Pitcher Ryan Hudson has been everyone’s best friend. He hardly dates but loves to sit back and give advice. When Ryan hosts a family for a day at the ballpark, he becomes attached to an autistic boy, his brother, and his attractive single mother. [Winner of 2017 Readers Favorite Gold Award, Realistic Fiction]

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Chapter One

Wham. Bam. No thank you, ma’am.

And that, was exactly how Ryan Hudson closed the game.

Pow. The ball slapped into the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike three, ouuttt!” The umpire stuck his thumb straight up, then lowered his hand in a karate chop.

Catcher Kirk Kennedy took off his face mask and jogged up to the mound.

They did their customary high-five and shoulder slap, and it was back to the dugout with another save under Ryan’s belt.

“Caught him with his pants down,” he joked about the batter who hadn’t even taken a swing.

“Dude was supposed to swing at the bastard pitch,” Kirk groused.

“He would have missed anyway.” Ryan swaggered with his teammates off the field.

Okay, so this wasn’t the bottom of the ninth in the seventh game of the World Series, but a save was a save, and a great way to start off spring training.

Maybe this would be the year he gathered enough saves to bring the Phoenix Rattlers through the playoffs and into the series. What a cap to his career that would be.

At thirty-eight, he was starting to feel his age, especially since he suffered back-to-back injuries—a torn rotator cuff after a fractured cheekbone the year before when he was hit in the face by a line-drive.

“Hey, old man, want to hit the bars? Pick up chicks?” Timmy Li, the young hotshot pitcher was always looking for wingmen.

With more married than single men on the team, it was down to Ryan, Josh, and a couple of rookies to keep the various sport bars and clubs in Phoenix in business.

“Not tonight,” Ryan said, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I’m looking forward to a hot tub, alone.”

“You never score with the chicks anymore,” Timmy said. “You too old to get it up?”

“Hey, I saved your ass. We won tonight.” Ryan turned toward the club house.

He liked women just fine, but they seemed to get younger and younger each season, and it was always the same old drill.

Buy them a drink. Flirt and fool around.

Maybe he was getting old, but his team depended on him. As a closer, he was the ninth-inning wonder. If he did his job, he pitched three outs and ended the game.

Sometimes, he was called in to close for the backup closer, which meant the other relief pitcher had left men on bases. He’d come in, under pressure, and clinch the game with a single pitch and force the out.

“Hey, Ryan,” his buddy Brock Carter, the third baseman, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You got picked to host a fan for a day at the ballpark.”

“Me?” Ryan pointed to himself with his thumb. “Why would anyone pick me when they could have Timmy or Rodrigo show them their muscles?”

Every year, Phoenix was home to fifteen off-season baseball teams, a big attraction for tourists and residents alike. Most of the fan activities were done to enhance the team’s reputation and reward fans for coming to spring training. Although lately, it seemed the only fans who signed up were young women more interested in dating a ballplayer than getting tips on how to pitch, catch, and bat.

“It’s two boys,” Brock said. “A five year old and a seven year old. They want to grow up to be sluggers.”

“That’s music to my ears,” Ryan said. When he was growing up, every kid had a sports hero he idolized and dreamed to be just like him.

Nowadays, they were more interested in catching Pokemon or playing with their phone. It was a rare kid who wanted to hang out at a ballpark, going through drills the entire day.

“Oh, and their mother’s kind of hot,” Brock added.

Ryan let out a long sigh. “For the last time, I’m not interested.”

He preferred his life quiet and peaceful.

Women brought noise and chaos, and as far as Ryan was concerned, he had no need for trouble of any kind.

Being alone was orderly and predictable. And it gave him the nerves of steel to pitch under game changing pressure—each and every night.

Chapter Two

Jamie Rush was thirty-two and a mother of two.

A seven-year-old and a five-year-old.

Both boys.

And right now, she had to get them ready for a day with pitching star, Ryan Hudson.

