Tapping the steering wheel in time to an Eagles song, Ryan watched the street signs. It had been a week since the boys were taken from Frankie. She’d teetered on the edge after coming back from seeing the boys a few days after they’d been removed. Then she’d steeled herself and focused on moving forward. Because she was amazing. Ryan was in awe of her ability to pick up and charge ahead without letting the situation break her. She was holding herself together, keeping herself busy with writing and working on her house. He didn’t mind helping her with the house— he had helped her paint the two back bedrooms for the boys—but he figured it was a sign of how far he’d fallen for her. He just wanted to be where she was. In the same room. Same bed. Breathing the same damn air.
He hadn’t told her about the photographer at the mall but he’d found the picture of Travis and him in the Minnesota Herald. The headline over the article read: WHERE’S RYAN WALKER? In a few short sentences, it summed up Ryan’s past, questioned why he was in Minnesota, and alluded to who Travis might be. He didn’t want any of them dragged through bullshit media stories because of his name. But there was little he could do to stop it. It was part of who he was. Or who he’d been. Part of who he could be again.
His email and phone were full of messages from the commissioner, his coach, media outlets, and even some sponsors that wanted him back. But, for the first time in his life, Ryan wasn’t sure what he wanted in terms of baseball. It had been his whole life but when it had been snatched away, at a time when he was already irritated by the politics, weary from the travel, and restless, he’d had to evaluate what he wanted from the sport. What he could give back to it, if anything. He thought maybe there was nothing left to give. So he hadn’t returned any messages. Instead, he’d spent every minute wrapped up in Frankie. And he didn’t have one damn regret.
Ryan pulled up to the two-story brick house that the boys were staying at temporarily. A metal fence, rusted in areas, enclosed the property. The street was nice enough. The yards were well tended and the homes seemed cared for. He opened the latch on the gate, walked to the door, and knocked. It surprised him how attached he’d become to the boys in such a short period of time. He understood his draw to Frankie, how his attraction had crossed the line to affection and affection was quickly becoming more. But the boys? Until right now, he hadn’t considered the fact that he missed Miles’s one-minute stories that took him ten minutes to tell, or Travis’s quiet laughter when he caught subtle sarcasm that the other two missed. Or Carter’s moody shoulder shrugs right before he did exactly what you asked of him.
The door opened just as he was about to knock again. A woman who couldn’t be that much older than him smiled. She had dark-rimmed glasses and a soft, happy face. She was almost as tall as Ryan.
“Hi,” she greeted, her eyebrows scrunching together.
“Hi. I’m Ryan Walker. I asked Leslie to phone and tell you I wanted to come by and see the boys,” he said, holding out his hand. She shook it, nodding her head in the same motion.
“Right. She did call. Come on in. My husband is doing some homework with Miles and our son. Travis and Carter are watching TV with the others.”
“Others?” She shut the door behind him and nodded.
“Yes. We have five fosters and then our son. All boys,” she said with a smile.
“Wow,” Ryan said, laughing. “Are you guys superheroes? Six boys is a lot.”
“It is. It keeps us busy. But we like it. I’m Sue by the way,” she said, leading him down the narrow hallway that led to an open area that combined the living room and kitchen. “And this is Nelson, my husband.”
The husband looked up and Ryan watched the recognition emerge in the widening of his eyes and the drop of his jaw. Before Nelson could say anything, Miles was off his chair and running to him.
“Ryan!”
Ryan scooped him up and gave him a hug, his throat tightening when Miles’s skinny arms squeezed him tight.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
“It’s okay. Are we going home?” As Ryan set him down, his chest tightened along with his throat and he shook his head. He looked over at Travis and Carter. Travis nodded, his eyes, like him, quiet. Carter stood and left the room.
“How you doing, Travis?” Ryan asked.
“Fine.” The boy turned back to the TV where some competition food show was playing. Miles’s smile dimmed as he sat back down at the table. Ryan offered his hand to Nelson.
“Son of a bitch. You were in the World Series in your rookie year,” Nelson said, still pumping Ryan’s hand.
“Yeah. Hell of a way to start,” Ryan said, smiling.
“It was a close one.”
“It was.” Ryan agreed, remembering the time fondly. It really had been quite a trip. Just making it to the show was enough to blow any kid’s mind, but to play in the World Series was incredible. An experience he’d never have again. Travis left the room. Ryan watched him go, turning back to realize he’d missed Nelson speaking.
“Can I get you a drink or anything?”
“Why don’t you get his autograph, dad?” the blond boy sitting at the table beside Miles asked in a loud whisper. Ryan thought maybe whispering was a skill that didn’t come until later in life. The other kid was probably a couple years older than Miles. Nelson blushed and Ryan smiled affably.
“It’s not a problem,” he said.
“You sure?” Nelson asked, his eyes lighting up. Ryan nodded and laughed as Nelson left the room.
“Well, you’ve just made his night. Sorry I didn’t recognize you,” Sue said.
“Don’t say sorry for that. Really,” Ryan said. Not being recognized at every turn was starting to be enjoyable. Now that the town was somewhat used to his presence, he thought, eventually, he’d really be able to settle in, like any other guy. Any other guy who had made a disgrace of his career, his marriage, and his friendships.
