Page 121 of Mom Ball

I reach for another bottle of water and notice the one sheet stuck to my refrigerator. It’s the schedule for Timothy’s games. I want to go watch my son.

Before I talk myself out of it, I grab the water and head for the garage. Halfway there, I realize I’m sock footed and turn around for some shoes.

The game is at our park in thirty minutes. That will give me plenty of time to get there and say hi to the kids. But I won’t be there early enough to make things awkward between Brooke and me.

In a small town, if we don’t talk, other people will—about us not talking.

Thanks to virtually no traffic, I arrive a little early. I sit in the truck a few minutes and watch for Brooke. Morgan walks my way at one point and I duck.

What am I doing? My long body is hunched on my floorboard. Idiot. Like they can’t see my tall, bulky black truck in the parking lot.

I push myself back in the seat, groaning as my shoulder pops. Brooke will spot me eventually unless I watch the entire game from my truck. Again, that would make me look like a stalker.

Unless Jeffrey has me thrown out again.

I get out and pass a 6U game on the way to our field. Timothy spots me before I find any of our team.

“Hey, Nate!” He hugs me.

I hug him back as always, but this time it hits differently. Before, he was a cute kid I loved and admired. Now, he’s my son. Technically he was always my son, but now our mutual admiration makes sense. And it chokes me up a bit.

Maybe coming here was a mistake?

Morgan whistles, and Timothy lets go of me to run to the dugout. I laugh, happy for her distraction from my too-deep moment.

“Hey, slugger.”

I turn around to Aniston. She has a mischievous look.

“Hey.” I nod at her, then cross my arms and turn toward the field.

She steps closer to me and whispers, “I know.”

I ignore her. But inside I’m sweating. Does she know what I think she knows?

“I won’t tell,” she adds in another whisper.

I cut my eyes her way and find her staring at me. She takes a step away but keeps talking. I stay stone cold, arms crossed.

“Nobody else knows, not even Morgan.”

My rigid posture relaxes slightly when she says Morgan doesn’t know.

“Brooke was a mess when I brought Timothy home this morning.”

That gets my attention. I face her and blink. “Where is she now?”

“Still at home. She was so upset, I pressed her to talk. I pretty much guessed it out of her, because she said she couldn’t tell anyone. For what it’s worth, she feels horrible about keeping this a secret so long. Nobody knows but me, and nobody will.” She salutes me. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Girl Scout?”

“Heck, no!” She holds up her hand. “Pinky swear?”

I sigh and hook my pinky with hers.

“Ouch,” she says.

“Sorry. Your fingers are wiry.”

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