Page 11

11

CREW

A few days later, we were back at home, and I received a text from my agent saying he’d set up an appointment for me to take the paternity test. Jessica, the woman with whom I’d had the one-night stand (I now remembered her name) had called Lee as I’d told her to. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’d had a Rockies player who needed a paternity test, so he knew exactly where I could go.

I sat behind the wheel of my truck, one hand tight around the steering wheel. The clinic wasn’t far, yet traffic made it feel like an eternity. My fingers tapped against the gear shift as my nerves got the best of me.

Singleton sat beside me, his arm resting on the console. “You gonna make it?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze dropped to my hand, then back up. “Liar.”

I exhaled and focused on the road. “I’m not ready for this.”

“I know.”

“My brother Finn was ready. Married his high school girlfriend, had a kid before he turned twenty-two.” I stared out the windshield. “That was never me. I wanted this—baseball, a career, the chance to live before settling down. And I got it. Still do.” My throat tightened. “I can’t be a dad right now. Not with how much time I spend on the road.”

He reached over, his touch comforting on my leg. “If this baby is yours, you’ll figure it out.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah? How?”

“I think parents just do.”

It sounded so simple when he said it. Like I wasn’t about to park the truck and possibly have my entire life flipped upside down. Like no matter what, everything was going to be fine.

The clinic came into view. I pulled into a spot and shut off the engine, but I didn’t move. My hands stayed on the wheel. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt. “You can.”

My chest felt tight. “And if it’s mine? Then what?”

“Then you take a breath and go from there.” He popped open his door. “But first, we go inside.”

I swallowed hard and got out.

We made it into the clinic, where the receptionist took my name and told me to have a seat. Singleton dropped onto the chair beside me.

“I wouldn’t be there every day,” I admitted in a whisper. My mind was still racing. “I couldn’t be the kind of dad that’s home every night, tucking them in.”

Just like my father.

I wasn’t about to go into detail with Singleton about my childhood in the middle of a waiting room, but my mind was full of memories. My dad had been a truck driver, and growing up, I rarely saw him. I knew he loved me, but I’d always wished he’d been more present when I was a kid.

He turned toward me. “Doesn’t mean you won’t be a good one. A lot of ballplayers have children. Hell, look at Davenport, Skip, and all the others on our team. They make it work.”

It didn’t feel that simple. I had no idea how to be a father. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be one. “Yeah, but they didn’t have a one-night stand that turned into an eighteen-year commitment.”

“That’s true, but they’re making it work and Jessica has to know you’re on the road half the season.”

“Hopefully.” I blew out a breath just as a nurse called my name. My stomach dropped.

How was this my life?

Later that night, I crouched behind the plate, pressing the button on my wrist for a slider. Torres barely hesitated before starting his motion. The ball came out wrong with too much break. It skipped low and outside.

Ball one.

I rolled my shoulders and keyed in a fastball up and in. The batter whiffed as the fastball popped into my mitt. Strike one. I flipped the ball back to the mound, but I felt off. Like I wasn’t fully present.

My focus was shot. All I could think about was how I’d have to spend the next ten days waiting to see if I was going to be a father. If the kid wasn’t mine, I could move on. If it was … then what? It wasn’t as though I was going to marry Jessica. The baby would be born to two people who barely knew each other, and that wasn’t how I pictured starting a family.

I keyed in another fastball, low but still in the zone. Torres shook it off. I tried again. Another shake. He wanted the slider.

His call.

The second the ball left his hand, I knew it was trouble. A sharp crack echoed through the stadium as the ball launched into the gap. I pushed to my feet as the runner from second sprinted home. The throw came in late.

Torres cut it off just as the Giants scored another run.

The next batter stepped in and adjusted his grip on the bat. I selected a fastball, and this time, the pitch sailed too high.

I took a slow breath, motioning for Torres to do the same .

The next pitch was a curveball. It dropped in clean, catching the edge of the zone and a called strike.

Finally.

I fired the ball back, but my head still wasn’t one hundred percent in the game. Kids needed stability. Routine. A dad who showed up. Mine hadn’t, so I wasn’t sure I knew how.

The crack of the bat snapped me back as another hit found the outfield.

Another mistake.

When the inning ended, I headed for the dugout, stripping off my gear to get ready to bat. I dropped onto the bench, forearms on my knees, staring at nothing.

Singleton settled in beside me. “You good?”

I clenched my jaw. “Yeah.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t have to pretend with me, but if you want to make it through the game, you need to focus on one at-bat. One pitch. That’s it. The rest can wait.”

I gave a slow nod, but it didn’t change the fact that my mind was miles away.