But now, with Frankie, with the boys, his thoughts had shifted again. He was thinking more about rebuilding. Putting things—himself—back together in a different way. He was starting to think that there might be other ways to keep baseball part of his life. The scents of leather and sweat when he entered the gym made him smile. The steady thwack of the ball as it kissed the glove brought a burst of pleasure to his chest. There were mesh nets set up in the massive space, separated so four kids at a time could work on their swing. He saw Carter immediately. Ryan was pleased to see him rolling his wrists, just like he’d taught him. Coach Marsh waddled over to him, pit stains showing on his graying collared shirt. He wore a red hat with the West Lake Wild Cats symbol stitched in. He had a clipboard under one arm and an ear-to-ear smile on his meaty face.
“Look who showed up,” he barked out. His voice raked over Ryan’s nerves but he wasn’t here for Marsh. “Boys! Get over here. Everyone over here now.” Marsh’s yell bounced off the walls and every player stopped what they were doing and hustled over to their coach.
Ryan could tell by looking at them which ones were short stops, catchers, or pitchers. The way they carried themselves and their body type was often a giveaway. Ryan’s eyes locked on Carter’s, but where he’d hoped to see happiness, instead he saw irritation. It flashed in Carter’s dark gaze and his lip curled in a sneer. Great. Square one. Marsh puffed out his chest as the boys and Stuart crowded around.
“Anyone know who we have here?” Marsh asked. Ryan figured if the coach pushed his chest out any farther, he’d fall over. The boys looked at him and he could see recognition on many of their faces.
“Ryan Walker. Heavy hitter for the Angels. Used to play for the Dodgers and the Padres. MVP three times,” said a tall kid in the back, his white-blond hair unsure of which direction to stand in.
“Twice actually,” Ryan corrected.
Coach Marsh beamed and slapped a paw on Ryan’s back. “He’s going to be helping out at one practice a week. This is a rare opportunity, boys, and one I suggest you not take lightly. We want to actually go somewhere this year? This is our ticket,” Coach Marsh told them.
Ryan didn’t like the wording. He was nobody’s ticket. “Actually, your ticket is hard work, listening, and practicing constantly,” Ryan said to the boys. He’d worked with teens before in afternoon camps and publicity events, but never on a regular basis with an actual team. Glancing at Marsh, Ryan noted that he looked miffed at being corrected.
“You guys are going to line up so we can work on catching mechanics. Ryan is going to spend this practice observing. He’s going to give you feedback and you’re going to say thank you very much and do exactly as he says.”
The coach backed up a little and the kids started to spread out. It was a boy who’d already turned away that brought them back to the group. “Think he’ll teach us how to beat a drug possession charge and knock the teeth out of a guy all in one day or maybe he’ll spread it out?”
“Beader. Get back here now,” Coach growled. The boys all turned and the kid walked toward them with his face reddening right up to his ears. Coach stood toe to toe with him. They were about the same height.
“I hear something like that again and you’ll be the team’s toilet cleaner. You got that? Apologize to Mr. Walker!”
“Sorry, sir.” The kid looked down at his shoes and Ryan just shook his head. Nothing this sixteen-year-old kid said was going to hurt his feelings.
“Anyone else want to talk trash over what they heard in some rag magazine? Or do you want to thank your lucky-damn stars that we have an honest-to-God major league baseball player standing in our gymnasium willing to share what he knows with the lackluster lot of you?”
No one said a word. They spread out, forming two lines and facing each other. Carter hung back a moment, presumably to glare at Ryan from up close.
“How you doing, Carter?”
Carter said nothing, just turned and took his spot in line. Ryan watched as they found their rhythm, every kid in one line throwing to his partner in the other line. Every ball hit the glove in tandem. Every arm came back at the same time, every follow through was in sync, back and forth, back and forth. Ryan watched the mechanics, how they held their shoulders when they threw the ball, where their eyes were when they caught it. The boys did this for a good fifteen minutes before breaking off into the various areas of the gym. Ryan followed the hitters, wanting to see who stood out. He leaned against the wall as the first kid adjusted his grip on the bat and gave a couple practice swings. Ryan wanted to see him hit before he said anything. His jersey said Vander. He’d need to learn their names, but the jerseys helped. Vander swung for real, connected, and dropped his stance. Ryan walked up to him.
“When you swing, you want to take a smaller step toward the pitcher. Transfer your weight from the back foot to the front foot,” he told him, modeling what he meant. The kid took the bat and slowly replayed Ryan’s motions. Ryan gestured to do it again. And again. Then he stood back and Vander hit a couple more before Carter came up.
“You going to keep pretending you don’t know me?” Ryan asked while Carter took a few practice swings.
“Ain’t pretending. I don’t know you. Not like I thought anyway,” Carter answered. With so many others around, Ryan didn’t want to get into it with him. Plus, he didn’t want the team bugging him or treating him differently because Carter was connected to Ryan. Though he sure as hell didn’t feel connected right now. He watched Carter swing and hit the ball. He wasn’t focused. His head was somewhere else and Ryan told him that. Carter responded with a withering look that was like a fist to the gut. To give himself a minute, Ryan walked away to speak with Marsh. The rest of the practice went well. Ryan tried to learn the kid’s names, positions. If the weather showed any decency the following week, he was going to get them out on the field.
