“I get that. I just wish Mack’s philosophy wasn’t different from what I’m familiar with. It’s just a little much to take in at once and I don’t know how I feel about it.” To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m only talking about his coaching style.
“He lets you call him Mack?” His eyebrow lifts again, and I’m instantly aware that I’ve misspoken again. Coach Walker and Coach Johnson were rigid about having us call them by their last names with ‘coach’ attached so as not to breed familiarity. Its unlikely Mack’s approach would diverge from that.
“No, no.” I stutter quickly. “Erin and Kris were all ‘Mack this’ and ‘Mack that’ during our workout. They were stalking him online or something.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy says to the waitress as a tray of tacos is placed before us. As he’s squeezing lime onto his carnitas, he looks up with a tiny grin. “So they’re already flocking?”
My face scrunches in confusion. “Flocking?”
“The girls on your team,” he replies. “Your new coach can be quite the lady killer. It doesn’t surprise me that they’re already trying to get more information about him. Has Gina tarted herself up yet?”
Even with the uncomfortable turn of conversation, I still can’t help but let out a snort at his comment about Gina.
“You should have seen her today,” I respond between bites of delicious Mexican goodness. “I swear, her shorts were so short, her booty was winking at me.”
At that, Jeremy laughs and coughs through his tacos. “Holy shit. Where do you come up with these descriptors?”
I smile as Jeremy continues to chuckle to himself, but it doesn’t feel completely natural. Twice in the span of a few hours I’ve been confronted with this idea of Mack as some sort of sexual busybody. It makes me want to get out my cell phone and Google the shit out of him with the word date attached instead of soccer. But I know it won’t do me any good.
It won’t change anything either. Yesterday he was a man I was interested in, and in that reality, I could have asked him the million questions racing through my mind. But today, that reality is different.
Still, as I stare out the window at Ricardo’s and listen to Jeremy ramble on, I can’t help but wonder: a lady killer, ladies man, man whore, whatever he is… what the hell was he doing playing mini-golf with a 21-year-old virgin?
* * * * *
One hour, fifteen tacos and four sodas later, and the Jameson siblings are nursing enormous food babies.
“I can’t believe I ate six of those tacos,” I say, leaning back in the booth with my eyes closed, tempted to give into the food coma. “You’re a horrible influence.”
Jeremy lets out a loud belch and rubs his tummy. “Obviously.”
I smile at him and dig through my purse for my phone, switching the sound back on. My face falls when I see the missed call and voicemail.
“Something wrong?” Jeremy asks, leaning forward and searching my face with concern.
“Dad called,” I respond softly.
Jeremy’s face contorts into a hard expression. “Ignore it.”
“He left a voicemail. He never does that. What if something’s wrong?” I say the words quietly, but I know in my heart it isn’t true.
“You know that’s not what it is. No matter why he’s calling, he’s going to play mind games with you, Rach. Don’t give him the satisfaction. If you listen to it, you’ll be letting him suck you in.”
Jeremy has always been incredibly protective of me when it comes to our dad. He knows first-hand what it was like to grow up with Frank Jameson, and he felt incredible amounts of guilt when he moved to Glendale and left me at home for three years by myself. We’ve always been honest with each other about dad’s… difficult behavior, but there are a few things from those years that I haven’t even told Jeremy about.
Regardless of those things, though, I’ve always felt this sense of obligation. I am constantly at war with myself. I know interactions with him will always be negative and horrible and result in either tears or a few days of self-reflection to get past it. But he’s my father, and as much as I know he will always let me down, I can’t help this niggling desire at the back of my head that he might change. Someday.
I slowly click the screen and lift the phone to my ear. Jeremy lets out a resigned sigh and leans back, draining the rest of his soda and glaring out the window. When I hear my father’s slurred words, my heart constricts, and I know that today is not ‘someday’.
