My legs are actually feel like lead, and the thought of being enclosed in a truck cabin with him is terrifyingly appealing. Apparently, I’m incredibly weak-willed.
“Deal,” I agree a little too quickly.
Jake hoists the goat into the truck bed, locking the tailgate before opening the passenger door for me. The interior of his truck smells exactly like him—leather, clean sweat, and a hint of that cedar cologne. I climb in, catching my breath as he slides behind the wheel and shifts into drive.
The trip to Roddy’s property is short. When we pull up the driveway, I notice Roddy is standing near a small shed, a wrench in his hand as he works on some type of mower.
Jake kills the engine, and we both step out. Jake heads to the truck bed, scooping Willie out and dropping him over the fence line and back into the pen.
“He made a run for it again?” Roddy asks, walking over and wiping his greasy hands on a rag. His eyes shift from the goat to Jake, and then to me in my workout clothes. He offers a polite, quiet nod. “Good evening.”
“Hi, Roddy,” I say, wrapping my arms over my chest against the chill. That storm is definitely rolling in. It’s a good thing Jake showed up. Otherwise, I’d be soaked and miles from my apartment.
“Yeah, found him down by the main road,” Jake says. His tone isn’t warm, but it’s surprisingly civil. There’s no shouting, no immediate walls. It’s a semi-pleasant,downright adult interaction, and I find myself smiling a bit as it plays out.
Roddy throws the rag over his shoulder, looking at his son with a softened expression. “Well, I’m glad you brought him back before dark. And . . . I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the roster move. I’m glad you aren’t too upset about not making the trip to Arkansas.”
The entire atmosphere shifts in a microsecond.
Jake freezes. His relaxed posture evaporates as his entire frame turns rigid. His eyes narrow, turning dark and sharp thanks to his heavy brow. “What about me not making the trip to Arkansas?”
Roddy blinks as though realizing he’s stepped on a landmine. His jaw tightens.
“Jake, I thought Coach talked to you after workouts today. You’re not on the travel roster for the weekend.”
“No,” Jake bites back, his voice dropping into a quiet register that sends a chill down my spine. “He didn’t say a damn word to me.”
Roddy steps forward, his hands out in a placating gesture. “Look, son, don’t take it to heart. I’m sure it’s just Coach’s way of giving the younger rookies some extended looks this weekend. He wants to weed them out, get their stats on paper so he can justify sending them down to Double-A before the mid-season break. It’s standard management.”
I’m sure Roddy’s right. He would know, and I don’t think he’d be very good at lying. It’s just a hunch. Plus, I didn’t know about the move either, and usually, I get some sort of heads-up when the roster changes. Local reporters will want updates as soon as I roll into town.
Regardless, the explanation seems to do nothing to dullthe blow. Jake wears the slight like a heavy blanket, and a deep flash of hurt cuts through the brewing anger in his eyes. I can sense the thoughts running through his head. He had swallowed his pride, stood at that picnic table, and lied his ass off for the media, hoping the good press and sudden spotlight would buy him some actual earned playing time. Instead, he’s being left behind. He’s in worse shape with the coaching staff than he was before we started.
“Jake, listen to me—” Roddy tries to reach out, his voice thick with apology.
“Save it,” Jake snaps, his voice cutting like a razor through the twilight air. He doesn’t let his father finish, turning sharply on his heels and marching straight back toward his truck.
He yanks the driver’s side door open and slams himself into the seat. The engine roars to life with a violent twist of the key, but he doesn’t drive off. He promised to give me a lift home, and even in the middle of blind rage, it seems he isn’t going to leave me stranded.
Roddy stands in the gravel, looking completely helpless. He turns his heavy gaze to me.
I swallow the lump of guilt in my throat. I look at the broken father, then back at the furious son behind the steering wheel. “I’ll try to fix it,” I mutter quietly to Roddy.
I jog around to the passenger side and climb in, shutting the door.
The ride back to town is suffocating. The silence inside the truck cab is thick enough to crush a person. If I weren’t so stressed over repairing things, it might choke me. Thankfully, my mind is whirling a thousand miles a minute, so I don’t have time to take on the weight. Jake’s hands are gripped so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles are stark white, his jaw clenched so hard I can seethe muscle pulsing in his cheek. He stares straight ahead at the dark asphalt, completely shut down.
I don’t say a word, knowing that any attempt at hollow comfort will just cause him to blow.
When he finally pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex, he idles the engine, staring blankly out the windshield. The silence lingers for several agonizing seconds before I finally decide to break it.
“I ran today because of my dad,” I say quietly, my voice soft in the dim light of the dashboard.
Jake doesn’t move, but I see his eyes shift slightly toward me in his periphery.
“He called me right before I left the ballpark,” I continue, looking down at my lap. “Every time he calls, he spends twenty minutes belittling my career, telling me I’m throwing my life away because I didn’t stay in corporate law. He did it again. I was so angry, so full of pent-up frustration, that I had to physically run it off just to keep from screaming. That’s why I was out on that road.”
Jake lets out a short, rough breath. He turns his head slowly, looking at me across the pale light in the cab. “It’s not the same thing, Campbell.”
