Pride & Joie_The Conclusion

by M. E. Carter

  Staring at him, my mind starts spinning. Despite his wildly inappropriate humor, I love this man with all my heart, and I want this to be his home, too. I want him to feel like he belongs here with me. Like he can’t wait to come home to me. And darn him for playing on my sympathies, because it works. I hate that Sheila’s gone and all that’s left of her is in that trunk. As ridiculous as it sounds, the more I’ve learned about her, the more I know I would have liked her, and I have no intentions of ever disrespecting her. Even if Jack has a morbid sense of humor sometimes.

  My face must show everything I’m thinking because he’s trying really hard not to smile.

  “Please? For me?”

  Throwing my hands in the air, I give up with an “Argh! Fine!”

  “Thanks, babe!” He leans in for a kiss, but his lips end up on my palm instead when I hold up my hand.

  “Wait.”

  “What?” he asks, looking confused.

  “Here we go,” Hank mumbles under his breath. This time it’s me shooting daggers at him.

  Swiveling back to Jack, I give him my idea. “The key to a healthy relationship is knowing when to compromise, right?”

  Jack shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I think it should go in the third bedroom.”

  He gapes. “How am I supposed to use it when I’m watching TV if it’s not in the living room?”

  “I was thinking about that. I know we were talking about replacing my TV with yours because it’s a bit newer. Instead, what if we make that third bedroom into a man-cave, of sorts?”

  His eyebrows shoot up at the idea and I know I’ve got his attention. But I can also see the gears shifting in his brain. “A man cave, huh?”

  “Yep. I use it as an office now, but the only thing I really need is the desk and maybe the book shelf. And there’s plenty of space to put your memorabilia and stuff up.”

  He scratches at the scruff on his jaw. “I’d get my chair and the TV and be able to hang up some of my sports stuff?”

  “Yep,” I say again.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he tosses out his own compromise. “Can I get a mini-fridge for beer?”

  “Done.” I throw out my hand so we can shake on it. He takes it and flashes me a huge grin.

  “We’re nailing this living together thing already.”

  Then he pulls me into his arms and kisses the living daylights out of me, while Hank keeps his eyes closed and pretends not to notice.

  Driving fifty miles to and from work isn’t my idea of a good time. But over the last few days, I’ve learned there are a couple of advantages to it.

  First, sports radio. Before I get to work now, I’ve heard all the highlights, which saves me time once I get to the office.

  Second, I’ve scoped out at least three new restaurants Joie and I are going to have to try. One of them specializes in Mongolian food, which I’m not sure is actually authentic, but I could eat the hell out of some spicy Szechuan beef, so it may be worth it.

  Last, I have lots of time to talk to my sister. And after months of encouraging her, she’s finally decided to move her family down to this neck of the woods.

  “So plans are still on track to get you here next month?” I ask, as I maneuver my truck into the private parking lot by the stadium.

  “So far, so good,” she says with a yawn. That’s not good. If she’s already tired at ten o’clock in the morning, it usually means she’s having a rough go of it with Oli, my nephew. “We’re still scheduled to close on the morning of the nineteenth. I may need you to hang out with the kids that morning, so I don’t have to keep Oli with me while I’m signing a bunch of legal documents.”

  “What day is that?”

  “A Monday. We’ll drive in the day before and stay at a hotel. I hope I can sign all the papers before eleven, so you guys can just hang out at the hotel until I get done. Then we can go straight over and start unpacking.”

  Climbing out of my car, I slam the door behind me, my skin immediately breaking into a sweat. You’d think late April would have spring-like temperatures, but not in Texas. Here we have four seasons: almost summer, even hotter summer, still summer, and Christmas. I neglected to remind Greer of that bit of trivia when making plans for the move.

  “I still can’t believe you’re driving the U-Haul and towing your car,” I say with a chuckle. “You’re a Texas woman already, and you haven’t even gotten here.”

  She laughs quietly. “No, I’m just a single mom. Comes with the territory.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.” The blast of the air conditioning when I walk in the athletic center immediately cools me off and actually makes me a bit chilly. You never know what the inside temperatures are going to be like in these buildings. I swear the maintenance faculty get a kick out of making us guess every day. “I can’t wait for you guys to get here. And I think that program is going to be really good for Oli.”

  Oli, my seventeen-year-old nephew, had some brain damage at birth due to oxygen deprivation, so he’s more of a handful than most teenage boys. He has all the hormones, hygiene issues, and physical changes with the brain capacity of an eight-year-old. Plus, his impulse control is basically shot. It’s been a long haul for Greer, especially once she got divorced and her ex went to jail. But being closer to me means I can help out more, so Greer can have a break sometimes.

  “I’m really excited about that program,” she says. “I’ve already talked to the special ed director, and we’re going to get all his paperwork done immediately so he can start this summer.”

  “You mean like summer school? That kind of sucks.”

  “Not really. If he takes a summer off, he loses all the social skills he gains over the year. Plus, it gives me consistent time to work, even if it is shortened hours.”

  “Just be prepared for more fights about taking a shower,” I say with a chuckle. “He’s gonna come home smelling like cows every day.”

