She again got into his face. “Mommy says to come with me, so you’re coming with me.”
“Baseball,” he said.
She held the baseball in front of her face so he would have to look at her and the baseball at the same time. “You are going to the car and so is your baseball.”
“No car. Baseball.” Drew grabbed for the ball, but Jamie had always told Drew he had to be polite and mind his manners.
“No grabbing. Baseball is going to the car.”
Drew turned his face away from Jamie, determined to ignore her, so she calmly tucked the plastic baseball under her arm and picked him up.
He remained stiff in her arms, like a board, but at least he didn’t fight.
When she tried to put him in the car seat, he flailed his head back and forth and pushed at her. He hated the feel of the straps, but there was no negotiation here.
Jamie let him stand in front of the car seat for a few moments until he relaxed, a little.
“Mommy wants you to sit in your special chair,” she explained as she picked him up and placed him in the car seat.
“We’re going to see a baseball player,” Ben said. “He’s a pitcher. A real pitcher.”
“Picture,” Drew repeated.
“No, pitcher. Like the guy who throws the ball,” Ben said. “Strike one, strike two, strike three.”
“You’re out.” Drew clapped his hands while Jamie tightened the strap and made sure the clip was in place to keep them together.
“The count is three-two,” Ben said, pretending to be an announcer. “Hudson’s peering at the catcher, reading the signal. He winds up, and here comes the pitch. Strike!”
“You’re out.” Drew squealed, as Jamie let out a breath of relief and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Hopefully they could get to the ballpark, and Mr. Hudson would be understanding. Luck had finally turned her way when she won the sweepstakes for a day at the ballpark. She had picked Ryan Hudson because he was always so cool and focused under pressure. Many times, with the fate of the game or a series hanging on a single pitch, he’d forced the batter to either swing and miss, or popup for an easy out.
She didn’t miss the fact that he was still single and had never been associated publicly with any one woman. He was easy on the eyes and built like a gladiator. At thirty-eight, he was hopefully done sowing wild oats and acting like a fraternity brat. He could be a role model for Ben, if things worked out, and maybe he’d even strike up a friendship with her.
She let that fantasy swim around her mind, an indulgence as decadent as sweet peach pie, then let go of it as she approached the ballpark.
Nothing was going to happen for her. She hadn’t had time to doll herself up, and face it, she was a single mom with two boys—one of them with special needs, and her life was twenty-four seven autism.
This day was for Ben and Drew, and like all special days were, it would all too soon be in the past—especially if Drew cut it short with a meltdown.
CHAPTER THREE
Jamie Rush was a looker all right with lush brown hair, a dimple when she smiled, and big, brown eyes. She wasn’t very tall, but her body was compact and cute, and Ryan would bet she was soft in all the right places. She had that sweet and tart type of face, a blend of angelic and bitchiness that promised good hot loving as well as plenty of sparks and fire—enough to keep men interested in the long haul. Except she wasn’t giving him any indications that she was anything other than tired. No makeup and lines under her eyes. Not the body language of a woman angling for a come-on.
She’d arrived at the ballpark around the seventh inning, missing the pregame trip to the dugout, and watched him shutout the top of the ninth inning, despite the setup reliever giving up two runs late in the game.
Ryan handed both of Mrs. Rush’s boys a baseball. “One for you, and one for you. Let’s pretend we’re pitchers getting ready in the bullpen.
Mrs. Rush, meanwhile, sat on a bench against the side of the bullpen and shut her eyes. Throughout the tour of the clubhouse, she was tense and quiet, letting Ben ask all the questions while her attention was on the younger boy, Drew, who wore headphones and walked around looking through a magnifying glass—as if he were a junior detective.
The kid was cute in a clumsy sort of way, but he was definitely a loner and more interested in twirling the combination locks than high-fiving any baseball players.
Ryan glanced back at Jamie, who still had her eyes closed. Maybe she’d already had a hard night with a boyfriend or friend with benefits. But if she had a significant other, he wasn’t here, so it was more likely the boys had kept her up.
