“You got it. We’ll find some time. We’ll . . . we’ll make time.”
To ease the sudden weight of the air, my dad clears his throat and arches his back into a stretch. “Oh, by the way, I got to spend some time with Earl and Maggie recently. Dropped in on them.”
“Yeah? How are they doing?”
I miss the days when my grandparents lived here, at my mom’s house, or rather,theirhouse. But my grandpa fell twice, and he got lucky with fractures instead of full breaks. My grandmother is a slight, short woman, and she can’t pick him up when he falls. It was a tough decision to move them into a retirement community with built-in care, but once we made it, I think we all breathed easier.
“They’re doing well. I think they really like that retirement place in OKC,” my dad says, a grin breaking through. “They’re like on permanent vacation in that place. When I stopped in to check on them, Maggie said they were getting ready for a tiki party that night. I checked out the flyer when I left, and the place actually brought in one of those whole roast pigs and everything. Pretty wild.”
I laugh, imagining my grandparents wearing leis and eating roast pork in Oklahoma. “I need to drop in and seethem soon. I promise I will. I just . . . I get busy. Get caught up in my own world, I guess.”
My father’s eyes sharpen a hint, a knowing look entering his expression.
“Speaking of getting caught up . . .”
He uses the opening seamlessly.
“I couldn’t help but notice a bit of a connection between you and Campbell. Am I off there?”
I stiffen, suddenly feeling very exposed under my dad’s radar. I try to play it cagey, tossing my rag onto the tack trunk. “I mean, we work together. She’s the marketing director. We’re just trying to handle the media stuff.”
My father simply stares at me, one eyebrow raised.
“All right, fine,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. I can feel the burn crawling up to my cheeks, and dammit if I can’t keep this smile off my lips. “There might be some attraction there. A little bit.”
I expect a lecture about distractions or a warning about keeping my head in the game. But instead, my dad surprises me. He steps forward and places a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t get in your own way, then. If there’s something more there, something that might be worth more than this bullshit we call a game, don’t walk away from it.” His voice drops, thick with a regret that I suspect runs pretty deep. “I wasted a lot of time thinking I was doing the right thing by staying away. I thought it was better for everyone. Now, I’d give anything to have those years back.”
My mind races. I wonder, not for the first time, about those missing years—what truly kept him away, what demons or decisions drove him to another state, sometimes across the country, while I grew up without him. The questions burn in my throat. But looking at the tired, hopefullines around his eyes, I decide to bury them for now. Our relationship is in the infancy of repair. We are laying the foundation. There will be time for the hard truths later.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly.
My dad’s words still echo in my head as I pull into the Mavericks’ parking lot. Maybe I’m in my own head about Campbell. The seasons are long out here, and we’re both young and single. I mean, she could have her pick of any mass of testosterone dressed in a jersey and baseball pants out here. My pickings are a whole lot slimmer, unless I entertain dating the college girls again. That never works out well. But maybe the fireworks that seem to go off when Campbell and I are together are simply a matter of needing a connection in this lonely place.
I consider this option as I leave my truck and head toward the clubhouse entrance. But it takes exactly one glance to throw that idea out the window. Campbell is carrying a stack of folders under one arm, her eyes glued to her tablet as she approaches the door. It’s almost exactly a mirror image of the very first time we met. A rush of adrenaline pours into my chest, and I lengthen my stride to close the gap between us, beating her to the door by a half second. I reach out, grab the handle, and pull it open for her. As she looks up in surprise, I tip the brim of my cowboy hat down with a grin.
“After you, ma’am.”
A pink flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks. And I know. This thing I feel . . . it’s not normal. It’s rare. And I think she knows it, too.
She stops short of the doorway, her eyes wide.
“Jake! I?—”
“Hey, look, I wanted to?—”
We both speak right over each other, stopping awkwardly. Campbell rushes to fill the silence, her words tumbling out in a hurried, nervous blur. “I’m so sorry for leaving the hotel in such a rush. I just . . . I had to?—”
“Campbell, it’s fine,” I say, cutting through her panic with a chuckle. I lean against the doorframe, keeping my tone soft and relaxed.
“I understand. And I didn’t mean to cross a line that made you feel . . .”
I offer a crooked smile and a half shrug, because I refuse to finish my words. I can’t lie. I did want to cross a line. I still do. But also, I understand that it’s going to take time for her to be ready to step over that line with me. She’s cautious. And even though my dad spent the last hour pumping me up to be a little reckless, the brakes might be what’s called for right now.
“You have more to handle than just me and my dad. There are lots of stories to tell around this clubhouse. In fact, you know what? You should get to know some of the guys better. You’re always running around working—aka dealing with my bullshit. Maybe take a break and get to know the team outside of this place.”
She lets out a breath, her shoulders dropping as she lets me talk. Her eyes lock onto mine, that same magnetic pull from the hotel room roaring right back to life between us, but I force myself to keep things above board. Regardless of the ache in my fucking pants.
