Beau scrubbed his hand over the back of his hair, disrupting the curls. “I haven’t tried the course yet.”
“Perhaps we could change that this morning.” Chase lifted his shoulders and spoke into the camera, adding interest and speculation to his voice. “A trial run before the course opens to the teenagers.”
“Yeah.” Beau’s fingers stilled on the back of his head and his arm lowered. Laughter and anticipation flashed into his gaze. “You know, it’s meant to be a race. The obstacle course has two sides.”
“I’d heard there is some good competition out there warming up now.” Don’t. That word echoed inside his head. Another silent order from Nichole. But Nichole understood him like no one else. She’d recognize the difficult position he’d been put in.
Beau grinned. “But if I’m going to do a trial run, I’d like to choose my competition.”
“Anyone you’d like to compete against?” Chase looked at the camera as if requesting suggestions from the audience. Inside, his inner competitor raised his hand and jumped up and down. “I’m sure we can find someone willing.”
“You.” Beau pointed at Chase.
Chase wanted to point at Wesley and celebrate. Operation Distraction worked. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m on emcee duty.”
“Surely we have a stand-in.” Beau looked around the studio. “It’s just one race.”
The onlookers and crew cheered. The frazzled producer woman gave Chase a thumbs-up. Chase faced the camera. “I’m getting the all clear. Looks like Beau and I are heading to the obstacle course. Stay tuned.”
Chase turned off the microphone and handed it to the cameraman. Wesley raced to his side, shook hands with Beau and the trio walked out onto the field. Cheers sounded from the participants and camp attendees. Teammates called out odds and favorites, Beau or Chase for each of the different obstacles.
“Want a rundown of the course?” Beau asked.
“Can’t hurt.” Chase lifted his foot, grabbed his ankle and stretched his thigh, then his other leg. Beau described the course. The high-level details gave enough information for Chase to build a contingency plan for his shoulder. He’d rather dislocate his shoulder than divulge his dyslexia to the public. In a perfect world, his shoulder would hold up, his distraction would capture the good kind of attention and his image would remain fully intact.
The world wasn’t perfect.
Four obstacles into the course, Chase’s shoulder cursed him and his so-called ideal distraction. He’d finished the balance beams without jarring his shoulder. The abrasive landings on the dozen jumps from one solid wooden leap pad to another had trembled along his nerves. He’d relied on his good arm and legs for the wall climb and the rope swing. Now he caught his breath and glared at the long mud crawl under a set of heavy, thick ropes. A ball pit, tire run and net climb still waited on the other side. Beside him, Beau gained ground after faltering on the wall climb. Around the stadium, spectators shouted advice and encouragement.
Chase dropped onto all fours, sank into the mud and army crawled under the first rope. His shoulder throbbed. He tightened his core, transferred more weight to his legs. He’d always preferred physical pain over the frustration of reading. And reading to an audience would’ve been a new level of torture. Chase gritted his teeth and pushed forward. He cleared the last rope and shoved himself out of the mud.
Wesley jumped up and down, cheering near the end of the ball pit. His shout splintered above the others. “You got this, Dad.”
Chase concentrated on Wesley and the pride on the boy’s face. Letting down Wesley became unacceptable. Being called Dad in front of an audience energized him like nothing he’d experienced before. Chase launched into the ball pit and sprinted through the tire run. Wesley paced him on the edge of the course, shouting his praise and approval. Chase filled his lungs at the net climb and willed his shoulder to cooperate for one more obstacle. Adrenaline and Beau’s presence propelled Chase up the rope wall. At the top, he collapsed onto the slide, slid to victory at the bottom of the fifteen-foot drop and accepted an enthusiastic hug from Wesley.
“I’ve been challenged.” Preston Park, Chase’s stand-in emcee, thrust the microphone at Chase and beamed. “Your turn to commentate.”
Preston ran off to join Elliot at the starting line. Behind the duo, more retired and current players paired off to run the course. Volunteers wove camp attendees between the players, making introductions and allowing the players and teens to strategize together.
