Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR LOVE OF THE GAMES

EMMA

J ax drops to the ground after being hit in the chest with the ball, and I watch as his brother James, and the man who was acting as umpire rush to him, along with a handful of others. They help him into a seated position, and I finally feel like I can breathe again. Jax gets to his feet, and James helps him off the field while the other man takes the glove and ball and begins to throw.

I want to make sure he’s okay, there’s a part of me that feels drawn to him, even though we met only briefly. His eyes meet mine as he makes his way to the bench, and as much as I want to stay, and check on him, I turn to head back to the rec center, to get away from the noise of the crowd as much as to get to my car and head home. I have work to do for the week ahead, and I probably shouldn’t hang around like I have any claim on Jax or any reason to make sure he’s okay, but there’s a part of me that needs to be sure. I’ve been the injured athlete on the field before, and even with everyone’s concern, it’s a lonely place.

When I tore my ACL, once I was off the field, I was by myself in the training room, waiting for the team doctors to come check me out, trying really hard not to scream from the pain. My family was on the other side of the country at the time, and even though I was surrounded by people, I felt completely alone. But Jax, he isn’t alone, he’s here with his brother, and I assume more of his family is in the assembled crowd. I’m just the strange woman he almost knocked out with a baseball over the weekend.

I make my way to my car and drive back home knowing that I have work to do to get ready for the week ahead. Once I’m home, I make a quick dinner and eat on my deck, my eyes drawn to the calm waters of the lake in front of me, but my mind wandering to the rec center baseball fields down the road.

I was born and raised in Boston, a town that takes their sports seriously; baseball weekends means traffic jams and less interest in tours of the city, which is fine, because you’ll typically find my parents in the stadium, sitting in the seats they’ve had for twenty-five years. Sometimes Molly will tag along with Dad, when she’s in any one place long enough to drop her suitcases, but more often than not, Mom is the one that sits beside Dad at every home game – side by side in their matching Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell jerseys.

Dad took me to one game when I was about twelve, and I was bored to tears by the game. I felt bad, because Dad was having such a great time teaching me about baseball, and I wasn’t into it at all. Soccer moves so fast, and is so non-stop in its pace of play that baseball couldn’t hold my attention. By that point, I’d been playing soccer for four years, and in my pre-teen brain, nothing could top my favorite sport. Thankfully, I have parents who supported me in my soccer dreams.

Dreams that were torn apart at the same time as my ACL.

I watched a lot of baseball during my recovery, because I couldn’t bring myself to watch the sport I loved, and I learned enough of the game that I could carry on a conversation about it with my Dad at the time. And then my ADHD hyperfixation got involved; for six months, the duration of my physical therapy, I listened to every audio book available to me on the vast, hundred and forty plus year history of baseball.

I read about the players who pioneered the game, I read about the great rivalries that exist between teams, and after every physical therapy session, I’d talk to Dad on the ride home about the book I’d been listening to, and he’d recommend a new one for the following week. I came to appreciate the game in a new way, and it took my mind off of the fact that I wasn’t playing soccer and probably wouldn’t play again. As soon as I was comfortable getting around again, Dad took me to a game, and I was enamored from the first pitch to the final out, because I finally understood what was going on.

More than that, I understood my dad in a new way, and it allowed us to bond in ways we hadn’t before. I finish my dinner and after washing my dishes, I turn on my work playlist on my nearby speaker, and a baseball game on television – the combination of familiar music and baseball helps my brain focus on the task at hand, eliminating other distractions. I learned this trick in elementary school when my frustrated mom couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t doing my homework at the dining room table. Molly had no trouble, why couldn’t I buckle down and do my work like Molly could?

It took some convincing, but Mom finally let me do my homework on the living room floor one night, and there was something about being near Mom and Dad, and having the sound of the nightly news in the background, that helped me focus on my work. So, I kept it up. Sometimes I mix up what I put on television – baseball, cooking shows, my favorite political drama from twenty years ago – but my music is always the same: Beethoven, Mozart, Holst, and Copeland. No lyrics to distract myself with.

Sitting down on the floor in front of my couch with my laptop, I start working on my plans for the library for the next month; reading groups, after school activities, and book fairs are all on my schedule for the year, and I look forward to just being in the library for the kids on a daily basis. I have order forms pulled up for library supplies, and new sets of books to replace a few that have gotten too old or damaged over the years.

