“So what if I did?” Jamie turned her chin up and returned his steely-eyed glare.
“You didn’t.” He snorted and his lips curled in disdain. “You wished. I can tell you’re trying to gloat. You know you still love me. You’re trying to make me jealous.”
“Andrew, you have no clue.” She turned her back on him and walked to the living room to continue her cleaning. “Since you’re so busy at work, you can let yourself out.”
She turned on the vacuum cleaner and drowned out his whiny, nasal tone. What had she ever seen in this ogre? Sure, he was her high school sweetheart, back before she understood that life wasn’t all roses and teddy bears, and how a guy treated you before you married him had no correlation to the reality of married life.
They might have been happy for about a year or two, and when Ben was born, she’d thought her life was set: an ambitious husband, a beautiful home, and a baby boy who smiled, asked questions, gave hugs, and played happily with others.
The true measure of a man was not when things were going well—but when challenges arose. And Andrew, for better or worse, went to the dark side.
The door slammed and Hurricane Andrew departed. Jamie shut off the vacuum cleaner, but she couldn’t shut off the slamming of her heart.
Andrew’s message was loud and clear. If she wanted his money to support Drew’s therapies, she’d better not step out with any other man.
Ryan toweled himself off after a shower and rotated his arm to loosen his shoulder socket. The Rattlers had lost after he gave up a two-run homer.
“Shoulder bothering you?” Kirk wandered by on his way to the shower.
“It’s tight. I better go see the trainer.” Ryan hated to admit it, but the joint was getting worse, not better.
“Josh said you didn’t throw the pitch he called. If you have a limitation, you should let us catchers know. It’s what we’re there for.”
Josh Johnson was the backup catcher, and he resented Ryan for being friends with Kirk, the starting catcher.
“Between you and me.” Ryan lowered his voice and looked around. “I think Josh is trying to ruin my arm.”
“Why would he do that? You’re the closer for the team.”
“True, but he’s buddies with that new guy, Hideo.”
“Hideo plays setup, but he doesn’t have the nerves you have.”
“Right, which is why I shouldn’t be throwing a fastball in the bottom of the ninth.”
“You can’t always rely on your trick pitches,” Kirk said. “I would have called a fastball on Wallace, too. You know they put him in because they were expecting a curve or slider.”
Ryan sighed and shrugged. “I screwed up.”
“Right, so you have to listen to us catchers. Trust me.” Kirk gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We know these batters.”
Ryan went back to his locker and rubbed cream over his sore shoulder. Even though no one overtly blamed him for the loss, and it was only spring training, he could feel the eyes on him and the whispers behind his back.
He was getting old. He hadn’t recovered from his injury. He should step aside and let a younger guy grow into the position.
He should retire.
That last thought froze his blood. Pitching was all he could do, and if he didn’t pitch, he had no purpose.
He pulled on his pants and a T-shirt and glanced at himself in his locker mirror. Gray hairs were starting to invade his temple, and the lines around his eyes were permanently etched, whether he smiled or frowned.
Thirty-eight was still young.
“How’s the shoulder?” Tom Patterson, the pitching coach, stopped by his locker.
“It’s not too bad,” Ryan said.
“Your fastballs are clocking south of eighty miles an hour.” Patterson rubbed it in. “Since this is preseason, I’m going to bench you for a week while you let the trainer put you through a round of PT.”
Ryan was experienced enough to know there was no use arguing with the pitching coach. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after the physical therapy. The doctor assured me the surgery was a success.”
“True, but you lost time with strength training.”
“I’m doing all the weights I can do,” Ryan said. “Hitting it every day.”
“Except you’re not a body builder. You need to balance the muscle groups.”
Ryan knew all of this, but again, he didn’t want to argue or contradict his coach. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. I’d hate to see you go back to the minors. We pay you a ton of money to win games.” Patterson gave him a pat on the back and wandered off to talk to the Fastball Crowd, all young Asians: Timmy Li, Jay Pak Ahn, and Hideo Honda, products of high-tech coaching.