Chase rubbed the mud from his face and rallied past the intense ache in his shoulder. Later, after the adrenaline rush and inside the privacy of his own home, he’d give in and call JT for an emergency physical therapy session. And remind himself he wasn’t qualified to be a dad.
But on the field, inside the Pioneers’ stadium, he had to be the version of Chase Jacobs that everyone expected. They’d settle for nothing less. He turned on the microphone, grinned at Wesley and continued the rest of the morning off script.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Nichole walked into their small kitchen, crossed her arms over her chest and eyed her son. Mud coated his running shoes, splattered up his shins and covered the knees of his sweatpants. More mud flaked through his hair and smeared across one cheek.
Wesley closed the freezer door and concentrated on closing the large plastic bag filled with ice cubes. “Making an ice pack.”
“I can see that.” Nichole picked up a stray ice cube from the floor and tossed it in the sink. “Why? Did you hurt your knee at the Pioneers Camp?” She’d met with the owners of Tally’s Corner Market and secured them as a vendor for her app. Chase had offered to take Wesley to the camp. They both had convinced her nothing would happen. Nothing other than fun with the other kids. Worry sheared through her.
“It’s not for me.” Wesley bent his left knee and his right as if to prove he remained in perfect health. “Chase needs it.”
“Chase?” Nichole touched her hair as if she suddenly cared what he thought about her appearance. “He’s here?” He was only supposed to drop Wesley off. They hadn’t planned anything else. Not like a date or dinner. She glanced at the ice pack. “And Chase asked you to get him an ice pack.” Another worry sliced through her. What had happened?
“He’d never do that.” Wesley shook his head and wrapped a kitchen towel around the bag of ice. “But he really needs it.”
“How do you know that?” Nichole blocked Wesley’s exit.
“I just do.” He avoided looking at her and fiddled with the edge of the towel.
“What happened?”
“You can’t tell anyone.” Wesley looked around as if making certain no one else stood in the kitchen. His voice was tense and determined. “You have to promise, Mom. You can’t even tell Chase that you know.”
“I promise.”
Wesley eyed her and shook his head. “You need to promise on Great-gramma’s favorite glass pie dish.”
“It’s that serious?” she pressed. They only reserved Great-gramma’s favorite pie pan for unbreakable vows. Things like promising to only hit the snooze button twice in the morning. Or to do one kind thing for a stranger each day. Or never leaving anyone behind.
His nod was too solemn, his gaze too somber.
“Then I promise on Great-gramma’s favorite pie dish.” Nichole took the ice pack and sealed the top of the bag tightly.
“Chase hurt his shoulder at Pioneers Camp, but he doesn’t want anyone to know.” Wesley grabbed the bag from Nichole and hugged the ice pack as if the cold would cancel his confession.
“But you know,” she said.
Wesley arched one eyebrow. “Because I was right there beside him when it happened.”
“Were you involved?” Neither Wesley nor Chase would have talked each other out of any fun at the camp.
Wesley shook his
bangs out of his eyes. “Sort of. But it wasn’t my fault or Chase’s.”
Nichole tilted her head at him and waited. Wesley relied on the very same argument quite often, as did Ben, when the boys wanted to protect each other. Now Wesley wanted to protect Chase. Made Chase an ice pack and made Nichole swear on Great-gramma’s cherished pie dish not to tell anyone about Chase’s injury. Her son had bonded with Chase. And she had done nothing to stop it. She’d done little to stop herself. Nichole concentrated on Wesley. She’d deal with breaking bonds later.
“Beau Bradford challenged Chase to the obstacle course.” Wesley wiped his hand underneath his nose. “Chase accepted and won.”
“If he won, then he couldn’t have gotten that hurt,” Nichole argued, and cautioned her concern to back off. What could’ve happened on a kids’ obstacle course? Between the tire race and balance beams she’d once seen in the school gym, she couldn’t imagine Chase could’ve put much strain on his shoulder.
