Hawk (The Boys of Summer 4)

“Be careful, girls. Uncle Hawk can’t use his arm all that much,” Mom says.

I crouch down and give them a one-armed hug. “Well, well, well . . . aren’t you two the most adorable cowgirls I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re so glad you’re home,” Ava says.

“Yep, now Mama can stop yelling at the TV for a bit. She says you’re not playing baseball no more.” Hearing those words from Ali really sends my heart into a tailspin. The fact that my sister thinks my career is done adds even more despair to what I’m already feeling.

“Come on now, the Renegades are still playing. I’ll do enough yelling for the whole family.” I wink at Ali and give her another hug before my mom tells them to run along. She tells my father to take my bags upstairs and pulls me into the kitchen where my sisters are busy baking.

For the longest time, the three of us stare at each other. There’s a lot of resentment when it comes to them. They’ve never been happy with my decision to pursue a career in baseball and felt that

my place was on the ranch and nowhere else. Family first. That’s the motto on the ranch.

The standoff continues until my mother tells us to knock it off. We finally hug, but the effort on all our parts is weak. I figure I have a few months to win back their affection before I have to return to being public enemy number one.

We are a few days away from the season opener, which if anyone out there is counting, means our beloved Renegades will be back in Boston soon. They will make one pit-stop in Montreal to finish off their pre-season with back-to-back games against the Blue Jays.

* * *

Speaking of Montreal. They’re still trying to get baseball back in their town and they’re doing a fine job promoting the match-up between the BoRe’s and the Blue Jays, selling out both games. The problem lies with the Tampa Bay Rays ownership and their desire to split the season between Florida and Montreal. Much of the team and staff have balked, saying they’re not going to uproot their families, especially those with school aged children, to play in a different city. If you’ve ever attended a Rays game, you know they have very little support from the community and most people in attendance are there to see the competitors.

* * *

All-Star pitcher, Hawk Sinclair, is out for the majority of the season after undergoing thoracic outlet surgery. This is a fairly new procedure with fewer than fifty pitchers in the majors having done it. While the surgery seems simple, the rehab period is twelve weeks. Manager Wes Wilson confirmed that Sinclair came through surgery as expected and is in his Boston home resting. We reached out to Sinclair, who had this to say: While the pain in my hand, arm and shoulder has subsided, I’m sad to miss the season and hope to be back in the dugout for the wild card race.

GOSSIP WIRE

Former Renegade, Jasper Jacobsen, was involved in a car accident in Toronto. At press time, we have no word on any reported injuries.

* * *

We hear there may be a new bundle of joy on the way . . . only we don’t know to whom. Saylor Blackwell-Kidd, Daisy Davenport and Ainsley Burke were all spotted at the upscale store Baby Pod. When asked who was expecting, the three women who are often together, laughed.

* * *

Random note — we also asked Ainsley Burke why she goes by her maiden name, to which she replied: Ainsley Bailey . . . and left her comment at that.

Six

Bellamy

Maria’s on Main has been a staple of Richfield for what seems like eons, having been in the same family for over a hundred years. This is a replica of one in Italy and here you will only find authentic food, which means no fettuccini alfredo or Caesar salads. I don’t come here often. It’s expensive and you must have the right palate for a place like this. Something Chase doesn’t have. If there isn’t chicken fingers and fries on the menu, it’s not a place for us.

As soon as I step in, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The scent of tomatoes, anchovies and mushrooms washes over me. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since this morning. After a moment, I open my eyes and scan the restaurant, looking for Brett. Once again, I’m late, thanks to another showing that ran later than planned. Being a single mom, I take as many calls as I can get. If you want to list your house, I’m your gal. Want to buy a house, condo, or some land? Call me, I know just the place you’re looking for. I work all day, some nights, and on weekends too. Any other time, besides now, I’d be home with Chase, making him dinner. I do put limits on when I’ll work. If he has an activity, a game or needs help with a project, I’m there. I refuse to miss anything my son has going on. My mother helps a lot, but it’s not the same. It’s also not fair that I play the role of both Mom and Dad, but it what it is, and I knew my life would be this way when I decided to move us back to Montana.

After what seems like the longest week of my life, which is over dramatic considering the crap my ex put me through, I’m following the hostess while looking at the couples already seated and wondering if I’m underdressed. Today, I wore what I call my “normal work outfit” — a pencil skirt, blouse, and blazer with fashionable, yet comfortable heels. The women here though, are in cocktail dresses, and it dawns on me that this is where people in town come to get engaged, go on romantic dates, and celebrate milestones. I can’t help but glance at the different tables as I pass. Everything here seems far too intimate for a constructive meeting about little league. Couples are holding hands, drinking wine, and showing their affection in various ways.

I smile when I see Brett, but it quickly vanishes when I see he’s alone. We’re at a table for two, not five or six. He holds his hand out, motioning for me to take a seat. “Are you going to sit?”

I’m standing here with my hand clutching my shoulder straps, looking around. “Where are the rest of the coaches?”

He looks at me oddly and the corner of his mouth lifts in a sly smile. “It’s just us.”

“Oh.” After much hesitation, I finally sit, ignoring the feeling in my gut. Something isn’t right. I know Brett has money, but why choose here if it’s not a meeting? Surely, the others should be here as well.

Brett hands the menu to me and I open it. I already know what I want: The spaghetti with only a little sauce because I don’t want to get my blouse dirty. It’s the same thing I’ve ordered before and I know I can afford it, but I look anyway in case something else jumps out at me. The waitress stops at our table and Brett orders a bottle of wine. A bottle. Not a glass or two. After scanning the menu, I do everything I can to keep my eyes from bugging out. The wine is three hundred dollars a bottle.

Three hundred dollars a bottle.