Page 4 of Coach Me (Boston Blues #2)
I’ve played with Beck for the last seven years. The man is probably one of the nicest people you will ever meet, but I really didn’t need that sentence today. I’m not one to cut these flights close. I hate being late—even as a player I was always fifteen minutes early.
“Ah, so Dad’s in a bad mood, got it.” Beck snatches Miles’s duffle bag from my hands. “I’ll take the bags while you get the nice version of you.”
I try again to push all of my frustration out with a deep breath and mutter a “thanks” to Beck .
This morning has felt like a damn roller coaster, and now I’m kicking myself for not at least getting that girl's name. Yeah, she seemed young but it felt like the first normal interaction I’ve had with a woman since the divorce.
The first time I’ve actually been interested in a girl in years, actually.
I know it’s silly to even entertain the idea of dating—I’m stretched thin as it is. But part of me kind of feels like there was an opportunity missed from that interaction.
Rounding the side of my truck, I pull open the passenger door, and Miles launches at me. “Yay, we’re going to the fake Atlantis!”
Miles’s arms squeeze tight around my neck. Those deep breaths did shit for me earlier, but this? This helps more than anything.
I somehow get to carry Miles across the tarmac and to the stairs with him holding on tight, but the moment my foot steps on the plane, he wiggles out of my arms.
“I can walk now, Dad,” Miles says, and I swear he puffs his chest out a bit. Between that and the change from “Daddy” to “Dad,” I already know who my Casanova is thinking of.
We round the corner of the team’s chartered jet, and it takes Miles two seconds flat to find Callie.
“Callie!” He bounces down the aisle. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Miles.” Callie beams.
I can feel a full plan of wooing coming on, and while I hate to cramp my kid’s style, we need to take our seats.
“Hey, bud, come on.” I wave him back when his little head turns around. “We have to get buckled up.”
“But, Daaaad,” Miles groans out.
Callie and half of the players around us try to hide their laughs .
“Way to be a mood killer, Dex,” Beck says, coming up behind me.
“Yeah, let the kid work his magic,” Tripp, our third baseman, chimes in.
Callie’s brother Adam comes to Miles’s defense next. “Just give the kid five minutes so Will can remember he’s not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is.”
“Hey, whose side are you on?” Will snaps.
“Miles’s,” the guys all say in unison.
I bring my hands to my forehead. I’ve got a fucking headache.
Miles giggles happily and while in this moment I’m glad I have such a good group of guys that love my son, they aren’t fucking helping.
“Okay, okay, no need to stress Dex out anymore,” Callie says to the guys before looking back at Miles. “Listen, I love our talks, but it’s time for us to get seated. How about when we get to the stadium we sneak some ice cream into the photo outpost?”
“Promise?” Miles tilts his head to the side.
Callie crosses an X over her heart. “Promise, kiddo, but you gotta take your seat for me.”
The groan Miles lets out is a lot less annoyed-sounding than the one I usually get, but at least I can always count on Callie to help me out.
When Miles turns around to come back to our seats, I mouth a “ thank you ” to Callie.
Miles gives me the silent treatment during takeoff. Considering he’s been on an extreme number of plane rides since birth, they’re really like nothing to him now. But despite what he thinks, he’s five, not twenty-five, so the appeal of the silent treatment wears off pretty fast .
“Dad, how do planes fly?”
Well, while thinking about how to answer Miles’s original question, he’s asked me at least three more.
“And why do we call them planes? Why do we have to stay buckled in a car but not in a plane? Where do the number ones and twos go while we are in the air?”
You know, if you would have told me that one of the main things you do as a parent is make shit up to answer your child’s million fucking questions, I may not have completely believed you. I mean, how much time could it possibly take, right?
Our team’s general manager—my boss—Jim Olsson chuckles in the seat across from us. “So many excellent questions. I can’t wait to hear your dad’s answers.”
Shit, me too. I feel like I can only confidently answer one of these questions. This may come as a shock to my five-year-old, but as a newly retired MLB pitcher I don’t know shit about the hows and whys of planes.
“Well, bud, why don’t we look up the answers and see what we can learn about planes.”
After pulling up a couple of articles, I read through them enough to bore Miles with factual answers.
Turns out, my ways of learning aren’t exactly keen on my child, so eventually I pull out his small Spiderman headphones and turn on some video with the title saying something about kids and airplane education.
“Well, Dex, you did your best.” Olsson chuckles softly. “Granted, I think I missed the part about where our number ones and twos go? Can you repeat that part for me?”
Shaking my head, I look back at Miles to make sure his headphones are on good. “Respectfully, sir, fuck off.”