Those boys grew up analyzing videos to get their mechanics down, whereas he was just a farm boy from Nebraska, throwing against a painted target on a barn.
He wasn’t out yet, and after the week layoff, he’d be back clocking the high nineties, or at least the low nineties.
Ryan twisted his arm and winced at the twinge of pain in his shoulder. He was going to spend the entire week hitting the weights nonstop. He could power through this season. No problem. He just had to focus, which meant no distractions.
Ryan left the clubhouse and checked his messages. Brock’s wife, Marcia, had agreed to go with him and Ben to the movies this weekend, but Jamie hadn’t texted him to confirm.
Marcia had also agreed to take Ben to the game, and the seven-year-old would be waiting and watching for him to come in to save the game—except it wouldn’t happen now that he was sidelined.
Maybe it was better if Brock became Ben’s hero.
He saw his friend head for the parking lot and caught up with him.
“Hey, remember that movie with Ben that Marcia and Bianca are going to?”
“Yeah, Bianca’s looking forward to it. I’m sure Ben is, too.”
“Are you busy?”
“Babysitting my boy,” Brock said. “Don’t think a one-year-old will stay put.”
“Nope, guess not. Hey, listen, something came up, and I was wondering if you could go with them. Ben’s really good with the bat, and you’re the slugger. If you can’t find a babysitter, I can watch the kid. Feed him his bottle and park him in the stroller between my sets.”
“So, let me get this straight. You can’t go to the movies, because you’re going to be lifting weights and babysitting?”
“Something like that.” Ryan put his left hand on his right shoulder to feel the joint move.
“Coach Patterson benched you, didn’t he?” Brock’s eyes filled with concern. “If the shoulder’s bothering you, you shouldn’t pitch. It isn’t as if this is the playoffs or anything.”
For Ryan, each pitch mattered, whether in an exhibition game or in the World Series. He had a mental movie of each and every pitch he’d ever thrown, and if it wasn’t perfect, it meant he wasn’t perfect—or even good enough.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Has Ryan called you yet?” Marcia asked Jamie the next day after she’d dropped off Ben at school.
Marcia’s baby boy slept in a stroller while Jamie held onto Drew’s leash. The two of them oftentimes took walks in the park across from the elementary school.
“No, not yet,” Jamie answered, unsure of whether she should appear eager or disappointed. After all, people said nice things and made promises they didn’t mean to keep.
Besides, her run-in with Andrew reminded her that she wasn’t the most attractive prospect for a hot, single ballplayer—even if it was taking her son to the movies and not her. Men always had ulterior motives, and if Ryan had found her irresistible, he would have called long ago and arranged the entire deal himself.
“I take it you all had a good time last weekend.” Marcia wheeled the stroller into a play area next to a park bench.
“We did. Best day in Ben’s life. He kept talking about it for days.” Jamie untied the leash from Drew’s harness and let him go into the play area.
Ben would be disappointed, but then again, he was used to it. His father was always dangling field trips and movies and then canceling at the last minute.
“Go ahead, Drew.” She gave her little one a nudge. “You like playing in the playground.”
Drew was fine with playing on the slides and climbing the jungle gyms. He did all of these normal things, but the only difference was he didn’t play with other children. He played alongside them, but in his own world.
“If you’d like to go with them, we can try watching Drew,” Marcia said, sweeping her dark brown hair back. “You just tell us what to do, what foods he’ll eat, and what videos he likes to watch.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you.” Jamie let out a tired breath. “He has so many special needs, it’s exhausting to even explain. I hate to even ask my mother to come over.”
Marcia had no idea how hard it was to babysit a child who was unpredictable even on the best days—one who couldn’t communicate and was liable to withdraw and regress if things went wrong from his perspective.
