Jackson clears his throat, it’s a sure-fire sign of his discomfort. My natural instinct to soothe takes over and in an attempt to ease Jackson, I say as flippantly as possible, “Jackson, I’m not going to off myself. I just needed to vent.” At the look on his face, I follow up with, “Christ, lighten up!”
“Shit, Claire, I care. I can tell that you’re tired. It actually pours off of you in waves. When are you going to accept some help?”
Jackson is upset with me. I know this, but why he cares is beyond me, and really it pisses me off. “I don’t need help, Jack. I’m fine!”
“You do know what fine means right? Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. So, no, Claire, you are not FINE.”
What the fuck? Where did he come up with that? I’m perfect. Tired, yes, but what single mother isn’t tired? I’ve done my job. I’ve raised two incredibly beautiful women with hearts that are genuine and kind. And he’s going to tell me that I’m fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional! What woman isn’t from time to time. Well fuck you! “Jack, I don’t want ice cream. I just want to take my TIRED ass and go home.”
“Stop being snarky. We are getting ice cream and that’s it.”
“So you are going to kidnap me? Is that what this is?”
“Jesus, woman, can you stop being so fucking sensitive?” Huffing out a breath, Jackson looks over at me and shakes his head. “Can you just give a man a fucking break? I wanna take the girl I like out for some ice cream. Okay?”
Looking over at the remarkably beautiful man to my left, I chuckle at his statement. “Okay, Jack. You want to take me for ice cream. Ice cream it is.” Then taking the leap that I need to take when it comes to this man, I follow up with a tentative, “I like you too by the way.”
The look of shock on his face is priceless. “Seriously? So are you telling me that I’m gonna get a kiss at the end of the night?” he says as he pushes my leg, letting me know that he is joking. But that simple touch sends butterflies straight to my stomach.
“Only if you are really lucky.”
“Shit, Claire, you can be such a bitch! But Jesus, I love that about you.”
He loves me! Okay, he loves an aspect of my character. That’s a start. Jackson says what he means and means what he says. He isn’t misleading. What you see is what you get with this big galoof!
He is a bigger dork than Zoey and Suzie combined. And he’s smart. You get the man started on his computers, and although yes my eyes roll because I don’t understand one word he’s talking about, the passion just takes over and it’s an attractive sight. Jackson is also quirky and shoots from the hip. Honest and kind, generous of spirit, and he has never met a stranger. He also makes me smile, which outside of my sister, friend, and daughter, isn’t something that happens often. I’m guarded and extremely private. Getting past the “Ice Queen” persona isn’t something that happens often.
“So, Legs? You want a Dilly bar?”
“You know my weakness. How do you know so much about me after all these years?”
“You wouldn’t like the answer I gave you, Claire.”
Jackson’s response is said with such frankness that I actually know that I don’t want to know where he got his information. But I already know. Because I know Jackson. I know that there is no length that he would go to if the end justified the means. “You hacked me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. And I’m not sorry for doing it either.” This is said with so much conviction that it has my head turning toward him. He is looking out the driver’s side window, almost in embarrassment to admit to stalking me. Yes it is weird, but in a flattering kind of way. Breaking into my inner musings, Jackson continues on, “I just needed to make sure that you and Sasha were okay. You’d never answer my emails. I just needed to know that you were okay.”
“You know, Jackson, if you and Suzie actually got together with your hacking abilities, you’d be dangerous.”
“I already am dangerous with my hacking abilities, Claire. But if you put Suzie and me together, the government should be concerned. Did you know Suz hacked into the NSA at fifteen?”
“Are you kidding me, Jackson?” The look on his face is his game face. It’s the one he wore when he played twenty-three years ago, and it’s the one he wears every Sunday. “You are freaking serious, aren’t you? Suzie, sweet Suzanne Anderson. Our Suzanne Anderson hacked into the National Security Agency when she was fifteen?”
“She’s done much worse, Claire. Trust me on this,” he says, looking over at me. “Now let’s drop this and go get some ice cream.”
Just as Jackson is getting out of the truck, my snarky side makes an appearance. “Are you courting me, Jackson Alexander?”
Looking back at me through the open door he is standing in, he says, “Yes, ma’am, I am.” And then he closes the truck door.
Jackson
MY MIND STARTS to wander to my dinner with Claire the other night as I stand on the practice field watching the guys run through their defensive skills. She has made herself scarce over the past week, I don’t blame her, I’d hide from Brad too if I could. But I don’t think that that is the entire reason she is hiding. I’ve scared her with my declaration of love and courting her. That was my mistake. I should have just pulled her to me and kissed the woman like I have been wanting to for years—thoroughly and without remorse.
Claire texted me early the next morning, asking that I just put Legs in the backyard when I drop her off. It’s frustrating as hell, but I just don’t have the time to call her on her bullshit right now. And unfortunately, the bastard, Brad, has put himself directly in my path this past week. Talk about a practice in patience. Sasha, from what I can tell, is infatuated with him. I need that like I need another hole in my head. Which is another reason for concern, because I still want to pound the jackass into the ground. He is smug and arrogant and doesn’t deserve Sasha’s adoration, which just pisses me off! That is what I want from the girl.
