27. Ellie Hart
“Hey, no double jumps,” I say to Fitz. He pauses, his checker piece held in the air.
“What kind of checkers game doesn’t have double jumps?”
“The kind that also doesn’t have the rainbow jump you tried earlier. Do you even know how to play checkers?”
He takes one of my pieces and puts it on his–smaller than mine–pile.
“I’d have beaten you already if we played by my rules.”
I roll my eyes. “That means nothing. If I made up the rules, I could have won by now too.”
I move one of my pieces away from his.
“My father taught me these rules!”
“Then he must have enjoyed cheating at checkers too.”
Fitz gapes. “I changed my mind. I don’t like you anymore.”
I laugh. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
“I haven’t lost.”
“Yet,” I add with a smirk.
“Are you two really arguing over checkers?” Miles asks from the doorway.
Fitz and I came out on the balcony for a game of checkers while Miles had an interview with a golf magazine. I’ve finally gotten ahead on work, so I felt comfortable taking a break. And Fitz, well, his job is mostly resigned to the course. He has plenty of free time outside of that it seems.
“I’m not arguing. Fitz is the one freaking out because he can’t cheat,” I say and Fitz narrows his eyes at me.
“Just because you have different rules than I do does not mean I’m cheating.”
“I play by the rules on the box,” I reply with a pointed look.
“Everyone knows there’s such a thing as house rules.” He gestures to Miles. “It’s why Miles gets ten percent every time someone lands on Boardwalk in Monopoly even if he doesn’t own it. He has a boardwalk in his backyard, so it’s a house rule that he gets to tax that property.”
I look over at Miles. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, wearing an amused expression. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, but he’s not as tense as he was yesterday.
“Is that really a rule?” I ask him.
“Yep. And every time you land on a railroad you have to make a train noise. If you forget, you pay a fee.”
“Don’t forget about property damage fees,” Fitz adds and I raise my brows.
“If you knock over someone’s houses or hotels you have to pay them extra,” Miles explains.
“This all sounds way more complicated than it needs to be,” I say as I take my turn on the board. Fitz glares at the piece of his I take. Or at me. Probably at me.
“It’s what makes it fun,” Miles says, closing the door behind him and coming to sit near us. “Monopoly would get boring after a while if you played the exact same way every time.”
“I think the creator of the game would be offended by that notion.”
“Then he should have made a better game,” Miles replies with a grin.
I shake my head. “I think it’s a great game when played by the rules. Golf has long-standing rules and traditions, that doesn’t mean it’s boring,” I argue.
Miles raises his brows, impressed. “That’s a good argument, except golf is a sport, not a board game.”
“Also, people who play golf casually do make up their own rules and versions of the game,” Fitz says.
“Something tells me you’re both going to argue until I give in.”
Miles leans back in his chair. “You’ve got good instincts, Red.”
I’m about to reply when I hear the doorbell ring. We all frown at each other. As far as I know, no one should be visiting today.
“I’ll go see who it is,” I say and stand up. “Miles can take my spot but no rule changes.”
“If you leave the table you forfeit your right to govern the rules,” Fitz says.
I sigh. “Fine. I’m beating you anyway.”
I walk back inside, ignoring Fitz’s grumbling. The AC hits me full force upon entering, and I tug the sleeves of Miles’ sweatshirt down over my hands. I opted to wear it and a white tennis skirt, plus some adorable green socks that hit right below my knee. This more athletic look is starting to grow on me. I can see why the women at the club love dressing this way. It’s comfortable and cute.
I open the front door without checking to see who it is first. It’s Coastal Cove. Even if Miles is semi-famous, I know I don’t need to worry. Standing on the front porch is a man who looks like Miles, but thirty years in the future. He’s got the same brown hair, just with a little gray at the temples, and the same green eyes. Except these green eyes aren’t sparkling and happy. They’re hard and calculating.
“Hi, can I help you?” I ask, trying not to fidget under the man’s stare. I’m guessing this is Miles’ father–or some other close relative–but I’ve never met him and Miles doesn’t have any family photos hanging anywhere, so I can’t be sure.
“I’m here to visit my son. And who might you be?” Those eyes so similar and yet so different to Miles rove over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. The smirk that twists his mouth has my stomach turning. Suddenly I wish I was wearing a floor length parka, and maybe a few layers of clothing underneath. Whatever it takes to stifle the gleam in his eye.
“I’m Miles’ assistant, Ellie Hart.”
