He stopped, pinched his finger and thumb into his eyes to rub away the sleep. His body ached, worn out from building the ramp, then adding three days of cleanup around town, a favor to Sam he couldn’t say no to. But the honest work felt like a vacation away from the internet and the buzz of his dying career on social media.
Not dying—just at a full-out halt. “I don’t need Hollie.”
“You need to get back to Nashville and into the studio. It’s make or break time, Benjamin. We need to wow the label with something fresh and new from you if you want to hang on to your future.”
“I don’t have anything fresh and new!” Aw shoot, and there it was, out there for Goldie to scrutinize. He cut his voice down before she jumped on his words, his tone. “I’m just a little blocked is all.”
“Give it up, Benjamin. You haven’t written anything original since the Mountain Storyteller album. But we promised the label something amazing from you and you’re going to deliver if I have to come up there and drag you down to Nashville myself. You know how this business is—out of sight, out of mind, and you’ve been out of sight for too long, my friend. If you don’t want to disappear completely, we need to give the press something. Tell them you’re back in the studio.”
“I have things to take care of—”
“Then take care of them, and then get back and get busy.” She schooled her voice. “Listen. Dig deep, find something sing-along-able, like ‘Mountain Song’—”
“That was a one-of-a-kind song.”
“No, Benjamin, it wasn’t. You have more of that in you. You just need to find it.”
He heard voices and glanced over to the field, spotted the team arriving. Girls dressed in blue T-shirts, softball pants, cleats. He located Audrey, her chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, a silky mane through the hole in her baseball cap.
He nearly lifted his hand in a wave, but suddenly the sight of her, the immensity of walking into her life, of her knowing—
He couldn’t screw this up. Not only for Audrey, but suddenly it felt like this might be his chance to hold on to something that mattered.
“I gotta run, Goldie. You’re right—time to move on.”
“Benjamin—”
He clicked off, pocketed his cell phone, and walked over to the backstop where Audrey and her teammates took practice hits from their coach, a middle-aged man sporting a Sunday afternoon couch-surfing paunch and a worn cap over a bald head. Ben guessed that his daughter probably played for the team.
Ben hadn’t tried to go incognito today, just wore the first things he grabbed out of his bag—a gray T-shirt, faded jeans, cowboy boots, his old Mercy Falls Mavericks baseball cap, aviators.
He didn’t expect her to notice him, although he could admit he hoped it as he hung a couple fingers on the chain link, watching as she came to bat, touched the bat to the plate, assumed her stance.
For a second, she became Kacey, the sun catching the gold strands in her hair, the determination in her jaw so cute he couldn’t help but smile. Then, Audrey raised the bat and Ben was back in the present, watching her swing.
Whiff.
He must have made a sound because she turned, frowned. Then stepped back from the plate.
“Benjamin King? You’re here at my game?” She came over then, grinning, tipping up her hat. “What are you doing here?”
“Your mom invited me.” He didn’t think before the words came out, and when her jaw dropped, he thought he might have come better prepared. “I mean, she mentioned you had a game today, and I’m still in town, so I thought I’d stop by . . .” And that sounded lame, but thankfully she bought it.
“Wow, really? Okay.” She glanced at the dugout, where a couple teammates had come out, curious. “Just to let you know, we’re pretty bad. And I’m not that good of a hitter.”
“Aw, I just love a good softball game,” he said, wanting to ease the embarrassment in her expression. “Although, if I can give you a pointer—you’re too far choked up on the bat. Hold it further down—you’ll have more power.”
She moved her grip as he spoke, and now he came around the fence. “Can I show you?”
She nodded and handed him the bat. He drew a square in the dirt, then got into position. He showed her his grip. “Grip the bat where your calluses are. Your left hand or bottom hand controls the bat. The top one gives it stability and direction. Keep your wrists flexible.” He wiggled the bat.
He stepped up to the plate and signaled to the dad on the mound. “Pitch me something.”
The man gave him a look but looped the ball to him.
He connected with a satisfying crack that split the morning air. The ball arched up, and the right fielder held her mitt high, one hand over her face to block the sun.
The ball soared over her head, hit the far wall.
“That was awesome! Did you play baseball or something?”
Audrey’s voice raised behind him, and he allowed himself a grin. “Something.” Years of watching Kacey perfect her swing, practicing with her over and over.
He turned and handed Audrey the bat. “You try.”
She assumed the position, worked through a couple swings. He adjusted her grip on the bat, then stepped behind her and guided her swing.
Then she stepped up to the plate.
Her first swing parted the air, missed.
“Eye on the ball, Audrey. You’re looking good.”
She glanced over her shoulder, grinned at him, and his heart felt like it might burst.
The next pitch came in low, but she adjusted and connected, a pop fly into center field.
She dropped the bat, squealing. “I did it!”
He grinned, held up his hand for a high five.
“I can’t believe Benjamin King taught me how to hit!” She picked up the bat, ran back to the dugout.
He didn’t know why his heart sank just a little.
No. Her dad had taught her how to hit.
Still, he kept his smile as he turned to the bleachers.