Claire doesn’t want Sasha knowing who her father is or how she was conceived. I understand her thinking on this, I do. However, I don’t always find it easy to not want to kill the man for being so fucking blasé about what he did to her. What truly gets my gourd is that when I called him on the rape he denied doing it. Hell, he even denied having a relationship with her. Instead he put it all on Claire. Said that she was infatuated with him and that all he had ever felt for her was brotherly feelings. Even said that he wasn’t letting some fucking skirt, even a McEvoy skirt, ruin his career. He had worked too hard to get to where he was, and that if I knew what was best for me, I would corroborate his story or he’d blame me. What the fuck! But because Claire kept her mouth shut, so did I. Knowing that Mac traded him the following season, and that his career just petered out over the preceding years, was a bennie. And although I get great satisfaction out of that, it doesn’t bring Claire the justice that she deserves. And him strutting back into our lives just as we have gotten to the point where I have my chance with her is un-fucking-believable. At this point I think that God doesn’t like me.
Coming back to the here and now, I shout, “What are you fuckers thinking?! Run it again! We are going to get killed on the field if we play like this!” My anger grows as I pace up and down the field. I’m pissed. I haven’t seen Claire in four days, despite her watching Legs, and my entire body feels as though it’s about to jump out of its skin.
“Jesus-A-Christ, Muldoon! What the fuck are you doing?” Muldoon is a third-year veteran and should know better. His blatant off sides only ratchets my frustration level even more. “We are not paying your ass fifteen million dollars a year to get us ten yards in penalties because you are off sides. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Pacing the sideline, I don’t even realize that anyone is around me, so when a hand hits my shoulder, I jerk.
Turning, I find Claire standing there with her hands raised in the air as though the police have yelled freeze. “Sorry, Jackson. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
/>
What the fuck is wrong with you, man, I chastise myself. I just pushed the woman I am trying to get into bed even further away. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Claire. I didn’t even know you were onsite today.”
She lowers her arms and runs them up and down her too tight skirt, I think they call it a pencil skirt, and stands there for a minute looking lost.
“Did you need something, Claire?”
She seems to come back to herself and damn it, I put that look of fear on her face. “Oh umm, yes, I was hoping to be able to get a minute with you before you headed out for the day,” she says.
I soften my tone and step a little closer to her. “How long are you here for today, Claire?” My approach makes her take a step back. God, how I hate that. She never used to do that with me until Brad took her innocence away. Claire used to be warm and welcoming, more like Zoey but with less of the edge.
Fidgeting with her hands and straightening her spine, she says, “I’m here until about six. So, if you have the time, please stop by my office.” This is said so coldly, so detached, that I know the walls are back up and it is going to take ice pikes and crampons to climb the wall of ice that she has erected.
“I’ll stop by after my workout,” is all I say, because Claire is looking for an escape and I just don’t have the heart to prolong it.
“Oh, um, great. See you then.” And then she takes that fantastic ass and legs of hers and walks away.
Not realizing that my entire defense has been privy of this encounter, I turn to find Muldoon watching me with wide yet wary eyes. “You got a thing for the Ice Queen, Coach?”
“I want two miles out of all of you fat fucks and then two hours in the weight room working on core and legs.” When Muldoon mumbles something under his breath, I follow up with, “You want to make it three and three?”
The “No Coach” are quick and abundant.
Claire
REACHING MY OFFICE, closing the door and plopping down in my chair, I look around the room that has become my home away from home. For the past ten years, this office has been mine. Even when the team renovated the entire facility, the workers worked around me. Everyone knows that you don’t toss the applecart of the Ice Queen, as well as a redhead. Thank God Mr. Mara hasn’t realized that I’m not a natural redhead. But the McEvoy name is probably what got me my same office.
Prior to the overhaul of the training facility, I was in the executive office wing. Now I have the first office as you enter the coaches’ and secondary staff wing. It’s a corner office with a view of the practice field. Really it should be Coach Smith’s office but he didn’t want it. He actually has a small office right next to the locker rooms. According to him, he wanted to be close to his men. Go figure, he was brought up by Mac and he lives by the same philosophy. Only difference is that Mac would have made them shorten the locker rooms by several feet so that his office was bigger.
Bringing my computer to life, I pull up the VIP list for next week’s first pre-season game, knowing that everything that can be done has been done. I’m just dotting my I’s and crossing my T’s. Really I’m just filling my time here. I have been entertaining the best of the best for the past ten years. It’s a cake walk for me and honestly, all flights, hotels, cars and hookers have been arranged since mid-June. And yes, I said hookers. Now it’s just walking the walk, pretending to be busy.
I’m not going to lie to anyone, because frankly outside of my daughter and sister, the rest of us live in the real world. We all know that powerful men love elegant, beautiful women that are at their beck and call.