While Ryan had joked with Brock about not wanting to flirt with Jamie, who was a single mother, he hadn’t expected her to be so disinterested in him. Other than introducing herself, she hadn’t tried to engage him in any conversation.
He caught a ball Ben threw at him and pointed to a bullseye target he taped at the end of the bullpen. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to throw the ball at that target.”
“Yay!” Ben raised his hand up high. “I want to throw a hundred mile per hour fastball.”
Drew still clutched the ball he’d given him, turning it around and around, tracing the red-threaded seam with his index finger. He stood a few feet to the side, with his right side toward Ryan.
“For the fastball.” Ryan waved the ball in front of Drew’s nose, trying to get his attention. “You have to first hold the ball the right way. If you want the fastest fastball, then we throw a four-seam fastball.”
“What’s a seam?” Ben asked. “I just throw it any old way.”
“Then your ball will go any old way.” Ryan chuckled. He pointed at the younger brother. “Your brother found the seam. It’s the stitching that goes across and around the baseball, kind of shaped like a horseshoe.”
“A horseshoe on a ball?” Ben turned the ball around to follow the line.
“These lines or seams are very important, because each time I throw a different pitch, I put my fingers in a different place. For a four-seam fastball, I turn the ball like this.” He placed the ball in Ben’s hand and adjusted it so that his index and middle finger were perpendicular to the seams.
While seemingly not looking at them, Drew turned the ball in exactly the same position as Ryan had shown Ben.
“Now, we throw the ball overhead, like this.” Ryan demonstrated bringing his hand over his head, without doing the leg swing and kick. “When we let go, the ball will spin backwards, like this.”
By turning the ball in his hands, Ryan demonstrated the backspin of the ball and showing the four seams rotating evenly as the batter saw it.
Drew paid rapt attention at the ball he spun in his hand, even though he asked no questions.
While Ben threw at the target and Ryan threw the ball back to him, Drew continued to spin the ball he was holding in his little hands.
“Want a turn?” Ryan asked Drew when Ben got a drink of water.
The little boy stared at him with his pale blue eyes. “Backspin.”
“Yep, this backspin keeps the ball up, so it doesn’t drop.” Ryan squatted down and turned the ball the opposite way. “If I hold the ball like this when I release it, I get a topspin. Now this sucker’s going to drop. It’s called a curveball.”
He turned his wrist a different direction to show how the way the hand snaps at release effects the rotation of the ball.
Since the kid was paying attention, Ryan showed him the two-seam fastball. “Turn the ball this way and put your two fingers along the narrow waist between the horseshoe curve and you get an off-center spin. Ball sinks a little, but not as much as when you have a topspin.”
The kid switched his fingers back and forth between the two-seam and four-seam grip.
“Want to throw it? Give it a shot?” Ryan picked up another ball and tossed it at the target.
The five-year-old threw the ball—hard. And he hit the bullseye of the target.
> “Hey, Mom,” Ben yelled, shaking his mother. “Drew threw the ball. He hit the target.”
“Great job,” Ryan said, handing Drew another ball. “Now, show your mother what you have.”
The kid gripped the ball precisely where he’d shown him and raised his hand, letting it go with a perfect backspin.
Bam. Another hit near the bullseye.
“Let me try,” Ben said, rushing forward.
He picked up a ball, but didn’t adjust the grip—just tossed it. The ball went wide and missed the target.
Mrs. Rush got up off the bench and picked up a ball. “Drew, let’s see you do that again.”
Drew threw the ball, and it again hit the target.
Both Mrs. Rush and Ben jumped and clapped, cheering, but the little guy didn’t bat an eye. His face remained stone serious, except now, there was a mark of determination in his eyes as he tossed the ball at the target, as if his new job was to throw the ball and hit the target, each and every time.
Come to think of it, this was essentially Ryan’s job.
“How’d you do that?” Mrs. Rush asked, making eye contact with Ryan for the first time.
