Sharing anything with the people in my life at this point would be selfish. I don’t have enough details. I can’t answer the questions I’m sure they’ll have. All I would do is unload my fear onto them and make them carry that around—on top of their own shit.

I’m not that kind of man. I carry my own weight in relationships, whether personal or professional. Period.

“Should I continue to feel out opportunities on your behalf?” he asks. “Because I don’t want to court relationships if you’re not interested.”

“Yes. Please do. I’ll make a decision before I leave Ohio in six or eight weeks.”

“No offense, but what the hell are you doing in Ohio for six fucking weeks?”

I grin. “I’m coaching a kids’ baseball team.”

“You’re fucking with me?”

“No. It wasn’t on my to-do list, but it’s actually a lot of fun so far. Who knew?”

He laughs. “All right. I have five calls to make before I can leave the office, and I’d like to get home by midnight so my wife stops threatening to divorce me. Get back to me as soon as you can, and I’ll make sure my secretary gets you the streaming offer, if she hasn’t already.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Scott.”

“Take care.”

And the line goes dead.

I turn back toward the house. The kitchen light is on. My mother’s shadow sneaks across the window as she moves around, probably making dinner. I stand in the field and watch her like I’m casing the joint when, in reality, I’m trying to steal a piece of her peace.

Even in my wildest dreams, I never expected to be in my thirties and feeling so uncertain about my life. I’m Cole Beck. I’m a baseball legend. And here I am, at my parents’ house, under the guise of spending some time with them because they need it. In reality, I’m the one who needs it.

Fuck Scott and his remark about not having a family to consider in my long-term plans. Sure, I’m single—happily—but what the fuck? That doesn’t mean that I don’t have a family. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t have priorities and dreams. Maybe someday I will have a family, and whatever decision I make could affect that.

I’m walking toward the house, giving myself a mental pep talk, when my phone buzzes in my hand. I look down, expecting it to be Fish, but am pleasantly surprised that it’s not.

Palmer:

I didn’t handle any of that very well, did I?

I grin, my fingers flying across the screen.

Me:

So, you do know how to text.

Palmer:

Very funny.

Me:

I have no complaints. At least you figured it out.

I stop walking and stare at my phone. Finally, her response pops up.

Palmer: