“Jackson was a Giant for like two minutes, Zoey. Do you know how many players I have met in the past eighteen years? I have a hard time remembering who I met last week, never mind who I met twenty-two years ago.” It’s a poor attempt at discouraging my sister.
“Oh. My. God. Claire. You knew him! You said eighteen initially and then you corrected yourself with the actual amount of years that Jack dropped off the face of the earth.” Finally standing to her full height, Zoey looks over to me from the corner of her desk. “And do not lie to me, you practically raised me, Claire. I want the truth. Or I’m going to sic Suzie on you.”
Suzie has been Zoey’s best friend since their freshman year of high school. I’m happy that they found each other, however, my sister’s best friend is a computer savant of sorts. So Zoey’s threat of siccing Suzie and her overly talented computer skills on me are the last thing that I want.
In a final ditch effort I say, “What the hell, Zoey! Nothing is going on with Jackson. The man just drives me batty. That is all. End of conversation.” Jackson is always around, always wants to talk, wants to hang out. But Zoey isn’t buying what I’m selling. I can tell by the look on her face. Damn Jami, our mother, for teaching us to never let loose of anything. That woman would beat a dead horse to hell and back if there was information to be had.
“Christ, Claire, you did know him! You are avoiding the Jack topic like the plague.”
"Enough…Your pregnant brain is over reacting and looking for a mystery to solve. I have to get my day started.” Turning my back on my sister, I do my best to not stomp out of her office.
“You mean you need to prepare for Jack’s dog! You do know her name right? Legs...That’s what Derrick says he calls you!” Zoey shouts as I slam out of her office.
I should have left the bitch on the floor!
Claire
JACKSON DROPPED LEGS off this morning and I have to admit that she’s a good girl. Well behaved and trained exceptionally well. She and Dallas are becoming fast friends. Legs is even allowing my little girl to be the Alpha.
Sitting out in the backyard enjoying the quiet, contemplating my fall fairy garden and watching the girls play, I muse to myself how Zoey isn’t going to allow my excuses regarding Jackson much longer. I figure I have at least until the babies are born and she is back in a routine. At most I have two months more of evasive maneuvers, if I’m lucky, before the bullshit card is pulled and I’m going to have to come clean about knowing Jackson back when he played for Mac.
At the time there was a large part of me that blamed Jackson for what happened. My heart knew he wasn’t to blame, but neither one of us realized that I was too naïve to be able to handle Brad or the situation. Jackson is the only person to have witnessed the aftermath of the most horrific moment in my life, and I’m having a hard time reconciling the young, wilder Jackson from my past with the mature Jackson from my present.
Jackson has tried over the years to reach out to me, to offer some kind of support, whether it was him offering me money so that Sasha and I didn’t have to struggle financially or just sending me missives of support and strength. Initially, Jackson wrote me every week during my pregnancy, always apologizing for not being there to stop the actual incident. As time carried on and I didn’t respond, I would get a message from him on every holiday—major or insignificant—and both Sasha’s and my birthdays. Twenty-two years’ worth. At first, I was unable to respond to any of Jackson’s messages because quite frankly it hurt too much. Then once time passed, I just couldn’t allow myself to respond out of shame. He was my best friend and savior. And I turned my back on him.
Jackson and I both grew up too soon. That was another common denominator that I had with him. Me because of Zoey, then Sasha. And Jackson because of his mom.
By the time that Zoey was four years old and I was twelve, we had two nannies and our parents were pretty much nonexistent. It wasn’t always that way. Both Mom and Mac were very involved in my upbringing when I was younger. But the more success Mac got, the more distant my parents became.
Don’t get me wrong, being the daughter of Robert “Mac” McEvoy and the granddaughter of Earl Applebee was great if not unrealistic in the grand scheme of things. Two generations of football legends in one family is one hell of a legacy to contend with, but I was handling it. At least I thought I was.
And Jackson, he had to take on most of his father’s responsibilities on the farm after his mother killed herself. His father completely shut down. I know this because twenty-three years ago Jackson and I were friends, best friends actually, and he told me all about how depression had encompassed his mother’s life and stole her away from them. I think that is why when Zoey started that dark crawl of depression I recognized it and made a point to be there for her. Even uprooting Sasha to do so.
Letting my mind wander to Jackson, I realize how completely different he is now as a coach then how he was as a player. Back when we first met, he had a sense of hunger about him. Almost desperation now that I think about it. It was more than his passion for the game and the desire to not let his father down. I used to think that it was because he didn’t want to go back to Catlettsburg as a failure. He had so much to prove back then and not much of a support system, other than from me. He has come into his own over the years, and it’s a beautiful thing to see. It’s as though he needed to abandon his life to find himself. The time away from the world afforded him to grow into the man he is today. And that man is strong, independent, self-contained and unflinching to the hardships of life. It’s frightening for me to see the changes because I am still standing in the exact same place that I was all those years ago—emotionally speaking.