Rachel, it’s your father, but I guess that doesn’t mean anything to you. I ran into Colin Lincoln yesterday. Carter’s home from Princeton, visiting his family. Apparently he’s heading to Harvard Law next year. He’s really turned into something. But you were just too much of a dyke to hold onto something good. Anyway, I’ll be at your game on Wednesday.
The voicemail cuts off there, like he couldn’t even waste his time to finish the statement and say goodbye. I stare blankly at Jeremy, feeling all of the blood in my body rush to my face in embarrassment at my father’s words.
Jeremy grabs the phone from me and quickly listens to the voicemail before deleting it and taking my hands in his.
“This is why you shouldn’t ever listen to a word that man says,” Jeremy says softly. “He’s fucking wasted, thinking only of himself. The nerve of him to bring up Carter Lincoln as if he’s someone you should… I can’t even…” Jeremy stops, unable to finish his statement. I can feel the rage rolling off of him in waves.
“Thanks Jer, but I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just take me home?”
Jeremy searches my eyes before nodding. We load our trays with our trash, shove it in one of the trashcans, and head for the exit.
My brain feels fuzzy, like it always does after seeing, speaking to, or hearing from my dad. I still feel the twinge of embarrassment, but also the beginnings of anger and frustration, at the idea that my dad is going to grace me with his presence on Wednesday. I’ve gotten through all of college without him humiliating me like he did when I was in high school, showing up blitzed at my matches and causing such a problem that he was eventually banned from the games. I can’t imagine what it is that’s made him to want to come to this game.
Why now?
We’re walking out from Ricardo’s, my mind still trudging through the fog, when I see him. At first, I’m so confused that I’m sure my mind is playing tricks.
Mack, dressed in a suit, walking down the Avenue of the Stars.
My body betrays me as my heart begins to race. For just a brilliant moment, thoughts of my dad and the impending game vanish. He looks so handsome, his tailored suit showing off his trim hips and broad shoulders. I’m surprised he was able to get showered and changed after practice so quickly. I’m surprised to see him in Hollywood at all, considering how large this area is and the fact we could have missed each other if either of us had left moments earlier.
But mostly, I’m surprised to see him strolling down the street without a care in the world, hand-in-hand with Ronnie Kade.
The fog clears quickly and I feel like my heart has slammed into a brick wall. My eyes, still slightly glassy with the tears I had refused to let fall over my dad’s callous voicemail, begin to water again as I take them in, laughing together in an easy way as they walk in our direction.
Damn, they look like they’re in a movie. All they’re missing is a soundtrack.
But his relaxed smile vanishes and his steps falter when he sees me. His eyes flicker from me to Jeremy, who seems oblivious to the riot of emotions currently rushing through my body.
“Mack!” Jeremy shouts in jovial greeting. “How are you, man?”
Mack and Jeremy approach each other and do that bro-hug handshake combo thing that guys do.
“Jeremy. Rachel.” Mack nods at both of us, his face nearly expressionless, though his eyes stay rooted on me.
My gaze, however, strays to the right. To the absolutely breathtaking model who has snuggled h
erself into his side, still clutching his hand. She wraps her other arm around his, her head leaning comfortably on his shoulder like she’s done it a thousand times. She’s an amazon, her gorgeous pitch-black hair shining in the fading sunlight. She oozes sex and confidence in a tight, short, red number that clings to her amazing figure and huge breasts.
Suddenly, I realize the four of us are standing in silence as I stare at her. My eyes shoot to Jeremy, who is looking at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, feeling like an absolute idiot.
“Mack just introduced you to Ronnie,” Jeremy says softly.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I nearly trip stepping forward, my hand extended. “I’ve had a really long day. It’s nice to meet you,” I say, forcing a smile that feels anything but genuine.
Ronnie beams a megawatt smile at me, oblivious to my discomfort, accepting my hand in a light shake. “You too, Rochelle.”
“It’s Rachel,” I hear from Mack, but I refuse to connect my eyes with his again.
