Page 30 of Silver Lining Love

12

WYATT

“Enjoy life now, this is not a rehearsal.” ~ Gamma Mary

The sun was beginning to set in the distance. A soft breeze blew through the leaves on the trees above me. Kids were laughing and talking and playing ball. Parents were gathered to watch the practice. It was the perfect spring evening, and the scene caused a nostalgic ache in my chest. I missed home.

Evenings like this were what my entire childhood had consisted of. With so many brothers, one of us was always playing a sport. I’d spent countless hours on the youth baseball field. I’d had my first kiss under the bleachers of the high school baseball field when I was eleven. I’d been there for my older brother Sawyer’s game, and the kiss had been with an older woman, a thirteen-year-old. It had taken me completely by surprise; I’d had no clue it was coming, and then, all of a sudden, it was happening.

Not like my kiss with Whitney. That had been building up for years. I still had a hard time believing it was real and not a dream.

It had happened three weeks ago, and we still hadn’t discussed it. I’d tried to bring it up the morning after it happened, but Michael interrupted us. I’d broached the subject several times since, but each and every time Whitney dodged it.

I could take a hint. She wasn’t interested. Apparently, she hadn’t experienced the fireworks display of crazy chemistry like I had. I think it was safe to say that I’d been officially friend-zoned.

I shut my computer after accepting the fact that my mind was anywhere but on my project. I’d been working remotely in the late afternoons for two weeks and during the evenings at the ballpark while watching Michael practice. As a consultant, I wasn’t tied to an office. I could work remotely as long as I had a strong Wi-Fi signal, and luckily the Little League field did.

I’d been doing a pretty good job of keeping my distance from the other parents. I’d managed to avoid any conversations. My only interactions had been head nods as I came and went. It looked like my luck had officially run out. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the moms heading straight toward me. Her long blonde hair flowed from beneath the baseball cap she wore and hung down to her waist. Beneath the brim, large brown eyes zeroed in on me, and I knew that my zero-interaction record was about to be broken.

“Which one is yours?” she asked.

I pointed to Michael, who was throwing the ball back and forth with the starting pitcher. “Number twelve.”

“Oh, Michael. He’s new this year, right?”

I nodded.

“My guy is number twenty-six.” She pointed to a tall, lanky kid with braces. “Sam.”

I nodded and grinned.

“I’m Trina Dover, sorry, Wilson. Dover was my married name but,”—she lifted her left hand and wiggled her ringless finger— “Sam’s dad and I recently divorced. Wilson was my maiden name. Guess I need to get used to saying it again.”

I couldn’t help but grin at the not-so-subtle insertion of her marital status into the conversation. As matter-of-factly as I possibly could, without an ounce of charm or personality, I introduced myself, “Wyatt Briggs, nice to meet you.”

We sat together in silence, and I hoped that she’d get the hint that I wasn’t interested. But she didn’t.

“It’s great that you come out here. I wish more dads would do that.”

“I’m not a dad.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Stepdad?”

Wrong again.

“Just the neighbor.”

“Ohhh,” she said, obviously intrigued. I was seriously regretting closing my laptop. “Do his parents work long hours?”

This was part of the reason I’d been so anti-social. I had no clue what Michael had told people about his parents. I knew that the coaches were aware of his tragic circumstances but didn’t know if any of the kids were. I could lie, but that would be strange when the truth came out. My only hope was that Trina Wilson would be discreet.

“Michael’s parents were killed in a car accident.”

She gasped and covered her mouth. So much for discretion.

“Oh my god, that’s horrible. When?”

“Last fall.”

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