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Chapter Nine

David

Watching Cat walk away, I’m bombarded by memories. Specifically, our first, and only, kiss on the day I learned her family was moving away. It was one of the best and worst days of my childhood.

Finding her crying in her car earlier brought it all flooding back. Hard not to pair that time with the fact that a year later, I met Fiona.

My chest feels like a bowling ball is lying on it, and I can barely breathe. Inhaling, I walk through the door to the locker room, keeping my eyes forward. The guys are talking about the Wolverines’ hockey game tonight.

Duncan’s team is on fire, and the entire state is excited about what the rest of the season will bring.

The tightness in my chest loosens a bit, and my cheek tugs up.

One of the things I love most is how all the teams in this area support each other.

The city feels more like the small towns it’s made up of than the name that everyone knows it by on the map.

“David,” Justin Ingram, the team’s center fielder, calls. “Are you going to the game tonight?”

My lip twitches. “Do I have a choice? You know Scarlett wouldn’t let me miss her uncle’s game.”

“Are you bringing your new girlfriend?” Logan needles, and my lungs seize. “It’d be the perfect opportunity to take pictures for your social media account.”

“Girlfriend?” The rookie right fielder, Nate Newman, questions, his brows knitted.

“Not girlfriend. More like my social media babysitter,” I scoff, trying to minimize Cat’s role and the feelings coming up.

“What’s with you and your social media account?” Evan Hanson chuckles. Evan is one of the other players the team has chosen to highlight on social media. Like Logan, he doesn’t understand why I can’t just have fun with it.

Must be nice to be young and care about impressing people. All I want to do is play ball.

My phone buzzes, and I see Finn’s name on the screen. “Saved by the agent!” Hanson rolls his eyes, and a small grin crosses my face.

“Hey, Finn. What’s up?” I place my duffel on the bench and start pulling out clothes I brought for practice when I see a hole in one of my socks and groan.

“Oh, so you saw it?” Finn asks by way of greeting, surprise obvious in his voice.

“No, I didn’t see it.” My brows pull together, wondering how he knows about the sock. “Do you think I would’ve packed a sock with a hole in it if I had seen it?”

“A hole?”

“Yeah,” I say, shoving my thumb through a large hole where my big toe is supposed to go. Practice is going to be a pain. Literally. “There’s nothing that dog won’t chew. She’s gonna eat me out of house and home.”

Finn’s laughter echoes through the phone. “So I guess that answers one of my questions.”

“At least Scarlett’s happy,” I grumble, sitting on the bench. “I’m sure you didn’t call to ask about Emmy.”

“Actually, I did. Well, technically, to see how you’re doing. Duncan may have mentioned that you were stressed. You know I love dogs, right?”

“No.” My eyes widen. “I didn’t. But now that I do, don’t be surprised when I ask for help in the future.”

“I can’t wait to meet this spitfire! You know I go above and beyond for my players. Speaking of players…” Finn’s tone has me stiffening. It’s the one that tells me something I won’t like is coming. “Have you seen Tea Time’s post today?”

“You know I never look at—”

“You might want to,” he singsongs. “Someone we know has their attention.”

“Why would Dunc—”

“Not Duncan. You!”

“Me?” My voice pitches, and I point to myself like he can see me. Gossip is the last thing I need to deal with right now, and I definitely don’t want to be in a fishbowl.

Dropping my head, I pull the back of my neck.

“Yup. Want to tell me who this mystery woman is?” Finn’s voice is filled with humor.

“Mystery woman?” My heart slams against my chest. He’s not talking about Cat, is he?

“Flirting,” Logan yells.

Scowling at Logan, I answer. “Finn! That’s not a mystery woman or even anyone I’m seeing. It’s the Smokies' new director of fan engagement. She happens to be someone I went to grade school with and my new social media caretaker.”

“Why is Logan yelling that if nothing is going on?” I shrug, words failing me at the moment. “David?”

“I don’t know. Why does Logan do anything?” Annoyance drips from my voice.

This is the last thing I want to deal with right now. My emotions are all over the place where Cat is concerned; I just need to focus on keeping it work-related. Why is everything working against that?