“Mom.” Disbelief amplified his round eyes and his stunned tone. “Chase never used his right arm the rest of the morning. Not once.”
“How do you know that?”
“I stood beside him the whole time,” Wesley said. “On his right side.”
Wesley had never left Chase’s injured side the rest of the morning. No doubt he’d been guarding Chase. That was Wesley’s way—to always look after the ones in need. Nichole grabbed the ice bag. “Where is he?”
Wesley pointed behind her. “On the back porch.”
Nichole spun around and hurried onto the porch. Chase sat on the couch, head back, eyes closed. He braced his right arm in his lap. His entire face pinched together and held. An ache punched through her core and she hurt for him.
Wesley tripped over the door ledge. Chase’s gaze landed on Nichole and the shadows returned, locking her out. He straightened, started to push himself off the couch.
Nichole rushed over to his side and pressed the ice bag toward him. “You need to sit back and put this on your shoulder.”
“It’s...” Chase dropped back against the couch.
“Totally not fine.” Nichole sat next to him and handed him the ice.
“Sorry, Chase.” Wesley shuffled his feet and muttered at the ground. “Mom figured out you were hurt.”
“That’s a mom’s job.” Weariness, not irritation or anger, coated his words. “It’s what makes your mom the best, and you, too. Thanks for getting me an ice pack.”
Wesley perked up and pointed at the ice bag. “I even wrapped it in Mom’s special towel. Whenever she makes me an ice pack, she tells me that towel is the secret healer, even though it has so many hearts and flowers all over it.” Wesley grimaced as if hearts and flowers ruined his taste buds.
“I need all the secret healing I can get.” Chase set his hand on the flowery towel as if wanting to absorb every flower, heart and any good energy.
“Wesley, go jump in the shower and then get everything you need for the farm.” Nichole watched him race toward the door, then she called out, “And make sure you wash all the mud off your face, hair and body.”
“I got this, Mom.” Wesley’s footsteps pounded up the stairs to the second floor.
“Wesley gave me his version. Now I want yours.” Nichole dropped onto the couch beside Chase. “What exactly did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.” Chase pushed himself off the couch, away from Nichole and the ice pack. He paced the small room. “I couldn’t read the teleprompter.”
“What?” Nichole followed his restless path across the porch and back.
“They wouldn’t let Wesley on camera. Something about waivers and release forms needing to be signed by a guardian or parent, then legal needed to get involved.” He picked up one of Wesley’s baseball caps from the side table and traced his finger over the faded Pioneers’ emblem. His voice as worn as the rim on the hat. “Wesley called me his new dad. I couldn’t disappoint him.”
That sealed the bond. It was mutual between Wesley and Chase. Nichole sidestepped that disaster and concentrated on Chase’s version of the morning. She said, “But...”
“But I couldn’t read the script on the teleprompter. It was scrolling way too fast and I didn’t want to ask them to slow it down so I could read it.” Anger and frustration tinged his admission. He tossed the baseball cap on the table and continued his restless movements. “So, I went off script.”
“And ran the obstacle course.” He’d always chosen physical pain. Nichole wanted to reach for him, hold him until he lowered his guard. Until he let her in. Then promise he’d always be safe with her. But she was afraid she wouldn’t be enough. She was only one woman in his world—a world filled with spotlights and so many adoring fans.
“It was my shoulder or my reading. You know I hate reading out loud.” A bleakness outlined Chase like a second shadow, exposing his inner fear and turmoil. “I chose the shoulder.”
Nichole wanted him to choose her. She wanted to choose him. Impossible. She’d decided in the beginning no amendments would be accepted to their arrangement. She couldn’t change the terms now. Couldn’t allow hearts and emotions to undermine their deal. She also couldn’t leave him. Not like this: in pain and alone.
Upstairs, she heard the shower turn off and Wesley thumping around his bedroom.
