Page 4 of Breaking the Rules
Bishop nods enthusiastically, his face set in the familiar determination of a Parrish at work.
Man, I love this kid.
The first pitch results in a swing and a miss, but that doesn’t distract Bishop from the task at hand. I give him a proud grin. It’s hard not playing favorites when your son is so damn cool.
“All right, buddy, you got this one. Bend your knees. Just like we practiced.”
A simple adjustment later and Bishop taps the bat against the airborne ball, sending it wobbling toward third base like the champ he is. He looks up at me from under his loose baseball cap with a wide, toothy grin.
“Run, man, run!”
With that, he turns and takes off, his little legs pumping as fast as they can, all the way to first base. Our friends holler from the stands like they’re witnessing history in the making. Hell, it’s the best any of these little goons have done all day.
The kid knows how to make his old man proud, that’s for sure.
• • •
The game ends up a well-earned tie.
While parents retrieve their kids, I exchange a firm handshake and a tired look of relief with the other team’s coach. There were no meltdowns today, so that’s a win in any Little League coach’s book.
While Becca and I are packing up our kids in the car, Jordie slaps me on the shoulder. “You seen Harper anywhere? I can’t find her.”
Becca frowns slightly, which would be invisible to anyone who hasn’t memorized her facial expressions like I have. “She said she was going to wait in the car. Headache, I think.”
Jordie exhales out of his nose sharply and shakes his head. “Right ... thanks. See you guys.”
“Thanks for your help today, Jordie,” I call to his retreating back.
What the fuck is going on with him? Whatever it is, there’s nothing I can do about it now, so I shake it off and focus on my family.
After stealing first base like he did, Becca and I agree that Bishop deserves an extra-special treat. There’s an ice cream parlor a short drive from the field that we’re known to hit up after our games, and this time, Bishop can have all the sprinkles he wants.
As we get situated with our variety of cones and cups of multicolored ice cream on the patio, Becca seems to read my mind.
“What was up with Jordie today?” she asks, pulling the sun guard down over the double stroller where the twins are napping peacefully.
“I was about to ask you the same thing about Harper.”
Becca nods in agreement. “Right? They’re both acting off. There’s some kind of tension between them.”
Jordie and Harper met a few years back and got hitched pretty much out of the gate. It was messy, involving a bet made in poor taste, a fake book club, and all the fuckery that comes with dating the coach’s daughter.
You heard that right. The rookie and the coach’s daughter. But those crazy kids fell in love—the kind meant to last forever. Or so we thought.
“I was hoping I was imagining it.”
Becca scrunches her nose, playing with the loose ends of her scarf. “You definitely weren’t. I mean, you’d have to be blind to think that nothing’s wrong.”
There’s a harsh edge to her voice that I recognize from the early days of rearing our first kid. Becca was a bundle of stress back then, and I’m sure she’s struggling now that her workload has tripled.
Just as I’m reaching out to take her hand, Charli squeals in the front seat of the stroller.
Bishop gulps down the rest of his ice cream in a hurry. He may only be six, but even he knows that life with twins is unpredictable. Sometimes we have to pack up and take off in a hurry, and there was no way he was missing out on the rest of his ice cream.
Becca lets out a little groan as Bella joins in the noise, waking from her slumber with stuttering cries.
Our quiet moment is gone before it really began. Charli is babbling loudly and unhappily, and Bella is growing red in the face with her sympathetic tears.