“Hmmm—” He hums.

“Stop,” I snip. “Just stop whatever plans are running through your head. There is nothing to matchmake here.”

When Logan opens his mouth to speak, I glare at him. He raises his hands before walking away. But I don’t like the gleam in his eyes.

I can hear Finn tapping his chin with his finger. “I’m not sure that’s the case yet. I need more information.”

Scrubbing my hands up and down my face, I remember Cat wanted to talk to him. “Finn,” I growl. “She wants to talk to you.”

“She?” He asks innocently.

“Cat. The new director of fan experience.” I flop back against the locker behind me, a clinking sound echoing in the room, and cover my face with my hand. “Would you please keep your conversation to whatever questions she asks?”

“I can’t make any guarantees,” he says, and my chin drops to my chest, a knot forming in my stomach. “What does she want to ask?”

“She wants to get a perspective on my history.” Silence greets me, and I lean on my knees, holding my head. “Finn, can you please, please, please not go down the matchmaking track for me. Can you just be my agent?”

“You make me sound like I’m a matchmaking fiend.” My eyes widen to the size of saucers, and my mouth hangs open.

Didn’t he just set up three of his other clients? My brother included?

“If the shoe fits.” I rake my hand through my hair shrugging.

“Hey. They all had specific needs that were necessary for their careers—”

I puff out a breath and grip the back of my neck.

I can hear Finn’s grin. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yeah,” I smirk. “Dog sitting.”

“Consider it done,” Finn says excitedly. “Where Cat is concerned, I promise to only answer the questions she asks and nothing more.”

“Thank you.”

“James! Let’s go,” Logan calls. “We need to get on the field.”

Glancing at him, I nod and grab my glove. “I gotta go, Finn. Talk to you later.”

Shoving my hand in my glove, I punch it a few times. The last thing I need is Finn getting involved with something between me and Cat.

Even if part of me wants him to.

Stepping onto the field, the tension in my body melts. Any worries about Tea Time , Cat, or Emmy fade. The only thing that matters is the sound of the ball as it hits the bat. The thud as it lands in a glove and the hiss it makes as it flies across the field to the first baseman.

These are the patterns and sounds that helped bring me back from the grave I wanted to crawl in when Fiona died. The routine that helped revive the father Scarlett needed.

The game that saved my life.

It might sound dramatic, and people may say baseball is ‘just a game’, but for those of us who play, it’s like oxygen—it’s how we survive.

Dave, our fungo hitter and the Smokies infield coach, methodically hits the ball to each position to help us warm up. He starts with third base and makes his way around the field from left to right.

When the ball rolls across the sand to me, then pops up, I scoop it with my glove, grab it with my opposite hand, and take a few steps before releasing it and sending it to first base.

“James,” Troy O’Hara calls from his position behind me in left field. “My wife sent me a text.”

My jaw clenches. A clinking sound echoes as Dave sends the ball out to center field. “Oh?” I respond as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yup. You know she’s a Chamie junkie.” Another clinking sound as Dave sends the ball to second base.

“Who?” My brows furrow. Only to hear Logan laugh.

“ Tea Time ’s author.”

I glare at him across the field; his grin widens, and annoyingly, the corners of my lips lift slightly.

“Want to fill your teammates in on the details?” O’Hara teases.

“There’s nothing to tell.” I shrug. The tiniest movement from the furthest office catches my eye. Looking closer, I see a woman standing in front of the window watching practice, and I recognize it as Cat. My pulse races in response.

The clink, thud, and hiss gets closer as Dave makes his way around the field again. I watch the ball fly from third base and settle myself into position.

Cat’s office window is over right field. Not directly in front of me, but close enough for me to catch a glimpse of her every now and then.

Clink.

The ball rolls under my glove.

“Sure,” O'Hara snickers. “Nothing to tell.”

“Coming your way again, James. You ready?” Even Dave’s eyes are dancing.

I stiffly nod, determined to get my mind on the game and off the woman in the window.

The woman who’s awakening the part of me I’ve left off the field, and with my wife.

My heart.