“THANK YOU. WE CAN’T WAIT to have you on the team and to play with us,” I say to an adorable, freckle-faced little boy with glasses.

“But I’ve never played before.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and looks over at the court where kids are shooting hoops. “What if—”

“You’ve never played before?” Gunner asks, as he walks into the front office of The Center, smile big. The little guy shakes his head. “That is the best news ever.”

“It is?” he asks, eyes growing wide.

“Yep. I’m Gunner.” Gunner holds his hand out.

“I’m Robbie,” he says as they shake hands.

“Can I tell you how excited I am to coach you and teach you how to play basketball and baseball?”

“You are?”

Gunner nods. “I talked to your mom on the phone the other day and she was telling me how much you’ve wanted to try this.”

Robbie nods and then swallows loudly. “I was waiting for my dad to teach me, but . . .” His bottom lip trembles and my heart lurches into my throat.

“But he’s busy getting better at Walter Reed, isn’t he?” Gunner says without flinching.

“Uh-huh.”

“I heard he was busy being a superhero and ended up getting hurt.” Robbie’s bottom lip quivers. “It’s okay. I’ve been there too and look at me. The doctors there patched me up good as new.”

“They did?”

“Yep. Good as new.”

The lump in my throat grows as I sit back and become a bystander to their conversation. A kid who has to grow up way too soon and a grown man who can relate to him more than I’ve ever seen before.

I notice Robbie’s mom in the periphery, watching from where she’s filling out forms. She dabs the corner of her eye with a tissue as she watches just like I do.

“And that means that I am more than excited to coach you and teach you until your daddy can come back and take over for me. Sound like a deal?” Gunner asks and offers his fist to be bumped.

Robbie’s timid smile grows wide as he bumps Gunner’s fists. “Deal.”

Gunner gives me a glance and a soft smile, before he’s pulled away to another kid, to the start of a practice, to being just the incredible guy that he is.

It’s not until I’m sorting through the new registrants and putting the last ones in the computer system when I see him again.

“You’re still not feeling good, are you?” He rests his butt on the desk in front of me, putting his hand on my forehead to check my temperature.

“I’m fine. I told you, it’s just a little cold.”