Page 38 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I desperately want to know what Houston said to that kid. For a ten-year-old, that hit was amazing.
Houston, of course, is beaming, clapping his hands with vigor along with the crowd as if he couldn’t be prouder, and my heart melts a little. There’s no one here to fanboy over him, so this is all genuine Houston.
“Hi there.”
I reluctantly pull my eyes away from Houston to look at the woman sitting directly in front of me. “Hi.”
She gives me a warm smile. “I haven’t seen you at one of these games before.”
I know she’s probably curious about my relationship with Houston, but her smile is so genuine and friendly that I can’t help but smile back at her. “I just moved to town,” I tell her. “Houston thought I would enjoy coming to the game since I don’t know anyone in the area yet. I’m Darcy, by the way.”
The woman puts her hand on the man beside her, who gives me a smile that’s just as friendly as hers. “I’m Molly. This is my husband, Jack.”
“Do you have a kid on the team?”
“We have two, actually.” She points out her boys and jumps right into telling me about how she and Jack adopted them this year. “Cooper’s a little young for the team, but he idolizes his older brother.”
“He justhasto be on the same team,” Jack says with a chuckle.
They spend the rest of the game telling me the names of the boys and explaining the rules of the game—I must have looked overwhelmed or something—and I fall a little bit in love with both of them. They both work, but they’ve done everything they can to get their schedules to line up with these games so they can support their boys.
When Cooper goes up to bat, Molly and Jack leap to their feet and cheer like maniacs. Houston does the same routine that he does for every kid, bending low to talk to the much-smaller kid before sending him off to the plate. Cooper looks nervous but determined, taking his stance with gritted teeth.
He swings and misses on the first pitch, some of his confidence waning.
Jack whistles loudly while Molly practically screams encouragement.
Cooper’s second strike has him almost shaking with disappointment, and I can see the fear in his eyes. If he strikes out, the game is over and the Scorpions lose. The crowd’s energy shifts, growing quieter as everyone waits for the pitcher’s wind up. The ball flies, Cooper swings, and the muffled sound of the ball hitting the catcher’s mitt is deafening.
“Oh no,” Molly says, tears filling her eyes as the Tarantulas storm the field in victory.
Jack sighs. “He almost had that last one. One second too late.”
“Look at him.”
Cooper hasn’t left home plate, but the bat hangs limply in his hand, the end of it in the dirt as his head hangs low. His shoulders shake, and I know he’s trying his best not to cry but can’t help it. The rest of his team trudges onto the field to shake hands with the victors, but he doesn’t move.
Next thing I know, Houston is crouched at his side and holding his arm in a comforting grip. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but the emotion in his face gives me a pretty good idea. I can’t help but tear up, sympathetic crier that I am, even if Houston isn’t crying. I know he feels it, which is pretty much the same thing.
Cooper throws his arms around Houston’s shoulders right as his parents get down to the field, and I feel that hug from all the way up here. It’s like Cooper’s arms have wrapped around my heart and given it a good squeeze, only I’m pretty sure Cooper isn’t the one who has me feeling this way.
This is bad. How am I supposed to tell Connor that I’m falling hard and fast for my story? I’m not. Because if Connor thinks I am emotionally involved, he’s going to pull me from the story and get me as far from New Mexico as he can. It would probably be good for me, getting some distance from this insanely attractive man, but I hate the idea that someone else will take over and start pushing on the pressure points I have regrettably informed Connor about.
No, I have to stay and see this through, which means I have to slam on the brakes of this attraction to Houston Briggs. I have to friendzone him hard, no gray areas or fuzzy lines, and I have to tamp down these feelings that are more of a nuisance than anything anyway.
I mean, seriously. How is a girl supposed to focus when her heart has taken up tap dancing as a regular hobby?
Now that the game has ended, parents and kids are disappearing quickly to their cars, but I stay where I am. Itfeels safer up here somehow, and I can still watch Houston in his element. In hisrealelement. I’ve watched plenty of Red-tails games and seen him in action, and while he’s an incredibly talented pitcher, he’s never shown that level of contentment that he has now as he talks to kids and adults alike. Okay, yes, games are intense, so of course he would be focused while on the mound, but even after games, he’s always had an underlying seriousness that used to make me think he was all about the game and winning.
He might still be all about the game, but I’m starting to think he cares more about the other players than he does about himself.
When the field is pretty much empty, one man approaches Houston with his hand on his son’s shoulder—the kid who nearly hit a home run. He looks nervous, which makes Houston tense up immediately. A part of me itches to race down there and make sure he’s okay, but the conversation doesn’t even last long enough for me to stand before Houston reaches into his pocket and holds out his car keys.
The man freezes, then waves his hand as he shakes his head. But Houston practically forces the keys into his hand before saying something to the kid and ruffling his hair.
As the man wanders off with his face twisted in emotion, I make a mental note to see if Connor will pay for a lip-reading course. It could come in handy during certain sports if I have a good view of the coaches and players on the bench. And, you know, when Houston Briggs apparently gives away his old pickup truck.
Finally it’s just me and him, and Houston leaps up the bleachers with a lot more energy than I have right now. He flops down next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and fixes his gaze so intently on my face that I heat up like a hot air balloon, his smile thewhooshof burning gas pulling me higher into the clouds.
