Page 96 of Mom Ball

“Are you sure you can run in those?”

“Girlfriend, I do everything in these.” She winks. “And I do mean everything.”

I quickly jerk my head in the opposite direction. Morgan is first batter. She hits decent, and makes it to first. Timothy fields the ball with his new glove, but she beats him to the base.

The next two batters put the ball in play. The pitcher catches Carlton’s ball, putting him out. With two on base, Easton comes up to bat. He slings his batting arm in circles, puffing out his cheeks.

From all the games I’ve watched because of Nate, guys like that either hit it out of the park or strike out.

He gets up to bat and sways back and forth in his stance. Ainsley frowns and throws a strike. Isabella calls it, and Easton gives her a look. She shrugs.

He hits the next pitch into the outfield. Surprisingly, Angel gets to it quickly. She tosses it to Herrington at second, who gets it to Timothy. Easton is safe, but only because he slides into first base.

Morgan yells “time” and slaps her hand on her forehead.

Daphne rushes toward Easton. “What are you doing, Dr. West?”

“Am I safe?” he asks from the ground.

“You’re not supposed to slide at first. You need to run through the bag.” She blows a stray hair from her face. “But it counts.”

Easton pumps his fist in the air and cheers from the ground. He hops up, then grabs his knee almost as quickly. “Oomph.”

Aniston rushes over and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

He grits his teeth and slowly straightens.

“Babe, are you okay?”

“It’s my knee again.” He narrows his eyes at us. “Can I get a base runner?”

Aniston shakes her head, then glances my way. “Can you bring Carter home from practice?”

“Sure thing.” I pat Easton’s shoulder. “Get better, Doc.”

Aniston gives me a pitiful smile and helps him hobble off the field. Someone starts clapping, and we all join in.

Carlton scribbles something in the scorebook and rips it out. He hands it to Aniston. “Take this by my pharmacy. It’s a low-grade painkiller.”

“Thanks, Carlton.” She takes it with the hand not holding Easton, then waves to us and exits the field.

Morgan reaches for the paper as they pass, but misses. I frown at her, and she shakes her head. “Shame to waste a good prescription on another doctor.”

“Still need a base runner?” a man’s voice asks from the fence.

Morgan and I face him at the same time. He appears a little older than us, with a slight smile and eye wrinkles, but he’s also in much better physical shape than anyone else we have. Aside from the softball girls, of course—and my Nate. Ugh, I miss him already.

“Sure?” Morgan half smiles.

He holds out a hand. “Elijah Bowing.”

“Morgan Archer.” She shakes his hand.

He smiles. “Firm handshake. I like it.”

Morgan notices she’s still holding on to his hand and suddenly drops it.

“I’m Brooke. Go ahead and take the base.” As he marches toward the field, I call out, “Thanks!”

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