“Do you ever go out on your own?” Marcia laid a hand on Jamie’s knee. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. I actually need people to pry. It shows they care about me.” Jamie knew she sounded pathetic, but it felt good to have someone reach out to her and want to be her friend. “So go ahead, pry away.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Marcia said. She jiggled the stroller where her son lay asleep.
“I don’t either,” Jamie agreed. “Half the time I think I’m going crazy. I worry about everything, and I never feel I’m doing enough.”
“Do you get any help?”
Of course she wanted help, but how could anyone possibly help her? Mothering a child on the autism spectrum was likely the hardest job anyone could ever be called to do. She didn’t want to complain, but no one who hadn’t dealt with it firsthand had a clue. Sometimes, Jamie wanted to give up—wanted to go back to the time before Drew was diagnosed—wanted to run off and pretend it had never happened. It was exhausting, and frustrating, and depressing, but how could she admit it to anyone? Drew had no one else to rely on. No one but her, as imperfect and screwed up as she was.
She looked up at Marcia who was expecting a reply and nodded. “My mother helps. She feels guilty if she doesn’t help, so she pushes me to go get my hair done or go shopping, but I end up thinking about Drew the entire time, calling or texting, that I’d much rather be with him than worrying about him.”
“Wow. You don’t really get a break at all.”
“Never. It’s all consuming. Every bit of time we have, I try to get him to do something new. Like right now, I should be over there talking to him and getting him to interact with other children. I should be teaching him words and sounds, guiding his playtime.”
“Instead of sitting here having an adult conversation with me.” Marcia observed. “But Jamie, you need ‘you time.’ Everyone needs it.”
“Needing and getting are two different things,” Jamie said. “I do drop off Drew at his special school three days a week, and we have specialist appointments twice a week. We’re trying to get him to the point where he can go to regular kindergarten. Toilet training’s a big deal right now. He’s a smart kid, and I think he doesn’t want to be wearing Huggies, but he’s not so aware of when he needs to go, so we have to be on him every ten minutes. Doesn’t allow for me to go anywhere until he’s done.”
“It’ll come around. I’m sure it will,” Marcia said.
“It’s always a challenge,” Jamie said. “I have to teach him every skill that other children pick up on naturally. Every milestone, and I worry that I didn’t do enough. Early intervention makes a big difference with the outcome of autism, and you never know if you could have done more, because you don’t know your child’s true potential.”
“I’m sure you’re doing the best you can,” Marcia said. “Brock says Ryan really enjoyed playing with Drew. He thinks Drew can become a pitcher someday.”
“He’s just being nice.” Jamie said, wishing she didn’t have to talk about Ryan with Marcia. Just thinking about him gave her all sorts of strange feelings, and she didn’t have the luxury of indulging in them. She had a little boy who consumed all of her energy and another one who needed her attention. She had nothing left to devote to anyone else, especially someone as accomplished as Ryan Hudson.
She was dragging her feet in calling him, even though she had arranged for Marcia and Bianca to go with Ben. It wasn’t that she was afraid to call, but that he hadn’t given her any indication he thought about her after their time together. Not even a text to say he had a good time or to say he looked forward to the movie.
But then again, it was her fault for reading too much into his gestures. He flirted with her, sure, but he probably flirted with all unattached women. He was doing his job appreciating fans and being an ambassador for the team. Nothing more.
Her heart heavy, she got up from the bench and went over to Drew who ignored a little boy trying to talk to him.
“Hi,” she said to the boy whose mother was nearby walking a dog. “What’s your name?”
“Tyler,” the dark-skinned boy said. “Why doesn’t he talk?”
“He’s shy, but I bet if you talk nicely to him, he’ll answer back.”
She positioned herself so Drew would have to face her and said, “Drew, say ‘hi’ to Tyler. I know you heard him.”
Drew screwed up his face into a pucker mouth, showing he’d heard and understood everything.
“Maybe if you say ‘hi,’ you can show him how you throw a ball.”
“I hit the circle,” Drew said.
“You sure did,” Jamie exclaimed. This was more words than he’d strung together for a long time. “You can show Tyler how you hit the circle.”
