The Problem with Sports

by M. E. Clayton

  Between the three of us, there was barely anything left on the fruit platter that Gideon had brought over. When Mom found out we were all getting together at my house, she had made a healthy fruit platter and had bullied Gideon into bringing it with him. Never mind that I had food in my house and that this wasn’t a tea party. Gid and Say were my brothers, for fuck’s sake. They could help themselves to my refrigerator if they were hungry. I didn’t need to entertain these two assholes.

  I looked at my oldest brother. “So, what? I’m just supposed to stand aside and let them raise him to be a psychopath?” I asked, shocked that he would suggest such a thing. “I mean, while there’s no helping your Dodger-loving wife, there’s still hope for Grant.”

  “You don’t think the boy’s parents might take exception to you kidnapping him and raising him as your own?” Gideon scowled.

  “I’m not trying to kidnap him, Gid,” I corrected. “I’m just trying to put the kid back on the right track.”

  “He debated stats with you, Nate,” Sayer said after popping another grape in his mouth and swallowing. “I think the kids is already on the right track.”

  “I’m surprised his mother didn’t call the cops on you,” Gideon added, again, missing the entire point of me calling them over here. They were supposed to support me and my ideas, damn it. Not root for the enemy.

  “So, what is your plan, exactly?” Sayer asked, sounding supportive but wary.

  “Well, he spends his weekends with his dad, so that only leaves me the weekdays to bring him back over from the dark side,” I replied. “Not sure what his mother does for a living but, surely, she wouldn’t be opposed to free babysitting, right?”

  Gideon shook his head. “This sound like such a bad idea,” he mumbled.

  “It’s a great idea,” I argued. “She gets free daycare, and the kid starts out on the path of life the right way.”

  “And the dad has no say?” Sayer asked, but only because he was tied up with a douchebag of an ex-husband.

  “If he wanted a say in what his son did during the weekdays, he shouldn’t be a weekend-only father,” I pointed out. Granted, I had no idea why Grant’s parents were divorced, or even if they were, but it was clear they weren’t one big happy family if they were sharing custody.

  “C’mon, Nate,” Gideon remarked. “You have no idea what their family dynamic is. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, dude.”

  I scoffed like a locker room bully. “Why? What’s he going to do? Beat me up?” I was a professional athlete, and six-foot-four of pure muscle. Even though I retired a few months ago, that didn’t mean I had let myself go. I had a personal home gym and I used it daily.

  “So, that’s your plan?” Sayer asked. “You’re going to beat up his father and kidnap him from his mother?”

  “Best plan you’ve ever had,” Gideon deadpanned.

  “You guys have a better one,” I challenged.

  “Yeah,” Gideon scoffed. “Mind your own goddamn business and let the poor kid like who he likes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “How about you go eat a dick,” I fired back.

  “Are you even sure Grant would be onboard with you beating up his dad and kidnapping him from his mother?” Sayer asked. “I mean, that’s something to consider, Nate.”

  This conversation was ridiculous.

  “You assholes are the ones who said I needed to find something productive to do in my retired years,” I pointed out.

  Gideon’s blue eyes that matched all the Hayes men widened. “Not assault and kidnapping, Nate.”

  “Maybe he won’t have to resort to kidnapping,” Sayer chimed in. “You are Nathan Hayes, after all. Bat them baby blues at her, and she’ll probably come around.” Sayer grinned. “Bat them at the dad, too. That might work.”

  I popped an apple slice in my mouth, buying some time before telling these two jerkfaces the truth. After making sure I wouldn’t be talking with my mouth full, I said, “I’m pretty sure she’s immune to the baby blues.”

  Both assholes smirked.

  “If my looks were a plus in this situation, she wouldn’t have thrown me out of her house last night,” I admitted.

  “Wait.” Gideon’s brows drew downward. “I thought you said you stormed out of there.”

  “Semantics.”

  “Yeah,” Sayer replied dryly. “Because leaving on your own and getting thrown out are basically the same thing.”

