Page 109 of Mom Ball

I retreat through the glass door and lock it behind me. When I check my phone, I see a text from Brooke.

I love you too. Good night.

She follows that with a kissing, winking smiley face. I grin at the message while I brush my teeth. Again, she has me acting like a teenage girl.

Maybe this is karma for me laughing about how ridiculous some of the girls at our high school used to act.

Whether karma or my own weirdness, it doesn’t much matter. I fall asleep quickly with a stupid grin plastered across my face. Even better, I dream of Brooke.

CHAPTER 23

Nate

Every time my phone makes a sound, I jerk my head to check if it’s Brooke. Ninety percent of the time, it’s reminder dings or some telemarketer.

We talk every day, but with our odd schedules, never at a set time. Monday night she worked late, Tuesday night Timothy had practice, and Wednesday night they went to church.

I’ve been working out and meeting with people at random times. I pitch a little here and there, and I eat lunch with some of the team every day.

Maybe if I ate lunch with Ace every day, he’d quit trying to get me to go out at night. I didn’t care for it back in the day, and I really don’t care for it now. He’s one of those loyal and fun friends, but our commonalities pretty much end with baseball and burgers.

I’m back in Atlanta to check in with the doctor one more time before I pitch a spring training game. After my appointment, I headed for the interstate. I’ve been packed all morning so I wouldn’t waste any time going back to the Atlanta condo. The only stop I made was at Buc-ee’s for gas and a bathroom break. Naturally, I left with a massive fountain drink and Beaver Nuggets. That’s a necessity.

Now the Beaver Nuggets are long gone and I’m speeding through downtown Apple Cart.

A siren bleeps behind me. I glance in the mirror and see blue lights. Freakin’ Bradley Manning.

I roll my eyes and pull over. He’s cocky to a fault, which means I can’t act mad. That will send him on a power trip and he will assert authority. I roll down my window and wait for him to reach my truck.

It’s hard to read his face with those Top Gun glasses. He frowns. “Nate, why were you driving so fast? If a deer ran out of the woods, you could’ve wrecked badly. God forbid a log truck enter the road.”

I swallow the urge to insist turkey would be more common this time of year, and that loggers post signs where they’re working.

“I’m sorry, Bradley. I’ve been in Florida and flew into Atlanta earlier, so I’m ready to get home.”

An unexpected grin crawls across his face. He laughs a little, then smiles wider. I blink, worried what this might mean.

“So you’re calling Apple Cart home again?”

“I always have.”

He scribbles something on a paper and pushes it through the window. “Welcome home, big dog. I let you off with a warning.” He straightens his sunglasses and points at my face. “From now on, let’s channel all that speed into pitching.”

“Yes, sir.” I wait until he turns away before rolling up my window and crawling back onto the road.

I near my house soon enough, but I pass it and go toward Brooke’s. Timothy spots my truck and waves wildly.

He meets me when I park at the edge of his grandparents’ house. I wave back, then glance at Brooke’s house.

“Hey, Nate!” He hugs my waist.

“Hey, buddy, good to see you.” I hug him and pat his back.

It’s nice to get such a welcome greeting. We pull away, and he tells me what I’m about to ask. “Mama is at work. Granny picked me up from school.”

“Okay. How is ball going?”

He shrugs. “We’re getting better. I could use a little work on my short hop though, especially when Coach Morgan has us roll the ball.”

---