“Ah so you’re the girl I’ve been hearing about.”
Does Miles talk to his dad about me? I didn’t know he talked to him at all, but I’m not around him 24/7. He could talk to him after I leave for the day.
“I hope it’s all good things,” I try to come off as joking, but my nerves likely come through in my tone.
He takes a step forward, seeming not to care that I’m still standing in the doorway. I stagger backward so he’s not in my personal space.
“Everything all right in here, Red?” Miles’ tone is light. I look over my shoulder and catch his reaction to his father standing in his house. The blood drains from his face. “Dad, I didn’t know you were coming today.” All the sunshine in his voice fades into pure, flat darkness.
“Yes, well, you don’t answer phone calls or emails. Your mother is worried about you. This was the only way I could think to see you.”
“I didn’t know you and Mom were speaking.” I’ve never heard Miles have this much ice in his voice.
How did his father hear about me if Miles isn’t answering phone calls from either of his parents?Anxiety churns in my stomach, forming a painful whirlpool.
“You know we set aside our differences when it comes to you. That’s what good parents do.”
Miles’ jaw clenches. “You can tell Mom that there’s nothing to worry about. I’m merely busy preparing for my next tournament.”
“Yes of course.” A sickly smile stretches his father’s lips. “Wouldn’t want to repeat what happened at the last one.”
I look back and forth between the two men, feeling helpless. I want to step up and defend Miles, but I don’t know if he’d want me to or if it would make things worse.
“Thank you for checking on me,” Miles grits out like the words are painful to utter. “I’ll try to call more once the tournament is over.”
“Trying to get rid of me already?” He walks over and puts his arm around Miles, who tenses beneath him. “I don’t think so, son. We have a few things to discuss today. How about we get some lunch together?”
Miles looks as if he’d rather take a golf club to the head. I make a split second decision to do the only thing I can to help him.
“Actually,” I interject. Two pairs of green eyes shoot to me. “Miles has a very busy schedule today. He doesn’t have time for lunch.”
Gratitude fills Miles’ eyes, while his Dad glares pointedly at me.
“I’m sure he can make time for his father.” He squeezes his shoulders tighter. “Isn’t that right?”
“Of course, Dad,” Miles sighs. “How about we head to the club now?” He looks to me, defeat written all over his face. “Clear my schedule for the next two hours please, Ellie.”
It stings that he’s using my first name, but I know it’s probably for the best right now. His dad seems like the type to use anything and everything against him.
“Will do,” I say with a nod. He didn’t have anything on his schedule except lunch and discussing the travel itinerary for the Open next week. I designed the time frame as a mid-day break for him. The interviews are starting to pick up the closer we get, and Brock is adamant that he takes as many as possible.
“We’ll be back soon,” he says and walks toward the door under his father’s arm.
The door closes behind them and the house is silent for a few moments. The weight of that conversation, of everything said and unsaid hangs in the air.
“That is exactly what we don’t need right now,” Fitz says from behind me.
I turn around to face him. I’d forgotten he was here when everything was going on.
“I don’t even know what’s going on, and I agree with you. Miles looked miserable.”
Fitz sighs. “Miles’ relationship with his parents is rocky at best. He tries to avoid them as much as he can, but they usually worm their way back into his life through guilt trips and veiled threats.”
I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling even sicker than I did earlier. “That’s awful. I know they’re his parents, but you’d think he’d have fully cut them out of his life already if it’s that bad.”
“It’s their money and resources that paid his way through his early years of golf. As you know, it’s not a cheap sport to be a part of. They remind him of that often. In my opinion, the damage they did with their divorce and terrible parenting cost Miles enough to balance out what they paid. But it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“So he keeps them in his life because he feels guilty?”
Fitz tilts his head back and forth. “Yes and no. I think it also has to do with hoping they’ll change. But Miles would never admit to that. He pretends to be a cynic when it comes to them, but I know deep down he hopes for something better.”
“Are they the reason he doesn’t want to get married?” I ask without thinking. That’s probably a question for Miles, or one to ponder by myself. But it’s too late now.
Fitz nods, his mouth set in a somber grimace. “I’ve spent most of our friendship trying to show him that there are good marriages out there. But it seems like every time I make any sort of progress, one of them shows up and wrecks everything.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. Panic blooms beneath the surface of my skin, barreling through my veins like a virus. I can feel the storm on the horizon getting closer. And I think all chances of it passing over us are gone.