Page 26 of Holding On To Good

“If I don’t say it,” he asked, “will I still be allowed to watch the movie?”

“No.”

Even then the kid had to think about it.

“Thanks,” he finally muttered with the sincerity of a rock.

But it must’ve been good enough for Miranda because she nudged Josh toward his sister. “Wait with your sister in the grass until I’m done.”

Josh dug in his heels. “Until you’re done doin’ what?”

Her gaze skittered to Urban then away. “Talking with Mr. Jennings.”

The kid sent Urban a suspicious look, then faced his mother, hands on his skinny hips. “I’m hungry.”

She bristled, her shoulders going rigid under the straps of her dress. “We’ll eat after I’ve had my conversation with Mr. Jennings. Now,” she continued, steel in her tone, chin lifted stubbornly, “do as I say.”

They had a stare down, but then Josh whirled on his heel and took Alayna’s hand. “Come on.” And he marched his little sister to the bench in front of Chef’s Café.

“I’d like to apologize,” Miranda said, her voice soft and lyrical, her gaze at a point somewhere above his left shoulder, “for my children’s rude behavior.”

“No problem,” he said.

Once more she glanced at his face then quickly looked away, this time at the ground between them. “Thank you.” She swallowed and licked her lips. Folded her hands at her waist. “And thank you, so much, for pulling Josh back from the road.”

“I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“That may be,” she said, unwilling to let it go until she’d conveyed the proper amount of gratitude, until he accepted it, “but I’m still grateful.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“How have you been?”

Was this really what she wanted to do? Make small talk? “Fine.”

She blinked when he didn’t elaborate. Wasn’t that one of the things she’d always hated, had always wanted to change about him? His reticence, she’d called it. Just because he didn’t blab every feeling he had. Didn’t feel the need to chatter constantly.

“That’s good.” She cleared her throat. “And your brothers? And Verity?”

“They’re fine.”

“How’s Elijah adjusting to his new team?”

Urban wasn’t surprised Miranda knew Eli had been traded from the Reds to the Oklahoma Drillers. Everything that had to do with Eli’s professional baseball career was a big deal and a hot topic of local gossip.

But Urban doubted she’d heard the news from her mother or sister—who both still lived in town. She more than likely heard it from her husband, the Braves’ third baseman, Matt Schuster.

Urban’s ex-college roommate.

“Eli’s settling in,” he said, which was true enough.

If settling in meant sending his brothers daily texts bitching and moaning about his current hitting slump, trying every superstition he’d ever had from T-ball through his time in the minors—including not washing his socks and eating three hot peppers dipped in mustard before each game—then he’d be hanging a Home Sweet Home sign in the Drillers’ dugout any day now.

“It must be hard,” Miranda said softly. “Watching him live the life you wanted.”

“It’s not.”

He was proud of all Eli had accomplished. Of all he’d yet to achieve. And like with Verity, Urban liked to believe he played a small part in his youngest brother’s success. Countless games of catch in the backyard and hours spent coaching Eli on his stance and swing at the batting cages. Driving Eli to practices and games and tournaments. But it’d all been worth it in the end. Eli was following his dreams. Making them come true.

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