“And can I ride my skateboard after?”

“Yeah you can.”

“Have you found me a new team?” Josh asked with hopeful hesitation in his voice.

Fuck. I kept forgetting. “Not yet, J, but I will. Cross my heart. I really will find you one.” We had already talked about how it would more than likely take a couple of months to find Josh a new Select baseball team to play for, and to give him credit, he hadn’t been hounding me about it even though we were coming up to the two-month mark since we had talked about it. But I knew how important baseball was to him. Luckily, in the meantime, Mr. Larsen had been taking him to practice with his catching coach and batting coach.

Five years ago, I had no idea there was even a thing called a catching coach or someone who just worked on batting skills. Literally, he was a coach that worked with Josh to perfect his skills as a catcher and another to correct and improve his batting. I’m not sure what I had thought about baseball before that, but I sure as hell didn’t realize how much work went into it, much less how competitive and cutthroat it could be before boys even hit puberty. There was none of that fun, fair, positive crap going on with the kinds of teams Josh played on. They played to win. If it didn’t make Josh so happy, I would have been fine with him doing something else with his free time.

A few minutes after getting home, we had all changed into nonschool and work clothes and had made our way to the backyard with Mac, who was beyond stoked to have us all home. I eyed Louie’s outfit for a second and kept my comment to myself. The red Spiderman pajama pants and purple collared shirt my mom had bought him at some point didn’t match. At all. But I didn’t say a word. He could wear whatever he wanted to wear. I caught Josh side-eyeing him, but he didn’t tell him anything either. We both just let that boy live his life in mismatched clothing.

Somehow we started off playing tag in the backyard, even though I was pretty sure we had intended to play catch first. The three of us chased each other around with Mac running after us, trying to play too. Over the chain-link fence, I heard the rumble of cars passing by, but when Louie slapped his hand on my back to “get me,” I completely forgot what I was thinking about as I ran after him.

We didn’t stop until we were all panting and sweating, and then Josh and Lou picked up their gloves to start playing catch.

The sun was hot, but none of us let it get to us as we took turns tossing the ball at each other; it was a pointless game for Josh’s skills, but I liked that he still did little-kid stuff to hang out with Louie.

“Can I bat some?” Josh finally asked after we’d been tossing the ball for a while.

I scrunched up my nose and looked around at the nonstop fence lines in our neighbors’ backyards, imagining the worst.

“You don’t throw that fast, and I won’t hit it as hard as I can,” he said like I wouldn’t take it offensively.

“‘You don’t throw that fast,’” I mocked to mess with him. “Yeah, sure. Just be careful. We don’t need to be breaking any windows.”

He rolled his eyes like what I was asking for wasn’t a big deal, and maybe for him it wasn’t. He wouldn’t be the one paying for a new window or going to apologize if it happened.

“Let’s go to the front at least so we don’t have to jump any fences to get into people’s backyards.” I eyed Louie. “I’m talking to you, you little criminal.”

“I don’t do anything!” He laughed, putting both of his hands to his chest like he couldn’t understand why I would pick on him.

I loved it.

“Uh-huh. I know you’re always up to nothing good.”

He chuffed.

“I’ll get the bat,” Josh said, already moving toward the house.

It didn’t take him long to get his bat, and we moved toward the front yard, leaving Mac in the back barking and whining, but that was what he got since he’d run across the street last time. Soon enough, I was tossing underhand pitches at Josh, watching him hit one after the other, proving that his batting lessons were coming in handy. Sure, I didn’t throw the balls with any real power behind them, they were slow, but something was something. He was hitting them, rocketing them into our neighbors’ lawns and making Louie run after the balls at our urging… and a promise I’d pay him five bucks.

It was probably about fifteen bats in that I spotted the two male figures across the street in front of Dallas’s house, talking. One of them had to be him; I didn’t know anyone else with that buzz-cut hair and brawny build that would be standing there of all places. And it was about two seconds later that I realized it was Trip, Ginny’s cousin—other cousin—next to him. The longer I looked at them, at how one was leaning forward and the other wasn’t, the more I realized they might have been arguing. But in the time it took me to glance at the boys and back across the street again, both men were making their way over. It was the blond who had me smiling in their direction, remembering his teasing from two nights ago. The love and friendship he had with my boss had been obvious. I’d liked him more and more the longer we stayed at the bar talking, especially when he had offered to walk us outside to catch our taxi.

And just as suddenly, I thought about the brush-off the man beside him had given me. Right after that memory, I made myself remember how he had come by my house to thank me for helping his brother. I could give him some credit for that.

And he was married and having marriage problems. I could respect that. After every time I’d split up with someone, I’d sworn off the entire male gender—except for those related to me—for a lifetime, which in reality usually only lasted a few months.