While it might seem crass to speak to my boss that way, I’ve worked with Olsson for years.
He coached me for over half of my career—mentored really.
When I informed the Blues of my retirement plan, Olsson was just a coach, but the moment he became one of the top staff with the team, he called me up with an offer I couldn’t say no to.
“Oh, come on, Larsen, the kid’s curiosity is what makes him so great.
Have you taken even a second to watch him talk to the team?
With Callie? He asks insightful questions and is eager to learn.
This wasn’t exactly where I meant for this conversation to go, but have you found anyone to help when he starts school this fall? ”
Sighing, I run my hand over my face. “No, I haven’t.”
“Look, I swore to you Miles would always be welcome at every turn during this season. This is not me saying he’s not been great, but the stress of doing everything on your own is starting to show.”
“Gee, thanks. And here I was thinking I was handling this change pretty well.”
Is that why Blondie didn’t spare me a glance? Is it that obvious that I’m running on fumes?
Olsson snorts. “You are. I’m just saying, it’s hard being a single parent. Believe me, my daughter is grown now, but I was on my own through the teen years—just thinking about it and I feel like I could use a nap.”
I huff a laugh. “A nap sounds fucking amazing.”
“Have you talked to Kate again? Is she still hellbent on not helping?”
I shoot another quick glance at my son to make sure he doesn’t have any reaction to his mother’s name.
“I’m not getting into all of that with him around. In short, yes, she’s still hellbent. I mean, let’s face it, she wasn’t exactly flexible when we were together, so now it’s just flat out no. Her one weekend only.”
One weekend a month and she’s stuck to it.
The time away from him is hell for me. I can’t even begin to understand how she does it, but I told myself no matter how angry she makes me, I’d never badmouth Miles’s mother in front of him.
Sighing, I glance at Miles again to make sure nothing’s changed and keep my voice low. “My mom said she could start helping take care of him again now that she’s feeling better after her double knee replacement, but I can’t put all the traveling and responsibility on her again.
“Then on top of that, he won’t be able to travel because of school and with this schedule we have…fuck, I’d only be home about a week out of the month. It was hard enough with him only able to travel half of the time when Kate and I were together, but now…I can’t do that—I just can’t.”
In truth, I didn’t want this retirement. Despite being thirty-six, I felt like I was still at the height of my career. The years with Miles growing up were tough. Kate hated the baseball schedule and rarely wanted to travel to away games, but with my mom’s help, we made it work.
But with factors coming into play—from the divorce to Miles needing to start school and all the details in between—retirement seemed like the only option.
It was probably selfish of me to take this job knowing everything I had to retire for would catch back up to me, but when Olsson made the offer and said it would come with the flexibility of Miles being my plus one to everything—and I mean every practice, event, meeting, game, you name it—I couldn’t find a way to say no.
“I get it.” Olsson shrugs. “Have you thought about homeschooling?”
Thought of it? It’s my only fucking option with the amount of traveling we do. The thought of finding someone to accommodate our schedule on top of that is also stressing me the fuck out.
I guess Olsson is right—it is starting to show.
I get short-tempered with the guys easier than I used to, and I’m practically taking advantage of our team photographer and doubling her as my onsite nanny.
Callie’s been a saint through this whole process, but at this point, I should be adding to her salary.
“It’s my only real option, honestly. The main issue is that I can’t find anyone who wants to be both the nanny and the teacher.
I’ve had countless applications come through from obvious cleat chasers.
I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of ‘because I loved watching you play baseball’ and ‘I’ve always wanted to be a step-mom’ that have been written as qualifications.
Besides those immediate toss-outs, the most qualified homeschool teachers declined the offer as soon as they saw our schedule. ”
Olsson laughs at my misery. “It’s not for everyone.
It’ll work out, Dex. You’ve got the summer to figure things out.
In the meantime, you can still bring Miles everywhere we go.
” Olsson crosses his ankle over his knee and flips open one of his sports magazines.
“But I’d also say you owe Callie some of those teas that Will is always getting delivered for her.
I know she loves helping, but you’re getting free labor out of my photographer. ”
All I can manage is a nod before Olsson looks down to read whatever article he opened up to. With a sigh, I turn back to Miles and watch as he smiles and giggles at the grown man in suspenders dancing in front of an airplane.
I don’t shove screens in his face often, but sometimes it’s necessary. Especially when Miles’s second home is about to be this fucking plane. There’s only so much to do in the air, I suppose.
Looking at my son, he’s thoroughly entranced so I do my best to relax and pull myself out of this bad mood. I hadn’t really thought about being a dad and now a single dad. I just feel like I’m fucking everything up.