Page 37 of Game On

Here we go.

Nate wasn’t surprised to see his father pull up as close to the front of the lot as possible in his shiny white Mercedes AMG. But the fact that he’d double-parked while simultaneously managing to block multiple spaces including a handicapped spot told Nate that Clint Ramsey was on the warpath.

Not that his expression gave it away as he exited the vehicle. Clint loved to be in the spotlight, and he’d courted the media during his career and long afterward, always giving good sound bites and never showing his true feelings in front of the camera. Today would be no different. He wouldn’t make a scene at Nate’s camp. But he’d make his opinions known.

Not for the first time, Nate wondered how his dad had managed to become so successful in a sport that valued team play. Dad had never been about the team. Individual effort was all that had ever mattered in their house.

Standing beside his high school coach, Nate lowered his voice. “Why don’t you round up the kids and kick things off? I’ll join you as soon as I find out what this is all about.”

Behind his father, he could see Ty Lambert and Alexis Harper had both arrived. Two other major leaguers and a couple of guys who’d worked with Nate in the minors were already inside the school helping themselves to a catering cart before they took their stations with the players.

“Sure thing, Nate,” his former coach said agreeably, clamping his shoulder before lifting his whistle to his mouth and blasting a shrill note. “Campers, follow me to the baseball field.”

Kids surged like stampeding cattle, the young ones sprinting toward the baseball diamond, whooping and shoving all the way. The older kids shouldered their gear and followed at a more leisurely pace. The parents who’d been milling around waiting to see what happened dissipated a little, moving to the parking lot to finish their conversations or carrying camp chairs out to the field to watch the morning’s events.

“Nate, hold up.” His father arrived at the shaded walkway near the school’s side entrance a moment later. Hands in his pockets, he wore an expensive polo and Italian leather shoes with his chinos. Designer sunglasses perched on his nose until he shoved them up into his thinning hair now to stare down Nate, his lips curving into a dangerous smile that looked anything but pleased. “I see you’re the family baseball expert this week.”

His whole life, Nate had been the family peacekeeper. He wore the middle son badge with pride, keeping things loose in a family full of competitive egos. But after getting injured and having to sit out weeks on end not knowing if he’d recoup his spot on the roster, Nate didn’t have it in him today to do battle with his dad.

“Coach Jansen has been looking for summer sports programs. I’m here, so I helped out,” he explained.

Simply. Reasonably.

So of course it wasn’t good enough.

“And you figured that meant you ought to start up a baseball camp on your own? Is family loyalty a foreign concept to you?” His dad paused, glancing over his shoulder as Ty Lambert arrived with Keely’s sister, Alexis. Clint nodded at them politely. “Morning.”

“Morning?” Ty repeated, grinning as he threw an arm over Clint’s shoulder. “It’s adamned goodmorning to meet a living legend. Nice to meet you, Mr. Ramsey. I’m Ty Lambert, a longtime fan.”

Ty pumped Clint’s arm with an enthusiastic handshake. He was an interesting guy, Ty. Nate couldn’t put his finger on why the dude had a big chip on his broad, power-hitting shoulders, but it was there. Nate hadn’t been teammates with him long enough to comprehend the nuances of team dynamics, but the chip had put Ty on the outs with a lot of the other guys.

“Good to meet you too, Ty.” His father attempted to step out of the bro-hug but Ty didn’t seem to notice as he launched into a catalog of Clint Ramsey’s most famous pitching battles against well-known hitters.

And while it amused Nate to see his dad try to escape a walk down memory lane, he preferred to find out what Clint had to say so he could get over to the baseball field. Interestingly, Keely’s sister had stuck around, taking in Ty’s antics from the school’s walk of fame where standout athletes from each year left their handprints in the concrete.

Somewhere, Nate and Keely’s handprints were side by side.

“Actually, Ty, I hate to interrupt,” Nate said, twisting the brim of his ball cap from the back to the front. “But my dad stopped by to share something with me about the camp and I’d better find out what that is so I can rejoin the group.”

“Sure, boss,” Ty told him easily, unwinding his arm from Clint’s shoulders. “Go ahead.”

Nate guessed his dad would be good and irritated by now. And that was probably only made worse by the fact that Ty rooted himself to the spot, taking in the conversation with interest.

His hair mussed and his sunglasses crooked on his head, Clint opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. Then blurted, “I don’t know why you’d do something like this without talking to me first. The Ramsey name should be on this thing.”

He offered a fake, we’re-all-friends-here smile as his focus went from Nate to Ty and back again.

“It is though, Dad. It’s my name on it since I’m the one who put it together. No disrespect intended.”

Clint nodded slowly. Lips pursed in displeasure before he spoke again. “Think about the draw it will have when you don’t make it all about you. I think my name has a little more recognition considering how long I played. You’ve been on a major league roster for what? Five weeks?”

The slam wasn’t unexpected. It was exactly the type of low blow that his dad had always used to make his sons remember their place. It was petty BS, and Nate didn’t have time for it. Turning on his heel, he walked away to join the campers.

But not before he heard Ty Lambert’s retort, “Dude. That was a total dickhead thing to say.”

Nate almost choked on his tongue. It probably wasn’t a smart move on Ty’s part with the sway Clint Ramsey held in the sport. A Hall of Famer, he was in the retired players alumni association, and he was a notable figure in the sport in Texas.

But given how many times his dad undermined him and his brothers, Nate appreciated someone calling him out. He might have only been in the majors for ten weeks, but he’d worked his ass off to get there. If he could give something back to his hometown before he returned to whatever remained of his career after he recovered, then he would do it.

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