The Sunday after the long road trip, Dustin walked up the stained concrete steps of his parents’ home for a family dinner. He paused outside the door to paint on a smile. The Nationals were brutal—beating them by double digits three games straight. Dustin couldn’t connect with the ball to save his life. That wasn’t entirely true. He’d connected fly balls aplenty, but hadn’t been able to put the ball in play.

On the bright side, the rest of the team didn’t do much better, ensuring his poor performance didn’t stand out.

On the dark side, the rest of the team didn’t do much better.

To top it off, he wasn’t making any progress with Clover. He’d text, and she’d answer, but there was no real back-and-forth. It was like pulling apart the laces in a glove with his teeth to get her to talk. He’d tried calling once, but her roommate answered and said she was in the shower. He didn’t leave a message.

All the while he was fumbling his way through trying to talk to Clover, Blake Rygs paraded his redheaded girlfriend all over D.C., flaunting their stupid relationship bliss in front of everyone. They took selfies in front of the White House and the Washington Monument, posting them on Instagram like lovesick fools. Dustin took a little satisfaction knowing they were staying in separate rooms and had to at least say good night before they could sleep. Coach and Harper Wolfe hadn’t been married that long, and they managed to keep things professional in front of the team. Blake was a doof. Dustin had hardly said two words to the cheesy couple all week—stupid happy people.

All in all, it had been a week of battles and disappointments, and Dustin could use a day to gather his wits. Instead, he was headed onto another battlefield: family dinner.

The sound of children’s laughter and a dog running on the hardwood floors came through the front door and brought a small smile to his lips. His nieces and nephew were the best part of any family gathering, and he hadn’t seen them in weeks. They were probably taller—kids grew so fast.

Dustin squared his shoulders. He couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of his parents when it came to baseball. Mr. Positive was his alter ego. They could say, “You struck out twelve times this week,” and he would grin and say, “I’ll get ’em next time,” because the minute he let his guard down, they would pounce.

He opened the door and was tackled by everyone under the age of ten all at once. Laughing as he tried to keep them from injuring one another in the dogpile, he hugged and kissed and exclaimed over pronouncements about one’s fall off a bicycle, the flavor of popcorn another had tried, and where still another’s dog had chosen to go the bathroom that made Mommy ground him to the backyard for-ev-er. They peppered him with questions about where he’d been and what he ate on the airplane.

Ginger, at six years old, was especially enthralled with the idea of eating while flying. She had dark brown hair that flipped up at the ends. “Did your fork float away?”

He tickled her side. “I didn’t go to space.”

She giggled. “I want to go to space.”

“Then do it! You’d make a great space woman.”

“More like space monkey,” quipped her older brother, Ty.

“Hey.” Ginger shoved him.

“Hey, both of you. Quit arguing and let Dustin get in here.” Aurora, his sister-in-law, waved him into the kitchen. “He’s probably starving.”

Dustin smiled, because he was hungry. His mom made the best dry rub in the state, and she put it on chicken, beef, and pork and then had Dad slow-cook it on the barbeque. The back sliding glass door was open and the screen door shut, allowing him to smell the smoky, slightly tangy flavors from here. He rubbed his empty stomach and reached for a pickle on the relish tray.

His mom, moving back and forth between the stove and the counter—where a spread worthy of Bobby, the clubhouse manager, was coming together—blew him a kiss. “It’s good to have my boy home.”

“What about me?” asked Zander, Dustin’s younger brother. “I’m the one who fixed your railing this week.” He winked at Aurora, who rolled her eyes, knowing he was trying to get under his mom’s skin. The two were a match made in heaven—Zander loving to pester those around him and Aurora having the patience of a saint to put up with him.

Mom huffed. “Yes, Zander, you are the apple of my eye,” she said, deadpan as she leveled him with a look that would discourage any player in the MLB from stealing a base. A timer dinged, and Mom whipped around to pull the rolls out of the oven. Their yeasty smell added another layer of anticipation to the fragrances swirling through the kitchen. Dustin’s stomach growled.

