Page 74 of Liam

Benny stands beside home plate, focused on his hand placement on the bat. He stops, looks over his shoulder toward the dugout. I sit taller the moment Liam raises his chin, says something I can’t make out. Benny motions him over, and Liam immediately goes to him. They talk for a few seconds before Liam turns to the bleachers, waving someone over. I look behind me, but none of the Prestons are reacting. Roman elbows myside. “He’s asking for you.” I glance back at Liam, and sure enough…

After jumping the fence, I jog toward home plate, but the umpire blocks my path. “Only coaches on the field,” he says, hand out to stop me.

My eyes narrow. “They’reseven.”

“Rules are rules.”

Liam joins us now, and he slips out of his coach’s jersey and haphazardly places it over my shoulders. “There,” he says as I shove my arms through the sleeves. “Now she’s a coach.”

“Nice try, but no.”

Liam groans. “Look, man. That kid is my nephew, and he?—”

“I know who he is,” the umpire cuts in. “And if you think he gets special treatment because of who his grandparents are, then?—”

“You’re kidding!” I snap, suddenly furious.

Liam sighs. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

I wish I could punch the stupid grin off the umpire’s face.

I still might. Later. When no kids are around.

He waves his hand toward Benny, clearing the path. “Go ahead,Coach.”

I wait until I’m a few steps away to mutter, “Asshole.”

Liam chuckles, but I don’t find it funny at all.

I attempt to calm my shit before reaching Benny and squatting down in front of him. “You okay?”

“Can you help?” he asks. “I forgot what you showed me.”

“Sure.” I help him with his hand placement, but I have a feeling that’s not what this is about. I gently grasp his shoulders and wait until his eyes are on mine. “Remember. It ain’t worth playin’…”

One side of his mouth kicks up. “…if you ain’t havin’ fun.”

I lean back, shake my shoulders—his signature move.

He giggles, looks around as if making sure no one is watching, then quickly does the same.

“You got this, Benny,” I tell him, tugging the brim of his cap. “Havefun.”

I leave, aiming for the bleachers, but Liam grasps my arm. “Come on,Coach,” he says, leading me to the dugout.

After quick greetings with the other Preston brothers, the game resumes.

Benny swings and misses, then lowers the bat, leansallthe way back, and shimmies his shoulders.

Liam and Lincoln’s laughter is identical.

Second strike, Benny rides the bat like a horse—whip and all.

“What is he doing?” Lucas asks through a chuckle.

Lincoln’s the one who answers, “It ain’t worth playin’ if you ain’t havin’ fun.”

Benny’s act goes on for longer than expected, and the dugout fills with boyish giggles.

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