Page 49 of Sometimes You Fall

“Yeah.” His eyes never leave the ground.

Sighing, she looks back at me. “Thank you. See you in a bit.” But then she gets as close as she can before whispering, “Remember, hedoesn’t know about…” Her eyes flick down to her stomach and back up, pleading with me.

“I know.”

“I’ll tell him, I promise. I just…”

I grab her hand and squeeze it. “It’s okay. One thing at a time.”

She flashes me a tight-lipped smile, one I wish would reach her eyes. But this day has been a roller coaster of emotions, so I can’t blame her for being apprehensive, especially since she’s leaving her son with me.

Once Scottie leaves, the silence between Chase and me grows louder by the second. I clear my throat and move to open the door leading to the garage. “Follow me.”

The lights are still on inside, but I head toward the back where I store some garden tools and other items I use regularly. Metal hooks on the wall hold rakes, shovels, and clippers for yard work. For the next few weeks, that’s what Chase will be responsible for.

“I told your mom the yard needs some TLC, so that’s where you’re going to start.”

He grumbles, “Whatever.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his attitude, one he didn’t dare give me on the baseball field earlier this week, and instead hand him a rake and a hula hoe, motioning for him to follow me outside.

“Weeds. They never stop growing here, especially in the spring. You need to clean them out.” I gesture to the field in front of us, a good thousand square feet covered in weeds that are almost to my knees.

“All of these?”

“Yup.” I pat him on the shoulder. “You won’t get it done today, so you can finish over your next few shifts here.”

“This sucks,” he grumbles, stalking away from me, dragging the hula hoe behind him.

“Yeah, well so does the dent in the hood of my car.” He glares at me over his shoulder but doesn’t say anything in return. “I’ll be in the garage doing some paperwork. You can stop at dark.”

Chase gets to work, pushing the hula hoe through the dirt, anger fueling his movements. And as I watch him, I see it—all of the irritation lurking beneath the surface, an anger that I recognize and have lived with for several years, mostly since I lost baseball.

I was irritable as a teenager too. Especially during games, when I saw other dads cheering on their sons, knowing mine would never do the same. And I wonder if that’s true for Chase as well?

Scottie told me she’s divorced, and it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out since her last name changed. But if she moved her son to Carrington Cove, where the hell is this kid’s dad? I know if Scottie took my kid and left the state, I’d be scouring every square inch of land looking for them both.

Shaking my head, I walk back toward the garage, wondering if I should dig deeper into her marriage to understand why it ended. The last thing I want to do is repeat history, for her or myself. I don’t want to become a man Scottie can’t count on. I don’t want my son or daughter to grow up in a divided family.

I glance over my shoulder at the angry boy pulling weeds from the dirt. I don’t want him to feel like another man is entering his life only to leave it eventually.

I wait as long as I can until there’s barely a sliver of daylight left in the sky before I head out to where Chase is working. I expect to see his energy level sated, for him to be covered in sweat, but much to my surprise, he’s not working on the weeds.

He’s practicing his pitching stance, winding up before throwing an imaginary baseball at the corner of the yard.

“You’re leaning too far forward,” I say, startling him.

“No I’m not.”

“You sure about that?”

He reaches down, picks up the hula hoe, and starts working again as if we weren’t in the middle of a conversation.

“You know I could teach you a few things…”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone has room to improve.”