This is twenty-four seven. The only time he sits still is when his eyes are closed.”
“He’s really good, Remi. Who works with him?” Rhett asks.
I stand a little taller and say, “I do.”
“No, I mean does he have a pitching or hitting coach that works with him?” he repeats like I didn’t understand him the first time.
“It’s me, Rhett. I work with him,” I reiterate and he looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Lessons are expensive, really expensive, so when Ryder really started showing his talent I went and figured out how to help him. I watched a ton of videos and read a lot of books on the techniques and form.”
“So basically, you’re Wonder Woman,” Brass jokes.
“I can’t take all the credit because Ryder is very gifted,” I brag.
“Well, you’ve done good, Mama,” Brass compliments, then turns to Rhett and slaps him on his shoulder. “Hasn’t she?”
Something clicks in Rhett’s jaw but he nods.
The rest of the afternoon is a blast, meeting and hanging out with all of the people Rhett considers family. He stays close to me most of the time when Ryder isn’t demanding his attention. Cole keeps his distance until right before we get ready to leave.
“Is it me or have you been avoiding me all day?” I question when we walk over to the trash can at the same time.
“Wanted to give Reaper some time with his kid,” he grunts but I’m not buying it.
“Doesn’t mean you have to treat us like we have the plague,” I state. “Ryder and I think the world of you Cole, I feel like we’ve built this friendship that I—”
“Is that all you think this is… some friendship between us?” His voice sounds harsh and it makes me take a step back.
“I mean…” I start to say and pause to gather the right words. “Are you talking about the sex we both agreed to? You and I had an understanding when we first started it, no strings attached and that it wouldn’t interfere with my job or being friends. You agreed to that. Why are you all of a sudden being like this?” I’m so confused as to why he’s acting like this.
The chatter in the background has quieted down but I don’t pay any attention to it. I know Ryder is playing kickball with some of the boys in the outfield and can’t hear what we are discussing.
“So, you don’t think we’re more than that? All the nights we’ve spent together, all the quick fucks and movie nights we were just friends? The way you’d come on my dick, that was all just between friends?” Cole utters and each sentence has a barb to it.
