Page 101 of Passed Ball

Ezra rips his face from her grip. His jaw is tight as he glares at his mom. "You lied," he spits, his shoulders practically vibrating with tension.

Undeterred, she turns to Eli. My fingers flex around the edge of the desk as I watch her approach him. His stiff posture screamsdon't touch me,but she doesn't seem to notice--or she does but doesn't know what else to do.

"It won't happen again, promise," she pleads with her younger son.

Eli throws his hands up, breaking through hers as they reach for him, ducking under her arms and spinning out of her grasp.

"Another lie," Eli spits, his voice sharp enough to cut. Of the two boys, he's usually the more laid-back, the one who lets things roll off his back. But not now. Undeterred rage twists his face, his usual calm long gone. "I hate you," he snarls.

The words hit their mark like a physical blow, and Glenda's shocked gasp fills the lobby. Her hands freeze mid-air, her body trembling under the weight of his words.

"It's time to go. Grab your things," she says, her voice shaky as she sniffs, refusing to meet my eyes.

The boys don't need to be told twice. They grab their new gear and lead the way out the door, shoulders tense and heads down, their anger dragging them down.

"What's this?" Glenda asks, eyeing the gear, her eyes filled with accusation when they shift to me.

"Catcher's gear and a new bat. It was a donation from a player they met recently," I explain.

"Great, just what I need, more baseball shit cluttering up the apartment," she grumbles.

Please let the boys be out of earshot.

When Glenda stands in the doorway alone, she pauses. Her hand grips the edge of the frame, knuckles blanching. Finally, she looks back, her face drawn, the smile she burst in with gone.

"It's not easy, you know." Her voice breaks at the edges. "Doing it all on your own."

Her words linger in the empty space she leaves behind, and I let out a slow breath, the ache in my chest pressing a little harder as I think of the red-haired angel who's a perfect source of light for her dad and my niece. Will her mom walk back into her life someday and cause the same pain Glenda does?

I rub my temples, trying to push the thought away. It shouldn't cling to me this way, but Glenda's words echo through my head."It's not easy."Maybe not, but the damage left behind isn't easy either--something I've seen working with her sons for the last three years.

Double Play gives these boys the stability they don't have at home. It's a lifeline for them--a place where they can be more than their anger and pain. I won't jeopardize that by saying the things I want to, even as the words press against my tongue. Some battles aren't mine to fight. My job is to preserve this space and give them steady ground here, no matter what.

As long as she doesn't show up here drunk or high and the boys are safe in her care, I'll continue to bite my tongue.

I lock up behind Glenda, spinning and letting my head rest against the door for a moment. My face tips toward the heavens and my eyes close. When I open them and see the time, I swear under my breath.

The girls are expecting me at the game tonight. Part of me is tempted to cancel, hole myself up in my apartment and take down a pint of ice cream to see if it helps.

I know it won't--it never does. But maybe being around other people will give me something else to focus on.

At least I had the foresight to bring a change of clothes for the game. With the office empty and my day done, I change in my office, rushing so I don't miss the first pitch.

Twenty minutes later I'm barely dropping into my seat when Poppy presses a cold beer into my hand. "Sounded like you could use this."

"You have no idea." I press the plastic cup to my lips, letting the cool bubbles pop on my tongue--a small reprieve after a long day. "Is it that obvious?"

"You look stunning, so no," she says with a grin. "But the shorthand text that you werestillat the office gave you away."

Like last time, we are sitting on the net next to the dugout. She nods toward the field. "Hopefully, a little baseball therapy helps. Did the kids run you ragged today?"

"Try the parents--or one in particular." I take another sip, letting out a slow breath.

Poppy winces. "Oof. It's always the parents."

I laugh softly, though the edge of the day still lingers in my chest. "This one is really testing me lately and I wish there was more I could do . . ."

Mia nudges me from where she sits opposite Poppy. "Can we help?"

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