“You have this week off, right?” asked Zander. He grabbed a handful of olives and popped one in his mouth.

Aurora smacked his backside. “Wait for the blessing.”

He gave her a wicked grin and popped another olive in his mouth. She shook her head and turned away with a smile on her face. Dustin gave her props for sticking with Zander for eight years and some change.

Dustin put the pickle on a paper plate. Zander’s question chased away his appetite, because he knew what was coming and didn’t like it. “We’ve still got workouts.”

Zander cuffed him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. I could really use you to run a crew.”

“Running a crew is an off-season thing.” Even then, he was pushing his luck. Most guys took the three-month off-season to let their bodies rest. They did minimal workouts so as not to cause overuse injuries. Hanging Sheetrock, hauling Sheetrock, mudding and taping Sheetrock were physically demanding jobs that did not allow him time to rebuild.

“Come on. Tera needs braces. Do you have any idea how much braces cost?”

Aurora nodded her head as she mashed the potatoes.

“Dustin—help your brother,” added Mom in the same tone she used to tell Zander to catch for Dustin when he needed to practice in high school. At that point, he was throwing hard enough that Dad had to ice his hand after catching.

Dad came in through the back door with a platter of meat. He looked like Fred Flintstone with a dino steak. He even had the black hair and thick build. Dustin couldn’t count the times Dad had sat in the car with a newspaper, waiting for practice to get over. Nor could he number the games his parents had attended, even though they had no love for baseball. But they loved Dustin. Of that he was sure. And when you love someone, you make sacrifices for them.

Dustin shrugged. “I’ve got afternoon workouts. If you can swing an early shift, I’ll make it work.”

“I’ll line it up and text you tonight.” Zander snagged a roll. He took a large bite and hid the roll behind his back when Aurora glanced his way. A piece of the roll stuck out the side of his mouth—he was begging to get caught. Aurora ignored it. Saint.

Dad set the platter on the table and dusted off his hands. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too.” Although Dustin wasn’t so sure. If he’d stayed home, he’d be able to sleep in this week instead of getting up before the sun to go to work. “What’s the latest, Dad?”

“Not much here. But I have a question.”

The grandkids ran through the room, chasing Roberta, the dog. Carter, the youngest, toddled after the crew. He’d wanted to be a part of the pack from day one and refused to be left out, even though his little legs had to work twice as hard to keep up.

“Shoot.” Dustin motioned for Dad to ask away.

“When I see MLB players on television, they have a beautiful woman on their arm.” He craned his neck to look around the room. “Where are these women?”

Mom threw a dish towel at Dad. It covered his face before dropping to the floor.

Dad swiped it up. “I’m just saying. All these women out there and my son comes to dinner alone.”

Dustin thought of Clover. His family would scare her to death. “If you think I’m going to let you all meet a woman before she promises to marry me, then you’re crazy.”

“So you are dating?” Dad pressed.

“How can he have time to date? He eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball.” Mom gave Dad the I’ve got this look. “He dreams of playing in Boston—not giving us more grandchildren.” She set out a pitcher of raspberry lemonade, her displeasure with Dustin’s life goals evident in the parentheses around her mouth.

“Dustin, please tell your mother she’s wrong,” said Dad.

Dustin shook his head. Telling Mom she was wrong or overreacting or being dramatic or too sensitive was never a good idea. Mom had trigger words, and when one of them came out of her kids’ mouths, she let loose. Dustin turned to Zander and Aurora, who were setting the table, silently begging for their help.

Zander mouthed, “Sorry.”

“I have a few cute friends …” Aurora offered.

Dustin was on his own. “Thanks, but I’m focusing on baseball right now.”

Mom waved her wooden spoon. “There has to be someone … You’re handsome and young. What’s wrong with women these days?”

Dustin had asked himself that same question when he’d first met Clover. She was combative and defensive and yet beautiful and so kind. She gave herself to a cause, and she believed in helping people who didn’t believe in themselves. “There are a few good ones left.”

