“Not really,” Tyler said with a shrug. “But we’re going to the science museum next month and I need either you or Mom to sign a permission slip.”

“The science museum? That’ll be cool, huh?”

“It’s okay. I went there once already in fourth grade.”

Brody thought the science museum would be pretty interesting, but what the hell did he know? Obviously eleven-year-olds had a different definition of “cool.”

“Dad, you passed our street,” Tyler announced a few moments later.

After leaving Chase’s house, he’d gone home and tossed in his and Tyler’s gloves and a couple of baseballs. It was way past time the two of them spent some one-on-one time together and got back to the basics of their relationship. These days his son would rather text and talk sports stats with his friends. Not too long ago Brody was Tyler’s favorite person in the world.

“We’re not going home yet. I thought you and I could go have some fun before we get to the homework grind.” He glanced at Tyler. “Work for you?”

“Yeah.” The smile that spread across the boy’s face was a special one the two of them used to share. Back when it seemed like they were the only two people in the world.


The town of Trouble didn’t have a whole lot of money to dump into its Parks & Recreations department. It had only two baseball diamonds, and the “bleachers” to go along with them were laughable and couldn’t hold more than two dozen people. Brody had many memories of playing there as a kid, and he remembered them being a lot nicer than they were now. What little grass was able to grow was shin high and wasn’t conducive for making a dive catch. That was mostly due to the abundance of weeds that had taken over most of the outfield. Brody had played on nicer fields that had soft red clay on the infield. That stuff was every player’s dream and kept scrapes and injuries to a minimum. Trouble’s field had sand with patches of cracked dirt that was like running on cement. The ankle he’d twisted on two separate occasions could be credited to that nightmare.

The poor Little League teams had had to resort to meager fundraisers to repair the fields themselves. Unfortunately, they hadn’t raised enough money to do anything substantial. But Brody didn’t care if it was a bare patch of dirt. All he needed was a place to play catch with his son.

He pulled his car into a parking space, grabbed their gear, and the two of them headed to the field. Brody placed himself on the pitcher’s mound, which wasn’t much of a mound. And Tyler stood at home plate. This had always been their customary positions, Brody throwing the pitches and Tyler playing catcher. Anything else would feel out of sorts to him.

The glove felt foreign on Brody’s hand, almost too tight because it hadn’t been used in so long. But it also felt right, and he cursed himself again for letting too much time go by. Tyler tossed the ball in the air a few times, then overhanded it to Brody. The ball landed in his glove with a smack. He wrapped his fingers around the ball, tested its weight, then threw it back to Tyler. He purposely threw it a little high just to see if his son would remember what he’d been taught. Tyler didn’t disappoint. But Brody had thrown it too high. The ball hit the tip of Tyler’s glove, then sailed passed him and bounced off the chain link fence behind home plate.

“Sorry about that,” Brody called out. “Bad throw.”

“I got it.” Tyler ran the short distance and scooped up the ball. He bounced from foot to foot back on home plate and threw the ball back to Brody with a big grin on his face.

“Do you remember when you made Mom be the batter, and you hit her hand?” Tyler asked when he caught the toss Brody had returned to him.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Brody said with a smirk.

“The look on Mom’s face was hilarious.”

Yeah, it had been a real riot. Kelly had insisted on watching the two of them from the bleachers. Only after a lot of cajoling did she agree to hit a few balls. He distinctly remembered being distracted by a pair of shorts his then-wife had been wearing. A pitch had gotten away from him and he’d hit her knuckles, bruising them badly. She’d taken it like a champ, but the daggers her eyes had tossed him had been unmistakable. Brody was surprised Tyler had remembered that day; he’d only been about six at the time.

“She was pretty mad at you,” his son added.

Brody clapped his glove around the ball Tyler just threw. “I don’t blame her. I damn near broke her hand.”

Tyler leapt to the left to make a great catch. “Maybe that’s why she never came out with us again.” A gust of wind blew Tyler’s blond locks across his forehead. He tossed the ball up in the air a few times. “I liked it being just you and me,” he muttered.

