Page 12 of Pitch for You

“Show me,” I encouraged, trying to focus on the pride swelling in my heart as Max prepared to throw his first proper fastball.

“Okay, Max,” Brett said, stepping back to give the boy room. “Just relax, take a deep breath, and let it fly.”

With a grunt of effort, Max hurled the ball toward the makeshift home plate. It sailed through the air, wobbling slightly, but undeniably faster than any of his previous attempts.

“Great job, Max!” Brett exclaimed, clapping him on the back. “You're a natural!”

His eyes beamed for the man who had become such an important part of his life in such a short time.

I bit my lip, conflicted as I watched the easy bond between Max and the man who had once held my heart. A small voice inside me whispered that this was what we all needed – someone to heal the wounds left by the past, to help us create a new future together. But another voice warned me of the danger in letting myself trust again, in risking everything for the fragile hope of love.

“Let's keep practicing,” Brett said to Max, unaware of my inner turmoil. “I know you can throw even better than that.”

“Okay,” Max agreed, eagerly reaching for another ball, his enthusiasm undiminished by fatigue.

And so they continued, their laughter and encouragement filling the warm, golden air, while I sat on the sidelines, my heart torn between longing and fear, wondering if I dared take a chance on the game of love once more.

My gaze followed the baseball as it soared through the air, tracing a smooth arc before landing in Brett's glove with a satisfying smack. Max's face lit up with pride and excitement, his previous uncertainty fading away under Brett's unwavering guidance.

“See that?” Brett grinned, tossing the ball back to Max. “You've got the makings of a real pitcher, kiddo.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” Brett affirmed. “Just remember the grip and follow-through we practiced.”

The fire was rekindled in Brett's eyes – the same passion I had seen when we were just teenagers, dreaming of a future together. It was clear that teaching Max had awakened something within him, and I found myself drawn to that familiar determination.

“Okay, let's try it again,” Max said.

“Keep your eye on the target and don't forget to use your whole body,” Brett instructed, taking a step back to give Max room.

Max took a deep breath, steadying himself, before winding up and releasing the ball with a powerful throw. The ball whirred through the air, its path more precise than before, and landed squarely in Brett's glove.

“Amazing!” I clapped my hands.

“Way to go, Max!” Brett echoed, his enthusiasm infectious. “Your technique is really improving.”

“I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Trust me, kid, you've got talent,” Brett reassured him, ruffling Max's hair.

As they continued to practice, I was captivated. I watched as Brett demonstrated another technique for Max to try, his movements fluid and graceful, every muscle honed by years of dedication to the sport he loved. And though his dreams had been dashed by injury, it was clear that his passion remained undiminished.

“Your turn,” Brett said, stepping aside so Max could mimic his motions.

Max nodded, concentrating on replicating Brett's technique as best he could. His young limbs still lacked the strength and coordination of his mentor, but I marveled at the progress he had made in such a short time.

With each throw, Max's confidence grew, bolstered by Brett's unwavering support. And in those moments, I saw more thanjust the man who had once captured my heart – I saw a glimpse of the father figure my son had been missing.

“Keep it up,” Brett encouraged, beaming with pride. “You've got this.”

“Mom! Did you see that?” Max shouted excitedly after a particularly impressive throw, his face flushed with pride.

“I did, honey. You're doing great.”

“Isn't Brett the best?” Max gushed.

“Why don't you go grab us some water?” Brett suggested, sending me a knowing glance. “We've been working hard out here.”

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