Stealing Home

by R. C. Martin

  Ryann was pulled from her thoughts when the car engine in front of her roared to life. She peeked out the passenger side window of her Crossover and saw the children as they ran from the building with gusto—eager to head home. She, too, started her engine and shoved aside all traces of her fanciful reverie. Mentally tucking away Brady’s email as well, she endeavored to allow Cohan a couple more hours of blissful ignorance before she told him the news. At the very least, he deserved the chance to enjoy his afternoon doing his absolute favorite thing.

  Five minutes later, when it was Cohan’s turn to hop into the backseat, he greeted his mother with a hearty, “Let’s play ball!”

  Giggling, Ryann replied, “Yes, sir. Buckle up and let’s go, go, go!”

  WITH THEIR NEW after school activity routine established, Ryann had plenty of time to change before their trip to the ballfield. She stepped out of her vehicle in a pair of distressed denim jean shorts and a grey, loose fitting, V-neck t-shirt. She’d pulled her thick, chestnut hair back into a high, messy bun and slipped her feet into her favorite flat sandals. She’d even remembered to grab her sunglasses. Still, comfortable as Ryann was in her casual attire, she was irritatingly and cognizantly aware that she wouldn’t fit in with the other moms anymore than she did during the first practice.

  She wasn’t usually one to pay too much attention or come to swift conclusions about what other people might have thought about her. Furthermore, her title as mother made her humble and compassionate enough to understand that even the Pinterest Moms weren’t really as shiny as they wanted the world to believe. Motherhood was hard. No exceptions. However, after three afternoons of practice, Ryann had come to understand the Wrangler baseball moms came for two reasons: to support their boys, and to show off. Who they had deemed necessary to show off to depended on their love lives. The single or dissatisfied women showed off for Coach Moore—regardless of the glaring reality that he wasn’t there for them. Then, of course, there were the happily married or disinterested women who wished only to be accepted by Connie Wheeler.

  To Ryann, the whole thing was as ridiculous as it was frightening. Except, somehow or another, she’d managed to not even show up on their radars. She guessed it might have something to do with her lack of interest in trying, coupled with the repellant of being the mother of the new kid—either way, she was more relieved than anything else. Not to mention, she’d made her own friend, whom she considered far better company with considerably less gossip.

  “Mommy, it’s Oliver,” Cohan cried as he slammed his door shut. He ran up onto the curb and pointed down a few cars. “Can I go get him?”

  Ryann spotted Oliver and his father, Steven, just as the man offered her a wave. She smiled and waved back before she gave Cohan the okay to meet up with his new friend. Ryann traveled behind him leisurely, and Steven headed her way at the same clip.

  “Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday?” he teased as he playfully squinted at her through his tortoiseshell, round-rimmed glasses.

  “That, you did. I hope you won’t get sick of me. I plan on being around the day after tomorrow, too.”

  “Ahh. Game day,” he said with a smile. The expression was as endearing as it was contagious, and it lit up his whole face. He shrugged his large shoulders nonchalantly before he went on to say, “Not to worry. I’ll sic my wife on you, then.”

  Ryann crinkled her nose and adjusted her purse over her shoulder before she begged, “Please tell me she’s not Connie Wheeler’s BFF.”

  Steven burst into a roar of boisterous laughter as the two of them trailed after their boys. When he could catch his breath, he replied, “Heavens, no. Why do you think I’m the one who brings Oli to every practice? We both know it’s not because of my wide array of baseball knowledge.”

  Ryann chuckled as she joined in on his amusement. She’d learned early on that while Steven adored his son, he wasn’t a sports guy. He knew enough to cheer for Oliver when it was appropriate, but he did so from the bleachers, unlike a number of the other dads who hung out in the trenches. Steven was more of a scholar, whose body was kept trim by his spare time spent in the gym rather than on any field or court. He was also the associate pastor of a church nearby—only, Ryann liked to think of him as just a new friend.