  “Is she hot?” Gideon asked, a smirk on his face.

  “She might be,” I hedged, but there was no ‘might be’ about it. At first glance, I had thought she was stunning, but when she had gotten in my face and fought for her son, she had transformed into radiant. Her blonde hair thrown up in a bun, no makeup on her face, and barefoot, she was one of the hottest women I have ever seen, and I’ve seen some hot fucking women in my lifetime.

  However, those women always had the same thing in common. Their hair was always perfect, their makeup always looked professional, and their outfits left little or nothing to the imagination.

  Grant’s mother was a stunner without all that shit.

  Gideon laughed. “Now it all makes sense,” he smirked.

  “Fuck you, dude,” I snapped back. “Her looks have nothing to do with this.”

  Sayer looked over at Gid. “You’re forgetting he stormed down there even before he knew what the mother looked like.”

  “Thank you, Say,” I said, happy to have at least one brother’s support.

  “The kidnapping was probably already a given,” Sayer continued. “But I’m betting kicking the ex-husband’s ass came after he saw what she looked like.”

  “Get out of my house.”

  “Gladly,” Gideon replied. “I have better shit to do than plan assault and kidnapping with you two fucks.”

  “Like what?” Sayer asked.

  “Yeah, like what?” I echoed because we both knew Gideon didn’t have anything better to do. It was past working hours, and that’s all the man did. He worked.

  “Like not catch any felonies,” he retorted, and then walked out of my house, but not before snatching up the rest of Mom’s fruit platter and taking it with him.

  The jackass.

  Chapter 7

  Andrea~

  This crap did not make any sense.

  Like, none, at all.

  When I had dropped Grant off with Steven earlier, it was the first time since our divorced that Grant seemed reluctant to spend the weekend with his father. But I suspected that had to do with knowing that Nathan Hayes was his upstairs neighbor.

  All day, Grant had been asking me questions that I didn’t have the answers to. He had asked if I thought Nathan was mad at him. He had asked if I thought Nathan would come back and visit us. He had asked if I thought Nathan would go back to playing baseball. He had been all about Nathan Hayes, but the one thing that I’d been happy about? While Grant had relented and had admitted to Nathan Hayes being better than good, he hadn’t changed his stance on Jansen Hillman being his favorite player. And he hadn’t switched teams. His favorite baseball team was still the Angels. There were a few California baseball teams to choose from, and when sports had started to matter to Grant, he had chosen the Angels, and has stuck with them this entire time. All his favorite teams were California teams. The kid was loyal, if nothing else.

  However, that wasn’t what I was feeling flummoxed over. No. I was feeling out of sorts and confused as all hell because I was currently standing in my doorway, the door wide open, staring at Nathan Hayes in the flesh. And, not going to lie, speech was a struggle when face-to-face with a man as sexy as Nathan Hayes was. Without the shock of last night’s visit and Grant here to take up his attentions, maintaining eye contact with the god was a struggle.

  “May I help you?”

  “May I come in?”

  Hell no.

  “Oh, we’re asking this time?” I couldn’t help myself. Baseball god or not, the man shouldn’t just be barging into people�
�s homes.

  He cocked a brow.

  I let out a deep sigh. “Grant’s not here,” I told him. “He’s with his father until Sunday evening.”

  “I know,” he replied. “He explained his schedule to me yesterday. Remember?”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked, confused by a whole lot of things.

  “May I come in?” he asked again, and while I thought it was a bad idea, I pulled the door open to let him inside.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Though this seemed like a bad idea, I wasn’t going to be rude or a jerk. He could have a very legitimate reason for being here. We were neighbors after all.

  “No, thank you,” he replied as he looked around, taking in my home. I was positive it wasn’t as lavish as his penthouse must be, but I loved it here.

  “Then, what can I help you with, Mr. Hayes?”

  He crossed his massive arms over his chest as he stood in my living room and those startling blue eyes of his narrowed a bit. “What’s the deal with you guys never taking him to a ballgame?”

