The Sweetest Game (30 page)

“It’s so weird to think of you without thinking about baseball.”

He glanced at me. “You think it’s weird for you, how do you think I feel? I have to figure out who I am all over again.”

“You know who you are.”

“A man in love with his Kitten?”

I gave him a mock frown. “Jack, be serious.”

“Part of my identity for as long as I can remember is being a baseball player. If I’m not that anymore, then who am I?”

“Who do you want to be?”

“Harry Potter,” he teased.

I laughed out loud and grabbed his hand. “Mission accomplished.”

Two Months Later …

I didn’t know what to do with myself with all the free time Jack’s help gave me. It made me realize that I had been living a sort of single mom life, although I’d never admit that to Jack now. It served no purpose. I simply made sure to thank him for everything he was doing to help.

Longing to make up for lost time, Jack refused to let me help with Chance’s homework, and woke up every morning to drive him to school. He even called Nora behind my back and told her I was ready to start taking on assignments. I had to tell Jack to “slow his roll.” Yes, I wanted to work again someday, but not the second after he had stopped.

“You’re trying to get me out of the house,” I said after learning that he reached out to Nora.

“I don’t want you to waste any more time not working now that I’m home,” he confessed. “I can handle everything here just like you did. You put your dreams on hold for me, and now it’s time you go chase them again.”

My hand flew to my open mouth and covered it. Jack never ceased to amaze me when it came to how thoughtful, caring, and loving he was. Lowering my hand, I said, “Staying home with my son isn’t a waste of my time. And now that you’re here too, I’m in no rush to be gone.”

“Are you sure? You’ve given up so much,” he started to say.

I shook my head. “I’ve given up nothing. My dreams aren’t gone. They’ll still be waiting for me when I’m ready to pursue them again. But that’s not now. Especially not now.” I couldn’t imagine focusing on a job now that Jack was finally home. I wanted to take the time to enjoy actually being a family in a two-parent household.

“Well, that’s good to hear because I’ve been gathering all these quarters, you see, and I can’t really use them if you’re not here to use them on.”

“Is that so,” I asked as I pressed my body against his chest and felt the need between my thighs.

“I have. I think I’ll spend this whole jar right now. Knock you up again.”

“I swear to God, Jack. If you give me another boy, we might need to adopt something female. Like a girl dog or something. All the testosterone around here is killing me. Between you and Dean and the boys, there are way too many Carter males running around.”

He laughed hard. He does that a lot lately, thank God.

Touching his cheek, I said, “I’ll never get tired of hearing that laugh or seeing those dimples.”

“Better get used to it, Kitten. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, then deepened the kiss in that way that always made me want to tear his clothes off. I always assumed that if Jack changed after quitting baseball, it would be for the worse. It never occurred to me that post-baseball Jack might actually be better. There was a whole other person who lived inside him that neither of us knew existed. This guy was much happier, much friendlier, and a hell of a lot less stressed.

Not that Jack wasn’t any of those things before he left, but like I said before, a weight had been lifted from my man’s shoulders. He finally felt like he could let loose and have fun, actually go out on the weekend and not be wracked with guilt over it.

Quitting baseball had been one of the best decisions Jack ever made. And leaving the sport didn’t make him miss the game, it made him love his life and the choice he made to finally have one. I loved my husband with every fiber of my being, and slept in his arms each night knowing he felt the same for me.

He’d promised to have me knocked up again by the end of winter. “It’s my new goal,” he said with a laugh.

“Consider it met.” I chewed on my bottom lip as he pulled back from my arms.

“W-what?” he stuttered. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”

I tilted my head to the side and smiled. “If you think I mean that we’re pregnant again, then yes.”

Jack wrapped his arms around my middle and lifted me off the ground, the world spinning beneath my feet. “Oh my God, Kitten! Yes! I love my swimmers!”

I laughed, pulling out of his grip and touching my toes to the floor. “Your swimmers? You love your swimmers?”

Shrugging, he added, “I love you too. But you know that. I’ll always love you. Always.” He lowered himself to his knees and pressed his lips against my belly. “And I love you too, little man.”

Rolling my eyes, I whined. “Not this again.”

Jack rose to his feet. “Yes, this again.” He placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “You’ve seen us Carter men in action. We breed boys.”

“You’re gonna be in a lot of trouble, mister, when you find out we’re having a girl.”

“Never going to happen,” he responded overconfidently, and I smiled.

Heaven help me.

Eleven Years Later …

All my life, I’d heard Uncle Dean’s stories about what a stud my father was in high school, and how the girls all fawned over him. To be honest, not much was different with me. People always patted my back like I was a fucking champion or something as I walked through the school campus, and this afternoon—a game day—was no different. 

Once I reached the locker room, I changed into my baseball gear, ignoring the rest of my teammates while I prepped mentally. Every game day, I followed the same routine: I changed into my gear in silence, refusing to say a word, while I listened to the “warm-up” soundtrack I downloaded blasting in my ears.

Heading out toward the baseball field, I spotted my dad in the bullpen, working with our starting pitcher. Since my dad started coaching the varsity baseball team at my high school, it became the school to attend … especially if you were a pitcher. Which I wasn’t. 

