Chapter Thirteen
Dylan
Otis helped Dylan put away all the equipment as the other boys slowly disappeared into minivans and SUVs. Ten minutes after the pickup time, he was the only kid left at camp. Dylan scanned the parking lot, half afraid to see Lucy there. He’d been pretty rude this morning, irritated mostly at himself, but taking it out on her. Would she be willing to stick around so he could apologize?
Only one way to find out—he had to try. Even if his stomach was doing backflips.
“Any idea where your sister is?” he asked Otis.
The kid frowned. “She runs late a lot.”
“This is really late,” Dylan said, wondering if this was some kind of punishment for how he’d acted this morning. But, no, Lucy was too overprotective of her brother to leave him hanging. Something was wrong. “Maybe she left you a message?”
“Oh!” Otis took off for his equipment bag, having to unpack his bats, a second glove, and a towel, before wrestling his phone free. That made Dylan laugh. His bag had always been orderly, from the time he was seven or eight. The other guys had poked fun at him for it, mainly because their bags looked more like Otis’s disaster.
“Um, Coach Dylan?” Otis chewed on his lip. “She’s not coming.”
Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “What? She can’t leave you here, man.”
“No, it’s not her fault. I should’ve checked sooner.” Otis’s lip trembled, and Dylan realized he was chewing on it to hold back tears. “My mom…she’s sick. Lucy had to drive her to the doctor.”
Okay, that didn’t sound good. Mrs. Foster had to be very sick for Lucy to drop everything and leave Otis hanging like this. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“No.” A fat tear escaped Otis’s eye. “S-sorry. I’m a big baby.”
“You aren’t. Anyone would be upset when their mom is sick.” Dylan sighed. “Want to go to lunch? We could eat and figure out what to do next.”
Otis’s expression brightened so much it was comical. “Lunch? With you?”
“Sure, why not? Do you like Dolly’s?” That was the drive-in everyone in town went to, and it had enough greasy food and ice cream to delight any nine-year-old. “I’ll buy.”
“I love Dolly’s. It’s my favorite.” Otis was already texting. “I’m telling Lucy I have a ride.” He gave Dylan a cagey look. “So she won’t worry.”
Just what did you text there, Otis? “Lucy, Coach Dylan is buying me lunch…nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!” Complete with tongue-sticking-out emoji most likely. Dylan swallowed a laugh. “Good plan. Grab your gear— I’m starving.”
“Me, too!”
Otis chattered the whole way to the car, whistling when he saw the Porsche. “And I thought my dad’s Jeep was cool. This is awesome.”
“You mean Lucy’s Jeep?” That was what she drove, right?
“Not Lucy’s. My dad’s in the Army reserves. He got called up, so he’s letting her drive it. I think she hopes he’ll buy her a car when he comes home.” Otis deflated a little. “Whenever that will be.”
Dylan waited for Otis to climb into the passenger seat and buckle up before walking around to his side. Their dad was in the military? And gone? No wonder Lucy had to take care of her mom on the fly—they didn’t have backup. Some of her flightiness fell into place. It was hard to focus when you were pulled in a thousand directions.
Dylan started the car and drove more carefully than usual, having a kid on board. Otis acted like a puppy on a ride, his face pressed against the window, watching the world go by. He had to have ridden this route a dozen or more times, but he acted like he’d never seen it. Dylan found himself smiling every time he glanced at Otis. He was a mix of Dylan’s and Lucy’s best qualities: focused and wanting to succeed, but enjoying the trip.
Dylan’s chest ached. If things had been different, if he’d been different, wired in another way, he could’ve been this curious, hardworking, earnest kid. You couldn’t unlearn things, though, so all he could do was appreciate Otis for what he was and take care of him until his family came home.
Dolly’s was hopping when they pulled in. Dylan ordered burgers, fries, onion rings, and a chocolate shake, grinning when Otis’s eyes grew huge.
“That’s a lot of food,” he said. “Can you really eat that much?”
“Some of it is for you.” Dylan pointed at Otis’s stomach. “There’s room in there.”
“Probably, but not as much as you.” Otis settled happily in his seat. “Coach Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you like my sister?”
Dylan blinked. He’d forgotten how blunt kids were. “Um…she’s nice.”
Otis let out a hefty, dramatic sigh and jammed his ball cap harder onto his head. “Not like that. Like…like like.”
It took Dylan a second to decipher that. “I…I just met her, Otis.”
“Please don’t go out with her.”
Dylan froze. “Why not?”
