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My parents separated and divorced when I was twelve. It took my mom less than three months to marry Preston Willard, a local mogul who made his fortune off a third-generation line of hardware stores throughout Nevada, California, Washington and Oregon. For three years, I split time fifty-fifty between my mom’s new home and the childhood home I grew up in with my dad, Richard.
Those three years were tough—dealing with divorced parents—but at least I got to spend half of it with my dad. We had a close bond and he was pure respite from the very unsettling life I had in the Willard ancestral home with a domineering stepfather I didn’t like and an entitled stepbrother, Joshua, two years my junior.
My dad died when I was fifteen and I became a permanent resident in Preston’s home, but being Lila’s son afforded me no advantages. I was never treated equally as a son. When I turned sixteen, I had to earn a car by working in the local Willard Hardware while Joshua was given a Porsche when he became old enough to drive. Of note, the kid never worked a day in his life until after he graduated college and went to work in the corporate offices with his father.
I rise from the chair and lean over the rail to kiss my mom’s cheek. “Okay… I’ll leave for a bit. I’ll also call Preston to let him know it’s all clear to visit. Maybe I’ll swing by the house. Is the security code the same?”
“Still the same,” she murmurs with a faint smile. “Thanks, sweetheart. Maybe you and Joshua can get together for lunch.”
I restrain myself from snorting. My mom is fully aware that Joshua and I hate each other. She knows we have no relationship and never will. But in her mind, if I put forth the effort with him, it will make Preston happy, which will make her happy. I love Lila Willard beyond measure but there are some hard limits I’ll never budge on.
I don’t say any of that out loud, though. “Get some rest. I’ll come back up later.”
As I walk out of the hospital, I call Cannon West. His greeting is direct and to the point. “How’s your mom?”
“As well as can be expected. The doctor said she might be released the day after tomorrow. I’ll stick around to get her settled back home, though.”
“We’ve got things covered here,” he says easily. “You do your thing. We’re all praying and sending out good vibes.”
“I appreciate it.” But then I turn to business. “What’s the deal with Coen?”
“It’s true. Tillie has been offered an artist’s residency in New York. Coen said she’s considering it and he reluctantly admitted that he’s not sure he wants to be separated from her for a year. He wants her to have her chance in the art world.”
“So he wants a trade?” No hiding the glum tone that matches my feelings.
“He’s asked Danny to explore. We can make some other trades to loosen up room under our cap, offer Coen more. Try to make it worth his while financially to stay with us.”
I shake my head as I navigate through town, headed toward Willard Hardware’s corporate offices. “Money won’t sway Coen. He’ll take a damn pay cut to go wherever Tillie’s going.”
“Yeah… I know,” Cannon agrees with a sigh. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what Tillie decides.”
“Still work to be done. I’ll start deep-diving prospects.” The Free Agency Frenzy starts in two weeks and if Coen leaves, how we fill that hole will be crucial.
As the general manager, I’m responsible for setting and executing the long-term vision for the team. This might involve multi-year plans, determining the balance between developing young players and pursuing immediate success or making infrastructure decisions like improvements to training facilities.
In the most immediate circumstance, if we lose Coen, we may choose not to replace him with someone of equal talent. We could take the easement on the cap burden and build the team for a future run a few years down the road with young talent. It’s a lot to consider and I’ve got work to do.
I go over a few more things with Cannon and disconnect just as I’m pulling into the Willard Hardware parking lot. Not only is this the original store that Preston’s great-great-grandfather opened, but the second floor houses all the operations as well as the throne upon which Preston sits.
I enter the store and head toward the back where an elevator leads to the second floor. When I step out into the lobby, a receptionist smiles up at me in greeting. “Can I help you?”
“Tell Preston his stepson is here to see him,” I reply.
The woman frowns in confusion, clearly not knowing of my existence. I nod my head toward the door to his office, which I can see from where I’m standing. She picks up the phone on her desk and buzzes him.
“Um… Mr. Willard… there’s someone here claiming to be your stepson.” After a slight pause, she says, “Yes, sir.”
She replaces the receiver. “He says you can go in.”
I give her a curt nod and head toward his office, not bothering to knock when I reach it. I merely open the door and step in without closing it behind me.
Preston Willard was a handsome man once upon a time but his ruddy face is lined with broken veins from too much alcohol, and his stomach is padded with too much good eating. Still, he’s powerful in business and exudes utter confidence as he stands to greet me.
“Callum.”
I forgo any pleasantries. “You need to go visit your wife.”
He inclines his head. “I plan on going at lunch. How is she?”
