Page 93 of Home Field Advantage
Now Archie is telling me everything I already knew.
The worst part? I don’t fucking know how to fix this and be better for him.
“Grab a drink of water, and we’ll figure it out. I know I suck, hence why I’m no longer coaching in the big leagues anymore. But maybe you can help me be better?”
His face lights up. “I help you, and you help me?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, you rock, coach,” he says, jogging off to the bench for water.
Sighing, I turn around and find Nan making her way toward me. “You’re everywhere,” I shout.
“I am,” she says with a nod. “You’re lookin’ like you got a team here.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. I mean, we’ve graduated from calling it a ‘hand trap’ to calling it a glove now. So, I guess you can say we’re making progress.”
Ethan takes that moment to run by with a glove in one hand and a ball in the other, up above his head, screaming, “My arm is a rocket missile!”
“That’s a typical practice,” I say flatly.
Nan barks out a laugh. “You positive Tucker ain’t the one coaching these kids? Because they all weirdly feel like he’s rubbing off on them.”
“I try to give him as little control as possible.”
“You’re doing something right.”
I rub the back of my neck, looking from Sage to Archie, and around to the other kids. They all laugh and chat together as if they have been friends forever. Some of them probably have, but Sage is now a part of that. She fits right in with these kids, and even if I suck as a coach, I’m so proud of that right there.
Even if I suck as a coach.
My brain immediately goes to the final conversations I had with Clark at the stadium when he told me I needed a break. I knew I needed one, I just didn’t expect all of this.
I didn’t expect a nine-year-old to confirm that I suck as a coach.
No more strikeouts, only home runs.
Clark’s words play on repeat in my head. It’s taken me this long to remember them, even though this struck me so hard when he first said them. I felt the words in my chest, and I knew it meant so much more than baseball. It was his way of getting through to me that there would be no more failures or setbacks, and it’s time to stop dwelling on the past.
It’s only success from now on—only big wins.
Glancing around the barnyard, the make-shift baseball field, and over to the horizon as the sun barely dips beyond the mountains. I feel a tug in my chest. A strong one that tells me Bluestone Lakes is the big win.
That can’t be, though.
We have a life back in San Francisco, and when all is said and done, we’ll have to go back to it.
“I like it here,” I finally admit to Nan. It’s not what she asked, but it’s what needed to be said.
“I knew you would.”
“Is Seven Stools the only place to grab a bite to eat around here?”
“Nah. There’s a diner, but you don’t want to go there. Swear I saw a rat run across someone’s feet last time I was there a few years back. Never again,” she says with disgust.
“Damn, okay. I wanted to take Sage out to eat tonight.”
Nan laughs. “Go to Seven Stools, boy. You do know it’s a restaurant, don’t you?”
