by Emma Renshaw
“Delilah!” Gunner called, catching up to me and gently pulling me to a walk. “You can’t run in there guns blazing if you don’t want Tuck to know anything is wrong. I was raised by a single mom, and I love her the way Tuck loves you. I noticed everything and always jumped to protect her if I thought something was amiss. Betting Tuck is the same.”
I sucked air into my lungs and released it. “He is.”
“Okay. Let’s find them. I’ll distract him, we can play a game or go to the batting cages. You can say you’re going to grab a pizza and look for her. Maybe you can talk to her and suss out the situation. Colt and I will keep anyone away from him. I promise.”
“Thanks, slugger,” I whispered.
Gunner opened the large black glass door for me. My gaze flew over the area until I spotted Tucker’s dark hair. Colt was almost plastered to his side and was turning his head from side to side like it was on a swivel.
“Tucker,” Gunner called with a grin on his face as we got closer to them. Tucker looked over his shoulder and dropped the Skee-Ball in his hand before running up to us.
“What are you doing here?”
“Your mom told me that y’all were at an arcade. That sounded like fun, so I convinced your mom to play hooky from our cooking class to come hang with you.”
Tucker smiled and I stepped around him, ruffling his hair. I wanted to bring him into my arms and squeeze him as tightly as I could, never letting him go, but Gunner was right. He would know something was wrong and would be on high alert. I never wanted him to have the burden of these secrets on his little shoulders. It was my job to protect him from that.
I sidled up to Colt and whispered, “Do you know where she is?”
He inclined his head to the side and indicated the far corner of the arcade. Eight years. It’d been eight full years. I didn’t know what to expect. Would I see an older version of the eleven-year-old I remembered? The one from before the drugs? Or would I see an unrecognizable version of that girl? I pictured every drug-addicted person I’d ever seen on a movie or TV and multiplied it by twenty. That’s what I was scared of. In the few seconds it took me to find her, I ran through every scenario of how she might look, but I was still shocked when I saw her for the first time in eight years.
Beneath the bags under her eyes and hollow cheekbones, there were still glimmers of the girl I’d known. Her hair had lost all the life and body it had once had. Her limp ponytail lay over one of her thin shoulders.
Her fingers fidgeted with one of the fraying cuffs of the blue-jean jacket she wore. I took another step closer to her, and she took a step back. I stilled and we stared at each other for another moment. I tilted my head, begging her to let me come closer. There was a war waging within me. She was my cousin, had once been my best friend. I wanted to wrap her in a hug and promise everything would be okay. I wanted to promise that I wouldn’t walk away and I would be there every step of the way. Whatever she needed.
But it wasn’t just her anymore.
There was Tuck.
He was my world and my heart. He was the one I would never walk away from or betray. He was the one I would do anything for, including walking away from my cousin if it was in his best interests. Including going to court and fighting until I had nothing left.
Part of me wanted to console Shayla, and the other part saw her for what she was—a threat. A threat to my son’s life.
Shayla nodded slightly and I closed the gap between us. She smiled a little and I frowned. There were so many differences between how I remembered her and the woman standing in front of me.
“He looks like you.” There was pain laced through every word.
I nodded. It was true. He looked more like me than her. She resembled her father, and I looked like my mom and her mom, who were sisters.
“Where have you been?” I stared directly into her eyes. They were bloodshot and slightly yellow. Were they bloodshot because of drugs or because she was tired? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure if I should trust anything she said. I didn’t know how to handle this situation.
She shrugged and the jean jacket fell from her shoulder. I held in my gasp when I truly saw how thin she’d become. Tears swam in my eyes as I brought my gaze back to hers. She sneered and brought her jacket back up to cover her shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Thanks for taking care of him, but I got it from here.”
She moved to step around me, and I stepped in front of her, holding up a hand, shaking my head. “That is not the way it works. I have guardianship. I don’t know where you’ve been. I know nothing of your life for the past eight years. I don’t know if you’re clean. I won’t let you around my son if you aren’t.”
“He’s my son,” she hissed, bringing her face an inch from mine.
“He’s mine too.” My hands balled into fists.
We stayed in a standoff, neither of us budging. Her eyes kept flicking over my shoulder, and I prayed Colt and Gunner were keeping Tuck occupied. I didn’t want him to look over here and ask me who I was speaking to. How could I make a decision when I could see no clear and easy path?
“Are you sober?” I asked in a hushed whisper.
Her eyes shot to mine. “Yes,” she mumbled and gnawed on the edge of her lip. My heart splintered. Gnawing on the edge of her lip had always been her tell. It was what our parents had looked for when they asked us if we were the culprits.
“Shayla.”
Tears swam in her eyes and she scratched the inside of her elbow before tugging on the cuff of her jacket. “I’m trying. I am. I really am. I was clean for a week before I saw y’all at the ice cream place.”
“Did you go to rehab?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’ll do it on my own.”
I took a huge breath, readying myself for her reaction to what I had to say next. “You can’t see him unless you are sober. And not sober for a day.”
“He’s my son. I will see him. You can’t tell me otherwise.” Before I could respond, she spun on her heel and ran through the back exit.