What woman wants to admit that she was so consumed with her day-to-day life, just surviving really, and has never had a serious relationship? The longest relationship that I have ever had with a man was with Jackson, and he was just a friend. But my girls needed me and frankly, I needed them. Now everyone else has a life and I’m the one still standing on the sideline waiting on the coach to put me in.
Jackson
WALKING INTO THE training facility, I am appalled to see my former roommate, Brad Callahan, walking out of the General Manager’s office. Shock would be an understatement, but the anger that follows is all consuming and not at all surprising.
As he walks up to me, he extends his hand in greeting and says, “Jack, my man, it’s been years. I never thought that you would make it back to this level.”
Unable to contain my anger, I lift my right hand, pull it back, and let it fly. Right into Brad’s face. As he falls to the ground I get a great sense of satisfaction looking down at him from where I stand. The bastard deserved that and so much more.
“What the fuck, man?” Brad says from his position on the ground. “We’re friends! What the fuck is wrong with you?
“We are NOT friends. You used me. You used Claire. And then you fucked the both of us over to save your own ass.” I say, unable to control my anger. Twenty-three years is a hell of a long time to hold in the resentment that I have for this man. All I see is red and my ears are buzzing. What the fuck is he doing here?
Picking himself up off the ground, as several players and front office staff rush over to find out what the commotion is, Brad brushes his linen pants off, as though he were afraid they’d gotten dirty. Pussy! Who wears linen pants?
It is just as Jerry Reese, the general manager of the team, walks out of his office that Brad says, “I’m the new VP of Community and Corporate Relations.” In that moment I realize any chance I have with Claire is shot to shit and that I have just put my second chance in the pros at risk. My only other thoughts are that I have to get to Claire before she finds this news out through the media. Come hell or high water, I have to protect her and Sasha this time around.
The GM walks up to us, me in my beat-up sneakers and workout pants, douchebag Brad in his linen pants and loafers, and asks, “Is there a problem here, boys?”
Christ if
there ever was a disparaging gap between the two of us, our choices in clothes says it all. The rich kid that had everything handed to him and the farm boy who only made it to college because he could play ball.
Seeing the look on Reese’s face has me concerned for a moment. But my advantage is the knowledge that Brad can’t afford his secret getting out. Looking over at me seething, he says, “No, Jerry, we’re all good. Just old teammates reuniting.”
“Good, good.” Jerry slaps Brad on the back, looks over at me, does a once over from head to toe, and follows up with, “Aren’t you late for a coach’s meeting, Jack?”
Knowing that this isn’t the place for rehashing old times, I nod to him and walk away. I head toward my truck instead of down the hallway that will lead me to my office. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I shoot a quick text to Coach Smith letting him know that I will not be at the meeting due to a family emergency, and walk out of the training facility with one thought and one thought only. I need to get to Claire immediately.
Claire
THE GIRLS AND I have just come inside and I have given them a treat when my phone sounds off with a Google alert. Walking over to my phone where I left it on the kitchen table, I pick it up to check the message. I only have an alert set for the team, so I’m curious as to what news was announced that I’m unaware of.
Just as I’m swiping to wake the screen up, my phone starts to ring with Jackson’s ringtone. Rolling my eyes, I wait until the fifth ring to pick up. Because as much as I don’t want Jackson around, I also can’t seem to stay away from him either. He is the one person that I feel truly connected to, and as much as I fight that connection, I also want it.
Finally picking up the phone, I say, “Really, Jackson, you just dropped Legs off. She is fine. Seriously, you are worse than Zoey!”
I am barely able to finish my comment when Jackson’s words hit me. “Claire, have you seen the news this morning?”
He is agitated and I can hear the frustration in his voice. Thinking that it has something to do with either Sasha or Zoey, I respond, “What’s happened? Who’s hurt?”
“Everyone is fine. I am on my way over right now. I should be there in about fifteen minutes. Do me a favor and don’t turn on the TV or go on the internet until I get there.”
The mother in me surges forward and all I can think of is if my girls are okay. “Jackson, I am seriously starting to worry here. Now tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Do what I say, woman! Jesus what is wrong with you McEvoys!” he shouts into the phone. Then with a deep breath in and out he follows up in a much softer tone, “Please, Claire. Sasha and Zoey are fine. For that matter so are Derrick, Ben and Suzie. Just please, have a cup of coffee and go play with the dogs until I get there.” Then he hangs up on me.
“What the hell was that all about?” I say to Dallas and Legs. They are sitting in the door to my sunroom, heads cocked to the right, looking just as confused as I feel.
Unable to actually do as I have been told, because hello I had enough of that while growing up, I grab a bottled water out of the refrigerator and wander the main floor of my house. I know that something is going on, and by God, no one I love better be hurt or Jackson will find himself in some major pain. Trust me, I could seriously hurt the man. After what happened with Brad that summer, I made sure that no one EVER got the upper hand on me.
I spoke with Sasha earlier; she was distant but fine. Shocker a twenty-two-year-old being distant! She has finally decided on a major, thank goodness. For a while I thought she was going to take the “professional student” route. She has chosen Communications. Plus, her internship with the team begins tomorrow. She is going to be working directly for the new VP of Community and Corporate Relations. I couldn’t be prouder of her.
