Page 62 of Hot Streak

He wanted Jackson.

Jackson could still barely believe it was true.

“I mean, he’s been pretty possessive of you. Not wanting you to help Kevin,” Charlene pointed out.

“Just like Connor. Not wanting my help but not wanting me to help others.” Except that was a little unfair.

“Is he really being that way?” Charlene clucked in disappointment.

Jackson regretted telling her all the stories he had about how much helping Connor sucked. She had way too much ammunition now.

“No,” Jackson admittedly reluctantly.

No.

It would be easier if he’d been a self-centered ass about it. But instead, Connor had encouraged the other guys. Offered them high fives and butt slaps and a lot of positive comments after every bullpen.

And every damn time, after he’d done it, he’d looked right over at Jackson and he’d sworn the guy was thinking, See? Look. I can be slightly less of a pain in the ass.

“See? He can be reasonable,” his mom said, her tone brightening.

For one insane moment, Jackson had considered using a possible hookup as a carrot for Connor’s continued good behavior.

But that would be crazy, and while, sure, Jackson was aware that his place on the Rogues was dependent on Connor’s continued development, he wasn’t about to use sex as a bribing technique.

“Sure,” Jackson said grumpily.

“You’re going to knock this assignment out of the park, no puns intended,” she said with a chuckle, “and you’re gonna get those home runs. Then on to bigger, better things.”

Jackson didn’t have the heart to tell her there probably wouldn’t be any bigger, better things. There was a reason his agent had stopped calling and only texted now.

Someday, probably soon, he’d hang it up and come home and figure out what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. Hopefully his mom was as enthusiastic then, when he was crashing on her couch, as when she was encouraging him to make all his major league dreams come true.

“Not sure what that’s gonna be,” he said semi-jokingly.

“If that means you come home, that means you come home,” she said firmly. “You know you’ve always got a place here, with me and Becca.”

It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear, but somehow, he still hated it.

Not her. Never her.

But the idea of it.

How could he be so tired and just hanging on, hoping to grab the home run record, and also, feel like giving up would be the worst thing to ever happen to him?

Jackson didn’t know.

“Thanks, Momma. Means a lot to me,” Jackson said.

“Well, of course. I didn’t think I needed to say it, but it occurred to me that maybe I did,” she mused. “You always did put too much pressure on yourself to succeed. Didn’t want you to think that coming back home wouldn’t be a success.”

“Momma, it wouldn’t be.” Jackson tried to laugh it off, but it didn’t quite work.

“Jackson Calvin Evans, don’t you dare think that way. You’ve had a long career doing somethin’ you loved. You been lots of places. Seen all kinds of people. Did things nobody else from back here could dream about. That’s success, and don’t let yourself think otherwise.”

“Thanks, Momma,” Jackson said, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

“Just ’cause you didn’t make it to the majors for a long time and didn’t become some millionaire doesn’t mean you didn’t leave a mark. Every one of those kids you coach, they’re gonna remember you.”

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