The neuropsychologist was running late. Dane sat in a wing-back chair, while Amanda and Cole sat on the couch directly across from a large walnut desk covered in papers. With every minute that ticked off the loud clock on the far wall, Dane felt his jitters multiply. If the doctor didn’t hurry up and make an appearance, Dane felt certain he would turn into a human jumping bean.
He looked over at Cole, whose normally tanned skin had fallen several shades lighter. His foot tapped on the floor in an uncoordinated rhythm. It broke Dane’s heart to see his son so nervous about today’s conversation.
And more than that, it brought home all the years he’d missed with Cole. Dane was fully experiencing the concept of hurting along with your child, but how many times growing up had his son needed him and he hadn’t been there?
Thank God Cole’d had a devoted mother and a good stepfather to stand in the gap where Dane had failed to be.
Thank God, indeed. Dane sat up straighter as he realized that he meant those words as an actual expression of thanks.
Thank you, God, for giving my son people in his life that have supported him as he’s grown.
Dane let out a breath as he realized he’d done exactly what Randy had described a few days ago—he’d just spoken the words to God in his head, informally. There were no candles, no incense, no perfect bowing postures. Only true words, coming straight from his heart.
And somehow, he knew God heard them. He couldn’t say how, but something in his heart told him he’d done the right thing.
The door hinges squeaked, announcing Dr. Post as she stepped in the room.
“Cole, Coach Vasquez. It’s good to see you again.” She stretched out a hand in greeting. “And Dr. McGovern, how are you today?”
“Doing well,” Amanda said. Dane could tell Amanda was just as nervous about today’s outcome as he was. Although he hated that she was worried, in a way, it was reassuring to know she cared deeply about Cole and his well-being.
“Wonderful. Have a seat, and let’s start going over these test results. Overall, I think Cole has a great chance at recovery. He’s young and we know time is one of the best healers for brain injury. That said, there are some things at play from these test results that show me that Cole has most definitely been affected by this injury. I’ll go over these more in detail shortly, but Cole does have a narrow window of focus—he begins to tune out at about three minutes. Additionally, he does have some executive function deficits. Basically speaking, when I say executive function, I’m talking about Cole’s ability to take in and process information and turn it back around. His memory is stronger than I expected, but his ability to work under deadlines, or make sense of lectures and assignments are impaired.”
A wave of crushing sickness coursed through Dane’s body. He’d already seen the evidence in Cole’s behavior, but to hear it from a professional made it so much more real. “What can we do, Dr. Post?”
“I’d like to recommend that Cole take the rest of the summer completely off. No classes. Rest and neurocognitive therapy only.”
From the corner of his eye, Dane saw Amanda making notes in a small spiral-bound notepad.
“What about baseball?” Cole’s voice came out small and hushed. “Will I ever get to play again?”
Dr. Post shook her head. “Probably not. You can’t risk getting another concussion. Without swift and substantial recovery, I couldn’t in good conscience sign any medical clearances to let you play again.”
Cole dropped his head in his hands. Immediately, Amanda reached out her arm and pulled him close.
Dane dropped to his knees and scooted over to the couch, reaching his arms up to his son and to Amanda. The three of them held on to each other in place of the hope they’d held onto for these past weeks. He felt his heart blowing away like the sand that lined Port Provident’s beaches. When he’d decided to turn his life around, he’d had a dream to bond with his son over baseball.
With just a few words from Dr. Post, that dream was gone.
“Dad?” Cole looked into Dane’s eyes. Tears dotted the bottom lid, but had not yet spilled back over. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to go back to Illinois for the summer. I think it’ll hurt too much to be here around my friends if I can’t do anything with them.”
Dane swallowed past the lump in his throat. He couldn’t lose his son, not now, not when they were just finding each other. But how could he stand in the way of Cole’s wishes?
God give me the strength to do this.
Dane lifted his hand, despite the shaking, and placed it on Cole’s knee. “Of course, Cole. And I’ll always be waiting for you to come back home. You and I will get our chance to know each other and be father and son. ”
FIRST KISS FIREWORKS
Chapter Seven
Amanda took careful footsteps down the hallway in the baseball offices. Her vision was partially blocked by the unwieldy cardboard box she carried out in front of her and she didn’t want to trip.
If she was completely honest with herself, she trusted her feet a lot more than she trusted her heart.
She didn’t want to run into Dane. Literally, with the box—or figuratively.
Ever since the meeting with Dr. Post, Dane had changed. Instead of texting her in the middle of the day just to chat, or leaving her special ticket at will-call, he’d gone virtually radio silent. Dealing with his son’s future, packing him up to go back to Illinois for the remainder of the summer, and knowing they would never get to achieve their shared baseball dream had taken an instant and very visible toll on Dane.
The last time she talked with him, more than a week ago, he’d said he needed to put his head down and focus on the upcoming conference championship series in Houston.
Amanda had tried to take Dane at his word, but she’d seen him at work earlier in the season. He was completely at-ease with the game, and his coaching style was more instinctive than studied. She knew that the real reason he’d slipped out of her life had nothing to do with his upcoming baseball games, yet had everything to do with baseball.