“So, what are you two up to tonight?” The question is out before I can stop it, and I wish I could reach out and grab the words and stuff them back into my mouth.
“Just grabbing a quick bite, catching up on life,” Ronnie replies, “and getting in some quality time.” She glances up at Mack with what I can only imagine are her bedroom eyes.
My mouth goes dry and I feel like my stomach has dropped three feet.
There it is.
Confirmation that my fears about Mack and Ronnie aren’t entirely unfounded.
I quickly try to shake the unsettling feeling that Mack thought I could be a quick bang between models and actresses. But the image before me doesn’t leave room for much else. Mack and Ronnie, out on the town, dressed to the nines, before heading home for what will probably be mind-blowing, loud, sweaty, dirty sex across the kitchen island in what is probably a mansion on the beach.
When my eyes dart to Mack, I see he’s staring at me unabashedly. His eyes are glued to mine, pleading with me. I can only assume he’s hoping I won’t spill the beans now that I know our kiss was… nothing compared to whatever he shares with Ronnie.
“Well, we won’t keep you from your… quality time,” I choke out the words. “We’re just heading home. See you tomorrow, Coach.” I loop my arm in Jeremy’s and practically tug him away with me.
“Fucking Ronnie Kade,” Jeremy says as we make our way around the corner to the lot. “Of course he’s fucking Ronnie. That dick.”
I glance up at Jeremy and I’m shocked to see a smile on his face. “Why do you look so happy if you sound pissed?”
“Why would I be pissed? Jealous is more like it,” he answers, flashing his charming smile at me. “That guy gets so much ass, and he doesn’t even try.” My mouth drops open. “I know he’s your coach, so I shouldn’t say stuff like that. But, damn. Ronnie Kade.”
I chew on my lip as we walk, wondering if I should ask any questions or if that’s too obvious. Ultimately, my curiosity gets the best of me.
“The girls made it seem like they’ve been together a while.” It isn’t a question, but I know it’s enough to get Jeremy talking.
“I always suspected something was going on ‘cause they’ve known each other since he was playing in Chicago. He’s never been one to chat about who he’s banging, but with the number of chicks he’s pulled since he’s been here for all of a month, I just assumed they’d called it off.”
“What?” My voice is a slightly higher pitch than I wanted it to come out, but I can’t help myself but ask.
“Don’t get me wrong. If he wants to sleep around while he’s living in LA, more power too him. I’m just surprised he was able to keep her in his bed when he’s been inviting so many other ladies into it. Like I said, he’s been here under a month, and he gets way more play than I do.”
I grit my teeth, trying to hide my frustration and confusion, and if I’m honest with myself, sadness. We walk the rest of the way to Jeremy’s SUV in silence.
“You okay?” Jeremy pulls me from my thoughts after we’ve been on the road for a bit. When I look away from the window, I see him looking at me with concerned eyes.
I nod. “Just thinking about everything,” I respond, my tone low and distracted, a perfect reflection of my mental state. I know by saying it that way, he’ll think I’m talking about dad, our rocky and uncomfortable relationship, the game on Wednesday.
But my thoughts are stuck on Mack and his date. And I wonder how I ever could have misunderstood.
Chapter Five
“I appreciate the thoughtfulness, Jeremy, but you don’t have to babysit,” I say with a sigh.
Jeremy’s offer to attend my game on Wednesday is sweet, but unnecessary. He has his own life, his own practice schedule to contend with. He doesn’t need to concern himself with our dad’s need to embarrass me.
“It isn’t about babysitting,” he replies as he pulls up into the lot at the college where my car is and shifts into park. He runs his hands through his hair, then grips the steering wheel again. “I just know he’s going to be an absolute fucking nightmare. I don’t want you to have to deal with it on your own.”
“I love you Jer, but you’re not coming. I’ve dealt with him before. I can do it again.” I lean across the console and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you next week.” I quickly grab my bag and hop out of his SUV before he can argue with me any further.
