The ball arced up in the air and I waited for the outfielders to catch it. I was unable to prevent myself from smiling as they all missed it then ran after the ball like hungry vultures. Every single one of them… from both sides.

Truthfully I was having a blast, enjoying their exuberance for the sport. The kids were unspoiled by the world. They gave off this joy that was hard to maintain the older you got. But back when I was younger I’d always thought that when I’d made it big, and once my career was over, I would retire and share my wealth of expertise. I’d tour the country coaching kids, girls and boys, on every level. Get them excited about baseball and hopefully teach them a secret trick or two. After all, they were the future. Talent needed to be nurtured at an early age, like my parents had done with me… except of course I never got to fulfill my dream. All those years practicing to be something that never came to be. It was such a waste.

I handed off a bucket of balls to Darren after breaking the whole team into groups. They’d be easier to handle that way, I thought. Darren took the bucket reluctantly. He had arrived thirty minutes late, accompanied by the woman we’d both met at the singles event and a cute little blonde-haired boy who I assumed was her son, who was also clearly a bundle of energy.

“Come on, man,” I said as he took the bucket. “All you gotta do is throw it up in the air. Please tell me you can at least do that?”

“I don’t know,” Darren said as the kids waited for the next ball. “What if they laugh at me?”

“Suck it up, dude, and throw the ball, they ain’t going to bite,” I said, slapping him on the back before walking away.

There were few dads helping out with the groups as well now, too. I’d given them a few instructions and now the kids were working on every dynamic of the sport, from batting to fielding balls. It was more divide and conquer, but I was enjoying every minute of it, and the memories from when I found my first love of the game clamored to be heard.

Turning around, I casually looked over at the stands to find the other object on my mind. She was still there, standing alone with her eyes focused on the field and her hands jammed in her pockets.

How she came to find me I had no clue. But I wasn’t going to squander this second chance that had landed in my lap. I mean it was a bit odd that she was here, standing out like a sore thumb, but I could deal with that later if she ended up being a little unhinged.

Whatever her agenda, she definitely didn’t fit the soccer-mom mold. Besides, none of the other parents seemed to interact with her or acted like they knew her at all. And I knew from experience that sports parents all knew each other—they had their own little cliques themselves. After all, they were the people you spent time with season after season—at least that’s what mine and every other kid’s parents had done when I was growing up.

I glanced back at the kids to make sure everything was going smoothly then back at her. A crazy thought ran through my mind. Maybe she had been sent here to keep an eye on me for some reason? But I quickly dismissed the baseless idea. I’d been the one to approach her at the bar and no one else knew I was going to be there, except Darren and maybe his new girlfriend, Sarah, and of course the previous coach. So she couldn’t really have known where I was going to be. So that only left three reasons as to why she was here: one of these kids was hers, she was a stalker, or I was indeed being monitored.

I rolled my shoulders and turned away so I wouldn’t look like I was staring her down and attempted to get my attention back where it should be.

One of the kids caught my eye as he threw a few pitches on the mound. He had great form and I could see that with a little practice he could be a great pitcher for the season. Darren hadn’t given me much to go on, but I’d reached out to the last coach of the team and found out that he’d had no real plans or strategies in place for the upcoming season for the kids. So it was all up to me, I’d be making the decisions. The thought thrilled me just a little too much; I was getting too involved in this and it was only my first day—it was only supposed to be temporary—and yet I didn’t want to quit either. It was only a Little League team, but I knew I could make them great and help them have fun at the same time.

The practice was over all too soon. After a few parting words, I watched as the kids ran to their parents, they gave me little waves goodbye and then I could hear some of them launch into excited monologues, as they told their parents what they had learned.

It was a good feeling, one of those warm, fuzzy ones that made me feel like I was doing some good. Totally cheesy. But I didn’t care.

Looking over at the stands, I saw my long-legged blonde walking away from the area quickly, her head down and her hair flying about her shoulders. There was no kid in sight… not even one running or trailing after her.