  They asked after each other’s days as they made their way to what had come to be their usual spot—on the left side of the front bench. Then, as practice began, their conversation shifted onto their boys and their opinions on how well the team was coming together. More than anything, Ryann was pleased to see the extent to which Cohan was enjoying himself. It wasn’t just the smile on his face, or the fun he was having—it was also the way he scowled in concentration during drills, or how his eyes lit up when he was in the outfield and he saw an opportunity to catch a grounder. He was in his element. It was like her little rascal had been released into his natural habitat. It made her happy to give him that.

  Though, Cohan wasn’t the only guy she’d noticed out there who seemed at home. Leslie moved around the field with the keenest of eyes. It was as if he had a sixth sense. He knew precisely which player needed him. Even more, despite the fact that she couldn’t hear his every word, Ryann was confident Leslie knew exactly what to say to make the boys feel encouraged and uplifted; he made them want to try harder, and he praised each and every one of them as if they were all his nephews instead of just the one.

  Ryann didn’t deny herself the pleasure of admiring his physical attributes, either. She appreciated the way his broad shoulders filled his worn, cotton t-shirts. She observed how toned and tanned his long, thick legs were—from the hours he spent coaching in his athletic shorts. Even the way his muscles moved in his sculpted arms as he offered instructions didn’t go unnoticed. And when he lifted his ball cap to rake his fingers through his curly, maple locks, Ryann couldn’t help the small smile that played at her lips. She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t. It felt nice to indulge the woman in her—if only for a moment or two.

  As promised, the conclusion of practice brought with it the distribution of the boys’ new uniforms. To avoid chaos, the Moore brothers handed out each red ball cap and matching t-shirt one by one, following the roster. Only, instead of starting at the top of the alphabet, they ticked off each player from the bottom up. The smug look on Connie’s face as she and her son took off with the first pick made Ryann want to roll her eyes—but she managed to refrain. Barely.

  Steven and Oliver waved their goodbyes about halfway through the list. Then, Ryann watched in idle curiosity as Sheldon Knight was called. Except, he didn’t choose his number. Aaron knelt down beside Leslie and pulled out his shirt from the very bottom of the box. He held it up, showing Sheldon the number twenty-one before he winked and draped the garment over his small shoulder. For a moment, Ryann was distracted as she watched the little boy walk around the box to stand beside his uncles. Aaron then rose and continued to call out names. There was a significance to their encounter she wished she knew—but the moment passed and left her none the wiser.

  When it was finally Cohan’s turn to choose a number, there were three uniforms left. With a couple of the boys having missed practice, he was the last to choose that evening.

  “All right, Cohan—what do you think?” inquired Leslie as he rifled through the bottom of the box. “Eleven, thirty-three, or…”

  His voice trailed off and a smirk slowly curled the corner of his top lip when he saw the last number available. The expression caused a sensation the likes of which Ryann had all but forgotten she could feel—but it wasn’t because his knowing grin was directed at her. It was obvious he intended to let Cohan in on whatever it was which caused such a disarming smile.

  “How about twenty-seven? It’s a great number. Know how I know?”

  “How?” Cohan asked, his tone soft and wrapped in wonder.

  “It was my number. Think you can take good care of it for me?”

  “Yeah,” he replied with a nod.

  “All right, then. It’
s all yours.”

  Suddenly filled with the urge to fidget, Ryann switched Cohan’s bag of gear from her right hand to her left. In search of something to do with her unoccupied fingers, she reached for the baby hairs at the nape of Cohan’s neck. She swallowed, in hopes of lubricating her throat, and insisted, “What do you say, buddy?”

  “Thanks, Coach Moore.”

  “You bet,” he said as he stood to full height.

  When Leslie shifted his blue gaze onto Ryann, she was startled by her inability to properly inhale. Certain it would be better not to stand under his breathtaking stare, she gripped Cohan’s shoulder and began to guide him toward their vehicle. Grateful she still had on her sunglasses, she hoped her thoughts hadn’t manifested in the blush she feared had begun to warm her cheeks.