As he walked back to his truck, about to dial Frankie’s cell phone, he saw Carter walking with a couple of the other guys. He called to him and watched the kid hesitate then say something to his friends before coming toward Ryan.
“What?”
Ryan unlocked his truck, leaned against it, and leveled his gaze at Carter. The sweater he was wearing was too big, the hood practically swallowing him.
“What’s your problem?”
Carter laughed and the sound of it, bitter and hard, soured Ryan’s stomach.
“Seriously, Carter. I get that you’re mad. Maybe worried and even sad. But why the hell are you so mad at me?” Ryan asked, stepping toward him.
Carter’s eyes burned with resentment and, if Ryan wasn’t mistaken, tears. He looked like the words were being forced from his throat when he finally answered.
“It was the first time I ever felt like we were gonna be okay, you know? Shit. When she found us, I thought we were done. Then she took care of Miles and he got better. She didn’t hate us, she fed us, and she seemed to like us. Nothing more I ever coulda wanted. Then you come around, pretending like you care. All you wanted was into her pants, even if you had to buddy up to us to get there,” Carter said. Despite his words, he kept his tone even. Ryan let the shock hit him first. Then he found his own pissed off and stepped toward Carter, forcing Carter to either step back or look up. Carter stepped back.
“First, watch how you talk about her. If I was looking to just get laid, trust me when I say I don’t need to play games or cozy up to three hard-headed kids to get there. Second, I don’t get why, all of a sudden, you think it’s pretending. What in the world would make you think that I used you three to get to Frankie? You know that’s not how it went and you know damn well that Frankie’s not the type to get played that way.”
Carter’s breathing became heavier and his shoulders rose and fell. He turned away, leaned against the truck, and looked down at the ground, wet from a sprinkling of snow. Ryan thought Carter would walk away. But he just kept leaning and Ryan kept watching, not knowing what to say. Thinking there was nothing else to do, Ryan opened th
e door of his truck.
“See you next week, man,” he said. He paused with his hand on the handle when Carter spoke.
“You could make this go away. You could fix this. If you wanted to, you could fix this.” Carter’s voice sounded impossibly young for the weariness that his eyes expressed. Ryan shut the door softly and came back to stand in front of Carter.
“How? How can I fix this?”
“Dude, you got more money than God. You got lawyers and shit. Athletes are always getting out of stuff, skirting the system. You made your drug charges go away, got people to apologize to you and everything. I seen in the paper and online that they want you back. Your name is good again so you could make stuff happen. Ain’t no movie star or pro athlete that can’t get what they want.”
Ryan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them and waited until Carter looked at him. “Some of that is true, Carter. But I’m going to do you a favor right now and tell you that people who find a way out of the trouble they cause in any way other than being accountable for it are cowards. I got the charges dismissed because they were false. I made money because I worked my ass off and didn’t piss it away. You want something to last in this life, you do it right. You don’t find the short cuts. You want me to pay someone off so you can come home? What happens when that same person comes back a few months from now, wants more money to keep you there?” Ryan asked. Carter said nothing, kicking at the gravel and mud with the toe of his shoe.
“Frankie’s busting her ass to get you guys back. I’m doing what I need to do to support her. But she needs to know that she got you guys back because that’s where you’re supposed to be, not because I greased some palms. Part of the reason I walked away from that life was because I was tired of pretending. And I won’t do it now, even if it hurts your feelings. We do this right, by the book, or we don’t do it at all. That’s the only way to do it. I’m sorry if that pisses you off.”
Still Carter said nothing and Ryan’s heart squeezed. He wanted to make everything better, but he didn’t need the media twists that would result from exchanging money for favors. He wasn’t about to tell Carter all the things that could blow up if the media caught wind of this. He wanted a life, not another damn circus, and he felt like he was finally in a position to get it. He wanted the same thing as Carter, but he was old enough to know that there was a right way and a wrong way to get it. He sighed and Carter looked up.
“I just want to come home,” Carter said, his voice rough, like the gravel he was kicking. His wide, dark eyes shone and Ryan felt the kid’s sadness like an anvil dropped on his chest. He grabbed Carter’s shoulder, went with instinct, and yanked him forward into an awkward hug.
Ryan was surprised that Carter didn’t pull away, but instead, just leaned on Ryan for a minute. Then, with a loud sniff, he pulled back, put his cool demeanor back in place.
“You want a ride?”
“Nah. I’ll see you next week, right?”
“Right.”
He watched Carter until he was most of the way across the field, until he was a small shape in the distance. Sadness shuffling into the darkness. Ryan got into his truck feeling like the pressure in his chest was going to undo him. Carter, Travis, and Miles needed more than someone to pay their way. They needed someone to care for them. Love them no matter what. And they needed it to be for good. Frankie was doing all the right things to make that happen. There was a process and she was following it. Taking the long way would be worth it in the end. He hoped.