He startled, though, when he saw Kacey standing just beyond the chain-link fence. She wore a blue and white shirt with baseball sleeves, a blue cap, and a pair of faded jeans, her auburn hair down, curly and blowing in the wind.
The sight of her could still stop him cold, turn his entire body to a live wire. Except for her expression—her mouth was a tight bud of disapproval, her arms folded akimbo.
“Really?” she said as he walked over.
“What?”
“This is how you ease into her life? By making yourself her softball hero?”
“Did you see that hit? Hey, Sierra.”
He should have guessed that Kacey’s best friend might show up to offer reinforcements. And it occurred to him then that Sierra, who’d helped him search for Ian’s niece three years ago, clearly had known about Audrey.
And lied to his face. Or at least left out pertinent information. His realization must have shown in his expression because she gave him a quick smile, something sheepish in it. And went right to her defense, as if she could read his mind.
“You never brought it up, and it wasn’t any of my business.”
He shook his head. “How many people in Mercy Falls know what a fool I am?” he asked as he followed Kacey onto the bleachers.
“Just Sierra. And Willow, probably. But let’s remember that I thought you knew.” Kacey climbed up on the bleachers. “And thought you just didn’t want to be in her life.”
“Well, now I want in,” he said, sitting down beside Kacey.
He didn’t miss the look exchanged between Kacey and Sierra.
“What?”
“You don’t have to sit with us,” Sierra said from beside Kacey.
He was about to chase her words with a “why not?” but he followed her gaze.
Oh. Across the lawn, carrying folding chairs, came the honorable Robert Fairing and his lovely wife, Laura, dressed in their softball fan gear.
Right.
He looked at Ka
cey. “Did you ask him about what happened?”
“Of course I did. And he claims he did it for our good—yours too.”
“And you believe him.”
“He said he never dreamed you’d just leave town.”
Maybe he would go sit somewhere else.
“Kacey, seriously. He destroyed—forget it. I’m talking to him. He owes me—us—an apology. Accountability. He is a judge, after all.”
He made to rise, but Kacey’s hand fell to his arm. “Just sit here, please, Ben.”
Something about her tone stopped him.
“If you go over there, you and my dad are going to have a big fight. Which will only attract attention—Audrey’s attention. And then suddenly we’ll have a very public personal family moment that she—we—don’t need.”
He watched as Audrey ran over, wrapped her arms around Judge Fairing’s waist. He adjusted her cap, and Laura bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek before Audrey ran back to the field.
They walked past them and set up camp down the field, near third base.
And then the Judge cast a look toward Kacey.
It took only a second for his gaze to fall on Ben, and he was ready for it, met it with a steel eye. Yes, Kacey had nailed it—there would be a very ugly public fight, and then the truth would come out.
Ben took a breath and looked away. “Fine.”
He might have imagined it, but it seemed as if Kacey let out a breath she’d been holding in.
The stands had filled, and he noticed Jess saunter in with Gage Watson. She lifted a hand to them and climbed up on the bleachers to sit in front of them. “Gage’s kid sister is coaching for the other team,” she said, pointing to the brunette stationed at first base.
“Batter up!”
Ben had forgotten the simple joy of sitting on the bleachers, watching his girl play softball. Yeah, the guys might have laughed at him, but he didn’t mind sitting in the sun, cheering on Kacey, dreaming of hanging out with her after the game. The sun soaking into his skin, the smell of brats sizzling on a nearby grill, the cheer of the crowd, the sweet taste of anticipation as Kacey took the field.
“Audrey plays shortstop,” he said quietly.
“Mmmhmm,” Kacey said. “She’s got my arm.”
Indeed. Two at bats later, Audrey scooped up a line drive and threw the runner out at first, ending the inning with no runs.
“Wow.” He pressed his hand to his chest, against a strange swell of pride.
“I know. She went to softball camp last summer.”
He sat through the next three innings without speaking, listening to Kacey and Sierra cheer, catch up on schoolmates, and comment on Willow’s latest beau.
Audrey’s team scored a run off a bases-loaded hit, and he found his feet, cheering wildly.
Kacey high-fived the other parents around her.
How easily Kacey slipped back into this life. As if she belonged.
He wanted that—to slip back into a life where he belonged. But the fact was, even after years in the music industry, he didn’t know where—or if—he belonged.
Sure, Benjamin King and his larger-than-life persona still had a foothold in Nashville, but the Ben King who just wanted a basket of fries and a brat off the grill, to take his girl down to the Gray Pony and sing her a song from the stage, to go stargazing from the back of his pickup afterward—that Ben he’d somehow lost along the way and didn’t know how to find him again.
Unless . . .
“What if I stuck around?” He said it softly—so softly that he thought Kacey didn’t hear him.
But she’d stilled next to him. Then, quietly, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if I hung up my music career for now and moved back for good. Stayed here to be a real dad to—”
“Shh!”
He recoiled and glanced at her. Her widened eyes, the way she glanced around to the scattered crowd, made his jaw tighten.
“We can’t keep this a secret forever.”
“No, but this is a small town,” she said under her breath.