“Dr. McGovern—can I help you?” Randy Tompkins stepped out of his office as Amanda passed by. “That’s a big box. Are you headed out to the parking lot?”
“I am. And some help would be great, but please just call me Amanda.”
She decided to take Randy’s help not because the box was a strain, but because he’d be able to move more quickly than she could. And the less time she spent in the baseball offices, the less likely she’d be to see Dane.
The less likely she was to see Dane, the more likely she was to not spend the rest of the day replaying every word and looking for meanings that just weren’t there.
Randy slipped his arms around the box and started to move down the hallway. “What’cha got here? Do you mind my asking?”
“No, not at all. This is the last of the things Cole and I were using in our study hall we’d set up in the small conference room.” She steeled herself not to turn her head and look as she walked past Dane’s closed office door. “Have y’all heard from Cole since he’s been home?”
Randy turned around and backed slowly into the glass door to open it, “Dane’s talked to him a few times. His mom is taking good care of him. He’s bored because she’s not letting him do anything—not even watch TV—all he gets to do is go to his cognitive rehab appointments. But he did talk Nancy into letting him watch the games when we get to the conference tournament, so he’s got something to look forward to. He also said he’s keeping up with the therapies you sent him home with. He really likes your diffuser. He said the oils help him sleep better at night.”
That made her smile. At least she’d been able to make some kind of difference for him.
“I hope the rest and rehab helps him. He’s a great kid with a lot of determination.”
Randy held the door open as Amanda passed through. “He is. He gets it from his dad. I’ve never seen anyone as tough as nails in the pinch as Dane is. He doesn’t make a big
deal out of it. He just assesses the situation, decides what needs to be done—and boom!—does it. He doesn’t second-guess much of anything.”
Amanda knew Randy’s assessment was pretty accurate, but she felt the air go out of her like a deflated balloon at his words. No doubt Dane had decided that being around her was no longer necessary after Cole went back to Illinois. Maybe seeing her was too painful for him. No matter what the reason happened to be, the truth was Dane appeared to have sized up the connection she thought they both felt for each other—and then—boom!—put it behind him.
She unlocked her car on the front row of the ballpark parking lot. As she turned to give Randy room to maneuver the box into the back seat of her sedan, a flag waving at the top of the stadium caught her eye.
It fluttered, beckoning her to remember the kiss that happened up there, the evenings at the ballpark, the lunches at the base of the famous Port Provident Lighthouse that ended with more kisses. It called her to remember the fireworks. Not the ones she’d seen with her eyes—although they’d dazzled and sparkled and reflected on the water—but the ones she’d felt in her heart and her veins and that Dane had told her he felt too.
The ocean breeze whipped the fabric of the flag and called to the memories she’d stored inside. But like Dane, it was time to do what needed to be done. Like Cole, she was going to leave campus and take a break from everything this summer. A few weeks away, taking full advantage of no teaching load, would do Amanda some good.
She pulled her gaze down and locked the memories in her heart.
The past was officially in the past.
“Dane! Got a minute?” Peter Downley, Provident College’s Athletic Director, stepped across the red dirt edging the grassy baseball field.
“Sure.” Dane strode back toward home plate, a little uncertain about why his boss had come to The Splash in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Usually he called first. “What’s up, Peter?”
“I just got out of a meeting and was thinking about Cole. How’s he doing?”
“Talked to him this morning, actually. He said he’s been getting a lot of rest and is starting to notice the brain fog lessening. He’s got an in-office concussion protocol evaluation Monday at his neurologist’s office, and he’s hoping for some good news. The doctor said if he sees progress this month and next month, he’ll release him to come back to school in the fall and continue his cognitive rehab here.”
“But playing baseball is still out?”
Dane nodded. “All of his doctors have made it very clear that ship has sailed. He’s not going back on a field. Too much risk.”
Peter tucked one hand into a pocket. “I hate that for him—and for you—but I thought that’s what was going to happen. That’s part of why I stopped by today. I want him to continue his education here at Provident College, and I want to give him the Athletic Director’s Choice scholarship. It’s a resource we have for students who are not able to continue with our teams because of career-ending injuries. There aren’t any grade requirements or time restrictions attached. We’ll pay for Cole to finish school as long as it takes. There’s no pressure on him. I just want to see him graduate and be set up for success.”
Gratitude washed over Dane like the roll of the waves off the Provident Island shore. “That’s amazing, Peter. I’ll tell him. Thank you. That will be a huge relief for him. I know he wants to earn his degree once the doctors clear him.”
“You’re welcome, Dane. He deserves it. He’s a good kid.”
Dane couldn’t do anything other than agree. “He’s the best—a true fighter.”
The two men walked slowly around the perimeter of the field as they talked.
“I’ve got one other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
Dane felt his jaw twitch just a little bit. Something about the way his boss said that particular phrase made him a little nervous. “I heard Amanda McGovern from the Education Department worked with Cole for a few weeks before he left. Can you tell me what she was doing?”
