Chapter 6 - The Unspoken Bond
That afternoon, Roman arrived at the community park three blocks from Clare’s apartment without an entourage. He wore a simple brown leather jacket, sitting on a green wooden bench while watching Eli attempt to throw a battered baseball into June’s waiting glove.
June missed the ball for the fourth time, letting out a frustrated groan as it rolled into the grass. Roman stood up, caught the rolling ball with his foot, and picked it up.
“Your elbow is dropping too low when you release,” Roman called out gently to Eli.
Eli lowered his glove, his brow furrowing with skepticism. “How do you know?”
Roman stepped onto the dirt diamond. “Because I used to make the exact same mistake when I was eight. Your grandfather yelled at me until I threw my shoulder out.” He tossed the ball lightly up and down. “Here. Watch my hand.”
Eli watched with razor focus as Roman demonstrated the grip across the red seams. “Keep two fingers over the top. Don't choke it in your palm. Drive off your back foot.”
Roman tossed the ball to Eli. The boy caught it, adjusted his fingers exactly as shown, and threw it toward June. The ball sailed in a clean, flat arc, landing with a solid thwack right in the pocket of her leather mitt.
June gasped in delight. “I caught it! Eli, look, I didn't drop it!”
A rare, radiant smile broke across Eli’s serious face. He looked at Roman, his defenses lowering for the first time. “Can you teach me how to throw a curveball?”
“A curveball puts too much stress on a young arm,” Roman said, crouching down to Eli’s eye level. “We master the four-seam fastball first. Deal?”
“Deal,” Eli agreed solemnly.
From the edge of the playground, Clare watched them. She wore a thick wool scarf against the biting November chill, holding two paper cups of hot chocolate. As Roman walked over to her, she handed him one without a word.
“He hasn't smiled like that since his school science fair,” Clare said, watching Eli patiently show June how to grip the seams.
“He’s extraordinary, Clare,” Roman said, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of them are. You raised them into brilliant, kind human beings all on your own. I don't deserve to be standing here.”
Clare looked down at her cup. “No, you don't. But they deserve a father who loves them. I never wanted them to grow up carrying the burden of your family’s coldness, Roman. I saw what Silas Calder did to you. He took a boy who used to sketch sailboat designs on scrap napkins and turned him into a boardroom assassin who traded his wife for market shares.”
Roman felt the sting of her words because they were true. “My father is dead, Clare. And yesterday, I terminated our entire alliance with the Whitmores. I handed the forensic files on their shell corporations to federal prosecutors.”
Clare turned her head sharply. “You did what? Roman, Howard Whitmore controls the dockworkers' union and half the private security firms on the eastern seaboard! If you corner him, he won't fight you in court—he fights in the dark!”
“I have our private security monitoring your block around the clock,” Roman assured her. “Nobody will touch you or the children.”
“We shouldn't need private security to survive walking to school!” Clare hissed, fear finally bleeding through her composed exterior. “This is exactly what I ran away from! The paranoia, the bodyguards, the threats!”
Before Roman could reply, June came running over, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Mom! Can Roman come over for dinner? Eli said he wants to show him his lunar lander Lego set, and Eli never lets anyone touch his Lego set!”
May you like
Clare looked at her daughter’s pleading eyes, then at Eli, who stood twenty feet away pretending to inspect a leaf but clearly listening with every fiber of his being.
Clare let out a long, defeated breath, the steam rising into the cold air. “Just for dinner. And you take your shoes off at the front door, Roman.”
