Laura Altom - The SEAL's Valentine

Eyeing very pregnant Brynn, Tristan wasn’t sure what to think. It went without saying, she was off-the-charts adorable—not that her looks mattered.

When she glanced up, almost as if having felt his stare, he died even more than when Georgia had caught him behind her bushes. “Hi,” she said, sounding so much from the north.

Everyone he knew from down south said hey. Not that it mattered. Just a thought to further put off the embarrassment of talking to her now that he’d been busted spying on her son’s big day.

“Cayden hoped you’d come.” She ducked her gaze. “Me, too. Can I get you some cake?”

Mouth dry, he nodded. “Sounds good. And sorry about that.” He gestured toward Georgia’s yard. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come. Nothing personal, you understand, just...” He stopped short of admitting how painful it was, being in the presence of boys nearly the same age as his son.

“I get it.” When she curved her slight fingers to his forearm, the warmth and comfort stemming from her simple touch felt akin to sipping his mother’s honeyed tea when battling a cold. Casting a shy smile, she shocked him by admitting, “I’ve done the same.”

While he tried and failed in coming up with a witty reply, she cut him a generous corner piece of her son’s cake. In passing the plate, their hands brushed. He wanted to ignore the faint rush of awareness—as if he were back in junior high and passing notes with the hottie sitting in front of him in English—but despite his best efforts, even after the fleeting moment passed, the sensation had not.

“Good to see you, man.” Jason delivered a light smack to his shoulder. After general small talk about high school kids having spray painted their school mascot on Polk Bayou bridge, and Trina pulling Brynn aside to discuss her potato salad recipe, Jason asked, “Vivian told me you want to privately coach Cayden. That true?”

“I s’pose.” Tristan tossed his plate and fork in a nearby trash can. He knew now he should never have made the offer. Being around Cayden might be good for the boy, but it would bring nothing but added pain for himself. “Though since his mom seems against it, I’ll probably steer clear of the whole situation.”

“Not so fast.” Jason downed the rest of his punch. “Your offer got me to thinking. Little Cayden was pretty torn up about not making the team, and Oliver Crouch’s mom called last night to tell me they’re probably moving. Since you already agreed to be my assistant coach, what do you think of going ahead and letting Cayden join his friends? Assuming you’ll get him up to speed.”

Tristan tipped his gaze to the sun, covering his face with his hands. The day he’d made that offer, Vivian had been a full-on bitch to Brynn. It hadn’t been right, and his suggestion to help had shut her up. He couldn’t have said then why he’d done it, meaning he sure as hell didn’t know now. All he did know was that he felt backed into a corner on the whole issue and didn’t like it. On his own with Brynn, when they’d stood side by side at her clothesline, and warm sun beat down on them and the smell of those fresh-washed clothes brought on sentimental longings for his more simple, younger years, he’d made that speech to her about everything being easier with a team. But after the painful call with his son, for his own self-preservation, he needed to retreat. “For the record, I never said I’d be your assistant coach.”

His old friend grinned. “Pretty sure you did.”

Tristan sighed. “Look, I need to start thinking about getting back to the base. I’m out of shape and—”

Jason whistled loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Someone mind temporarily killing the music?”

One of the older kids obliged.

“Seeing as this is Cayden’s birthday, my friend Tristan and I have cooked up a little surprise.”

“Jason...” Tristan said under his breath. “I never agreed to squat.”

“What is it, Coach? Hi, Tristan!” Cayden stood in front of them.

For Tristan, the kid’s huge grin and jumping brought on a wicked case of indigestion.

“Not sure if you knew this,” Jason said to the boy, “but your dad and I were good friends. He was the greatest ball player to ever come out of this town—heck, the whole state. Because of that, I’m betting somewhere inside you is just as great a hitter. You only need a little extra practice to coax him out.”

Cayden cocked his head. “What’s that mean?”

His mom stood behind him, her hands on his slight shoulders. “Jason...”

“All that means,” the coach said, “is that Tristan is going to teach you a few things about the game, and I’m inviting you to play with the Mud Bugs.”

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