  “Get out of my house,” I replied quickly and surely.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know you’re a baseball god and all, and you’re probably used to people tripping over themselves to please you, but I really don’t care who you are,” I told him. “You don’t get to come into my house and start demanding answers about my son and how he’s being raised.”

  His arms fell to his sides and his eyes narrowed a bit more. “Is there some religious reason Grant’s never been to a ballgame before?” Nathan asked, ignoring my entire statement.

  I planted my hands on my hips. “Explain to me how this is any of your business?”

  “Even if his views are skewed, it’s obvious he loves sports,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t taking him to a game be a birthday present or something?”

  “Again, how is this any of your business?” I wasn’t sure what this lunatic was about, but I hated the way he made it seem as if Steven and I were horrible parents because we didn’t take our son to ballgames.

  And while I had nothing against taking Grant to some games, Steven felt strongly against it, and it wasn’t worth the fight. Especially, when I knew, deep down, Steven was doing it for the same reason I bought a condo and not a house with a yard. We didn’t want to rub Grant’s limitations in his face.

  “It’s not, if you want to argue legalities and morality, but I’m not here to do that.” My brows shot up. “I’m here because it pains me to know that kid has never been to a game.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ll get over it.”

  Nathan shook his head. “No, I really don’t think I will,” he countered. “Can I take him to a game or not?”

  This man really was a stone-cold psychopath.

  “No,” I said, dragging the word out, so he’d understand what I was saying.

  “Why not?” he asked like a petulant child.

  “Because I don’t know you,” I reminded him. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m just going to let some stranger take my child anywhere.”

  He looked genuinely perplexed when he said, “But I’m Nathan Hayes.”

  “So?”

  His mouth opened and closed like he was at a loss for words. And he probably was. He probably believed his superstar status gave him a free pass or something. Now, did I think Nathan Hayes would kidnap Grant? Probably not. But that was a probably not, not a concrete no.

  After a couple of awkward minutes, he finally spoke. “Why hasn’t he ever been to a game?”

  I wasn’t sure what it was, but something in Nathan’s voice moved me. He was asking me because he genuinely wanted to know, and not in a judgmental way. Grant’s love for sports was obvious, and Nathan was genuinely curious.

  “Would you like to sit down?” I asked, extending an olive branch.

  He gave me a terse nod. “Thank you, yes,” he replied before making his way to the couch.

  “Drink?”

  I could hear his low chuckle. “Yes, please. Water, if you have it.”

  I went and grabbed two waters, then made my way to the couch. I sat down but made sure to sit far enough away that there was an entire cushion between us.

  Handing him his water, I fiddled with the one in my hand. Not many people knew about Grant’s condition, and it wasn’t something I often talked about. However, with Nathan being who he was, plus our upstairs neighbor, it was probably a good idea to let him know, so that he didn’t fill Grant’s head with any harebrained ideas.

  “Do you know what interstitial lung disease is?” Nathan shook his head. “It’s a lung disease that affects children, teens, and young adults.”

  “Okay.”

  “The best way I can describe it as is a severe case of asthma that, sometimes, comes with actual lung damage,” I explained. “Grant has to be monitored and needs a bronchoalveolar lavage performed every two years to monitor for damage, and we’ve been lucky that he doesn’t have any. Or, at least, he hasn’t had any since he was diagnosed three years ago.”

  “So, he doesn’t play any sports?”

  I shook my head. “No, he doesn’t,” I confirmed, a pang in my chest. “While chILD, that’s what it’s referred to, affects children differently, Grant doesn’t have any lung damage right now. So, Steven and I decided to do all we can to make sure no damage develops, and part of that was not playing sports.”

  Nathan looked upset, and it touched me deep inside. “And…he’s not sad about that?”

  “If he is, he’s never said anything about it,” I told him. “When he’s not at school, or playing with his friends, he’s consuming sports, and not just baseball. He loves all sports. Football being his favorites. He’s-”

  Nathan put his hand up to stop me. “Football? Seriously?” he asked, visibly upset for a different reason now. “Have you people no consideration for me at all?”

