I stab the answer button. “Hi, Granddad.”
“Oliver, where are you? We have a charity event this afternoon!”
Good to hear from you, too, I think. “I’m not gonna make it. I’m stuck in the middle of Kansas, thanks to the storms,” I say.
“The storms you could have avoided if you’d come out a week earlier, like we told you to.” He sounds so gruff, so perpetually irritated, I swallow painfully. My free hand balls into a fist in my pocket.
All part of having a job,I want to say, but he doesn’t consider coaching to be a valid career choice unless you’re making millions in the Majors after retiring from a storied career.
I have a storied career, all right. It’s just the wrong story.
He’s still huffing and puffing so much, I expect him to threaten to blow my house down. “Do you know how embarrassing it was to have the ‘Fletcher Family Showcase’ with one less Fletcher?”
“I thought Iwasthe embarrassment. I leaned into that pitch, after all. Should’ve known better.”
“Youdidknow better!” he spits. I close my eyes, jaw clenched so tight, my teeth ache. Then he exhales, like he can hardly believe his own restraint. “Your players are off during the off season, aren’t they? Why aren’t you?”
Ah, the subtle periodic reminder of what a failure I am. Right on schedule.
“Between winter meetings, running a camp, doing player analysis, and roster planning, I’ve been a little busy. It’s Hot Stove season, Granddad. You know this.”
He grumbles, like he hates admitting that I’m right. “You should be home. Your mother’s been worried sick. Brother, too.”
Not my dad? Is he too afraid of showing emotion around his jerk of a father that he can’t even say he’s worried? Or has he been beaten down to the point of not caring?
“Is mom there? I have a missed call from her.”
He barrels ahead like he doesn’t hear me. “When will you get home?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The roads are shut down all over town.”
“So? You can drive in snow.”
“Not when my car is buried in it, I can’t.” I take my hat off and run my hand over my hair. Despite the cold, my scalp is sweating. Snow lands on my face, melting instantly from the angry heat radiating from me.
“Oh, come on, dig it out.”
I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my coat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Granddad. The roads are closed. Should I hunt down a snowplow?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
I roll my lips tightly together. Nothing I can say will change his mind.
“If you would have just come home earlier?—”
“I have a job.”
I canfeelhim shaking his head, dancing around the one thing I know he’s itching to say. Someone must be near that he’s tempering himself even this much. A dog barks somewhere in the distance, and it’s the only sound I can hear over my ragged breathing.
“Don’t expect me home before tomorrow night at the earliest.”
“Your brother’s rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night. You just can’t show up for anyone else, can you? You’d better find a way to get here. After everything your brother has been through, you owe it to him.”
My stomach drops. Right. I owe it to Evan. No one blames him for not living up to his potential—nor should they.He didn’t know that fight would change everything.
But what was he doing getting wasted and picking a fight?—
Stop it. Don’t even think it. It’s not Evan’s fault he got attacked.
