Page 34 of The Double Play

I catch up to the group as Hazel helps June wrap the bottom half of her cookie in a napkin while balancing the bag holding hers and her odd-looking green drink.

“Here, let me help.” I grab Hazel’s drink from her. Our hands brush. It’s the faintest touch, but it feels like much more after our conversation in the café.

Hazel gets June situated with half a chocolate chip cookie, then stands up straight again.

“Thanks,” she says with a laugh, holding up her chocolate-covered hands. “I think she might need a bath before the game. Me too, maybe.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “There’s no use in that. She’s probably going to con you into some other messy food while at the game.”

Hazel’s eyes scrunch up with her grin. “You say this like she wouldn’t be able to get you to do the same.”

“I think I raised a princess.”

“Youdidbuild her a castle.”

I let out a short laugh. “I guess I did.”

“She’s a lucky girl to have a dad like you,” Hazel says quietly. I wonder if she’s thinking of her own dad and his apparent lack of attentiveness.

I shrug off her undeserved praise. “I don’t know about that, but I do my best to take care of her.”

“You do more than you think.”

I hand her drink back to her, our fingers brushing yet again. A little bit of chocolate marks my skin. The idea of licking it off after it’s been on Hazel’s skin creates a warm pool in my abdomen.

“This is the best day ever,” June shouts around a bite of cookie, thankfully derailing my train of thought.

“You got that right, sweet pea,” Hazel says, bending down to kiss the crown of June’s head.

The sight only makes all the warm feelings rising up inside me worse. I haven’t felt this much in years. I don’t know what to do with all of it.

Jason smirks at me. I’m not sure if I can sit in that river he was talking about for much longer. This is getting difficult to ignore.

Chapter seventeen

Emmett Foster

Iflickthebrimof my hat up and wipe sweat from my brow. It’s unreasonably hot for an evening game. Nights like these make me envy Shaw. He gets to skate in the cold, whereas I get to double my sweat with each inning. I draw in a deep breath and rear my arm back to throw to Emerson, our pre-game tradition. We could both throw with anyone else on the team, but since the day he joined, he’s attached himself to me. It used to annoy me, but now it’s as much a part of getting ready for the game as putting on my uniform.

He throws it back, and it smacks into my glove. I scan the crowd for June and Hazel again. This time–the fifth time–I see them settling into their seats behind home plate. I told Hazel I could see about more shaded seats for them, but she said she liked being close to the action. My lips tug up at the edges as I notice their matching braids poking out beneath green Cowboys hats.

When I think June can see me, I drag my fingers over the brim of my hat and point at her. She turns toward Hazel for a second, and they both do the signal back to me. My heart stutters in my chest. Between their matching hair and the hand gesture…they look like mother and daughter.

“You all right, Foster?” Emerson yells out.

I grab the ball out of my glove with a shaking hand.

“Fine,” I shout back, then throw the ball.

He catches it, but doesn’t return it, instead waving his hand over my shoulder. I turn around right as a reporter with a microphone says, “Emmett, are you excited for the game tonight?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes.”

I’m not a fan of reporters. They always see me as some kind of challenge. They’ll ask Emerson about how his arm is doing and what he thought of the last inning, but they ask me about my personal life more than any other topic. At the beginning of my career, it didn’t happen so much, but over time, I think I became their white whale. Which reporter will be the one to break Emmett Foster?

“We saw you do your signature hand gesture, but it was a little different tonight. Who’s sitting with your daughter? Did you start dating again?”

I clench my jaw. If I wouldn’t get fined over refusing to speak to reporters, I’d never speak to one again. Times like this make me consider it, but I don’t want to look uncooperative to the owners.

---