Page 45 of Mom Ball

“Are they now?” Morgan cocks her head at me.

“Yes, Georgia was kind enough to buy it from me.”

Morgan lifts her chin.

“Can you make note of that on your little sheet, Morgan, so nobody gets confused?” Georgia bats her eyelashes.

“Yes, Georgia, I’ll get right on that. Soon as I pick up a batch of pies from the orchard and get my kids in bed.”

“I really prefer you do it now, since you sometimes forget and all.” Georgia adds a fake little laugh.

“Why don’t you do it if you’re so worried. My papers are in the corner.” Morgan points to the edge of the room.

Georgia hurries that way, and Morgan takes her time coming to us. “Practice ended better than expected. I can take Timothy with me to your mama’s house if you want.”

“If it’s over, I’ll be heading home too.”

“I volunteered you to help Nate pick up and lock up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She lifts her hands. “Thank him. It was either you or Maribelle, and I think he’s a little worried about leaving Charlie with free range to pee on his blueberry bushes.” She rolls her eyes. “Not that mine are much more civilized, but that kid’s like a puppy with an overactive bladder.”

“Sure, you can take Timothy. Tell him to shower at Granny’s to save time.”

She salutes me, then pauses her hand midair when she notices the check. “Dang, girl. This is better than child support! I would’ve sold my kid’s name for this many zeros.”

Aniston laughs. “Better pocket that before it gets out of hand, Brooke.”

I fold the check in my back pocket. “I’ll start cleaning up and be home as soon as possible.”

“No rush.” Morgan smiles and walks toward the door with Aniston. Georgia meets them with a clipboard in hand.

I straighten up the equipment we used tonight and collect empty water and Gatorade bottles. I’m pouring half-drank Prime down the sink when Nate comes in holding his shoulder. He grits his teeth and rotates his arm a few times, then stops when he notices me.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? Because you always made that same face when your arm hurt.”

He sits at the bar and sighs.

“Ice?”

He nods. “Don’t say anything. Only Mom and people to do with the team know I’m in pain.”

“Like constantly?”

He wavers his head. “I injured my shoulder last season and had surgery over the holidays.”

I blink. There’s a box of Ziploc bags conveniently beside the ice maker. I can’t help but think he’s iced it recently.

He nods. “I’m technically on injured leave now. That’s why I’m here instead of Florida for spring training.”

I finish filling a bag with ice and stand beside him. My hand draws to his shoulder like a magnet. I curve the bag to fit around his upper back and shoulder blade. He sighs, then leans his head back.

Due to our height difference, his face is incredibly close to mine. Like I can smell his orange gum distance.

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