The earnestness in her face and the excitement blossoming from her tugged at the corners of Ryan’s heart. It was like watching hope moisten the parched lips of a castaway marooned on a desert island.
“I didn’t do anything, Mrs. Rush. Your son is a natural. He seems to get rotations, angles, and how the ball leaving the fingers can set the spin.”
“Call me, Jamie,” she said, still holding his gaze. “I didn’t mean the mechanics of the pitch, but how’d you get him interested in something outside of himself?”
“It’s all him, Jamie. He’s a good observer.”
“I’m sure you had a little something to do with it.” Her right cheek dimpled with that sweet smile he’d caught her with while she watched Ben collecting autographs at the clubhouse. “Thank you.”
Somehow, her simple crediting of him made his back straighter and his chest puff out. A spark of awareness tingled through his body. Her attractiveness was not from clothes, makeup, or flirtatious glances. She was a loving, caring mother, and she’d do anything for her boys.
“You don’t have to thank me.” He felt his cheeks warm. “I’m just glad they’re having a good time.”
“More than you know.” She touched his forearm, and it was like she’d seared him with a branding iron. “Thank you. You made my day, and I’m sure my sons will be treasuring this day for the rest of their lives.”
A wave of emotion swelled in his chest.
This woman took care of her two boys like they were her world. One of them obviously had special needs, but she made an effort for both of them to get out of the house and to experience life.
Who was taking care of her? Who would take the worry lines from between her eyes? Who would let her take a minute to moisturize her lips and pamper her with a nice long nap or even eight hours of uninterrupted sleep at night?
“Day’s not over, not by a long shot,” Ryan said. “After I take the boys to batting practice, would you care to join me for a late lunch or a cup of coffee? With the boys, of course, and ice cream for them.”
“That would be wonderful.” She took her hand back, as if suddenly realizing she’d gotten too close to a stranger. “I do have to warn you though. It doesn’t always go so well, and if I have to rush out of wherever we’re at, please don’t take it personally.”
“I won’t, except you won’t have to run. I can handle whatever happens.” He had an inkling it was about Drew. If he were a betting man, he’d say the child was on the autism spectrum.
“I’m just saying you don’t owe us anything. I’m so grateful to the team that we got this time with you. Ben has to be on cloud nine. And Drew,” she paused and looked at Drew who continued to stoically throw the ball at the target, in between picking it up and studying the seams. “It’s times like this that give me hope with Drew.”
Without thinking, Ryan wrapped his arms around Jamie and hugged her. He wanted to tell her that things would be okay, but of course, there was no guarantee. Every autistic child had his or her own row to hoe, and no two responded to stimuli in the same manner.
Jamie relaxed into his embrace, and he breathed in her clean, soapy scent mixed with coconut sunscreen. Her body conformed to his, and for a moment, she leaned on him.
And then, it was gone. An unearthly shriek tore from Drew’s throat, and he threw himself down, slamming his head on the ground.
“Drew, Mommy’s got your back.” Jamie picked him up from the ground and wrapped his arms around himself, restraining him.
The boy struggled and shouted, shaking his head like a wild man. But without getting excited, Jamie held him still, using her body to hem him in and reduce his visual field.
“Drew, Mommy has to hold you so you don’t hurt yourself. Want to bite your tube? If you stop screaming, you can bite your tube and put on your headphones. You were great with throwing the ball. Want to throw the ball at home?”
Drew’s screams subsided somewhat, and Jamie was able to put a plastic tube he was wearing around his neck into his mouth. Ben was right there with the noise-cancelling headphones.
“He got mad because I hit the bullseye,” Ben said. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Jamie said, helping Drew adjust his headphones. She turned to Ryan. “I’m going to have to skip going out the rest of the day, but Ben really wants to see a movie. I don’t know if maybe you can go with Brock Carter’s wife and daughter and take Ben? I can pay for the tickets.”
“You know Brock?” Ryan placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t doing a good job not touching her. She was, after all, a fan and he could get in trouble with his team if his attentions were unwelcome.