The alarm on my phone pulls my focus away from the spreadsheet on my computer screen and reminds me that it’s time to get ready for bed, otherwise I’d stay up all night and keep working. It takes a while once I’m into my pajamas and into bed, for my mind to stop racing enough for me to start to relax, music – a different playlist this time – playing softly in the background, lulls me to sleep.

I wake in the morning to soft sunlight pouring in through my bedroom window, and get ready for a staff work day to mark the end of the marking period. With an audiobook in my ears, and giant rolls of paper in the hallway, I transform my ‘back to school’ library bulletin board into a soccer field, complete with goals, touch line, and shaggy green grass.

“Emma!” Lucy Hernandez calls down the hall from the direction of the gym. “Emma, I need your help.”

“What’s up Lucy?” I pop out one headphone and pause my book, giving her my full attention.

“I’ve had a bit of a family emergency crop up and I’m not going to be able to be around for the rest of the soccer season.”

Oh no.

No.

I turned down the offer of coaching youth soccer when it was extended to me back in August, but the desperation on Lucy’s face makes it really hard for me to tell her no. It would give me time on the field, and there’s only a few weeks left in the season. I could do it for a few weeks. Right?

“I can do tonight’s practice and the game on Saturday but Emma, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t in such a tough spot.”

“Send me an email with all the details; roster, schedule, parent information. And Lucy, make sure you email the parents so they aren’t surprised when I show up instead of you.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” Lucy throws her arms around me in a tight hug before making a beeline for the front door. When her email arrives later that afternoon, I’m about to read through the roster when Mrs. Owens wanders into the library.

“Lovely bulletin board, Ms. Mitchell. Are you ready to talk about extending your contract?”

Because of the uncertainty of my future, I signed a one year contract with the school, not knowing when – or if – I may find myself back in the game. Mrs. Owens was understanding, but reminds me every chance she gets that a long term contract is an option.

“I’ll let you know, Mrs. Owens.”

“See that you do.”

The future is still filled with unknowns, so I tamp that one down again, hoping to tuck it away for a while longer and choosing to take my mind off of it by treating myself to take out from the nearby diner for dinner, and eat a solo picnic on a bench near the park. I watch families riding bikes, others playing catch, and a handful of other picnickers, but my attention is drawn to the tall, lean form a few yards away with two young girls, girls I recognize from school – Mackenzie and Alice. They’re kicking a soccer ball around. When the taller of the two girls gets the ball, she squares up and kicks it with a little bit of force behind the touch, and the ball rolls swiftly through the grass, in my direction.

I stand and stop it with my foot before it can roll onto the nearby path. And, in a bit of a show-off moment, I flip the ball up onto my foot and juggle it a bit, before carefully bringing it back down to the ground and tapping it in Mackenzie’s direction. She stops it with her foot and scrutinizes me for a long moment,

“Do you play, Ms. Mitchell?”

“I used to,” I tell her, and for the first time in a while, I don’t feel a stab of regret for not going back to the game. “Do you?”

“I do! I’m on the team that Mrs. Hernandez coaches.”

“Mackenzie!” A voice calls from nearby. I turn and come face to face with a set of beautiful bronze eyes framed by unfairly long lashes, a jawline covered in dark stubble, and…a smile? I didn’t see that last time.

Jax.

“Mackenzie,” Jax drops to a knee in front of his daughter, “you can’t just go bugging strangers…”

“It’s no trouble. Really.” I protest, fighting the urge to reach out and run my fingers through his dark, enticing hair. “And, I work at their school, so no stranger danger here, if that’s what you were afraid of.”

“I’m sorry,” Jax stands and faces me, “I try to work on boundaries, and stranger danger and all that, but sometimes they get excited.”

“That’s okay, I was the same way at that age,” I assure him before turning to his daughter. “It was nice to see you, Mackenzie. We’ll have to get together to play sometime. Your dad knows how to find me.”

His lips tilt into a lopsided smile, one hand scrubbing at the back of his neck as he looks away from me. “Yes, I do.”

“Anyway…” I try to make a natural exit but there’s no good way to just…bolt. “I should be going.”

“Goodnight, Emma,” he says once I’ve turned around, and I’m thankful that I’m walking away and he can’t see my face as heat floods my cheeks and a thrill runs through me at the sound of my name on his lips.