“I can’t find my glove,” her elder son, Ben, ran around their living room in circles. “Drew must have taken it.”

“I’m sure you can borrow a glove.” Jamie packed five-year-old Drew’s diapers, snacks, headphones, and toys in a backpack. It had a camouflage pattern and was a lot more inconspicuous than lugging a diaper bag over her shoulder.

“I want my own glove,” Ben insisted. “Do you think Mr. Hudson will play catch with me? I hope he will.”

“He’s going to take us on a tour of the clubhouse after the game. I’m not sure he’ll have time to play ball with us,” Jamie said, tempering Ben’s expectations.

Although, Ryan had volunteered his entire day to spend with her family, she was sure Drew wouldn’t last more than two hours before he threw a fit.

She looked over at her son who was playing with her key ring. He was fixated on moving the keys around the ring and then dropping them on the table to watch them spread out.

“Drew,” she called. “We’re going to baseball park. Have to get into the car in ten minutes.”

He didn’t reply, but he heard her because there was a slight pause in the dropping of the key ring, before he began twirling them around.

“I need to find my baseball,” Ben said, running to his room. “Do you think Mr. Hudson will sign it?”

“I’m sure you could ask.” Jamie walked to coffee table where Drew was playing with her keys. “Got to get going, babe. Let me have my keys.”

Drew turned away from her, so she walked around the table and put her hand out for the keys. “Mama needs the keys to go in the car.”

Without looking at her, Drew left the keys and moved away from her.

She called it a win and scooped up the keys. “Five minutes and it’s into the car.”

Ben waved his hand in her face. “Did you find my baseball?”

“Looking.” She pulled the cushions from the sofa.

“I need my mitt, too,” Ben reminded. He bounced on his toes around the room, clearly excited, but not helping with the packing.

“I can’t find your ball.” Jamie wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. “Maybe we can find one at the ballpark.”

“Or I can catch one from the stands. I need my mitt!” Ben yelled a little too loudly.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Drew had moved onto spinning a metal candy box lid and watching it topple. He was fascinated by the wobbling metal sound it made as it settled down.

Another reminder was needed. “Drew, did you hear me? We’re getting into the car to go to the ballpark.”

“After we play catch, I want to bat the ball.” Ben opened the coat closet and grabbed his aluminum bat. “I bet Mr. Hudson can throw a hundred miles per hour.”

“I bet he could.” Jamie located Ben’s mitt and stuffed it in the backpack. “Found your mitt, but you’re going to have to leave that bat at home.”

“But Mom, it’s my lucky bat.”

“Okay, got everything. “ Jamie checked her watch. “Leave the bat and go to the car. I have to bring your brother.”

She hoped the day would go well for Ben. He was one when Drew was born, and three when Drew was diagnosed with autism. She tried to divide up her attention between the two boys, but with Drew’s clinics, special education, medical appointments and all the things she needed to do to teach him daily living, Ben often missed out. Of course, Drew’s meltdowns could ruin an outing at any time.

“Three minutes, Drew.” She gave him a nudge as she gathered sunscreen and baseball caps.

“Do you think Mr. Hudson can go to the movies with us after we play ball?” Ben lingered next to her and gave her a sweet, wistful smile.

What he was really asking for was a father figure.

After a year of living with autism, Jamie’s husband divorced her. He dutifully paid his alimony and child support, and she was still on his insurance—for which she was grateful. But was it asking too much for her life partner, the one who claimed he still loved her, to stick around when the going got rough?

Apparently sickness and health didn’t include an autistic son for some people.

Jamie didn’t want to disappoint Ben, whose life was already chock full of disappointments. So she said, “Let’s ask him. Did you have a movie in mind?”

Movies were another thing they never did—at least at a theater. Drew simply couldn’t sit still long enough, and the loud sounds and the way light flashed on the screen put him in full panic mode.

“I want to see Lego Batman!” Ben said. “All my friends saw the movie. They had popcorn and hotdogs and 3D glasses.”

