As soon as I step in, I’m taken aback. Chase is sitting at the dining room table doing homework and Hawk is right next to him. Their heads are bent together and they’re going over what looks like math.
“Hey,” I say, interrupting them. They both turn and look at me, both smile, and both make my heart race but for different reasons. I lean down and kiss Chase on his forehead and am tempted to do the same for Hawk but can’t bring myself to do it. “I didn’t expect you until later.”
“I was in the neighborhood and met Chase as he got off the bus.”
“How was therapy?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Hawk follows behind me and leans against the counter.
“Good. I can start throwing next week. I have to find a catcher, and asked my therapist for a recommendation.”
“Can’t Owen or Farmer catch for you?”
He shakes his head. “Farmer’s probably too old, but I can ask him. Owen might not be able to catch my fastball.”
“Oh, I suppose you throw pretty fast, huh?”
He grins. “About a hundred miles per hour.” Hawk places his hands on my waist and pulls me toward him. He’s had his sling off for a week now, giving him a bit more freedom with his arm. Still, there are times when I see him grimace or favor his right arm. “How was work? Any news from Longwood?”
I shake my head. “Stubborn old man. This morning he said he wasn’t selling, around lunch his son called and said they were. I don’t know which way is up with those two.”
“Maybe I’ll make him an offer, see what he says.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
He leans toward me and I think this is it; he’s going to kiss me. His nose touches mine and my tongue darts out to wet my lips. We’re sharing the same air, breathing in and out. He’s so close, if I move a quarter of an inch, our lips will press together.
The doorbell rings, we jump apart and Chase yells out that he’ll get it. I step away from Hawk, feeling flustered and discouraged. The conversation we had was intimate, in a way a couple would speak to each other at the end of the day, and yet, here I am, pulling boxes of pasta from the cupboard while that bird character chuckles behind me.
Twenty-One
Hawk
When I sit down to think about my life, I can easily say I’m happy. Despite my shoulder injury, subsequent surgery and being away from my team, I’m doing very well. Not only am I happy, but I’m lucky too. When I look behind me, my thirteen players, their parents, my family, my former coach, David Farmer, my co-coach, Owen, and most importantly Bellamy, are all looking at me with cheerful smiles on their faces. Over on the other side of the room, which has been setup like a courtroom, the expressions of the other parents are disconcerting. A few of the mothers grin, wave and bat their eyes at me. Some of the dads glare, puff out their chests and avoid all eye contact. There’s Annie who won’t look in my direction next to Matty, who is always smiling and comes to my baseball practices against her father’s wishes. And then there are the parents who are downright pissed, not only because I started a team, but that they’ve been forced to attend this ridiculous hearing which has zero jurisdiction over Little League baseball. Still, Brett Larsen demands his day in court, however futile it may be.
The Richfield town board comes into the room. My chances are good that I walk out of here with my team because like I said, these people really have no say. In fact, I’ve already pointed out in a strongly worded letter that I hold all the cards, yet they appeased Brett and asked that we have this hearing to set some ground rules, whatever those may be.
As each member takes their seat, my nieces blurt out, “Hi, Grandpa,” causing me to chuckle. In Larsen’s infinite wisdom, he forgot that one of the members is my sister Avery’s father-in-law who, by all accounts, looks rather put out that he’s here tonight. I can’t say I blame him.
The chairman reads from a script, talking about impartiality and a bunch of horse crap that I don’t care about. When he’s done, he sets his papers aside, clasps his hands together and says, “The recreation board felt they couldn’t make a reasonable determination as to whether the Richfield bylaws have been violated and referred this open matter to us. We’ll start with Brett Larsen, Director of Richfield Little Leag
ue.” He nods toward Brett, who stands up.
“Mr. Chairman and Board Members, my first order of business is to ask that Mr. Walker recuse himself due to his conflict of interest with Mr. Sinclair.”
The Chairman looks at Avery’s father-in-law and back at Brett. “You do realize if Mr. Walker recuses himself, that will only leave four on this panel and if we were to take a vote, it wouldn’t be valid.”
“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat. “Moving on, I ask that the board enforce rule forty of the Richfield Little League bylaws, which states that only the director can establish teams.”
I hold that page in my hand and laugh. The very next line says, “unless establishment is approved by the governing body,” which my team was. I’m floored by Larsen’s attempts to stop my team from playing. I don’t know if it’s out of spite because of what happened between us in the past or if he’s concerned my little team might beat up on his.
“Mr. Sinclair, did you seek permission from . . .” he pauses and looks through his paperwork.
“I did, sir.” I hold up a copy of my email, which some man comes and takes from me.
“Mr. Larsen, I fail to see why you’re wasting our time with this. Mr. Sinclair has clearly followed your bylaws and sought permission from the governing body.”
“He’s violated other bylaws as well,” Larsen states. “We have a strict policy that uniforms can’t be over a certain dollar amount and Mr. Sinclair has exceeded this, using his wealth to outfit his team.”
I hold up another sheet of paper, an email from the President of Operations for the Renegades, Ryan Stone. He states that the Renegades organization donated the uniforms and equipment to the Mini Renegades, which isn’t a violation of any made up rule Larsen wants to throw at me. I sit there, biding my time while the chairman looks over the email until I finally stand to get their attention.