“It’s okay, Dad.”

“It’s not. But thanks for that anyway,” he replied, sat back, aimed his eyes at the field and took a big bite of the hot dog Hattie had covered in ketchup, mustard and onions for him.

Axl turned his eyes to Hattie.

She was staring at him with hers swimming in tears.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

She nodded, sniffed, pulled her shit together, looked to the field and took her own huge bite of hot dog.

Jesus Christ.

Axl sat back and stared at the field.

“The runner should stick closer to the bag, right, Dad?” Hattie asked.

“No, honey, he’s a fast one. Got twenty-five stolen bases this year already. Pitcher doesn’t keep an eye, he’s gone,” Don answered.

Five minutes later, Don was proved right.

Stolen base.

*  *  *

Axl put his phone down at the side of the Jacuzzi and looked to his girl, who was straddling his lap wearing a red-and-white polka-dot bikini.

Yeah.

A fucking polka-dot bikini.

“She says she’s okay,” he told her about the text he just read from his mom after he’d texted her to ascertain that very thing.

“I really hope after all this drama that we have some smooth sailing for, oh, I don’t know, a year or five,” she replied.

He smiled at her.

“At least until Lottie and Mo get married,” she said.

“Yeah, at least until that,” he agreed.

She reached, grabbed her glass, and sucked back some margarita.

He didn’t go for his beer.

He went for her ass.

She put her glass back and looked down at him. “I knew I’d love your Jacuzzi the minute I saw it.”

“Always liked it. Can’t say I ever loved it, until now.”

She smiled at him.

“You good with that thing with your dad?” he asked.

“He’s never…” She brought her shoulders forward, released them. “He could be apologetic, but that was different.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know what it means, but I think he had a really good time with us today. I don’t think he’s been to a game in a long time. He doesn’t leave his house much. I think maybe, I don’t know…”

She didn’t finish that.

He still said, “Yeah.”

“It kinda feels stupid to hope,” she said softly.

“It’s never stupid to hope, baby,” he replied.

“Would you take him to a show?” she requested.

“Absolutely,” he answered.

“He follows Smithie’s on Insta. That’s totally not Dad.”

“I told him about it.”

She looked surprised. “You did?”

“Said they use you a lot to draw an audience.”

“Whoa.”