Definitely not a mom then, I considered. That meant something else was up…

Damn, she was running now and I really wanted to apologize, take her out to dinner, and see if this date ended better than the last. Plus I was far too curious about why she was here to just let her slip between my fingers again. I had to stop her.

Leaving the clean up until later I started to jog over to catch up before a small frame caught my eye, standing by himself near the bleachers, obviously looking for someone. Damn, it was my future pitcher. I couldn’t just leave the kid here alone.

“Hey,” I said, and veered towards him instead. “Where’s your ride, kid?”

“I normally walk home from here,” he answered, standing on his tiptoes to look over the bleachers. I frowned, wondering why he was looking all around. Was someone supposed to meet him and he was covering for him for being late? I watched as he fell back to the ground, his shoulders slumped and I felt a little tug on my heart.

Shit, leave it up to a snot-nosed kid to soften me up a little.

“You know,” I said, unsure of what to really do in this type of situation. “You have all the makings to be a great pitcher. You’ve got a powerful arm. You just need to work on your stance.”

He looked up at me and I could see genuine interest in his eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” I answered, seriously. “You want to throw some around?”

He nodded, his smile reappearing, and we walked over to the mound, where I’d started to gather some of the equipment. “What’s your name, kid?”

“James,” he answered, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “James Morris. I’m eight. And my favorite colour is green.”

I stuck out my hand, giving him a friendly smile. “Green, huh? Good choice. I’m Luke, or Coach if you want to call me that. Doesn’t matter to me. And I think my favorite color is blue.”

“Cool.” He shook my hand, looking me straight in the eye. His unwavering stare reminded me a lot of my now wayward blonde from the bar and how she definitely wasn’t the type to back down. I imagined she was some kind of lawyer or in a profession that demanded toughness. Hell, maybe she was a cop.

“Coach, how long will you be our coach?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, squatting down to his level. “But I will be here until they kick me out, how about that?”

He nodded and I picked up a few balls, putting them in his little glove.

“Here, throw these as hard as you can toward the plate. Remember what I told you earlier, about your follow-through and stance.”

“Yes, Coach,” he said. I gave him a wink and walked over to home plate, squatting to simulate the catcher. “Come on, James, bring the heat.”

I watched as the kid bit his lip, going through the motions before he stepped onto the mound. He reminded me so much of myself at that age, unsure of my talents but wanting to make a good impression to my own coach. My life had revolved around pitching, picking it up about the age that James was right now. I had a natural talent, or at least that was what everyone told me. Hours on the field and in the gym later on just to perfect my skill. And it had almost paid off, almost.

The first ball nearly caught me off guard, with good solid heat and perfect direction.

“That was a good one, James,” I said casually, not wanting to display complete and utter amazement. He didn’t need an inflated ego quite yet. This kid was going places and with the right mentor, he was going to be a hell of a player one day. But baby-steps first, he needed to put the work in.

He threw a few more balls with better accuracy than most adults I’d seen—hell, he threw better than Darren, but that wasn’t hard, I thought with a smile. I gathered up the balls and jogged to the mound, giving him a grin. “Dude, you have one hell of an arm.”

He gave me a tentative smile. “Really?”

I nodded and clapped him on the shoulder before gathering all of the equipment to carry to my truck.

“If you keep at it you’re going to be a great player.”

“I hope so,” he said.

As he walked beside me, his eyes scanned the area around the park again for that person he was still seemingly waiting on. I kind of felt sorry for him, as I witnessed his smile fade, only to be replaced with a sad, dejected look as he realized whoever he was expecting wasn’t going to come.

Damn. It was a hard life. I threw the stuff in the back of the truck and looked around. Daylight was fading and I would not be able to sleep tonight if I let this kid walk home by himself.

“Come on,” I said, throwing open the door. “I’ll give you a ride home, James.”