Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“All right, all right, all right,” I said in my best Matthew McConaughey voice. “I think that’s enough of the emotional junk. Get on the field and start to warm up, will you?” I playfully shoved them away from me. They began to jog out to the field, leaving Nathan and me there alone for a few moments.
“Those damn kids,” I said, shaking my head.
“They love you.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I picked up on that.”
“It’s kind of hard not to, Coach.”
My face flashed with heat as I shook my head. “Dang it, Nathaniel. You’re making it harder for me to hate you.”
Being on the field and coaching was the first thing that made me feel okay over the past few days. It was a normality that I had been seeking. I knew that baseball was the one thing, outside of my family, that could make me feel better about anything that was bringing me down. The diamond felt like my haven. The place I could escape to when the rest of the world was too loud.
The guys played their best during that practice. That felt like a little gift they were giving to me. I appreciated it because I didn’t have enough energy to shout at them for messing up any drills.
We ended the night with a few sprint drills, which they hated. I didn’t blame them. I hated running, too. Nathan ran beside them as I blew my whistle, telling them to go faster.
Afterward, a few of the guys collapsed on the field, breathing heavily.
“I hope a guy never breaks up with Coach K again,” Caleb joked as he bent over from exhaustion with his hands on his hips.
I smirked to myself and ordered the guys off my field after they collected all the gear.
Nathan jogged over to me with a bag of bats over his shoulder. “They’re getting pretty good out there, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess you weren’t the worst addition to the team.”
His lazy smile appeared, and he tipped an invisible hat my way. “Appreciate that, Coach.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. I don’t need your ego to inflate.”
He began to pretend he was floating away from his inflated ego. I rolled my eyes. He smiled bigger. Kind of our normal interactions as of late. Damn. I was really starting not to hate the guy. That was mildly concerning.
Nathan glanced up at the darkening sky. “You better get inside before a downpour hits town tonight. It’s supposed to be a bad one.”
“Night, Nathan.”
“Good night, Coach.”
After doing some paperwork, I gathered my stuff and umbrella. By the time I left my office, it was already raining. I opened my umbrella as I stepped outside, and as I grew closer to my car, a smile spread across my lips as I saw Daddy leaning against it, holding an umbrella and flowers in one hand and a picnic basket in the other.
A small sigh rippled through me as I grew closer. “What are you doing here?” I asked him.
He grinned the same smile that made Mama fall in love with him, walked over to me, and kissed my forehead. “I know I said I’d give you space to show up to talk when you were ready, but I was worried. So I made us a picnic for dinner. Figured we could eat it in your car.”
My father, my hero. He was probably the reason no man would’ve ever been good enough for me. My standards were quite high due to him.
We climbed into my car and tossed our umbrellas into the back seat. Daddy opened the picnic basket, and my heart felt the comfort from the simple act. When Mama and I moved to Honey Creek, I was only four years old. The town hosted an event called Snack on Hillstack, where people could buy picnic baskets for charity. Daddy and Yara bought ours that afternoon. That was the first time we’d met, and I’m pretty sure that was the exact moment Daddy fell in love with Mama.
Ever since that, each year, Daddy packed picnics for each of us girls throughout the year, and he’d add in extra baskets whenever we were dealing with heartbreak. The basket held the same foods that it did all those years ago on Hillstack—peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, barbecue chips, apple juice, and orange slices.
My father—the hopeful romantic.
It turned out that picnic baskets were officially my love language.
As he handed me a sandwich, he asked, “How’s your spirit today?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m fine.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, not believing me, but he didn’t question it. “I saw the asshole Henry in town over the weekend,” he said nonchalantly, biting into his sandwich.
“Wesley,” I corrected. Over the years, my father had never called Wesley by the right name. It was a running joke that Daddy never learned the names of my sisters’ and my partners until he liked them. Wesley never grew on him. My father was convinced Wesley was too smart for his own good, which, in turn, made him stupid. Daddy said nothing good came from a know-it-all. Turned out he was right.