Page 137 of Mom Ball

I turn into the park on two wheels. I started driving nonstop as soon as I could leave Atlanta.

We negotiated my official retirement. On top of all the rushing around, between last night’s win and thinking about the next chapter of my life, I couldn’t sleep. I’ll crash eventually, but right now I’m running on the adrenaline of getting to Brooke and Timothy.

My truck jerks when I slam it in park. I cut the engine and jog to the entrance. I have my five dollars ready to enter as quickly as possible and can barely stand still long enough for the teenage girl to attach my armband.

The 8U field is visible from where I stand, and I find Brooke at first base. Oddly enough, Carlton is pitching. That can’t be good.

I hurry down the hill and find Morgan sitting in the dugout with her elbow on ice.

“What happened?”

She perks up. “Hey, stranger. Just joint crap that acts up. I hope to get back in there soon.”

I nod. Precious comes up to bat. Carlton throws her two balls that are semi-decent. She doesn’t swing. He tells her to swing at the rest.

She hits a dribbler that’s a foul. Tami yells from behind us for her to “kill it.” I shake my head at her voice ringing in my ear.

Annoying as that is, it must work, because she slams the ball . . . right into Carlton. I seethe in sympathy as he grabs his crotch and buckles at the waist. Bradley calls time and helps him off the field.

Good thing he owns a pharmacy. He will need more than ice for that. Bradley settles him on the bleachers, and Georgia rushes to his side with a bottle of water.

Bradley sticks his head in the dugout. “Morgan, you’ve got a few minutes to figure out a new pitcher. Any parent will do, but we can’t delay the game too much longer. People are getting antsy, and I don’t want to have to arrest anyone today.”

She nods and sighs. Bradley returns to the field, and Morgan stands. Her elbow is swelling, and she grits her teeth.

“Morgan, you can’t pitch.” I put a hand on her shoulder to halt her.

She laughs. “So we’re left with Easton? I can’t let Aniston or Brooke do it.”

Enough of this. Brooke may kill me later, but I have a chance to save the game and get out everything I’ve been wanting to say all at once. Rip the Band-Aid.

I march to the pitcher’s mound and stare at Bradley. “I’ll pitch!”

Several people start to cheer. He waves a hand to shush them. Bubba stops midway from walking on the field.

“You can’t pitch. We need a parent,” Bradley answers.

Bubba nods at him and holds up the rule book. He returns to the dugout, satisfied.

“Then I qualify, because I’m Timothy’s dad.”

It’s so quiet, I can hear a ball hit from the cages across the park. People stare and whisper. Brooke’s face goes pale. She comes from first base in slow motion, gawking at me like I have three heads.

“Brooke, I’m sorry. I know we said we’d announce this together at the proper time, but I can’t let this team down. I can’t let you down anymore, or Timothy.”

I turn to Timothy, who’s up to bat, blinking with confusion.

“Son, I’m sorry. I didn’t know until recently.”

I turn back to Brooke. She’s now at my side. “When did you get here?” she asks.

I half grin. That isn’t the first thing I expected her to say.

“Just now. I wanted to come earlier, but I had to turn in my retirement letter first.”

“What?” Bradley yells. “Dude, you were on fire last night!”

“None of your business.” I narrow my eyes at him.

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