If things didn’t work out with Mr. Hudson, Jamie would ask her mother to watch Drew, and she’d take Ben on a date herself. Of course, she hated asking her mother for more than she already did, especially if Drew gave her a hard time.

“We’d better get going.” She looked over at Drew and prepared for the cajoling and battle of wills to get him into the carseat.

Ben picked up his backpack and walked over to Drew. “Hey, bud, we’re going to see a baseball player.”

“Baseball!” Drew clapped his hands and found his plastic baseball and pointed to the TV. “See baseball.”

“Yes, but you have to sit in the car if you want to see him,” Ben explained.

“No car. No car.” Drew grabbed the TV remote and turned on the TV.

“Ben, start going to the car,” Jamie told her older son. “Maybe he’ll follow you.”

“This is real baseball,” Ben said. “At the ballpark. With grass and dirt, and white bases, and real baseball players. Not like TV. If you want real baseball, you have to ride in a car.”

Logic was lost on Drew. He loved watching baseball on TV, and even understood the game enough to count balls and strikes and runs. But getting in the car was unrelated to baseball in his mind. While Ben had been to a real baseball game with his grandparents, Drew had never seen a ballpark or stadium.

“Car not baseball.” Drew puffed himself up as if Ben were misunderstanding something basic.

“Ben, go ahead.” Jamie tried not to be exasperated. Ben meant well, but getting into an argument about cars versus baseball wouldn’t help.

“Drew, come to me,” Jamie ordered, but the boy wouldn’t budge. He flipped through channels trying to find the baseball game.

Jamie firmly took the TV changer from him and pointed his face toward her. She stared into his eyes, but of course, he averted his gaze.

She again got into his face. “Mama says to come with me, so you’re coming with me.”

“Baseball,” he said.

She held the baseball in front of her face so he would have to look at her and the baseball at the same time. “You are going to the car and so is your baseball.”

“No car. Baseball.” Drew grabbed for the ball, but Jamie had always told Drew he had to be polite and mind his manners.

“No grabbing. Baseball is going to the car.”

Drew turned his face away from Jamie, determined to ignore her, so she calmly tucked the plastic baseball under her arm and picked him up.

He remained stiff in her arms, like a board, but at least he didn’t fight.

When she tried to put him in the carseat, he flailed his head back and forth and pushed at her. He hated the feel of the straps, but there was no negotiation here.

Jamie let him stand in front of the carseat for a few moments until he relaxed, a little.

“Mama wants you to sit in your special chair,” she explained as she picked him up and placed him in the carseat.

“We’re going to see a baseball player,” Ben said. “He’s a pitcher. A real pitcher.”

“Picture,” Drew repeated.

“No, pitcher. Like the guy who throws the ball,” Ben said. “Strike one, strike two, strike three.”

“You’re out.” Drew clapped his hands while Jamie tightened the strap and made sure the clip was in place to keep them together.

“The count is three-two,” Ben said, pretending to be an announcer. “Hudson’s peering at the catcher, reading the signal. He winds up, and here comes the pitch. Strike!”

“You’re out.” Drew squealed, as Jamie let out a breath of relief and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Hopefully they could get to the ballpark, and Mr. Hudson would be understanding. Luck had finally turned her way when she won the sweepstakes for a day at the ballpark. She had picked Ryan Hudson because he was always so cool and focused under pressure. Many times, with the fate of the game or a series hanging on a single pitch, he’d forced the batter to either swing and miss, or popup for an easy out.

She didn’t miss the fact that he was still single and had never been associated publicly with any one woman. He was easy on the eyes and built like a body builder. And at thirty-eight, he was hopefully done sowing wild oats and acting like a fraternity brat.

A woman could dream, couldn’t she? But she hadn’t had time to doll herself up, and face it, she was a single mom with two boys—one of them with special needs, and her life was twenty-four seven autism.

This day was for Ben and Drew, and like all special days were, it would all too soon be in the past—especially if Drew cut it short with an autistic meltdown.

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