Page 10 of Mom Ball

I put on my most sarcastic stare.

“It happened so long ago, and you never mentioned her to me after the breakup. I assumed you wouldn’t want to know or even care.”

My stomach bottoms out, and I push back from her door. I nod until the shock wears off. “Okay. See you in a few minutes.”

I shut Mom’s door and stare at my feet on the way to my truck. Not interested? In Brooke?

When have I ever acted uninterested in Brooke?

I might go for long periods of time without thinking of her. But she always pops back in my brain the moment I try to get serious with another woman. No matter the person, I compare her to Brooke. And Brooke always wins.

Kind of stupid considering we broke up at eighteen.

At the time, I didn’t want to appear weak to anyone. Not even my own mother. It made more sense to focus on baseball and use the pain of our breakup to push me forward. Anytime Mom visited or called, I talked about ball or working or my roommates. Never about missing Brooke.

In hindsight, she may have thought the breakup was mutual.

It wasn’t.

And if I’ve learned anything this weekend, it’s that Brooke still makes me crazy like she did in high school.

CHAPTER 3

Brooke

The only downside to working a normal shift is that I have no excuse not to go through the car line. Granted, it has run better with Aniston in charge.

I pull up to the hospital and grab my almost empty coffee cup. One perk to working at the hospital is we never run out of coffee or Band-Aids.

I may or may not have taken advantage of the latter when Timothy was into making fishing lures.

He’s gone through several fads and had many interests. For some reason, I never anticipated him wanting to play baseball. It makes sense for him with a lot of friends playing. Plus, it’s in his blood.

I squeeze my cup as I enter through the side door. So far, carrying this secret has served me well. Now that Nate’s back in town, it makes me nervous. I’ve seen him two days in a row, and both times Timothy was with me.

I go through the motions of securing my purse and lunch in the locker room. Armed with my mug and phone, I march down the hall in search of more coffee.

Voices come from the break room, which isn’t usual any time of day. What is unusual is one sounds exactly like Nate. Maybe it’s my imagination.

Nope.

I poke my head in the doorway and leave just as quickly. Nate sits at a table, arms folded, across from a physical therapist.

Interesting.

I’ve dealt with enough in the past to appreciate people staying out of others’ business, and I’ve never been particularly nosy. However, I’m drawn to the door like a moth to a flame. I stand close as I can to the opening without being spotted.

They’re discussing the hospital layout, which is strange.

“I think every hospital needs a designated physical therapy environment,” Nate says.

Oscar agrees and gives a laundry list of what he goes through every time he comes to our hospital. He currently floats around at different rural hospitals on different days.

“I don’t know where I’d be without physical therapy,” Nate continues.

I lean closer, wanting to learn more. There’s so much of his story I don’t know. Sure, he’s been in the news and on TV throughout the years. But I don’t care to know about his baseball career. I care to know about him.

Nate scoots his chair like he’s about to stand. I jerk back against the wall in a panic. When I do, my coffee mug hits the ground and bounces. Thankfully, it’s now empty. Unfortunately, it’s big and metal and sounds like Daddy working on the industrial-size apple slicer.

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