Page 23 of Accidentally Sliding Into A Second Chance

Glancing at him, I nod and grab my glove. “I gotta go, Finn. Talk to you later.”

Shoving my hand in my glove, I punch it a few times. The last thing I need is Finn getting involved with something between me and Cat.

Even if part of me wants him to.

Steppingontothefield,the tension in my body melts. Any worries aboutTea Time, Cat, or Emmy fade. The only thing that matters is the sound of the ball as it hits the bat. The thud as it lands in a glove and the hiss it makes as it flies across the field to the first baseman.

These are the patterns and sounds that helped bring me back from the grave I wanted to crawl in when Fiona died. The routine that helped revive the father Scarlett needed.

The game that saved my life.

It might sound dramatic, and people may say baseball is ‘just a game’, but for those of us who play, it’s like oxygen—it’s how we survive.

Dave, our fungo hitter and the Smokies infield coach, methodically hits the ball to each position to help us warm up. He starts with third base and makes his way around the field from left to right.

When the ball rolls across the sand to me, then pops up, I scoop it with my glove, grab it with my opposite hand, and take a few steps before releasing it and sending it to first base.

“James,” Troy O’Hara calls from his position behind me in left field. “My wife sent me a text.”

My jaw clenches. A clinking sound echoes as Dave sends the ball out to center field. “Oh?” I respond as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yup. You know she’s a Chamie junkie.” Another clinking sound as Dave sends the ball to second base.

“Who?” My brows furrow. Only to hear Logan laugh.

“Tea Time’sauthor.”

I glare at him across the field; his grin widens, and annoyingly, the corners of my lips lift slightly.

“Want to fill your teammates in on the details?” O’Hara teases.

“There’s nothing to tell.” I shrug. The tiniest movement from the furthest office catches my eye. Looking closer, I see a woman standing in front of the window watching practice, and I recognize it as Cat. My pulse races in response.

Theclink, thud, and hissgets closer as Dave makes his way around the field again. I watch the ball fly from third base and settle myself into position.

Cat’s office window is over right field. Not directly in front of me, but close enough for me to catch a glimpse of her every now and then.

Clink.

The ball rolls under my glove.

“Sure,” O'Hara snickers. “Nothing to tell.”

“Coming your way again, James. You ready?” Even Dave’s eyes are dancing.

I stiffly nod, determined to get my mind on the game and off the woman in the window.

The woman who’s awakening the part of me I’ve left off the field, and with my wife.

My heart.

Chapter Ten

Cat

Laughingandaclinkingnoise pull me from my screen filled with emails to the baseball field below. Pushing up from my chair, I walk to the wall of windows and look down at the players standing in position.

It’s been a long time since I’ve stopped to watch a sports practice of any kind, but the draw of who’s down there has piqued my interest.

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