  “Can’t be worse than him smelling like teenage boy.”

  Taking the short cut through the locker room to my office, the overwhelming odor proves her point. We’re not even in season, and these kids still don’t wash their lucky socks. “You got me there,” I admit. “If he smells anything like this locker room, you have my sincerest apologies.”

  Greer’s laugh comes through the receiver, and I can’t help but smile, knowing she’s going to be okay. I worry about my baby sister. She’s dealt with a lot over the years, and none of it was deserved.

  “I don’t think it’s that bad. But I’m not going to try to prove you wrong any time soon. You can keep that stinky room to yourself.”

  “Wimp,” I mutter, making her laugh again. “Hey listen, I’m at work now so I need to let you go. But you’ll call me if you change your mind about me flying up there to drive you down?”

  I can practically hear the roll of her eyes. “Yes, Jack. I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t make fun. It’s my job to take care of you.”

  “No, it’s my job to take care of me. It’s your job to be supportive. And you do it very well, so quit worrying.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” That’s a lie, and we both know it. I’ll never stop worrying about her.

  After pulling up my schedule and making the few phones calls I need to make, I start going over some tapes from potential recruits. For the most part, we’ve got next year’s lineup all ready to go. We’d be running behind at this point if we didn’t. But there’s always someone who surprises us last minute, and we don’t want to miss out. That one late bloomer could get away if we aren’t watching.

  I look up when I hear a knock at my door.

  “Stevens? What are you doing here?”

  “I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute . . . Jack.”

  Immediately I’m on guard. Stevens has never called me by my first name unless we’re at Joie’s house. “I take it I need to change out my coach hat for my boyfriend hat?”

  He nods sheepishly. “Is that all right? It can wa
it. I just didn’t want to talk about it in front of my mom.”

  Now I’m really on guard. He and Joie don’t keep many secrets, and I’m certainly not close enough to him to be included in them. “I’ve got time. Have a seat . . . Isaac.”

  He smirks knowing we have an understanding now. This conversation is personal. I’m not sure if that’s an improvement on our relationship or if I need to watch my back. Whatever is going on, it must be big.

  Leaning back, I clasp my hands behind my neck. “It’s a little late to say your piece about my moving into the house.”

  “Nah. That doesn’t bother me.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No. I actually feel better about you living there.”

  Well, color me surprised. I never expected that reaction.

  “I know we’ve lived there forever, and we have great neighbors,” he continues, “but I never liked her living alone. It makes me feel better, knowing she has security detail there.”

  I snicker. “Is that your way of conveniently forgetting I’m her boyfriend?”

  He looks amused that I’ve caught on. “Hell, yes. No way I wanna think about what goes on in that house when I’m not there.”

  “You don’t have to worry. It’s all very respectful.”

  Isaac makes some gagging noises, making me laugh. It’s nice to joke around with him a bit. I don’t think we’ll be best friends or anything, but mutual respect and understanding works for me.

  Still, he’s here for a reason and now that I know it’s not about me, I’m even more concerned. “So what’s going on? It must not be good if you’re tracking me down in the middle of the day.”

  He rubs his bottom lip, elbows resting on his knees, before he speaks. “My dad called me.”

  I try to contain my composure. Isaac’s dad left Joie high and dry with a toddler years ago. He never helped. Rarely showed up. Even if he had a solid relationship with Isaac, I’d be pissed about the way he treated Joie. But as far as I know, there’s never been a relationship. That makes this so much worse. So I go with the noncommittal response.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  He shrugs. “Twelve, thirteen years at least. I was like ten or something.”

  I have a bad feeling I know what’s happening here, but I don’t dare tell him my initial assessment. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a deadbeat dad come out of the woodwork once his long-forgotten kid becomes a star.

  “Is this the first time he’s contacted you?”

  “A few months ago, I noticed he was following me on social media. He’d like some of my posts or make small comments. Nothing big.” He shrugs.

  “But?”

  “The timing was suspect.”

  “How so?”

  Isaac blows out a breath and rubs his hand over the top of his head. I already have an idea what he’s about to say. He looks uncomfortable, which I understand. Saying it out loud makes it more real. “He didn’t find me until after I got my scholarship.”

  I nod in understanding, still waiting for him to come to his own conclusions before I say my piece. “And you think it’s because he saw all the press on it.”

  He shrugs again. “Awfully coincidental, don’t ya think?”

  I nod but let him continue. It’s a lot to process.

  “I was hoping you could tell me what to do. Or at least what to make of this.”

  Choosing my words carefully, I say, “Well, I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

  He laughs humorlessly. “Of course he is. I’m on the starting line for his favorite football team. That’s not what I’m asking.”

  “What are you asking?”

  “I figure you’ve been doing this for a long time, and you’ve probably seen this before. Are they, the dads that just show up, are they ever for real, or is it just more games?”

  I was hoping we could avoid this question, but I would be doing him a disservice if I didn’t tell him the truth.

  “You’re right. I have seen this before. It’s not an uncommon thing.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m sorry to say, but I’ve never seen it end well.”

