Page 10 of Coach Me
Rounding the back of my truck, I start to pull out our bags when our team’s first baseman, Beck, comes up.
“Cutting it close, Larsen,” he says with a chuckle.
“Way to state the obvious, asshole.”
I’ve played with Beck for the last seven years. The man is probably one of the nicest people you will ever meet, but I really didn’t need that sentence today. I’m not one to cut these flights close. I hate being late—even as a player I was always fifteen minutes early.
“Ah, so Dad’s in a bad mood, got it.” Beck snatches Miles’s duffle bag from my hands. “I’ll take the bags while you get the nice version of you.”
I try again to push all of my frustration out with a deep breath and mutter a “thanks” to Beck.
This morning has felt like a damn roller coaster, and now I’m kicking myself for not at least getting that girl's name. Yeah, she seemed young but it felt like the first normal interaction I’ve had with a woman since the divorce. The first time I’ve actually been interested in a girl in years, actually.
I know it’s silly to even entertain the idea of dating—I’m stretched thin as it is. But part of me kind of feels like there was an opportunity missed from that interaction.
Rounding the side of my truck, I pull open the passenger door, and Miles launches at me. “Yay, we’re going to the fake Atlantis!”
Miles’s arms squeeze tight around my neck. Those deep breaths did shit for me earlier, but this? This helps more than anything.
I somehow get to carry Miles across the tarmac and to the stairs with him holding on tight, but the moment my foot steps on the plane, he wiggles out of my arms.
“I can walk now, Dad,” Miles says, and I swear he puffs his chest out a bit. Between that and the change from “Daddy” to “Dad,” I already know who my Casanova is thinking of.
We round the corner of the team’s chartered jet, and it takes Miles two seconds flat to find Callie.
“Callie!” He bounces down the aisle. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Miles.” Callie beams.
I can feel a full plan of wooing coming on, and while I hate to cramp my kid’s style, we need to take our seats.
“Hey, bud, come on.” I wave him back when his little head turns around. “We have to get buckled up.”
“But, Daaaad,” Miles groans out.
Callie and half of the players around us try to hide their laughs.
“Way to be a mood killer, Dex,” Beck says, coming up behind me.
“Yeah, let the kid work his magic,” Tripp, our third baseman, chimes in.
Callie’s brother Adam comes to Miles’s defense next. “Just give the kid five minutes so Will can remember he’s not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is.”
“Hey, whose side are you on?” Will snaps.
“Miles’s,” the guys all say in unison.
I bring my hands to my forehead. I’ve got a fucking headache.
Miles giggles happily and while in this moment I’m glad I have such a good group of guys that love my son, they aren’t fucking helping.
“Okay, okay, no need to stress Dex out anymore,” Callie says to the guys before looking back at Miles. “Listen, I love our talks, but it’s time for us to get seated. How about when we get to the stadium we sneak some ice cream into the photo outpost?”
“Promise?” Miles tilts his head to the side.
Callie crosses an X over her heart. “Promise, kiddo, but you gotta take your seat for me.”
The groan Miles lets out is a lot less annoyed-sounding than the one I usually get, but at least I can always count on Callie to help me out.