“A few good ones or one good one?” pestered Zander.

Dustin gave up trying to keep anything from his family. “Maybe there is one that’s interesting.” If only she’d text. It was having to teach her to catch a ball all over again. “She drives me nuts,” he muttered.

Mom pounded the spoon on the side of the pan. “That’s good. Your father bugs the heck out of me, and I love him more than homemade churros. What’s her name?”

“Clover,” he said quietly, like saying her name was a special treat.

All movement stopped. Dustin’s eyes flicked from face to face. Dad was thoughtful. Mom was ecstatic. Aurora had her hand over her heart. “Have you taken her out?”

He lifted one shoulder. “We played catch a week ago, behind my house.”

“No. No.” She tossed her hands in the air. “Ask her to dinner. Make her feel special, like she wants to paint her toenails before you pick her up.”

Dustin considered her advice. Texting wasn’t working. He needed to up his game. Heck! That was his theme in life lately: up his game on the field, up his game with Clover. He was constantly falling short.

Zander’s jaw scraped the floor. “You’re into her.”

“It’s not like that.” Dustin waved their enthusiasm off and backpedaled. “We argue all the time.”

“And yet you say her name with reverence,” said Aurora. She fanned her face.

“I do not.”

Zander kissed Aurora’s cheek. “I’m going to agree with my wife on this one.”

“Punk.” Dustin glared.

“Whatever, lover boy.”

“Zander!” Mom looked to Dad for help. “It’s like they never grow up.”

Dad wagged his finger at Dustin. “Don’t keep her from us.”

“We aren’t dating—I don’t have time. Remember?”

Dad’s finger stopped wagging and started pointing. “You make time. You see all this?” His arms made a circle that took in the children running, their happy laughter, and the whole family gathered together. “This is worth the time. This is what it’s all about. I know you love baseball more than you love food, but baseball should be number three.” He ticked off his fingers. “God, family, baseball. When you figure that out, you’ll start hitting the ball again.”

“Dad!” His words hit too close to Dustin’s wounded pride and his fears of being benched, sent back to the minors—or worse, cut. He had no idea his dad had even followed his at bats. Game stats? Yes, but at bats was another level of support and expectations from his father. Another layer of pressure beaded across his forehead. “I’m not going to get better at hitting by spending less time on the skill and chasing some woman. That’s not how things work.”

Dad shook his head sadly. His eyes filled with something Dustin hoped never to see there: disappointment. His body sagged. Dad didn’t get it. No one had any idea what kind of pressure Dustin was under to perform.

Mom brought out the Jell-O salad, the Snickers salad—which wasn’t a salad at all, but an excuse to eat candy at dinner—and a fruit platter. “No more business talk! It’s Sunday—make it a day of rest.”

Dustin tossed her a thankful smile. She winked and called for the grandkids. They scampered in all smiles and giggles. For a moment, Dustin wished he could be a kid again, where his biggest worry was if there was a Popsicle in the freezer.

Just because he played a game for a living didn’t mean his life was all fun and games. His family didn’t seem to get that.

Clover hadn’t either—not at first. She was coming around. He couldn’t believe she had to look up the definition of a home run derby. That was … charming.

The family found their seats, Dustin between his niece and nephew, where he could help control their serving sizes of the Snickers salad and make sure they ate some protein. Dad said grace and they dug in.

With his hunger satiated, Dustin looked back on his week, removing himself emotionally from all that had happened. From this end of the calendar, he could see that he’d been in a funk, growling about Blake and Elise and their perpetual smiles.

After a few moments, he finally realized why he’d been in such a dark cloud. Longing. All week he’d longed to see Clover again—to connect with her. Texts didn’t work and the phone call was a bust. Tomorrow night, he was taking her to the home run derby party. He’d finally get his chance to be near her, to hear her melodic voice and watch her eyes light up when she took her first step onto the infield grass, and he couldn’t wait.