  “See you Saturday,” she mumbled lamely in farewell.

  This time, when the urge to roll her eyes struck, she didn’t hesitate. She thought it silly that she allowed herself to get even the slightest bit flustered by his kindness.

  He’s just doing his job, she told herself.

  “Do you think daddy will like my number? I think we should call him when we get home. Can we, mommy? I want him to know how to find me on Saturday.”

  In an instant, the sweet fluttering sensation that had filled her stomach a moment ago vanished at the mention of Brady. Yet, still not ready to disappoint Cohan, Ryann merely told him, “Yeah. We can try calling your dad. Maybe after dinner, okay, handsome?”

  “Okay,” he chirped as he skipped the remaining distance to the vehicle.

  With a weak sigh, Ryann helped Cohan get situated in the backseat. After she closed him in, she turned to climb behind the wheel. Only, before she could even set her purse down in the passenger seat, she heard it as Leslie called her name. Startled, she righted herself and grabbed hold of the door, closing it a little as he jogged to shorten the distance between them.

  “Hey,” he murmured as he came to a halt. He adjusted the strap of his gym bag, filled with extra equipment, and then offered a wave—as if to signal he’d come in peace.

  “Uhm, hi,” Ryann muttered in return.

  “Sorry, I—I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I haven’t really had the chance, but I saw you were still here and thought—” He cut himself off and shrugged awkwardly.

  A slight frown tugged at Ryann’s eyebrows as she shook her head and asked, “Is—is everything okay?”

  “No, yeah—everything’s fine. Actually, it’s Cohan. I wanted you to know I think he’s doing great.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” She felt her face relax into a smile, and she willed the rest of her body to follow suit. “Yeah, he really loves it. You and Aaron are doing a great job.”

  The smirk that made her stomach flutter before curled Leslie’s lips again, and her grip around the car door tightened.

  “We love it, too. In fact, I wanted to let you know I’ve got a slot open on Fridays over at Knight’s Pitching Academy. If you have time—I do private sessions. Cohan could have a mean swing with just a little extra coaching.”

  “Oh. Uhm,” Ryann hesitated, glanced back at Cohan—who eyed her in anxious curiosity—and then shifted her attention back onto Leslie. “That’s kind of you to offer. I’ll have to think about it. Could you email me the information?”

  “Definitely. Yeah. I will.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  She offered him a slight wave, then moved to open her door once more.

  “Ryann, wait.”

  Obediently, she halted.

  Leslie coughed out what sounded like a self-conscious laugh as he reached up to grip the back of his neck. He looked down at his feet, scrunched his brow, shook his head, and then lifted his eyes in search of hers. She wasn’t sure if he knew he was looking directly at her through her sunglasses—but it gave her goosebumps simply thinking he might.

  “The other day, when I met you, I told you you looked familiar. That was a lie. You caught me off guard.”

  Ryann no longer felt hidden behind her shades. As he continued to stare so intently, the desire to fidget washed over her for a second time. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then absentmindedly swept a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Uhm,” she murmured. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He smiled, and all at once the safe distance she thought existed between them evaporated into thin air.

  “I swear to you on my mother’s bible, I don’t usually do this, but I’d really like to take you out sometime. Coffee. Dinner. I’m not picky.”

  “Oh, uh…” she hummed.

  Unsure of how to process his request, she glanced around her, as if she’d somehow find the words to say in the hot air of late summer. Of course, she found nothing but silence and the awareness of her heart as it beat rapidly in her chest. Her excitement was like a declaration of her organ’s mockery. The truth that her attraction to Leslie wasn’t idle, that her interest in him wasn’t silly or nonsensical, and that the parts of him she knew were enough to find him more than pleasing to the eye overwhelmed her. Then, instead of the words she had been searching for, her eyes found Cohan’s. Instantly, all her breath left her lungs.