“His daughter is in the same class as Ben, and I talk to her mother from time to time. When Brock set this up, he said they could help if anything came up. If it’s an imposition, I understand.”
“I’ll be glad to take Ben to the movies with Brock’s wife and daughter. Let me know when you set it up. Will you take a raincheck for lunch?” He put on his most appealing smile.
“Uh, I don’t know if I can get away,” she stammered while rubbing Drew’s shoulders.
“Bring them along. I’m not trying to get into your pants.” His voice deepened while his dick and brain knew it was exactly what he wanted to do.
Her forehead creased as she examined Drew’s head for bumps. “Maybe it’s not so bad if you tried.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jamie clapped a hand over her mouth. Her face caught on fire, and she darted a glance at Ryan, wondering if he’d heard her muttering.
His sexy smirk confirmed her suspicions. She hurriedly gathered the boys’ jackets, ball caps, and the two new baseballs. Stuffing them into Drew’s backpack, she said, “I’m really sorry about cutting this short, but we have to go home.”
Chalk it up to lack of sleep, exhaustion, and embarrassment that she’d blurted what was on her mind, and all Jamie wanted to do was hide behind her own four walls.
Being around such a strong, powerful, and magnetic man had her brain turned into mush. Why, she was always peeking at him, checking him out. From his height to his perfect physique, solid but not bulky, to the cleft in his chin and his big, expressive eyes, Ryan Hudson was every kind of lady killer—the ones who collected panties with a mere wink. Even more lethal was the fact he was a damned nice guy—genuine, clean-cut, decent, and kind, without an arrogant bone in his body.
Stop thinking about boners, er bones. Jamie mentally slapped herself and grabbed Ben. “Let’s get going. Tell Mr. Hudson thanks for the wonderful time.”
“But, Mom,” Ben said. “We didn’t get to go the batting cage, and I want to play catch with Mr. Hudson. He said he was ours for the rest of the day, and it’s not even time for dinner.”
“We saw the baseball game, you got autographs at the clubhouse, and Mr
. Hudson taught you how to pitch.” Jamie listed off all the activities Ben should be thankful for. “He also promised to take you to the movies if I can get Bianca’s mom to go with you. Now, say thank you to Mr. Hudson.”
“It’s Ryan,” the pitcher said. “None of this Mr. Hudson stuff. Makes me think we’re talking about my dad.”
“Ryan, thank you,” Ben said, looking at the big man all starry-eyed. “We have to go because my brother’s autistic. He’s always autistic.”
“True, but he’s got a good arm. So do you.” Ryan rubbed Ben’s light brown buzz cut. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
Ben leaned in close to Ryan as he lowered himself onto his knee.
Even though Jamie wanted nothing more than to escape the ballpark after her embarrassing remark, she sat down on the bench, ostensibly to tie Drew’s shoes.
“Your brother is not just autistic. That’s not what defines him,” Ryan said. “He has autism, but he is so much more than that. He pays attention to detail. He noticed the seams on the ball and the spin. I bet he’s good at a lot of things.”
“Yeah, but he throws fits and then we have to go home.” Ben crossed his arms and pouted, disappointment written all across his face.
“Hey, if it’s okay with your mother, how about I go home with you, and then when Drew is quiet and feeling better, we can play catch in your backyard?”
Jamie closed her eyes and let Drew lean against her. He was busy munching on his chew tube and tracing the seam on the baseball. He seemed calm enough, and any urge to flee was her own fault for blurting her thoughts aloud.
“Mr. Hudson,” she said. “Drew is actually okay right now. If you still want to take Ben to the batting cage, Drew can stay with me in the bleachers.”
“It’s Ryan, and as long as everyone’s comfortable, then I’m good to hang out with you all day.” He emphasized the word comfortable, and Jamie had the distinct impression he was referring to her faux pas.
She might as well face it head on. Stiffening her spine, she drew her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “I was out of line back there, and I apologize.”
Playing for the Save (Men of Spring Baseball Book 3) Page 2