He stares at me for a moment before nodding. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says.
I nod and close the door, walking off to Trusty Rusty. I wave as he drives off, then turn on my car and begin the short drive home, reviewing the day.
How has everything that has happened today happened in one single day?
I woke up from my dream about Mack with such high hopes. Our date had been so perfect, so sweet, so real. And that kiss.
That kiss.
Warmth had radiated through me, cracking some frozen piece inside I didn’t know existed. Contrast that with the heartbreak of finding out he’s my new coach, followed by our uncomfortable argument in his office and at my house. Then the drama of practice and hearing about Mack’s relationship with Ronnie. Then seeing him with Ronnie. I just can’t wrap my head around it all.
And the shit with my dad. Frank Jameson is a mess, and if I’m not careful, he’s going to drag me back to an emotional place I don’t want to be.
How am I ever going to get through the game on Wednesday?
My stomach turns over as I think about the certainty of my dad showing up wasted and belligerent, causing problems and hassling people in the stands, shouting out at us while we play.
His antics caused a heap of problems for me in high school. Parents didn’t want their kids to be friends with Frank Jameson’s kid, even though we were old enough to have friendships that didn’t involve parents facilitating play dates. My relationship with Carter was strained partly because of him and my soccer team gossiped about me behind my back. When your dad is seen as the trash of the town, the assumption is that the apple is rotten too, no matter how far it has actually fallen from the tree.
I don’t want to see that happen again.
When I get home, I park and quickly call his home number.
“This is Frank,” his voice comes through the phone in a slur.
“Hi dad,” I say, trying to muster up my confidence. “It’s RJ.”
“Rachel.” Even the way he says my name, with such disdain and hatred, causes my head to ache. “What the hell do you want?”
“I’m just calling you back. You know. Because you called earlier?”
There’s silence on his end. I’m unsure whether he has fallen asleep, or doesn’t remember why he called me, or if he just doesn’t know how to respond. I never call him back. He leaves nasty voicemails and I torture myself by listening to them. But I always muster up the strength to call on holidays and his birthday. Even
then, he rarely answers. I haven’t actually spoken to him since Christmas.
“You mentioned coming to the game on Wednesday.” I’m fairly sure he’s forgotten, the memory just a blur in his whiskey-addled brain. “I just wanted to thank you, but you don’t have to come. I know it will take you a long time to get there on the bus, and I’m sure you have better things to do.”
I’m trying to make it seem like I’m looking out for his best interests. But I already know he’s going to find a way to turn this around on me.
“Listen up, you spoiled shit. I don’t need you doing me any favors. If I say I want to come to the game, I’m going to be there. And you can’t do anything about it.”
I try hard to keep my tone light, placating. “I know, dad. I know. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t putting yourself out.”
“Putting out is more your style, right Rachel? Always around all those boys, lettin’ ‘em slap your ass. You just couldn’t be a normal fucking daughter, could you? You don’t think I know you were lettin’ those boys fuck you?”
“Which one is it dad?” I grit out, my anger from the day suddenly boiling over, shocking me slightly. “Am I a whore who spreads her legs? Or a dyke who can’t keep a decent man?”
“Don’t talk to me like that you worthless piece of shit. No wonder your mother abandoned you. I just wish she hadn’t left you with me, ruining my life too.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that could block out his words. But of course it doesn’t work. “If you come to the game on Wednesday, stay the hell away from me.”
I hang up the phone and use all of my self-control not to chuck it into the street. Then I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and cry.
* * * * *
Soft knocking wakes me from my place in front of the TV and when I glance at the clock on the wall, I see it’s after 11pm. I sit up on the couch and rub my face, unsure if the knock is coming from the show currently airing or the front door. After sitting still and listening for a minute, I hear another knock, this time a bit louder.
The Keeper Page 9