“And that’s what I’m talking about. I want her to find out—I’m dying to tell her, Kacey. And I know that you’re freaked out about me leaving. But what if I didn’t leave? What if—”
“Seriously?” She turned to him, and her expression made him recoil.
“What?”
“Now I’m the bad guy? You’re going to give up your entire career so I’ll let you drop a bomb in my daughter’s life.”
“Our daughter.”
“Whatever.”
And that was just not right. He grabbed her hand, leaned over to Sierra. “We’ll be right back.”
Then he turned to Kacey. “We need to talk.”
She rolled her eyes but got up and followed him off the bleachers. “I’d better not miss anything.”
But he still had her hand and pulled her behind the opposing bleachers, then all the way to the end, near right field, out of earshot of the fans.
He finally let go. Took a breath. “Kacey, it’s not whatever to me. I’ve had five days to think about this. I want to be on that field helping coach her, showing up for the games, and then spending the evening teaching her how to play the guitar.”
Kacey folded her arms. “You want to be Fun Dad. Of course you do—because that’s what you do best. Show up and put on a show. You’re all about the performance, whether it’s rescuing kids off mountains or singing a country song.”
Her words stung, and he gaped at her, just long enough to get his footing. “No, I’m ready to be not-Fun Dad too. Did you hear the part about me sticking around?”
Kacey raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you think so. But I know better than anyone how hard it is to be a part-time parent. I haven’t been good at it—and I’m trying to change that. But it hasn’t been easy for her, for any of us. And yeah, you might be able to go back to Nashville and still be a big star, but at some point, she’ll need you and you’ll eventually have to choose. And that’s when you’ll turn on me, remind me how I’ve destroyed your life, your dreams.”
He stilled. “What do you mean, destroyed my dreams?”
“Oh, don’t tell me that thought didn’t go through your head when you found out I was pregnant.”
He glanced across the field, his gaze settling on the Judge and the Mrs. “Is that what your dad said?”
“No . . . yes, but it doesn’t matter. Being a parent isn’t just a part-time job. And I know this from firsthand experience. You can’t just whiz in and out of her life. She deserves better, from both of us. But you’ve worked hard for your career, and I don’t want you to give it up—”
Top of the ninth inning, one run behind, and he heard the crack of a bat as the other team landed a hit. He watched the ball line-drive to right field. The runner from second slammed into Audrey, flattening her into the dirt.
“Hey!”
Kacey’s hand tightened on his arm.
“She’s fine.” Kacey wore a small smile. “Calm down.”
Audrey had popped back up to her feet, dusting herself off.
But he turned to Kacey, suddenly hot. “Let me decide what I want to give up, okay?”
She stepped back, hands up. “Fine. But I swear, if you break her heart, Ben—”
“I won’t.” He met her eyes then. “I promise.”
She blinked then, clearly rattled by his words. “Okay. But you still have to wait to tell her until I think she’s ready.”
“How about on her birthday next week?”
Kacey stilled. “You remembered.”
“Of course. Every year, on the 16th, I remember.” He couldn’t place the strange curl of hurt at her tone. “Just because I walked away doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”
“Right.”
But her expression softened when she turned back to him. “Okay. Her birthday. But only if you mean it, Ben. I’m not going to upset her entire world without some promises.”
He held up two fingers,
Boy Scout style, and for the first time since he’d seen her again, she gave him a smile that he recognized, one that accompanied a shine in her eyes, the kind of smile that could find its way inside, make him believe that everything would be okay.
Another hit behind them, and he turned just in time to see Audrey field the pop fly and then run in to the dugout.
He glanced at Kacey, and they took off for the bleachers. He sat beside Sierra, Kacey on the other side.
Sierra looked white, her expression drawn. She wasn’t watching the game.
He followed Sierra’s gaze over to the form of Ian Shaw, who stood near the backstop fence, talking with Sam Brooks, who was dressed in his uniform.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The first at bat took first base on a walk.
“Audrey’s up to bat!” Kacey’s hand squeezed his arm.
His pocket began to buzz, and he dug it out, one eye on Audrey.
She whiffed on the first pitch—strike one.
“Eye on the ball! Keep your shoulders loose!” He glanced at the display. Oh no.
Hollie Montgomery.
The second pitch came in—a ball.
He hesitated a moment, then answered the phone. “What?”
“Seriously, Ben?”
He wasn’t sure who said it, Kacey or Hollie, but he climbed over Kacey and jumped off the bleachers. “I’m in the middle of something—”
“Oh, Benji—I think I made a terrible mistake!”
He stilled. “Hollie, are you okay?”
“I—”
“Strike!”
He turned back to the game, saw Audrey’s shoulders slump.
“I need you, Ben. I know I screwed up, but I’m in over my head. I need—”
He put his hand over his ear. “I can’t hear you, Hollie.”
The next pitch came in wide. He walked to the back of the bleachers, caught her words.
“ . . . quit on me, and now I don’t have anyone. And I’m so sorry that I hurt you and won’t you please forgive me. We can work it out.”
A crack, like a shot. He turned in time to see the softball clear the head of the right fielder.
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