Chapter 30
Frankie hadn’t considered sticking her finger down her throat since she was fifteen years old and Melissa Carlisle told her she was too chicken to try. But waiting for the social worker to show up, inspect her house, deem her worthy to care for three boys she’d already been caring for, was causing a storm in her stomach that might only be relieved by throwing up.
She was on step four of six. Leslie had been a saint, helping her with the paperwork and the initial process. She was right, thinking that the woman would make a good long-term friend. But she’d signed over Frankie’s file when it was time for the home visit. Conflict of interest and lack of objectivity and all that. The counters gleamed when Frankie walked into the kitchen. She’d set her weak attempt at baking on the counter. The cookies looked scary and a bit misshapen, but she’d snuck a taste and they weren’t that bad. They weren’t Travis cookies, but they’d do. They’d show she tried. That she cared. Right?
When her phone rang, she checked the caller ID. She was avoiding calls from anyone that shared her last name. When all of this was over, she’d tell them one way or the other. But she didn’t want their opinions, or their disdain, while she was in the middle of it all. Ryan’s smiling, partially exasperated face showed on her screen. She’d taken the shot while he was trying to teach her the difference between a clean-up hitter and a clutch hitter.
“Hey,” she said, her voice steady even if her hands were not.
“Hi. I’m just waiting for Max and Daniel at the airport. I missed your voice,” he said. Butterflies tickled her ribcage. They liked the sound of his voice. So did the rest of her body.
“That’s a good thing to say.”
“Don’t be nervous, Frankie,” he said, reading her even over the phone.
“Okay. And you don’t be so good looking or funny or good at baseball, all right?”
He laughed and the sound tamed the butterflies in her stomach. “Everything is going to be okay.” He sounded so sure and she wished she could grab some of his confidence and make it her own. His certainty gave her strength and she hoped that was enough. Her fingers tightened on the phone. She started to ask the question that had been lodged in her throat for days.
“Ryan, what if…they’re going to ask me a lot of questions.”
“I know, honey. You’ll do great.”
“They’ll ask about relationships.” The words burned coming out. She felt like she was saddling him with baggage. Here, take this: three kids and me. No pressure.
“As far as I know, you’re in one.” His voice still held traces of amusement, but it was tighter. Each word was more pointed.
“What if they ask about your involvement with the boys and the impact it might have on them if we, if you decide, if we don’t…” She didn’t want to say it. Saying it could make it true. Or if she said it and it came true, she’d be sure that she was the reason why. She’d spend the rest of her life wishing that she hadn’t said it out loud. The room felt too warm; her clothes too tight. She stood perfectly still, wishing she’d said nothing.
“Frankie.” There was so much emotion in that one word. It was there. For both of them and neither of them were brave enough to say it. But she felt it. She heard it and she latched on, let it soothe the tension in her shoulders. With just his tone, he calmed her from the inside out.
“We’re together. There’s nowhere else I want to be. There’s no one else, Frankie. That’s where we are.”
Her heart actually squeezed hard enough to make her chest ache. Pressing her fist to her breastbone, she pushed, trying to counteract the pressure that was building. There was a knock at the door.
“I have to go.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting your brother and your friend.”
She took a few deep breaths as she set her phone down. She’d never been a particularly clingy woman, but she felt needy right now. There were too many things, too much need, and she didn’t want to push it all onto Ryan.
Straightening her shoulders and telling herself that she was a successful, capable woman, she walked purposefully to the door. She didn’t even stop to check that her blouse buttons hadn’t popped open or that her skirt wasn’t twisted. She was determined to exude confidence. Swinging the door open, a smile in place, she gave a small squeak.
“Aw! You dressed up for me,” Chloe squealed. She rushed in, wrapping Frankie in a hug. Frankie hugged her back tightly, swallow
ing the lump in her throat and shedding her confidence.
“What are you doing here?” she said, extricating herself from Chloe’s embrace. Chloe Warner was six foot one and excessively feminine, not an easy thing to pull off when you towered over most people. Frankie shut the door, nerves waging an uproar in her stomach.
“I came to see my best friend. I missed you. And you’re going through all this; you sounded so down, I just wanted to be here. I told you I was coming,” she said. She filled the room just with her personality, never mind the oversized suitcase she dragged in.
“I have a social worker coming Chloe. She’s going to be here any minute,” Frankie said, trying to trap the panic in her throat so it wouldn’t explode.
“Okay. Bad timing. Sorry, hon. I can go into town, at least I think that was a town I passed on the way here. There were, like, three restaurants and a corner store.”
Frankie stepped in to hug her again, feeling like a child hugging an adult.
“That was the town. There’s not much to do there. Um. Oh, I know. Hang on,” Frankie said, running from the living room as fast as her pencil skirt would allow. She grabbed her keys and ran her hand over the one Ryan had given her for his house. In case of emergencies, he’d said. That’s what neighbors did. She bit back the smile and brought the keys to Chloe.
“Go next door.”
“Ooh, I get to meet him right away?”
“Ryan’s getting his brother and friend from the airport. He won’t be home for a couple of hours. Don’t move his stuff or try to feng shui anything,” Frankie warned.
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