  “Uh…”

  “First, I’m not his favorite Condor player. Second, I’m just good, even though I am bound for the Hall of Fame. And now, baseball isn’t even his favorite sport? What the fuck?”

  It was everything I could do to keep my laugh in.

  This man was serious.

  “Is that really the point right now?” I asked, trying my damnedest not to laugh.

  Nathan narrowed his eyes at me again-something I was noticing he did often-and asked, “Because those aren’t important concerns?”

  Good Lord, Nathan Hayes really was crazy.

  Chapter 8

  Nathan~

  This crap did not make any sense.

  Like, none, at all.

  Even though I knew nothing about chILD, I understood why Grant might not be able to play sports. Medical reasons. Totally legit. But to never have taken him to a game? That was just plain fucking crazy.

  “You know,” she drawled out slowly as if she were addressing a crazy person, “there are children, all over the world, who claim you as their favorite Condor player, and claim the Condors as their favorite team, right? It’s okay if Grant doesn’t think-”

  “What’s your name?” I asked, cutting off whatever crap she was about to spew, justifying Grant’s wrong ways.

  “Andrea Miller,” she replied. “But most people call me Andie.”

  “Does Grant share your same last name?” I was being super nosey and overstepping, but I needed to know if assault and kidnapping were really on the menu.

  She cocked a brow. “You do realize you’re being extremely intrusive, right?”

  I waved away her very valid point because I needed to know what I was up against. “Look, Andrea, Grant and I are going to become the best of friends, so I suggest you make this relationship as painless as possible.”

  “What relationship?” she asked cautiously.

  “Ours.” Has the woman not been paying attention?

  “Uhm, excuse me?”

  I let out a deep breath, and quite frankly, the woman was frustrating. Hot as molten lava, but still
frustrating.

  “Did you, or did you not, state earlier that you would never let your son go to a game with a stranger?” She just blinked at me, so I took that as my cue to continue. “So, the obvious solution to that is for us to become friends, right?”

  She curled her lips in between her teeth, then gnawed on them a bit. After a few seconds, she asked, “So, you want to be friends with me, so that you can take Grant to a game? Is that it?”

  Beautiful, but a bit slow on the uptake. “How else am I going to be able to take him?”

  She shook her pretty little head before finally answering, “Grant’s last name is Hansen.”

  “So, you’re divorced?” And, of course, I was asking strictly for Grant’s sake. The fact that she was beautiful with a smokin’ body had nothing to do with it.

  “Two years,” she replied. “But…I’m only telling you this, so that you understand that Grant has a father. And Steven feels very strongly about Grant going to ballgames.”

  Steven sounded like an asshole.

  But I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  Instead, I asked, “Why?”

  She let out a tired sigh, and her hands started tearing at the label on her water. “Grant will never be a professional baseball star, Nathan,” she said. “He’ll never play soccer, or football, or hockey, or anything. It…it seems cruel to take him around something he loves so much, knowing he’ll never get to experience any of it.”

  I thought about that.

  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, I asked, “What do you think is worse, taking a boy to a ballgame, even though he knows he can’t play, or putting a kid into sports all his life, even knowing that he’ll probably never play professionally?”

  “What?”

  I wasn’t taking her concerns lightly. Even with all the new gender-neutral expectations these days, there were still a lot of people who expected girls to play with dolls and boys to play sports. But no matter your views, a child not being able to play sports, or games, or even just exercise for health reasons was sad. So, I understood not wanting to put alcohol in front of a recovering alcoholic, but then why let him watch sports? Why let him become obsessed them at all? Or, maybe, that was their way of giving him a safe taste of sports. I wasn’t sure, but in my opinion, letting a kid go to a game, even though he’ll never play it, was less cruel than making a kid play sports, and trying to force the talent, only to come up empty in the end. It took more than talent to hit the pros.