Page 10 of The Scout

We both laughed. “How’s the team?”

“Trying to get some intel for the alumni game?”

“Maybe. I’m a scout now, so—”

“Sorry about your shoulder. Great play, but not worth the out.” He was right. At the time, I just wanted to get the runner home. The bases were loaded, and I’d thrown the pitch, only for it to get by the catcher. I ran forward to cover home, caught the ball, flipped it to my bare hand, and then hyperextended my arm to reach the base before the runner’s cleat crossed it. I made the out but at the expense of tearing the hell out of my shoulder. “You feelin’ okay? How’s the shoulder?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Not good enough for the majors unless I wanted to risk permanent damage. So you going to tell me about the team? Anyone as good as when I played?”

Milo laughed and shook his head. “Guess you’ll need to wait and see.” He added in a wink that made me chuckle.

“Okay, I’ll catch you later.”

He nodded. “Good to have you back in town. You should go to the Mason Jar for a drink. I’m sure the folks in town would love to see you.”

“Maybe I will.”

We shook hands, and rather than take his suggestion of seeing the folks in town, I headed to the home Leo rented to get settled in. Familiar storefronts looked a bit weatherworn but still held their charm. Flags hung vertically from the streetlights boasting about the upcoming ham festival, which brought a smile to my face. Small towns were special. I didn’t realize that when we moved here. As my career shifted from player to scout, I spent a lot of time in places similar to Blossom Berry Falls. And the more I did, the more they appealed to me.

When I passed Hannah’s old street, I couldn’t help but wonder if her parents still lived there or if maybe she and her new husband did. The thought of seeing her with someone made acid churn in my stomach. No one talked about her, not even Milo, who’d caught us making out under the bleachers, in the dugout, at the concession stand shack, and, much to Hannah’s dismay, on the pitcher’s mound.

That day, I didn’t care that Milo was older. I wanted to kick his ass. That mound was my comfort zone, as was Hannah. Put the two together and ... euphoria. We were on our way there too. Especially when my girl told me she wanted to round the bases both literally and figuratively. My teenage libido had felt as though I’d pitched a no-hitter during the championship game.

Hannah had just unbuttoned my jeans when Milo blasted an air horn. We’d practically jumped out of our skins at the obnoxious sound. Hannah, who had been in just her bra, used me as a shield to cover her. Not that I hadn’t already had that idea myself. Thanks to the nighttime sky and the moon being our only source of light, no way did the old man see anything. Still, it pissed me off. Thanks to the old coot that night, we never did do what we’d set out to.

I groaned, thinking about that day. How the weight of her perky breasts had filled my hands just right. How, when I skimmed my thumb over her nipple beneath the cotton of her bra, she’d shivered. How she’d told me I was her one and only. That I was the only one she wanted touching her. Then my gorgeous girl looked at me with her pretty chocolate eyes, so reverently ... as though I were her entire world, and that had made my heart flip.

After Hannah, no one made me feel that way. Nor did I give anyone the same attention I’d given her. Life changed, everything changed, and it made me wonder if we were even friends anymore. What made a friend? Phone calls, text messages, social media exchanges, a personal visit? If that were the case, then we weren’t friends ... as awful as that sounded.

Not that I was blameless.

Before I knew it, the robotic voice coming from my Bluetooth told me I’d arrived at my destination. I turned and pulled onto the short driveway. A small yellow two-story house with a wraparound porch sat at the end of it. The shrubs around it were a tad overgrown, and the flower boxes on the porch had seen better days, but none of that mattered to me. As long as I had a place to stay for the few days I’d be in town, it was fine.

I got out of my car, grabbed my suitcase and duffel, and strode up to the porch, the planks creaking beneath my sneakered feet. Not knowing what a petunia looked like, I finally found the key under the fourth pot I lifted.

The interior boasted a farmhouse style. Soft white-and-blue-cushioned furniture, hardwood floors that were gently scratched, and a small kitchen off to the side. There wasn’t much room, but I didn’t need it. I’d be there only for the weekend, regardless that I had it for months.

I took a self-guided tour, finding the primary bedroom with a bed that looked a bit too short for my six-foot-four frame, another room with a twin bed, and a bathroom in the middle of the hallway. Thankfully I wasn’t sharing the house with anyone, so that didn’t matter.

Glancing through the back window, I noticed a boy playing in his backyard, which a fence divided from mine. Going out the sliding glass door, I stood on the small deck and watched him through the sparse shrubs as he threw a baseball at the pitchback, catching it on the return. He had great form, what appeared to be an accurate arm, a very quick release, and my name on his back.

The smile that spread across my face couldn’t be helped. It never got old seeing JAMESON above the number ... my number ... forty-four on the back of his jersey. Tomorrow at the game, I’d be wearing my old Hawks jersey. I brought my old high school one with the same number with me, but that was because the school said they wanted it for their Hall of Fame case in their main lobby.

All of that didn’t matter to me. Yes, it was an honor and all that good stuff, but I’d rather be playing. Letting out a sigh, I went back to watching the kid throw more pitches. Instinctively, I wanted to go to the fence that separated us and watch more closely. Except, not wanting to look as though I were a creep, I didn’t. He reminded me of myself and the way I’d spend countless hours throwing at the same type of practice equipment. He couldn’t be more than fifteen years old. Tall, a little lanky, but not gangly.

Not only did he remind me of myself, but there had been something about the yard, more specifically, the screened-in porch off the back of it. I couldn’t place it, but it had been fifteen years since I’d been back to Blossom Berry Falls. And after traveling to various places, things seemed to blend after a while.

He got into his stance and released the ball toward the inside corner. When he missed his mark, he lowered his head and shook it.

“Shorten your stride, kid,” I whispered into the air.

After watching him for a few more throws, I headed back inside, sat down on the sofa, closed my eyes, and continued to wonder about what tomorrow would be like. I’d be back on the mound. I closed my eyes and could almost hear the crowd cheering for me in the last game I’d played there. One voice had been the loudest ... my Hannah’s. She’d worn my name on her back and had never missed a game.

Anytime I had a bad inning or gave up a home run that she knew pissed me off, she’d yell, “You’ve got this, kid!” Thekidpart always made me smile. It relaxed me. She relaxed me. Rather than reminisce for the rest of the night, I headed to bed, knowing that tomorrow might be the day I’d get to see Hannah.

Just let her be single.

Chapter5

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