Brody could only stand there on the pitiful excuse of a pitcher’s mound as an ache settled around his heart. He ached for so many things: for the family he used to have, for the way Tyler used to look at him—before Brody had screwed everything up.

“Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested, with a nod of his head toward the bleachers.

Tyler dragged his scuffed sneakers along the dirt, kicking up dust behind him as he went. The metal bleachers creaked and groaned when the two of them climbed to the top row. Tyler sat down and set his glove and ball down by his feet. Brody settled beside him and leaned against the back rest. A gust of wind blew some stray leaves across the parking lot as the two of them sat in silence for a moment.

“Something on your mind, son?” he asked after Tyler had been picking at the stitching on his glove.

Tyler pinned him with his expressive green eyes. “Am I going to have to move?”

The question threw Brody completely off balance and had the blood in his veins practically freezing. Kelly had said she hadn’t said anything to Tyler, so the boy must have heard something. And he was coming to him for answers, but Brody didn’t have many for him, because even he didn’t know.

He chose his words carefully. “What makes you say that?”

“I heard Mom and Colin talking the other day. They kept talking about Grandma Louise and how we might have to move to Michigan to take care of her because she’s sick.”

So Kelly had unknowingly let the cat out of the bag. “Have you asked Mom about it yet?” Brody was dying to know what Kelly’s response had been. Last he’d talked to her, they were still trying to figure out a way to get Louise here.

“No,” he muttered. “I don’t want to go to Michigan, Dad.”

Well hell, he didn’t want Tyler to move either. But the circumstances were beyond his control. Brody didn’t know what to say. This whole situation was killing him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do. He knew Kelly would never agree to let Tyler stay here. She wouldn’t give up her son that easily. But Tyler was probably really confused and scared as hell at the idea of leaving everything and everyone he knew.

He slid his arm around Tyler’s small shoulders. When was the last time he’d held his own son? The boy was getting rather old for coddling, even though Kelly still had a habit of doing so. He supposed that was natural for a mother. But as far as he and his own son went… he couldn’t remember the last time he’d offered the boy that sort of affection. And why? He hated himself for not being able to answer such a simple question. Even more, he hated himself for falling out of that habit.

He pulled Tyler closer so he could lay his head on Brody’s shoulder. The weight of the boy’s smaller body against his reminded Brody of the days when Tyler would climb into his lap and sometimes fall asleep. He’d stare down into the boy’s face and think about how precious the little life was, a life he’d created. A life he’d always treasure above his own.

“I would never let you be that far away from me,” he said in a rough voice. He hadn’t been this close to tears in a long time. “Even if you have to go to Michigan, I would be right behind you.”

Tyler lifted his head and looked at Brody. The uncertainty in his son’s eyes made his insides twist painfully. “You would move too?”

“In a heartbeat.”

The muscles in Tyler’s throat worked as he swallowed. “But couldn’t I just stay here with you?”

Brody offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I don’t know if your mom would go for that. Wouldn’t you miss her?”

“Yeah,” Tyler responded as he lowered his head. He picked up the baseball and turned the thing around in his hands. “But I would miss you too. I miss you all the time.”

Ah shit, now he was going to cry. Tyler had been cursed with Brody’s inability to express himself. The boy was just as closed off as his father was and rarely said things like that. In the past Brody would have to pry, like pulling teeth, to get his son to admit to anything.

How long had Tyler been carrying this around? Since the divorce?

“Hey,” he said to the boy, who kept his attention on the ball. “You’re my only son and I love you more than anything in this world. Nothing will ever change that. Not a few miles and not a million miles.” He nudged Tyler’s shoulder. “Got it?”

This was probably the deepest the two of them had ever gotten with each other. It felt damn good, and Brody promised himself he would always make a concerted effort to be this open with his son.

“Yeah, I got it,” Tyler said. “Can we come here again tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Brody said with a smile. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I talk to your mom about you spending one more day a week with me, and we can come out here and toss the ball around?”

A glimmer of a smile touched his son’s lips. “But don’t you have to work?”