Peter was known around the conference and in collegiate sports overall as a shrewd negotiator who kept his cards to the vest. It was how he’d been able to weather the damage of Hurricane Hope and quickly restore and rebuild the athletic programs he was responsible for back to championship caliber.
Dane tried to evaluate the tone in his voice and figure out where Peter was going with the question before he gave an answer, but he couldn’t come to a decision.
“She teaches the next generation of educators how to best work with children who have barriers to focus and behavior, like ADHD or autism or other conditions.”
In a flash, he sailed back in time to the faculty dining room on the first day he met Amanda. He repeated her own description of her job word-for-word back to Peter.
But that wasn’t all he remembered. In his mind’s eye, he could see the shallow dimple in her smile as she tried to help him that day. He remembered the jogging trail and the touch of her hand as she straightened out his ideas on God and why Cole remained injured. He remembered promising her a fireworks display and scooping her up, tasting the stickiness of the orange sports drink on her lips.
A chill landed on his shoulders, oblivious to the almost triple-digit temperatures on the field.
He remembered how he’d gone out of his way to wrap himself in his grief over losing Cole’s presence in his life and how he pushed Amanda aside too—because she reminded Dane of how he’d tried to help Cole, but instead had been too little, too late once again.
“Do you feel like she made a difference for Cole?”
Dane answered honestly. “I do. She’s got some good ideas. She taught him how to use some low-intervention practices to give him more focus and some study skills that I think will serve him well in the future. Amanda was supposed to be on a research sabbatical this summer to learn more about some of these methods, but the funding got cancelled at the last minute. It was actually a blessing for us because she was able to pour all her knowledge into Cole and to help us navigate the tests and therapies.”
Peter stopped at first base. “Good to know. I’ve had some people asking about it.”
Dane’s eyes opened wide. “Is Amanda in trouble?”
“Not really, no.” Peter put his other hand in his other pocket. “Dorothy Patterson at the Success Center was wondering why you didn’t come to them.”
“He didn’t need tutoring. He needed something cutting-edge.” Dane knew he’d gone out on a limb to get Amanda’s help—and he’d do it again. And he would fight anyone who tried to cause a problem for Amanda simply because she gave help to someone in need.
“And you think these ideas of Dr. McGovern’s worked?”
“Cole is still using many of them now, even though he’s not here in school. They’ve worked a lot of her ideas into his cognitive rehab back in Illinois.” Dane could feel his blood pressure rising. He wanted to defend Amanda, but putting up too vigorous of a challenge would cause his very astute boss to start asking other questions—questions Dane absolutely didn’t want to answer.
Dane knew if he had to answer them for Peter, he’d have to answer them for himself as well.
“Good to know,” Peter said succinctly. “That helps me out a bit. I’ll see you at the Athletic Department Awards Dinner, right?”
Once a year, Peter’s entire staff gathered to recognize the hard work of all the professionals who supported, coached, and managed the athletes and the game operations. This year, the timing wasn’t ideal for Dane, with the conference championship tournament beginning the following week, but he knew missing the event would be a career-limiting move.
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” Peter said with a quick smile and a nod. “I’ll see you there. I’ll have Lacey put your seat right up front.”
“Ha. Thanks, boss.”
Peter gave a wave as he walked off the field, leaving Dane standing near the base line with too many questions. He was going to need to start making some
phone calls and so he could find out what this was and to fix it for Amanda if he could.
Dane needed to talk through his feelings about his conversation just now with Peter, about his fear that he might have dragged Amanda afoul of rules that the Success Center had for student-athletes. He knew crossing his fingers and hoping for the best wasn’t going to work here. Had his pride and all-consuming need to get the status quo returned in his son’s life and his own caused issues for Amanda?
But he was all alone. There was no one to get a sanity check from.
He looked up at the blue sky stretched overhead and dotted with puffy white clouds making their way out to shade the waves of the Gulf of Mexico. He’d have to try things Randy’s way.
A tug at his heart reminded him it was Amanda’s way too.
I’ve messed up so many times. Please don’t let me have messed up things for her, as well. Help me make this right.
He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and dialed the number to Dorothy’s office at the Success Center.
Amanda turned over the formal card stock in her hand. Someone had written her name on the envelope in fancy black calligraphy, but she couldn’t figure out why on earth she’d been invited to the Athletic Director’s staff awards night.
She’d RSVP’d “yes” for one reason and one reason only. They’d included a card for meal selection and asked her to indicate her preference. Amanda chose steak.
She was tired of brown bags and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The summer of economizing was starting to bore her palate. The invitation said the event began at seven o’clock in the evening. Amanda glanced at the time display on her phone. Six-fifty-eight.
Her goal was to sneak in, sit at the back by the door, eat steak, and avoid Dane.
She opened the door to the banquet room in the student life building, where the event was to be held. Lark Thomas stood in his uniform.
“Good evening, Dr. McGovern,” he said, formally.
First Kiss Fireworks Page 7