My dad had coached all my baseball teams except one since quitting the major leagues. To be honest, I only had vague memories of my dad playing baseball for the Angels. My childhood memories consisted mostly of my dad always being around, not him being on the road playing ball.

I decided when I was just a little tyke that I wanted to be a catcher. Maybe it was all the years of catching for my dad while he pitched balls at me? I didn’t know for sure, but what I did know I was a great catcher. I had an arm like a cannon. Base runners didn’t steal on me, I’d throw them out quicker than shit. Like a rocket launcher was attached to my arm, I’d fire that ball from behind home plate to second base and get them out nine times out of ten. My parents worried about my knees, but I worked hard to keep them strong and flexible. I knew all about what my dad went through when he got hurt in the majors. 

Before I stepped into the dugout, I made a visual sweep of the stands and saw my mother was sitting alone on a stadium chair among the growing crowd. Since my cousin Coby was the only freshman who made the junior varsity team and our games overlapped, Uncle Dean and Aunt Melissa missed almost all of mine. Poor Gran and Gramps were forced to split their time between games, meandering back and forth between the two ball fields. 

I scanned the crowd for my little sister, Jacey, only to see her talking to some boy who looked a year or two older than her. 

Hope to God Dad doesn’t see that.

Dad already had enough heart attacks with Jacey to last a lifetime, starting with her trying to wear makeup like she was twenty instead of ten, and coming down the stairs to go out wearing short shorts and little tank tops. Every time it happened, Dad would stand there with his face all red and his hand over his heart as he ordered her to march right back upstairs to change, while my mom just stood there and laughed. 

My parents always got along really well. Every fight I’d ever seen them have always ended with a kiss and my father calling my mother by her pet name, Kitten. I’d find it kind of cute if it didn’t make me want to fucking barf watching my parents make out like teenagers. There were some things you could never un-see. 

No one knew why my dad called her Kitten, even though I’d asked about a million times. I couldn’t even look at a kitten without thinking about my mom, which was pretty fucked up, if you asked me. And don’t get me started on the deal with the quarters, either. I blocked out the real reason they collected them and chose to think about the stupid cutesy stories instead. Do you have any idea how weird it was to grow up thinking that quarters were meant to be put into jars and not spent? I almost had a coronary the first time one of my friends pulled a quarter out of his pocket and deposited it into a vending machine. As a matter of fact, I got a little hysterical, and the principal was forced to call my mom because I refused to calm down. She had to come get me and take me home. To this day, I ask for my change in dimes and nickels. No quarters for me.

No girls either. Unlike my dad, who was apparently some grade-A womanizing badass, I tried to steer clear of girls. They were distracting, and a pain in the ass. I had no idea how my dad got them to leave him alone, but if I so much as kissed a chick, I couldn’t shake her for months. Didn’t fucking need that. 

“Chance! Get out here and warm up that arm, son!”

I headed out of the dugout and started tossing the baseball around with a teammate while my mind wandered briefly wandered back to my family. My dad never missed a game once his career ended. My mom, on the other hand, missed some here and there due to her photography jobs. She accepted work when my dad forced her to. He told me he could see it in her eyes when she wanted to cover a story and that we needed to encourage her to go.

More than once, Dad and I had sat on the couch together and informed her that the house wouldn’t burn down, I wouldn’t flunk out of school, Jacey would have her lunch packed and homework done, and we’d eat three meals a day if she left us for a week. We basically had to convince the woman that we would survive in her absence.

Compared to other moms, mine was rare. More often than not, my friends’ moms couldn’t wait to leave the house and not be held accountable for what happened there while they were away. My family, on the other hand, practically shoved my mom out the door every single time. She never wanted to leave us. And to be honest, my dad wasn’t the same when she was gone. He always seemed a little sad, no matter how happy he was with me and my sister.

When both games finally ended, the group of us always gathered at either our house or my uncle’s for dinner; tonight it was our turn. Whenever we’d get together, Gran would rave about how much she loved being surrounded by family, but sometimes I wanted to kill my little cousins. Tonight Uncle Dean’s nine-year-old twins were running around like they were possessed by demons, wanting to put makeup on me and paint my nails.

What was it with chicks? Why did they always want to mess with your nails? My sister encouraged their behavior, even after I warned her I’d throw her in the pool with her clothes on.

“You wouldn’t!” She narrowed her green eyes at me.

“I would. And I will. Try me,” I dared her.

“Enough,” Mom chided from the kitchen. “Come in and eat. Girls, leave Chance alone. He doesn’t want his nails painted today, but I bet your dad does.” She smiled at Uncle Dean, and Aunt Melissa burst out laughing.

My dad walked over to my mom and planted an embarrassing kiss on her lips before giving my sister and me a squeeze. 

When dinner was ready, we all sat at the table as the conversation flowed and the noise grew so loud it could probably rival an Italian family gathering in New York. About halfway through the meal, Dad calmed the table down, asking for silence. 

“I have some important news I want to share with you guys,” he said, leveling his gaze with mine. “Especially with Chance.”