  “Never?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t know your father from anyone else on the street. I don’t know if he’s a recovering alcoholic and he’s making amends, twelve-step style. Or if he’s had a come-to-Jesus moment and is trying to atone for his sins. But if nothing else, I’d be leery. And if you choose to let him into your life, I’d make him prove it’s for the right reasons before trusting him. Not at this stage in your career.”

  He nods and bites his bottom lip as he thinks over what I’ve said. “Any advice on how to handle it?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to tell him to go to hell and then beat him to a pulp for what he did to me and my mom.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at his response. “I can respect that. Wouldn’t mind throwing a punch or two of my own on your mom’s behalf.”

  Isaac smiles. “See? Security detail.”

  The fact that he can make a joke in the middle of all this means he’s gonna be okay. He has a lot to process, but is still handling it better than most of the kids I see who get starry-eyed at the idea of having a relationship with their long-lost father. It’s sad to watch because no matter how long it’s been or how angry they are, there’s a part of each of them that still wants their dad to want them. When it doesn’t work out as planned, it causes a lot of turmoil. We help them channel it appropriately on the field as best as we can, but it doesn’t make it any easier on them emotionally.

  “I think I just want him to go away. Or at least not contact me during the season. If he’s interested in me at all, it better not be about football.”

  “That’s understandable. Maybe talk to him a couple more times. Feel him out when he calls. You’ll know what he’s after at some point.”

  “Okay. Yeah.” He goes silent for a few minutes as he absorbs our conversation. I watch him. I don’t have anywhere to be. “I have to get to class,” he finally says, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door. “Thanks for leveling with me, Jack.”

  “Hey,” I call out, “is there a reason you didn’t go to your mom about this?”

  He grabs the doorknob and pivots around to look at me. “It’s not that I don’t want her to know. I kind of wanted to know what I was going to do about it before having that whole discussion about loving her the most even if he’s back. Also, now that you’re involved, it’s better if it comes from you first.” He flashes me a shit-eating grin.

  “You’re a little shit, you know that, Isaac?” I jest.

  “Yep,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m sure you guys are all in the ‘no secrets’ stage of your relationship or whatever so have fun with that conversation.”

  I roll my eyes. “Get out of here. You’re gonna be late to class, and I don’t wanna bench your ass for ineligibility.”

  Snapping his legs together, he salutes me. “On it, Coach.” Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

  Stevens no more than rounds the corner of the hallway when Hank saunters in and leans against my desk, crossing his ankles. “Should I pass out the congratulatory cigars or something?”

  I don’t bother looking up from the email I’m opening. “What are you talking about?”

  “You just became a daddy today! That was some great fatherly advice.”

  “What?” If he was trying to make me look at him, it worked. He has my full attention. “How did you hear that? Were you standing outside the door with a glass pressed up against it?”

  “You don’t know these walls are paper thin?”

  “No.”

  “Oh yeah. I can hear everything,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Remember that time you were banging that blonde over your desk?”

  “I have never had sex in my office. Ever.”

  “Huh. Maybe that was me and Renee.” I grimace an
d immediately back my hands away from the desk, running through my memories of any unknown substances I may have accidentally touched in the last ten years. “Anyhoo, the walls are paper thin.”

  “Now you tell me.” I begin searching through my file cabinet, looking for the anti-bacterial wipes Joie made me bring one day. “I could have been talking shit about you all these years.”

  “But you weren’t. So tell me, how are we going to handle this Stevens situation?”

  Aha. Found them. Now if I can only get the loose wipey thing through the damn hole at the top of the canister . . .

  “You don’t think it’s a coincidence his daddy called.” I push Hank off my desk as I begin the tedious process of de-contaminating.

  “Nope. Look what was posted yesterday morning.” He hands me his phone with an article pulled up. Holding it with the wipe still in my hand, all I see is the title before it all makes sense.

  Scouts List Flinton State’s Isaac Stevens as a Potential Draft Pick.

  The article straight out of this morning’s Austin paper mentions some interview, in which Stevens’s name was mentioned as a potential prospect. It lists all his current stats and even compares his first year pics with now. It’s amazing how much he has not only grown, but improved in just a couple years. I already knew that, but it seems that others are starting to notice as well. Including his elusive father.

  “Well, that explains it,” I mumble.

  “What are you going to do?” Hank pockets his phone and leans against my desk again.

  “Nothing I can do. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what Stevens thinks. I’m here to help guide him if he wants it, same as all the others.”

  “If he’s in here using your first name, sounds like he wants it.”

  I nod and put the wipes back in the cabinet. Suddenly, imaginary germs don’t seem as important as all the other shit happening.

  I honestly wasn’t sure how living together would go, but so far, it’s pretty good. Yes, Jack leaves dirty clothes everywhere, and I don’t know when the last time was that he washed a dish. But it’s nice having him here. Just the simple things like leaving me leftovers so I have something to eat when I get home from my study group confirm this is right for us. Plus, I feel so much safer than I did before, which is weird because I never realized I felt unsafe. Something about his presence just calms me. He balances out my desire to constantly be moving. And I hope I balance out his desire to constantly be sedentary.