Page 4 of Sporting Goods

“Baseball shoes are no good when you’re sitting on the bench…or get thrown to right field. Not much happens over there.”

“But you love it, don’t you?” I knew he didn’t. But for the sake of my situation, I had hopes.

“’Bout as much as I love striking out each time and being made fun of,” he pouted but then his eyes lit. “Hey, could we go see dad at the rink later?”

“No hunny, we can’t just drop in when he’s working. And I think there’s a game tonight, so he won’t have time…”

He marched into his room and closed the door.

Okay, I guess no practice today…

There was one time. One time where Jax and I came down to visit Max at the arena when he wasn't expecting us. I was pretty sure I’d seen patients happier about getting casted for three weeks than Max was about a surprise visit.

That was clearly unwelcome. I wouldn't chance Jax seeing his father disappointed to see him again.

I sighed and stood, finding my best friend and roommate Sam, in the kitchen. “Maybe he doesn’t need to play a sport?”

Sam’s brows jumped as she rinsed out her morning coffee mug. “Sure, so long as you don’t mind him gaming all day.

“What about soccer?” I asked hopeful, although I knew the answer to that one.

“The thigh-high socks weren’t his thing. Besides, you know what he wants.”

My head shook vigorously. “I don’t care what he wants. We’re going to get him a new pair of cleats and get him back at practice this week.” I pulled out my phone, “I’ll just text Coach Tom.”

Seconds after I shot off the text to Jax’s Coach and my old friend from college, my phone rang.

“What’s the deal, Morris? This is the fourth practice he’s missing and there’s a game next week.”

“I know. We um…can’t find his cleats.”

He blew out a breath. “Bet ya he chucked them.”

“Tom.”

“What do you want me to say Rayne, I know when a kid’s not feelin’ it.”

I had no response.

“Look, just get him here today, I don’t care what he’s wearing. He needs the practice. I’ll make sure he gets it. Otherwise...Rayne, I can’t have him play at next week’s game.”

“I understand, Tom. Not sure how much he’ll care.” That second part wasn’t meant to be said out loud.

“Your call. But the league doesn’t want anyone here who doesn’t want to be here. You sure you want to push this on him?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

He was silent for a moment. “Just one.”

I rubbed my forehead out of frustration. Tom and I had been friends once upon a time in college. We hung out with a mutual crowd, sang karaoke together after finals atThe Tavern, and had a mutual understanding that if he stopped asking me out, I’d keep his secret about a spy hole he made between the girls and boys locker room sophomore year. By the time junior year rolled around, I was already known as Max Withers’ girl at Hamilton U. And anything that Max touched—was his. Everyone knew it. I used to find it endearing, that with just a slight sparkle of his eyes, any guy near would suddenly steer clear of me—until I found it obsessively repulsive and creepy.

But what did I know? I was twenty and the captain of the hockey team, broodingly sexy, basically brushed girls off his arms by the hour, had asked me to be his girl.

I had a shallow moment. And I didn’t do anything about it until it was too late.

Forever too late.

I hated thinking this way, since I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for my Jax. He was my everything. And I could never regret him.

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