Page 193 of The Path to Loving Him
“Ryland. Is Mac okay? What’s happening?”
I take a few deep breaths. Then I look Gabby in the eyes and say, “She . . . she asked if I was her dad.”
“Oh God.” Gabby’s hand goes to her mouth in shock. “What . . . what did you say to her?”
“I told her I’d be whatever she wanted me to be. Then she proceeded to hug me and whisper Dad in my ear.”
“Wow.” She now takes my hand and rubs her thumb over my knuckle. “How does that make you feel?”
My eyes fixate on a picture of Cassidy that Gabby hung up for me, the one of her and Mac. The smile on her face is the same smile Mac gave me tonight. It’s uncanny. And as I stare at my sister in that picture, so happy and carefree, I can’t help but feel this weight I’ve been carrying around slowly start to lift off my chest.
Quietly, I answer, “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
GABBY
“Trevor, is that how we field a ball?” I shout to our shortstop, who’s being all kinds of lazy today.
“No,” he says, looking annoyed.
“Then show me how you field one.” I take a ball from my catcher and zip one right to Trevor. He doesn’t move his feet but attempts to stab at it, and because he’s lazy, the ball takes a weird bounce and goes right past him.
“That’s it,” Ryland says, stepping in. “Poles, all of you. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
The team grumbles as they toss their gloves into a pile near the foul pole and start running.
Bat in hand, I walk over to Ryland and line up with him, shoulder to shoulder. “He doesn’t respect me.”
“No,” Ryland says, his arms crossed over his chest. “He doesn’t respect the game. He was a cocky punk last year, and I thought that maybe he’d grow up, but nope, still a cocky punk.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I rest the bat against my shoulder as we watch Trevor fall to the last of the line. You’d think that if you were making your entire team run, you’d at least pick up the pace, but Ryland’s right. He’s a cocky punk.
“What do you suggest?” he asks, truly making me feel like I’m a part of his staff.
When we first started out, I know I felt the need to prove myself, and maybe I did, even though Ryland didn’t say I needed to. But he’s included me more and more, and now it feels like we’re in this together. Not just romantically but in every aspect.
“Honestly, I think Garrett, the sophomore, has more potential and is a workhorse. He lacks a little bit in his lateral, but that can be fixed with some hard work this fall. Plus, he wants to learn, he wants to be here, and he wants to play.”
“I agree,” Ryland says. “I was thinking Garrett, too, but I wanted to make sure you saw what I saw.”
“Why don’t you try it out?” I say to him. “Call them in, have Trevor keep running, and put Garrett at short, see what happens.”
Ryland smirks and then yells, “Come on in. Trevor, keep running.” The boys all grab their gloves while Trevor throws his hands up in frustration.And that’s why you’re still running, you punk.“Garrett, go to short.”
Garrett, the quiet one, looks stunned but listens and moves to short where he gets in a ready position.
“Play’s at one,” I call out and then hit it up the middle. Garrett works hard to get to the ball, dives, and the ball tips off the edge of his glove. Luckily, our second baseman grabs it and then shoots the ball over to first. “That’s great hustle, Garrett,” I call out. I can already see his potential.
This might work.
We spend the rest of practice working with Garrett, seeing what he has in him, and by the end, the poor kid is sweating, but he’s still jogging off the field and helping with the equipment.
Once the boys are gone, Ryland leans against the fence, arms crossed, looking at me with that stare that usually leads to clothes falling off.
I point the bat at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”