“Let’s go.” Nichole grabbed the ice pack, opened the screened door and motioned into the backyard. Chase followed her around the side of the house and into the driveway. She opened the passenger door of Chase’s truck. “Get in and give me the keys.”
“Why?” He eyed her, then the front seat of his truck, but never moved.
“Because I’m driving.” She held out her hand.
“Where?” He clutched his keys.
“You should just give her the keys, Chase.” Wesley dragged his suitcase across the gravel driveway and paused beside Chase.
“I should?” Chase widened his stance as if joining forces with Wesley.
“She always wins.” Wesley wheeled his suitcase into his leg as if he intended to use his luggage for a chair to observe their standoff. “Especially when she gets like this.”
“We’re going to my grandparents and you’re coming along.” Nichole picked up Wesley’s suitcase and tossed it into the back seat of the truck. “Your truck fits tall people better than my car.”
“Cool.” Wesley climbed into the back seat. “Chase, you get to have Great-gramma’s apple pie and meet Great-granddad’s horses.”
Nichole held her palm out and stared at him.
“I can stay here.” Dark circles filled in his skin underneath his eyes. He’d hate that she noticed.
She disliked his misplaced pride. She shifted into her authoritative mom stance. “You’ll get in the car and put the ice pack Wesley got you on your shoulder.”
Chase obeyed.
“She’s only like this with the people she cares about.” Wesley accepted the ice pack from Nichole and scooted between the front seats to continue his counsel. “At least, that’s what she always tells me.”
She often told Wesley she only bossed around the people she loved. She cared about Chase, but love... Nichole climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors and her feelings. “I’ve always liked trucks.” Had she always liked Chase, too?
“You can drop me off at home and still take my truck.” His voice lacked his usual persuasive edge. His tone drifted into uncertain.
“Not happening.” Nichole reversed out of the driveway. “If you’re at home, you might find yourself accepting another challenge from your teammates or friends. I won’t be there to stop you.”
Wesley giggled in the back seat.
A faint smile slipped across Chase’s face. And Nichole grinned, even more certain she’d done the right thing.
Chase adjusted the ice pack and leaned the seat back, dropped his hea
d on the headrest and promptly fell asleep. Wesley stretched out on the bench seat, propped his pillow on the door and copied Chase, quickly falling asleep, too. The only difference—Chase slept with a grimace on his face, Wesley a grin. Wesley had always been hers to protect. She shouldn’t want to protect Chase now. She had the rest of the drive to get over her wants and focus on her priorities.
Over an hour later, the ice pack leaked down the front of Chase’s shirt yet hadn’t woken him up. However, the bumps on the dirt road leading to her grandparent’s farm jarred him wide-awake.
Served him right. Accepting an obstacle course challenge to keep from disappointing Wesley. Exhaustion paled his skin and pooled under his eyes even after his nap. He spent too much time running around, being everything to everyone and forgot to take care of himself along the way.
The truck bounced over two more dirt holes and bounced frustration and awareness through Nichole. Chase was a grown man. He should know how to take care of himself. He wasn’t her responsibility.
Nichole glanced over at Chase. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to miss the potholes, but it’s impossible.” Almost as impossible as not noticing every detail about Chase. Or not wanting to take care of him, too.
“Thanks for looking out for me.” Chase reached over and grabbed her hand. “The ice and nap helped.”
Still, pain lingered at the edges of his eyes and his voice. Nichole twisted her fingers around his, telling herself she’d let go soon enough. She looked in the rearview mirror. “Wesley, you awake back there?”
Wesley leaned on the center console between Chase and Nichole. “I can’t believe we’re here already. We need to take Chase’s truck more often. It’s faster than your car, Mom.”
But if they took Chase’s truck, they’d have to take Chase. She’d only brought him now to keep an eye on him. Nichole parked the truck and waved to her grandparents, who were stepping off the porch that wrapped around their ranch-style home.
Wesley launched himself out of the car and raced to hug his great-grandparents. “Great-granddad, I promised Chase he could meet Buckeye.”
Her Surprise Engagement Page 19
