Page 81 of Mom Ball

“It’s a little tight, but you should be fine after icing it a bit.” He steps back and sees me. “I’ll take those.” He grabs the bags and starts dispersing supplies.

Morgan opens her eyes and shakes her head at me. “If you don’t take him, I will!”

“Shhh.”

She rolls her eyes. I think it’s fair to assume everyone can sense something going on between Nate and me. Possibly even Timothy, which complicates things further.

Easton comes up in his scrubs. Aniston stands from her chair and kisses his cheek.

“Hey.” He kisses her quickly on the lips. “Hey, Carter,” he says louder.

Carter jumps up from lying on his belly in the grass and fist bumps Easton.

“Aniston said y’all keep winning.”

“Yeah, ever since that first loss, we’ve done well,” Morgan says. She twists in her chair, then grabs her shoulder. “Oomph, moved too soon.”

“Rest for now,” Nate scolds.

She leans back and nods, then turns to me. “Brooke, you may have to pitch this next game.”

I choke on the water I’m drinking.

“Since this is a tournament, does it absolutely have to be one of you pitching?” Nate asks.

“The way it’s worded, you have to be a player’s parent,” Easton clarifies. “So I couldn’t pitch if I wanted to because I’m not yet their guardian.”

Nate sighs. “That sucks. You’re already helping raise them.”

He laughs. “Doesn’t matter as long as Bubba’s at the park. He holds that rule book like the Bible. That’s why I got a copy, to look for loopholes.”

My skin burns, and I want to ball up and hide. Nate would be the best pitcher by far, and he is a biological parent. I chug water, hoping the cold liquid will help me chill.

It doesn’t.

After a few minutes of silence, I speak out of guilt. “I can try and pitch if Morgan isn’t better.”

“I’ll try.” Carlton leans forward in his chair.

If you can call it a chair. It’s more like a hammock cocoon that rocks and spins.

Morgan and I exchange a look. She jerks her head back at Nate to get his reaction, then reaches for her arm and grimaces.

“That’s a good idea.” Nate nods at him.

Our eyes meet over Morgan’s head. I can read him well enough to see he doesn’t trust Carlton can throw a strike. But it’s coach-pitch. As long as these kids can hit something, we’ll be fine.

The game on the field is winding down, and it’s clear who we will face next. This is the last game in our bracket. Either way, we place.

Bradley lifts his mask and wipes sweat from his brow. The players line up and slap hands, spouting out a monotonous “good game.”

“Let’s get ready, boys.” I start gathering bats and helmets to move us into the dugout.

Morgan stands slowly and steps toward Carlton. “Are you serious about trying this?”

“Yeah.” He stands and folds his chair. “If I can swing a golf club, I can sling a baseball.

She wavers her head.

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