Chuckling, I shake my head as I remember the first time the CEO of Citi Corp propositioned me. Apparently, the man likes redheads and didn’t realize I was a McEvoy. He learned right quick that I was no trollop that could be bought and sold. I still remember the look of shock and outrage on his face when I not so politely declined his very insulting offer. Purple is not always a good color on people. But word got around and I haven’t been propositioned since.
Closing the spread sheet that I’m currently working on, I pull up the guests and to-do lists for the remainder of the season. Once they are up, I start combing through anything that might still need to be done or for any guest’s changes.
After about an hour of good solid work, I grab my cell phone and shoot a quick text to Sasha, asking if she’s coming to dinner tonight. Zoey and Suzie are coming over, it’s a ritual that we have been doing for the past five years since Suzie and Ben came back to the area. The wine usually flows freely and we all have a ball.
The ding of my phone gets my attention and looking down, I swipe the screen to life.
Sasha: Yep…Will be l8 but will b there
God, how I hate that she doesn’t write her words out properly. Both of my girls do that and I can’t stand it. Proper English is proper English, what ever happened to that? Jackson doesn’t do that.
Stop it, Claire!
A quick rap on my closed door shakes me out of my thoughts, and I drop my phone back in the top drawer and give a quick yes, thinking that it’s Jackson. I run my hand through my hair, shaking my head at my act of vanity, then look up and immediately start looking for an escape route.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Claire.” Brad says, walking into my office as he closes the door.
The sound of his voice makes me physically ill. “No, I haven’t. And I would be more comfortable if you left the door open.”
Chuckling at my blatant discomfort, Brad shakes his head and walks over to sit down in the chair on the other side of my desk. He makes himself comfortable and unbuttons his suit jacket and smooths out the wrinkles in his linen pants.
Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but think what man wears linen in August? It wilts.
“It’s good to see that the Ice Queen is soundly in place.”
“You would know considering that you had a hand in creating her.”
“Oh no, Claire, make no mistake, even at fifteen the Ice Queen was always present.”
“What do you want, Brad? Why are you here?”
“I just wanted to stop by and let you know just how very pleased I am with the job Sasha is doing. She is just as lovely on the inside as she is on the outside.”
That one simple comment has my motherly hackles rising. All the while Brad carries on with his praise of MY daughter. “She’s bright, friendly, very accommodating…”
Standing up and leaning toward the despicable man sitting across from me, I interrupt his praise and say, “Stay away from my daughter.”
“You mean our daughter, don’t you? Besides, that would be impossible to do. She does work for me.”
“You touch her and I will make sure that you feel the entire weight of the McEvoy name. I kept quiet all those years ago. You attempt anything with Sasha and I will scream it from the fucking rooftops.”
Chuckling at me, Brad stands and leans toward me in turn. “The McEvoy name no longer carries the weight that it used to. Don’t be so naïve, Claire. The day Mac died, so did his legacy.”
My temper is not something many people have seen. It isn’t pretty and there are often few survivors. However, this man and his “accommodating” comment about Sash, plus having to defend my father—a man that I have very little love for—has me boiling over in anger. I place my hands on my desk and lean forward. “You see, Brad, what you aren’t getting is that in this industry the McEvoy name is everything. I am no longer a fifteen-year-old child that you can bully and push around. And let’s not forget that I have earned my place within this organization, and despite the nickname, I am very much respected. Do not push me on this, because you will lose.”
Straightening to his full height, he buttons his suit jacket as he says, “We both know that you got this job because of Mac and your very obliging nature. And I of all people know just how cooperative you can be.”
“Get out!”
The bland look and no response I receive only infuriates me more. �
�Why are you here, Brad? Just to fuck with my mind?”
“Please, Claire, we both know that I don’t have to come directly at you to fuck with your mind. There are others that I can go through to do that.” Brad turns and heads toward my closed door. He opens it and grabs the door frame, then looks back at me and says, “You have a good day.” Tapping twice on the frame, the bastard walks out.
Jackson
ROUNDING THE CORNER from the workout room, I run into the one person that can make a decent day turn sour. Brad. I put my head down, because I can’t afford another encounter with him, at least not this week. But oh, how I’d love to just put his head through these cinderblock walls.
Is that another linen suit? Shit is he never not fucking pretentious?
It isn’t as if I can avoid the man, I can try, but he is a member of the organization, no matter how much I detest him. With a curt nod, I continue down the hall, and realize that he was smirking just a little too much, enjoying his day a little more than the rest of us.
What are you up to, you sonofabitch? I think to myself as I walk further down the hall.
When I reach Claire’s office I realize what the bastard was smiling about. Claire is sitting at her desk with her head in her hands and shoulders slumped.
With a quick rasp of my knuckles on the door Claire’s head shoots up and she straightens her spine. No weakness is her philosophy.
“Jackson, I didn’t realize it was that late? The day got away from me. Sorry!”
“Don’t worry about it. Do you want me to come back?”
Encroachment (Coach's Shadow Trilogy #2) Page 8