14
Gunner
The ball sailed over my head, slamming into the chain-link fence behind me. I placed the end of the bat against the dirt and leaned on the knob as I stared at Delilah. She refused to meet my eyes, fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt and adjusting the pink scarf around her neck, which matched the pretty blush staining her cheeks.
I flicked my gaze to Tucker. “Is it always like this?”
“Yep.” He had his bat secured on his shoulders, behind his neck, as his wrists rested on it. A broad grin stretched across his face as his eyes bounced between me and his mom.
“How are you able to practice?”
“I have a pitching machine, but Mom says she’s better.”
“Better at taking your head off maybe,” I mumbled. Tuck chuckled.
“Hey! I resent that! I’m just not used to pitching to someone who’s the size of an ogre.” Delilah shrugged and sniffed. She bent at the waist, picking up another ball from the mound. I couldn’t look away from her pert ass sticking up in the air. All thoughts about headhunting baseballs and the fact that her son was just a few feet from me fled my mind as I got lost in fantasies.
“It’s my turn,” Tucker said.
“I’m ready.” Delilah turned her body, placing the ball in the glove on her left hand. She took a deep breath, and I couldn’t hold back my amused laugh. She looked like she was mimicking every pitcher she’d seen in a movie. I jogged toward the mound and held out my hand. “I’m pitching,” she said.
“No, sweetheart, I like your kid. I like where his head is. If you always throw him the ball like that, it’s only a matter of time before you take off his head.”
“It’s only because of your height.”
“No, it’s not,” Tucker called from home plate, where he was swinging his bat and grinning. I matched his grin and turned it on Delilah.
“The kid has spoken.”
&
nbsp; “We’ll see.” She marched off the field, her hips swaying with each step. She glanced over her shoulder with a wicked grin. “I did save you a little something in the kitchen, but I guess I’ll take it for myself now.”
“Wait,” I called out. “What was it?”
She didn’t answer. I turned to Tuck. “Is she serious? She’d keep dessert from me?”
“Definitely.”
“I’ll find a way to get your treats,” I called to Delilah’s retreating form. She spun and gracefully lowered herself on the old, worn wooden bench. Fire licked through my veins, and my entire focus centered on her lips as her teeth tugged on the corner of her mouth, trying to stop a smile. The most gorgeous crimson color spread up her neck to her cheeks.
The only thing I’d ever been this focused on, before her, was baseball. During a game, my focus was on that round white ball, the cracking of a wooden bat, and the spongy grass beneath my cleats. All the other shit faded away. I didn’t hear the hecklers in the outfield or behind the plate while I was batting. I tuned out the catcher’s taunt as I waited for the perfect pitch. The concession guys hollering up the stairs and the families cheering—all of it faded to white noise. I only heard the whistle of the ball and the crack of the bat.
Baseball was the only thing I’d been able to focus that hard on, tuning every part of myself onto one thing. Until Delilah. Until her smile and sharp wit. She trapped my focus and kept it solely on her until she broke eye contact.
I shook my head to clear it and turned back to her kid. I’d been shocked when I found out he wasn’t hers biologically. He looked exactly like her. He smiled and it was the same as his mom’s. And I knew that these two had the power to move baseball to the side and become the center of my world.
Tuck tapped the top corner of the plate twice and the corner closest to his back foot once before he squatted and centered the bat in front of his face. There was so much swagger in his routine—the exact same routine as mine—and more confidence than any eight-year-old should have as he placed the bat above his shoulder and made eye contact with me.
A hellacious smirk crossed his face as he waited for the pitch, and I was torn between letting my competitive side take over and the damn delight I felt as I watched him square up and prepare for whatever came his way. Were all kids like this or just him? I’d signed plenty of autographs before games, but I hadn’t really spent time with many kids. I’d certainly never met a kid like this.
If I had been asked even two months ago if I’d be interested in a single mom, I would’ve answered with a resounding hell no. I wanted easy, painless, and no strings. Kids always came with strings.
But this pair had me wrapped up in knots, and I hadn’t even tasted Delilah’s mouth yet. I broke eye contact with Tuck and glanced at Delilah. I had to make that happen soon or I might go crazy.
I returned my gaze to Tuck and pitched him the ball. He let it sail past him, easing out of his stance before glaring at me.
“I know you can throw harder than that. That was weak.”
I laughed and grabbed another ball from the tin can at the base of the mound. “Alright, kid.”
I shook my head and grinned as I watched him go through his batting routine again. Batters’ routines are ingrained from a young age and, to guys as superstitious as baseball players, nailing the routine can make it or break it for the at-bat.
I threw the ball harder this time, trying to find the balance between not throwing too hard but still with enough force to challenge him. It was through those challenges that he’d be able to take the next step in his game, if that was what he chose.
The ball fouled off the end of his bat in a line drive straight to the area where Delilah was sitting. Panic robbed my lungs of air and squeezed my throat. My heart didn’t know if it should stop or gallop; it was a mixture of the two. I felt everything in that split second it took for the ball to sail right toward her.