Sue poured milk into small glasses and set out a tray of cookies. Both boys grabbed one, showing Ryan that Miles felt comfortable enough in this new home. Place. He’d help Frankie get them home. From there, he didn’t know what would happen, but he knew he wanted these people to have a place in his life. Whatever it ended up looking like, with baseball or without, he didn’t want to give them up.
“Would it be all right if I talked to Travis and Carter?” Ryan asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Sue nodded.
“I’ll show you their room,” Miles said around a bite of cookie. Bouncing off of the chair, he took Ryan’s hand and pulled him down the hall. The outside of the house was deceptive. It was far roomier than he would have thought.
“You doing okay here, bud?” Ryan asked. He could hear bass pounding through the door they passed on their way to the end of the hall. Opening the door, Miles looked up at him.
“It’s okay,” he said, shrugging, looking so much like his brothers. Ryan rubbed a hand over Miles’s hair.
“I’ll be back out in a minute. Go eat your cookie.”
Miles ran back down the hall and Ryan walked into the narrow, rectangular room. Two sets of bunk beds and two dressers filled most of the room. Carter was leaning against the wall on the top bunk, closest to the window, looking out at the dreary sky. Travis was reading on the bottom. Neither looked at him.
“I wanted to tell you that Frankie is doing everything she can to get you boys back,” he began.
“On her own?” Carter asked, not looking over.
“I’m doing what I can to help her, yes. Have you started the classes and practice yet?”
Carter turned his head lazily and replied without any inflection. “Don’t see why it matters to you, but yes on the classes.”
“What about practice?”
Carter looked away again and refused to look back, even though Ryan tried to wait him out. Jesus, had he ever been this moody as a teen?
“Coach said he can’t play on the team if he doesn’t have an address in catchment,” Travis said, keeping his eyes on his book.
“Shut up, Travis,” Carter spat. Ryan walked over to the bunk bed, wrapped his hands around the wood railing, and waited for Carter to look at him.
“You still want to be on the team?” Ryan asked. It was a good thing he was looking directly at him because Carter simply nodded. His lips pursed tightly and Ryan was selfishly grateful the kid didn’t look at him—he didn’t know if he could handle the emotion he would see there.
“Show up for the next practice,” Ryan said, turning to leave.
“Coach said—”.
“Just show up. And both of you be a hell of a lot nicer to Frankie than you were to me when she comes to visit.”
He shut the door behind him and walked back to the kitchen where the boys were still at the table, but now they were playing cards. Miles laughed and it helped Ryan feel less like shit that he had to leave. Nelson walked toward him with a baseball glove. He tapped the worn, brown leather with the black sharpie and handed it to Ryan.
“This is so cool.”
Ryan smiled tightly, signed his name in the curve of the palm and handed it back to him.
“Is it okay if I come back to visit the boys? Frankie will want to come too,” he said to both of them.
“Of course. We know this is difficult for you and your wife,” Sue said. Nelson groaned.
“You and Frankie got married?” Miles yelled.
Ryan turned. “No, sport, we did not.”
Miles nodded then said, “‘Cause we ain’t there and you can’t get married without your best mans.” His words, the innocence in his voice, and his simple logic punched Ryan in the throat. It felt hard to breath and when he responded, his words were broken.
“That’s right.”
He said good-bye to Sue and Nelson. Nelson was still giving Sue evil looks for her mistake, even though Ryan had said it was fine. Back in his truck, he rested his head against the seat and shut his eyes. He knew that he’d date after Victoria. He wasn’t sure he’d trust anyone again and had no plans of letting anyone into his heart. Instead of just getting into his heart, Frankie had gotten under his skin and he worried that might be worse. She was becoming part of him in a way no one else ever had. He felt like she was literally woven into the fabric of who he was becoming and God, he loved the feel of her in his life, in his arms.
It was impossible not to trust her because she wore a damn library of emotions on her sleeve. Even when she was trying to hide her thoughts, she burst out with some cliché that exposed her, which drove her nuts, but made him laugh. She made him laugh. And ache. And want. And scariest of all, hope. If that weren’t enough to make him feel like he had a steel toe to the chest, the way he cared about the boys did. He wanted them to be okay. Needed them to be okay and he couldn’t help but feel that just like Ryan, those three boys were meant to be with Frankie. His phone buzzed and he smiled. He was turning into a sap. He needed to hit the gym or grab a six pack or something.
“Hey. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I wondered if maybe you wanted to go see a movie or something later. I’m going stir crazy,” Frankie said.
“Sure. But no chick flicks,” he warned, starting the truck.
“Deal. What time will you be ho—back?” she asked.
“I just have one more stop and I’ll come over. Or you could meet me at my house,” he answered, not missing the way she’d avoided saying home. He liked her in his house. He liked the way the scent of her body scrub and lotions lingered in all of the rooms. He liked seeing her sweater draped across his bed. Or on his floor. He liked her in his space. He sighed into the phone. He just plain liked her. Too much.
“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
They hung up and he drove from the foster home back toward West Lake. He let music fill the cab and as Sam Smith sang about not liking one night stands, he couldn’t help but agree. The more time he spent with Frankie, the more he was certain that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Which meant he needed to make some decisions. Or at least return some phone calls.