Standing in my living room, I look around and wonder if I should rearrange the furniture. It’s what I do when I’m worried. I used to do it in the middle of the night. It soothes me and helps me burn off unwanted energy when I can’t sleep. Chuckling, I think back on how Sasha would run into the furniture when she was younger. It wasn’t so funny when Children’s Services came calling one afternoon though. It was then that I realized my crazy compulsion could get my daughter taken away. The bruises that she got by tripping over and walking into furniture were not easily bought by the social worker. Worse was the humiliation of having to explain that I didn’t sleep at night, so I’d rearrange the furniture for shits and giggles and to stem the panic and anxiety attacks that overtook me; now that was embarrassing.
But Mac wasn’t about to let Sasha get taken away. It wouldn’t look good for him, so he proceeded to make it go away with the guarantee that Sasha would never have an unexplainable bruise again and if so, he and my mother would file for full custody.
That would be the fucking day!
I started therapy with Dr. Jacobs the next morning. I still don’t sleep well at night and when I do sleep, I have to have a light on. Always. It’s gotten worse since Sasha moved in to the dorms last year. Most nights I sleep on the couch with the kitchen sink light on and the TV going. Funny how I know every sound in my house and it is only at night that those sounds—the normal sounds of a home settling—scare me to death.
But I like the way the house looks and rearranging the furniture would tip both Zoey and Sasha off that something is bothering me. So instead I walk over to one of the wingback chairs and shift it a little to the right. Cocking my head in contemplation, I realize that it doesn’t look good. The small move throws the entire look of the room off.
The doorbell rings, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I do a quick shift of the chair, setting it back to its original position. Nodding that things are back to rights, I head over to the door; but before I can answer it, Jackson just walks in. “You need to lock your doors, Claire,” he says in greeting as he stomps past me and makes his way into my kitchen.
The main floor of my house is an open floor plan. With the only doors and walls belonging to the bathroom and my office. I need to be able to see everything around me and not feel caged in. That is another issue for me since Brad. When I bought this little Cape Cod ten years ago, I felt so claustrophobic because of the walls. It took me two years and a lot of research and DIY projects, but I got my open space and was finally able to breathe in my own home.
I’m not a hand wringer. That’s just not what I do. I no longer allow the anxiety to completely take over anymore. Instead, I straighten my spine and tackle a problem head on. But if I was a hand wringer, I’d be wringing them like mad right now. I can feel the anxiety and panic start to rise within me. That all too familiar light headedness, accompanied by the rush of heat that overtakes me, is consuming. And if I wasn’t freaking out internally before, I certainly am now that I have seen Jackson’s face. I haven’t seen that look since the night that changed both of our lives twenty-three years ago.
Jackson
WALKING INTO CLAIRE’S house, the only thing that I can think of is that for the second time in my life I want to literally kill another human being. The drive over did nothing to calm me down. Just the sight of Bradford Michael Callahan III has me seeing red. Seeing him again after all these years has my head totally fucked up. Walking over to the refrigerator, I open it and grab a beer. Turning, I go to get the bottle opener out of the drawer to the right of the stove. I know Claire’s house as well as I know my own, being fortunate enough to have been here multiple times over the past two years. Claire might not want me around, but she isn’t rude enough to exclude me from our friends either. Popping the top off of the beer, I down it in one tilt.
Claire walking toward me gets my attention. She’s on edge, that’s my fault goddammit. But I know, just know, that she is going to freak the fuck out over Brad being back with the team.
Looking around, I realize that the girls didn’t greet me when I walked in. Taking another look around the kitchen, I ask, “Where are the girls?”
Waving her hand carelessly over her left should
er, Claire says, “On the sun porch.” Then taking a deep breath in and out says, “Are you going to tell me why you are standing in my kitchen at ten thirty in the morning having a beer? You aren’t a big drinker, Jackson. What’s happened?”
Looking at Claire right now, I would do anything to not be the person that brings back all the pain that she has overcome. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to have that constant ache and pain in her eyes. I know that she seems content with her life. But being content and happy are two different emotions. She is and has been an amazing mother to both Zoey and Sasha. Zoey reached her dreams, where Sasha is just on the cusp of hers. And the random thought of, Has Claire ever been truly happy?, enters my head. Has there ever been a moment, one single moment in her life, that she has been truly happy and content?
It is in this moment, that although I have to deliver bad news, I decide I will make it my mission in life to make this amazingly beautiful soul happy.
Looking around Claire’s homey kitchen, I search for the right way to tell her what is going on—and fail miserably. Finally, I look at her and simply say, “Brad’s back. The team brought him back.”
With a quick stumble and a stilted walk over to the table, Claire sits down and braces her head on her hands. A few minutes pass in utter silence. But then she takes a deep breath, picks her head up, and straightens her spine. The transformation from shock and defeat to strength that I witness is inspiring. The woman before me is not someone I would want to mess with. And as much as I want to wrap my arms around her and protect her right now, there is no way she would allow it.
Encroachment (Coach's Shadow Trilogy #2) Page 2