“Because Lucy’s Lucy, and you’re you.” Otis’s tone was firm, like that made complete sense. “And you’re my Coach.”
A hint of jealousy, but some concern, too. “I’m not saying I’ll go out with her…” Again. “But, even if we did, I’d still be your coach.”
“Lucy’s a little crazy.” Otis said it with the vague fondness and annoyance that only younger brothers could produce. Dylan knew that tone well— He’d called his own sister crazy more than once. “If she makes you mad, you won’t want to be my coach anymore.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Dylan scrubbed a hand through his hair, beginning to understand where all this was coming from. “Otis, I promise to be your coach as long as I can, no matter what. And when I leave for the minors, maybe your dad will be back to catch for you.”
“Maybe.” The kid’s huge brown eyes were full of a loneliness unfair in a nine-year-old boy.
Dylan recognized that loneliness, and it sucked. “Hey, I have an idea. Do you know when Lucy will be back?”
Otis shook his head, looking curious. “Why?”
“Because I have a friend who works at Swing Away, the batting cages on route 27. We could hit balls for a while.”
Otis’s face split in a huge grin. “Really? I never get to go to the cages.” He bounced in his seat. “Let’s go!”
“Dude, we have to eat first.” Dylan pointed at the carhop balancing a tray full of food. “Your body needs fuel to perform. Remember that.”
Otis nodded, as if that was the best advice ever. “I will.”
Dylan almost laughed, “All right, then. Eat up.”
“Center your weight a little more,” Dylan said, adjusting Otis’s back foot. “Otherwise you’ll lose momentum.”
“He needs a different bat,” a girl said outside the cage.
Dylan hid a grin. “Otis, I think you’re about to get some coaching from the Suttonville Sentinels’ secret weapon.”
The kid lowered his bat, eyebrows raised, and turned. “Ooooh, you’re Alyssa Kaplan.”
Alyssa turned an incredulous look on Dylan. Just a few days ago, her brilliant green eyes would’ve left him weak in the knees…and a little pissy. Today, though, he noticed the sting was gone. “What?”
“Are you guys seriously creating a legend about me out there?” Alyssa put her hands on her hips. “Don’t believe a word they say, kiddo. I was a decent hitter and a good pitcher when I played softball, but I’m not superhuman.”
Otis peered at her. “Yes, but everyone knows how you helped Coach Tristan with his swing.”
Alyssa mouthed, “Coach Tristan?” then laughed. “That I did. And you need a two-and-a-quarter bat, not a two-and-five-eighths.”
“But the high schools use two-and-five-eighths,” Otis said, shooting Dylan a look that clearly asked why they thought Alyssa was an expert. Dylan smirked back and waited.
“Because you need a lighter weight bat. It will help you work on distance, speed, and bat control. The five-eighths is too big for you right now. Practice with the smaller barrel, and when you grow an inch or two, move back up.”
She went to the supply closet across from cage 8, where they’d been hitting, and returned with an aluminum bat that had seen better days. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll do.”
Otis looked at the bat like it might bite him. Dylan rolled his eyes and opened the cage door to take it from her. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She cocked her head. “Who’s the little guy, anyway?”
Dylan wasn’t sure he wanted to admit the connection with Lucy. Especially with Otis there. “He’s from camp. His sister and mom had an emergency, so I’m letting him tag along until they’re back.”
Alyssa gave him an approving smile. “Good on you. Let me know if you need anything.”
She went back up front, pausing to give them a thumbs-up when the ting! of a hit rang against the walls. Dylan turned to find Otis staring at the bat like it was a magic wand.
“Told you she knew what she was talking about,” Dylan said. “Now, let’s work on stance.”
“Okay!” Otis posted up at the plate eagerly, ready to learn.
A warm feeling stole through Dylan’s chest. It wasn’t every day he was part of blowing a nine-year-old’s mind.
But now things with Lucy were more complicated. If he was honest with himself, there was a pull there, even if he wanted to cling to his “no girls” rule to maintain his focus on the future. He had a plan, and Lucy was a monkey wrench. She made him feel…alive. The pull was even enough to obliterate some of the heartache over Alyssa. But what would Otis think? This kid needed someone, badly.
Watching Otis light up as they worked on his batting, Dylan made his decision. No matter what he wanted, Otis deserved more. He’d stay friendly with Lucy, but for her brother’s sake, he’d leave it there.
And if Dylan was kind of frustrated by that, so what? Better him than Otis.