Page 69 of Breaking the Best Friend Code

“We keep getting interrupted!” I rake my hand through my hair in frustration. Trust me, I want to kiss her. I’ve tried to kiss her. Multiple times I’ve tried to kiss her. Something always happens right before contact is made. It would be comical if it wasn’t so frustrating!

“When will you see her next?”

“No set plans. I was hoping I’d see her today, but she had a busy day with work and then lunch with my brother.”

“Well, then, I say plan something that will give you optimal opportunities. And limited obstacles.”

Nancy leaves, and I stare at the few papers on my desk. Nothing is due in the next couple of days, and I have zero desire to work on any of it. I look at my watch. It’s early enough that there is time to go to the gym to blow off some steam and still go home and shower before I need to head to my mom’s for dinner.

When I turn into the gym parking lot, there are hardly any available spots left. That means it’s crowded, not really what I was hoping for. I’ve never understood how people who claim to be workaholics can also be gym rats. After how I have felt all day, I may have new insight into that. As I start to get out of the car, I decide that as much as I need to blow off some steam, lifting weights or running on a treadmill isn’t going to cut it. I need to physically hit something. Without giving myself the chance to second guess, I get back in the car and head towards the one place I always went to clear my head as a kid: the batting cages.

I’ve rented the batting cage for the next half hour. I set the ball machine on easy at first, but it soon becomes too slow, so I increase the difficulty. One hit. Two hits. Three hits. Four. Hit after hit, my head gets clearer. I take a deep breath, place my feet, grip my bat, five. I stop keeping count as I get into the rhythm of each ball release. Man, it feels good to be back at it. After my knee injury in college, it was too hard to even watch a game knowing I’d never get to play again.

When I’d come home to visit Ben, Danny, and Matt, they would invite me to come to the batting cages like we used to when we were growing up, but I couldn’t do it. They didn’t get how much it sucked that I couldn’t play anymore. Danny stopped playing when he went to college, choosing to focus on his studies. Ben quit playing shortly after he and Belinda started dating. Matt stopped playing when he became a single parent and had a child to support. I on the other hand didn’t make the decision; it was made for me. One minute I was playing as a draft hopeful, and the next I was just another washed-up could-have-been.

I wasn’t able to go back to a batting cage until a couple of years ago when the firm decided they were going to participate in a baseball league. The one (and only) positive to my father being in cahoots with my bosses was that he mentioned to them how I used to play; they quickly recruited me to play on the firm’s team. The firm didn’t do well in the league, but I started going to the batting cages every week up until I moved. So I guess you could say in that one instance my father actually did something good for me, even if it wasn’t the outcome that he was wanting.

After two reps, I take a break. When I turn around, I see Nick Klinefeld walking towards me with a grin on his face.

“You still make it look easy, Winters.” He stops on the other side of the fence. I haven’t talked to him since I watched his team play.

“Hey, Nick.”

“I just wanted to say thanks again for coming and watching the boys play the other day. It’s always good to get a different perspective. I’ve coached a lot of these kids since they were in little league, and I can get a little tunnel vision.”

“No problem. It was nice to be that close to a field again. I haven’t had time to go to a game in a very long time.”

Nick rubs the back of his neck, which used to be his tell when he had something on his mind. I guess that hasn’t changed. “I know you’re busy with work, but there is a spot open for an assistant coach.”

I’m not even sure what to do with this information. “Assistant coach?”

“We’ve been down a couple coaches for a while now, and to be honest, it’s exhausting. If you were interested, I was thinking I could talk to the school board about it?”

“You want me to be an assistant coach?”

“You’d be great! You’ve always been a great player, and you have more experience outside of high school than any of the rest of us. You’ve played multiple positions. And played them well. You could give a better insight to what it would take for them to play college ball. We have a couple that could go all the way, they just need someone to help guide them in the right direction.” Nick senses my hesitation. “We could try it out for a couple games—you know, join us for a few practices then come to the games and see what you think. It can be as preliminary as you want it to be. Just think about it.”

I was still baffled he would even think of me.

“I’ll think about it,” I promise.

He turns and walks away, and I start another rep of pitches. The idea of coaching is intriguing, definitely something I have never done before. It would be nice to be on the field again—I’ve missed it. Am I really considering this offer? I think I am.

“You should do it!” Millie cheers from her curled position on my couch. She’s been making me a pro/con list since I told her about Nick’s offer ten minutes ago. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since he asked me yesterday. Well, that’s not true. I couldn’t stop thinking about a certain redhead who has taken full residence in my mind and heart. I thought about the coaching position when I forced myself to not think about Millie.

“But coaching? I’ve never coached before.”

“No, but you have played since you were three, and I’m pretty sure you were team captain on almost all of those teams.” She gives me that dimpled smile that makes her eyes sparkle. I plop next to her and run my hand up and down her legs, and she uncurls and drapes them over my lap. “Don’t let the fact that you’re scared stop you from doing something you want to do. You were scared when you switched to pitcher, but you still did it. And look where it got you. You got a college scholarship. Not many people can say that.”

“You really were paying attention all that time weren’t you?”

She smacks my arm. “Quit deflecting. You want to do this. Call Nick and tell him.”

“I guess I could at least try it out. Worst-case scenario, it isn’t a good fit, and I walk away.”

“See, you’ve already made your decision. You just wanted someone to agree with you.”

“I missed you.”

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