Drew shook his head vehemently. “I show Ryan.”
“Ryan’s not here, but Tyler is.” Jamie hooked a look at the other boy who’d already lost interest in Drew.
“I show Ryan.” Drew moved his arm as if throwing a ball. “I hit circle.”
“Yes, you hit the circle. You’re a good pitcher,” Jamie said. “You show Ben when he gets home from school. Play catch with Ben, okay?”
Drew didn’t answer. He walked right by her and swung his arm overhead. “I throw ball like Ryan.”
Jamie’s heart did leaps and bounds at Drew saying so many words, but at the same time, she put a lid on her overly excited heart.
One day with Ryan Hudson was all their little family would get. It was like curtsying to the Queen—unforgettable from one side, but making no impression on the other.
One thing was sure. She couldn’t let her boys get too attached to Ryan. They’d already been rejected by their own father. She couldn’t stand to have them hurt again because a baseball player wanted to do a good deed and earn some publicity for his team.
He’d lost no time in posting pictures of them on his social media, and he was obviously talking about Drew in a way that made him seem like a hero—helping an autistic child learn how to pitch.
After making hay with the publicity, he’d leave the three of them. If she got too involved, not only would she be picking up pieces of her heart, but also those of her two vulnerable sons.
Decision made. She wasn’t going to call Ryan about the movie. He’d probably forgotten already. Instead, she’d take up her mother’s offer to babysit Drew and take Ben herself.
She was the only mother either boy had, and let no one say she neglected one for the other.
A blood-curdling scream came from the slide. Drew had climbed to the top and cut in front of a little girl. He barely pushed her as he went by and slid down while she sat screaming on the top. Jamie saw the entire sequence as if in slow motion and instant replay, and she rushed to his side.
“Drew, you have to wait your turn,” she said, relieved that the other child hadn’t been hurt.
From the side of her eye, she spied a man and a woma
n approach.
Instead of speaking to her, the man rushed toward Drew and yelled, “Hey you. No cutting the line. What do you think you’re doing?”
Drew screamed and flapped his hands, then ran and hid under the slide.
The little girl, meanwhile, slid down the slide and was perfectly happy. She ran around and started to climb the ladder again, but her mother grabbed her around the waist and said, “Let’s go. There are some bad kids around here assaulting people.”
“I’m really sorry,” Jamie said. “He didn’t mean to push. He’s not aware of his surroundings.”
“There’s no excuse.” The man got in her face. “Your son is out of control.”
“I’m sorry. My kid has autism. We’re trying to teach him social skills, but he probably thought your daughter didn’t want to slide down.” Jamie wanted to go to Drew, who was cowering under the slide, but the man blocked her.
“That’s an excuse for bad parenting,” the man said. “Your son is rude and violent.”
“He’s just a kid,” Marcia said, coming to their side with her stroller. “Your daughter is fine. So he cut in front of her.”
While Marcia argued with the couple, Jamie retrieved Drew from under the slide. He was frightened and stiff, making little squeaks of panic and flapping his hands.
“If your child has problems, he shouldn’t be out in public terrorizing decent folks,” the woman said in a haughty voice. She herded her daughter away as if Drew were a wild animal she had to protect against.
“Eee, eee, eee,” Drew squeaked in a high-pitched voice, piercing Jamie’s heart. He refused her hugs and pushed at her, not accepting her comfort.
Jamie’s heart broke for the millionth time for her sweet little oblivious boy. She loved this amazing kid who struggled so hard to make sense of a world he didn’t understand. She blinked back tears and said to Marcia, “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
“Oh, gosh, don’t apologize to me.” Marcia put her hand over Jamie’s shoulder. “Those people were way out of line.”
“It’s my fault for not watching him.” Jamie shook her head, bowed down by the weight of exactly how much she and Drew didn’t fit in. “Now he’ll be afraid of going to the park.”
Playing for the Save (Men of Spring Baseball Book 3) Page 4