  Just as suddenly as her flustered state had been aroused, it subsided when she remembered where she was. More importantly, she felt grounded when she realized why she was there. Pulling in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders toward Leslie and replied, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Without allowing either one of them the chance to utter another word, she hopped in her vehicle and started the engine. She shifted into reverse, then habitually glanced out the windshield. Yet, as her eyes began to travel up toward her rearview mirror, her gaze wandered to the gorgeous man who still stood where she’d left him. He smiled at her and dipped his chin in a slow nod of farewell.

  On Ryann’s next exhale, her gaze directed into the rearview mirror, she breathed out a sigh. It didn’t escape her attention how drenched the sound was in disappointment.

  COHAN FIDGETED WITH his hat as he stared down into his lap, and Ryann knew disappointment still lingered in his heart. He’d had more than a day to let the news settle in. Even still, as they made their way to the ballfield, it was as if the reality of his father’s absence had hit home all over again.

  From where she sat, in the backseat of her parents’ vehicle, Ryann reached over and gently combed her fingers through Cohan’s thick, soft hair. He didn’t react to her touch, like it was as familiar as his own breath, but she didn’t mind.

  “I know you wish your dad could be here. I’m sure he wishes he could be here, too,” she murmured.

  She hated lying to Cohan. Even more, she hated lying on Brady’s behalf. She believed, with her entire being, if Brady wished he could be at the game, he’d have made a way. Ryann knew she would have if their roles were reversed. Yet, regardless of what she felt, it pained her to see her little boy hurt as a result of their broken marriage. She was beyond the stage of placing blame, as that had never solved anything; neither had it ever brought her a modicum of comfort. Rather, she clung to the truth that while Brady no longer loved her, no matter what his decisions might imply, he loved their son. It was impossible not to.

  Ryann leaned over and pressed a kiss on top of Cohan’s head. As she continued to rake her fingers through his hair, she told him, “I promise to take pictures of you during the game. Then, as soon as we get home, you can call him and tell him all about it.”

  Cohan simply nodded his reply and then leaned into her comforting touch. As he did so, she had to work to tamp down her irritation, which tried to crawl up the path of her ribcage in order to wrap itself around her heart. She drew in a deep breath and then glanced out the windshield to see how far away they were from their destination. As her eyes traveled, they stopped when they connected with her mother’s hazel stare. Peggy smiled at her, and the simple gesture spurred Ryann to relax.

  In just one glance, she was reminded they were all doing
the best they could.

  They arrived at the ballfield right on time. As they exited the vehicle, Scott, Peggy, and Ryann tried to exude the utmost excitement in an attempt to cheer up their player. Nevertheless, try as they might, Cohan didn’t seem to catch on to their enthusiasm. Instead, he swung his drawstring bag full of gear over his back and pulled his ball cap low over his forehead. The only consolation he offered in his crestfallen behavior was his desire to remain close to Ryann. When he reached for her hand, she gave it a small squeeze and then flashed a helpless smile at her parents.

  “We’ll go save some seats,” said Scott. He held up the cushions he’d brought along for the three of them and nodded toward the bleachers. “I’ll be rootin’ for ya, buddy,” he told Cohan. “Have a good game.”

  Cohan leaned his head against his mother’s arm. He looked up slightly and then offered his grandfather a thumbs up. It was a small gesture, but it brought a big smile to her father’s face, for which Ryann was grateful.

  “Come on, handsome. Let’s go find the team.”

  Ryann spotted the Moore brothers and a number of the other boys as they gathered near the field. Her stomach fluttered a little at the sight of Leslie’s back, her memory of their last encounter encroaching on her mind. She swallowed hard, shook her head, and forced herself to feel Cohan’s hand wrapped around hers. He kept her grounded. He was her reminder that little league was for him, and she wouldn’t mess it up by allowing any sort of awkwardness to exist between her and his coach. It hardly mattered that his coach was the same man who had awakened the woman in her. At least, that’s what she told herself.