Page 92 of Home Field Advantage
Everything.
That I’m not enough.
That I’m not like the other girls.
“He’s not planning to stay here. He’s only in Bluestone Lakes temporarily.”
“What if he decides to stay?”
I avert my gaze out the sliding glass doors that overlook the mountains. That’s one thought that’s never crossed my mind. I don’t know enough about his relationship with his ex-wife, or how him staying here would work with Sage. But what if hedidstay?
“You never know.” Lily winks, leaving to bring her dish to the kitchen.
Can I allow myself to take that risk?
CHAPTER 23
MR. GRIFFIN, DO YOU THINK POPPY LIKES MY DAD MORE THAN A FRIEND?
Dallas
“Great hit, Gabe!” I shout and clap my hands as I watch him swing the bat and hit the ball into the outfield.
If that’s what you want to call it.
The barnyard isn’t even an official field.
We’ve had a handful of practices here now, and even with the cold weather, the kids are loving it. They’re getting good, too, which shocks me mildly because I had low hopes after our first indoor practice. The kids are no longer using the baseball bats as telescopes, and no one screams murder when a ball is thrown in their direction anymore.
I feel like shit for ever doubting them. All they needed was a little practice and snacks. I feel like I have my own little team now, one that I’ve built from the ground up.
Sage picks up the ball in the outfield and throws it as hard as she can to first. I love watching the smile on her face when she has a ball in her hand.
Gabe is running the bases still, but he looks like he’s ready to collapse halfway down first, running like a T. rex, but then he passes first base, pauses to turn around, and begins to run…backward?
“Why are you running like that?” I shout.
“I’m training my reverse instincts for when a bear tries to attack me during a game.”
“There are no bears in baseball, Gabe.”
“Yet,” he shouts, fist in the air, and picks up his backward pace.
I shake my head. “Why don’t you guys take a break and get a drink of water?”
The kids run for the bench, and I notice Archie dragging his feet. I jog up to meet him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “What’s up, kid?”
“I need more, coach,” he says quickly, as if he’s been holding that in for so long now. “I need to be challenged. I need to be stronger. I want to make it to the major leagues just like you did.”
“You’ll get there.”
“Not with this team and these practices.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you suck,” he says proudly.
I laugh, but only because I know he’s telling the truth. Kids always are. A somber feeling washes over me at his words, because I couldn’t coach a Major League team, and now I can’t even successfully coach a group of kids. I knew coaching wasn’t for me; I always have. I wanted to keep it in my life, so I did it anyway.
