But I wasn’t in the right mood, so I ended up tossing my phone aside and watching a stupid car chase movie. Might have been a mistake because I felt even more amped up and pissed off than I did before I watched it. I did manage to take another nap—dream-free this time—before I had to go over to the field, but even that didn’t take the edge off.

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what I did, I couldn’t win.

Speaking of not winning, the game that afternoon did not go well.

Chip’s motion was off, and no matter what I said, he couldn’t seem to get his stride length right. We took him out of the game, and I knew exactly how he felt when he sank onto the bench, head down.

We sent in a relief pitcher—Brock—but he didn’t fare any better. The other team was playing a great offensive game, and it didn’t help that Brock’s dad was screaming at the umpire through the fence the entire time, arguing with the calls. Finally, I went over to him and tapped his shoulder.

He turned to me and puffed out his chest. Admittedly, I did the same.

Mine was bigger.

“You need to stop,” I said.

“I need to stop what, you fucking has-been?” he asked, jerking his chin at me.

I shrugged, feeling my temper spark but trying hard not to let it catch fire. “Stop being an asshole, and go sit down.”

He stuck a meaty finger in my face. “Who are you calling an asshole?”

“You. You’re making the entire team look bad, and you’re not doing your son any favors. The ump is less likely to give us the close calls if he’s pissed off.”

“What the fuck do you know about it? I don’t even get why you’re here—you suck, Shaw! You couldn’t throw a strike if you tried!”

People were watching, I reminded myself. Players were watching. Kids were watching. “Look, let’s not argue here. This isn’t about me, or even about you.”

“The hell it isn’t. You’re telling me I can’t support my son. And I’m telling you to go to hell.”

My hands curled into fists, and at that point I realized I had to remove myself from the situation or it was going to get ugly. So instead of smashing the guy’s jaw like I wanted to, I turned around and went back to the dugout.

His voice followed me. “That’s right, get the hell out of here, you head case. You don’t know shit.”

Seething, I stood with my arms crossed over my chest. Virgil, who was also in the dugout, shuffled over to me. “Brush it off. There will always be overbearing parents.”

“That guy is more than overbearing,” I snapped.

Virgil shrugged. “Part of the game. Let it go.”

But I couldn’t. The team lost, the players were dejected, and Chip seemed especially down. He came over to me after the game, cap pulled low. “Sorry, Coach. I couldn’t get it right.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll work on it. Rest that arm.”

He nodded and walked off toward the locker room with a couple buddies. I rubbed my face, feeling exhausted and good-for-nothing and craving a drink. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I texted Mack, who’d given me his number and said to reach out if I ever wanted to grab a beer.

Me: Hey. You busy? Could use that beer.

Mack: Sounds good. Give me a minute to check with F.

I was starting my car when he texted back.

Mack: I’m good for a beer. Jolly Pumpkin has great brew.

Me: Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.

I walked into the bar with my head low and took a seat way down at the end of the bar, hoping no one would recognize me. I’d just ordered a beer when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey.” Mack slid onto the stool next to me.

“Hey.”

“Were you at the game? How was it?”

I shook my head. “Rough.”

“What happened?”

I gave Mack a rundown of the game over a couple beers apiece. Since I was hungry, I ordered a burger and fries, and Mack ordered two pizzas, which he said he needed to bring home for Friday night movie night. The order was complicated, since in a house with four females, nobody ever wanted the same thing on their pizza.

“And I’m sorry I don’t have more time,” he said. “I wish I did. I could sit here and talk baseball all night.”

“No big deal. You should go home to your family.” I tipped up my glass.

Mack rubbed his jaw. “This might not be my place to ask, but is everything okay?”

I shrugged. “I had an off day. Nothing seemed to go right.”

He nodded. “I saw the news story. Fuckers.”

I signaled the bartender for another beer. “Yeah, well. I’m used to it. But I don’t like that April’s name was dragged into it. I don’t want them going after her because of me.”

“I get it.” He paused. “Frannie said you might be moving back here for good? Taking a permanent coaching position?”

I looked at him. “News travels fast.”

He shrugged. “I think Chloe might have told her. But the Sawyer sisters have some kind of psychic network, I swear to God. They know everything about each other within minutes. So it’s true?”

The bartender brought my beer, and I took a sip. “I was thinking about it. But today was the kind of day that just makes me want to go back to my cabin in the mountains and say to hell with it. People don’t want to give anybody room to make mistakes. They just want perfection.”

His pizzas arrived, and after he paid the bill, he stood up. “I don’t know, man. Everybody loves a good comeback story.”

I tried to smile. “Thanks.”

Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he grabbed his pizza boxes off the bar. “Take care. Let’s do this again—I’ll get out of movie night next time.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved him off, fighting a small pang of envy, which surprised me. I’d never wanted a family at all, let alone a family tradition taking up my Friday night. But watching him walk out of the bar with dinner for his wife and kids while I sat there by myself was pretty fucking depressing.

I paid my bill but I was still sitting there finishing my beer when I heard a loud voice behind me.

“And then that asshole head case Shaw had the nerve to tell me to sit down.”

My jaw clenched. My gut tightened. Bad things were about to go down—I could feel it in my bones.

“I don’t even know why they let that guy near the team. He just fucked up their winning streak with his goddamn yips. There was a college scout there too. He probably blew my kid’s chances at being noticed.”

I got off the stool, went over to Brock’s table, and stood right behind him. “The only thing blowing your kid’s chances of being scouted is you. I guarantee he was noticed—for the wrong fucking reason. Your big mouth.”

The guy got out of his chair and stood chest to chest with me. I had at least five inches on him, and I was in way better shape, but that didn’t mean this idiot wouldn’t throw a punch. Actually, I was hoping he would.

“You need to mind your own business, Shaw.”

“I heard my name. My name is my business.”