“Delilah,” I called frantically. She had put on a glove between the last pitch and this one. She reached up into the air and caught the ball easily. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees. “Jesus.” All the air rushed from my lungs.
Tuck started going through his batting routine again, and Delilah tossed the ball toward me as if nothing had happened. It bounced along the grass, coming to rest perfectly at the base of the mound.
“You okay?” she called. “I thought baseball players would be in better shape than that.”
“That could’ve hurt you. You should sit somewhere else.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s the first time he’s sent a ball flying toward me? It won’t be the last either. I’m fine. I may not pitch well, but I can catch the ball.”
“Except for that one time.” Tuck laughed.
Delilah glared at her son. “That doesn’t count because I wasn’t expecting a ball to come breaking through my kitchen window, bounce off my chest, and land in the soup I was making for Mrs. Tilbury!”
Tucker’s bat fell to the ground as he cackled with his entire body. “She-she-she was covered in tomato soup when I came inside. She looked like Carrie.”
Delilah gasped. “How do you know about Carrie?”
Tuck’s laughter died in his throat, and he looked away as color blossomed on his cheeks. My gaze was bouncing between the two, who had almost sent me to an early grave, as my heart rate and breathing returned to normal.
“What? Who’s Carrie? I don’t know anything about Carrie.”
“If Cory’s older brother showed that to you, I’m going to need to have a talk with Mrs. McDermott again.”
“Mom, no! Please! I won’t watch anything I’m not supposed to again. Please!”
Delilah and I snorted at the same time. “Ready to bat?” I asked, breaking the tension.
Tuck nodded eagerly and picked up his bat, tapping the corners. I pitched again and held my breath, but he managed to perfectly square up the ball with the bat. It went soaring through the air in a gorgeous arc and landed deep in the outfield. I whistled as Tuck rounded the bases with his hands in the air, making the noises of a cheering crowd.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and put on my best announcer’s voice. “Tucker Moreland rounds the bases as the guys in the outfield scramble for the ball. Will he do it? Will he have his first career inside-the-park home run? Moreland rounds third as Gallo launches a rocket toward home. Will Moreland beat the throw? It’s going to be close. He slides. Safe! Safe! Safe! Moreland is safe! The crowd goes wild!”
Tucker pumped his fists in the air, making the noises of a cheering crowd. Delilah joined in and chanted his name. I ran over to him, picked him up, placed him on my shoulders, and rounded the bases again in a victory jog.
Delilah had her phone out snapping pictures of us, and I felt fuller than I had in ten years.
15
Gunner
Rain pelted the side of my face and slid down my neck into the too-tight collar of my shirt. It was just me standing in front of the casket. I didn’t notice when the cemetery workers stepped forward and started to lower it into the ground.
My heartbeat stalled in my chest, and my breath clogged my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do this. I stood frozen as if I were under a spell. Until I heard a scream.
“Stop!” I yelled. “Stop!”
The workers didn’t stop. They kept lowering the casket as if I were invisible and they couldn’t hear my voice. I ran the few steps separating me from the mahogany casket that held my mother. I tried to lift the lid, swearing I could hear her screams and cries.
She wasn’t dead.
She couldn’t be dead.
No.
“Stop! Fucking stop! She’s alive. Can’t you hear her?” I screamed, but the casket was inching down slowly.
Blood was dripping from my fingertips as I tried to pry the rain-slicked wooden lid open with my bare hands. An animalistic roar rumbled in my chest as I gave it everything I had. I stood to tackle the workers to the ground.
I’d fucking kill them if I had to. My mother wasn’t going into the ground. She was alive.
She was alive in there. I fucking knew it.
I tackled both men to the ground in one fell swoop, stood, and shook the rain from my face. The black baseball bat that I’d used last season was lying on the ground.
“Hold on, Mom,” I yelled as loudly as I could. “I’ll save you. I’ll save you.”
I kept repeating the words over and over as I picked up the baseball bat and slammed it down on the thick wood. The wood was meant to keep things out, not allow them in. I’d break through. I would. I would get to her and save her. I had to. I fucking had to.
“I’ll save you,” I kept yelling. My throat burned as if someone had dumped acid down it, but I kept yelling and repeating the same words over and over as I took my bat to the hunk of wood.
It came apart splinter by splinter. My arms were shaking and rain clouded my vision, but I didn’t stop until there was a hole. I dropped the bat and threw myself at the casket, peering through the hole.
“Mom? Mom!”
Only it wasn’t her face looking at me. It wasn’t her vibrant, alive eyes staring back at mine. Instead, it was the blank stare of my dead best friend. Declan’s blank stare.
“No,” I roared.
I popped awake, sitting up in bed. My chest was soaked with sweat, and my legs were tangled in the sheets, which had barely managed to stay on the bed. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
Early morning light shone through the blinds. I picked up my phone, glancing at the time. It was early, but too late to go back to sleep. As if I could anyway.
The thought of not being able to save my mother or Declan would haunt me, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting a decent night’s sleep for a while. I scrubbed a hand down my face and swung my legs to the side of the bed, placing my feet on the floor. I propped my elbows on my knees and held my head in my hands, going through baseball stats in my head as I waited for my heart and breathing to return to normal.