I needed to figure out how to help him and who to ask. I walked toward the stand outside our numbered section and ordered a couple of hot dogs, sodas, and popcorn.
He carried his food and we filed in. Indigo had been right. We could smell the fresh grass. Hopefully, Jeremy saw whoever his favorite was from our vantage point.
Jeremy slipped into his seat and hugged the popcorn as he said, “Mom, these are great seats. We can see the dugout.”
I laughed and settled in, putting my drink in the seat holder. “I only get you the best, kid. You know that.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said as the seats around us filled in.
I checked my phone, which was empty of messages, but that was fine. No sisters or cousins in crisis that needed my ear today, as the second mom of the entire Steel clan. My first real responsibility in the world was next to me. I put it away and smelled the fresh popcorn and beer and listened to people around me mentioning some player named "Irons" with some amazing batting average as the one the Pirates needed to fear.
Everyone was smiling, including Jeremy, who looked enraptured with the field.
I tapped his side and said, “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”
The team in the dugout beside us started coming out.
Jeremy said, “That’s Rodriguez. He’s the pitcher for the Sooners.”
We could see them lining up to go on the field and I said without looking, “I see.”
The next man on the huge Jumbotron had that chiseled chin I’d never forget. Jeremy had inherited it.
"That’s Michael Irons," Jeremy added the name I’d wondered about for years.
Adrenaline coursed through me as I glanced toward the field and saw the player in question.
The player who’d rocked my world.
Irons spit out whatever was in his mouth and waved to the crowd as I asked with an almost breathless voice, “Who?”
“He’s the shortstop and has the best batting average in the league.”
Shortstop. MVP. Weekend fling. Father of my son. My heart trembled,
I grabbed my soda from its holder and said, “Jeremy, we need to go.”
His gaze narrowed, and he didn’t move. “What’s going on?”
“Get up.”
I pushed at him. If he saw me, I’d find out in a second if he even remembered our moment. I’d had my memories and his son. We needed to leave. Now.
He didn’t move from his seat. “Mom, we just got here.”
My skin had chills as I grabbed my son’s arm. “I’ll explain later. Please run.”
He stood, shook his head at me, and put his hands in his pockets. “Mom, we’re here, and you promised to take me to a game. Your phone didn’t ring, so nothing happened to anyone.”
A warmness stirred in my belly as someone came behind me, probably for their seats next to us as I tugged my son and said, “I’ll get better tickets tomorrow.”
“Mom, turn around,” Jeremy said as his eyes widened.
My skin had goosebumps it hadn’t had in a long time. “Why?”
He pointed and said like he couldn’t quite breathe, “It’s Michael Irons, the shortstop.”
I turned around and stared into the stormy blue eyes of Michael, Jeremy’s father.
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
I’d stopped looking for any signs of my vacation romance years ago.
I never should have stopped. His hand wrung the hat he held in his hands as he asked, “Georgiana? I never got your last name?”
That was it?
I’d played this scenario over a thousand times in my head, but I stilled and just said, “Michael, hi.”
Jeremy now took my hand. “Mom, do you know Michael?”
Not once had I imagined the muscular man in my bed had been a baseball player. I probably should have guessed he was an athlete, as he was still all muscles, but somehow even sexier than my memory.
Maybe it was the skintight pants.
My face felt hot as I said, “No. I mean, yes. Kind of. We met years ago, on vacation, before I had you.”
Michael stared at Jeremy and then at me. He widened his stance. He knew.
He saw a mini version of himself, square jaw, blue eyes, pointed nose. “You checked out of the hotel early.”
My entire body felt tight, like I was going to rocket my own flight out of here from the energy in my veins. “I…My father died. Then my mom soon after. I was a mess and my life was in turmoil for a while.”
He took my hand in his. “You didn’t leave a way to find you.”
“Michael Irons!” Jeremy said fast. “You’ve got the best batting average and record of catches in the league.”
Of course. The one thing our son craved to be better at was the one thing his father was clearly good at. He took out his phone from his back pocket and shoved it in my face as the stadium-filled crowd around us became clearer.
Michael quickly said, “Look, give me your address and phone number. I have to work, but after the game, we need to talk. Clearly.”
Talk. Right. Of course. I’d played out finding him and telling him about his son for years now, but it generally was me in a sexy dress strutting over to him and then he’d kissed me in my dreams of this moment. Now, real-life was different, and my fingers trembled.
Still, I typed down my information and handed him back his phone as Michael asked, “Can we stay at the game, Mom?”
Jeremy’s lips thinned.
I wish I knew what he thought, but I asked with my head down, “How long do games last?”
Michael answered in a deep voice that had once made me swoon, “A few hours usually, and I’d like us all to go out to dinner after.”
Jeremy’s bounce and jumping beside me meant he
