Chapter 19
Hunter
My little white lie about identity theft turned into an entire organizational—and mandatory—training on best practices for keeping your personal information safe. I think Roddy’s on to my lie, because he keeps using me as an example every time he asks or answers a question from our facilitator.
This is not how the guys wanted to spend their day off.
“Now, remember to keep your passwords protected—”
“You got that, Hunter?” Roddy hollers from the other side of the room. I don’t make eye contact.
“Yup, already secured. Thank you, buddy,” I respond.
He’s pissed.
“Sure thing, buddy,” he replies.
Very pissed.
The facilitator walks the aisles of the lecture-style meeting room Coach rented at the university for today’s workshop, passing out packets with more information along with her company’s services to help clear names in the event of identity theft.
She pauses at my desktop and taps on the phone number at the top of the brochure.
“They can really do a number on your credit. Call if we can help, or if you find things are worse than you thought.”
I force a pleasant smile and nod.
“I will. Thank you.”
I fold the brochure in half and stuff it in the back pocket of my jeans as I get up from my table. A few of the guys sitting near me pound fists and offer their condolences for my financial loss. Fucking hell.
Roddy maneuvers his way from the other side of the room, his eyes focused on me like angry little laser beams. I try to look away, but his giant frame cuts off my exit, and soon his hand is on my chest.
“Hang back a second. I have some questions for you.” He nods goodbye to the stragglers leaving the room, then tugs me by the sleeve of my Mavericks hoodie to the back corner of the room, away from the facilitator packing up her projector and business cards.
“What’s up?” I drop my hands into my front pockets and force my eyes wide and interested, but Roddy calls bullshit right away with a quick smack to my chest.
“Knock that shit off. Nobody believes you left early for identity theft. What’s really going on? Are you working a trade? You knock someone up from your past? Spill it, kid.”
I shake my head wildly, trying to wrap my mind around some of his theories.
“What? No! I did not knock someone up.”
I mean . . . I don’t think I did. Renleigh and I have been pretty active, but she said she has an IUD, and—
“Man, stop putting that stuff in the universe. No, nothing like that at all. I had someone hack my bank card,” I lie. One more run up the flagpole with this plan.
Roddy’s hand thumbs my chest again, and this time it hurts because he literally flicks my breastbone with his fucking enormous fingers.
“Owwww,” I whine, rubbing the spot.
“Are you two all right?” the facilitator eyeing us asks.
We both hold up our hands.
“We’re fine. Just debating the next game.
Sorry,” Roddy says, tugging my sleeve again and pulling me out of the room and onto the sidewalk outside.
College kids are scurrying in all directions, and it feels odd to be in a place like this now that I’m a pro.
It also feels strange to be lectured by a forty-year-old man who is six inches shorter than me.
“For the love of God, Hunter. Why did we all spend our day off taking your punishment? You know Coach put this together to call you on the lie. This isn’t a thing they do. Ever.”
My eyes freeze open and my stomach tightens.
“It’s not?”
Roddy’s chest rumbles with frustrating laughter, and he takes a few steps back as he shakes his head.
“You’re like this na?ve little kid, I swear.
No, Hunter. This was put together to make you feel uncomfortable.
And yeah, the other young guys probably think it’s normal and that it was the team looking out for them.
But the rest of us? We know better. This is what they do when they want to make a point.
And that point is, you don’t bail on the team unless you have a damn good, unselfish reason.
So, one last time, Hunter. What was yours? ”
I hold his hot stare for a few quiet seconds, until my mouth waters the way it does before I throw up. I think I’m afraid he’s going to punch me. I lift a shoulder and bunch my guilty lips, and give it to him straight.
“Renleigh.”
“Well, no shit,” he fires back. “But what about Renleigh? What did you do?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Man, I don’t even know how it all happened, but basically, there this girl I hooked up with in college, and she showed up, and somehow got in my room, and Ren was there, and then—”
Roddy’s heavy laughter cuts me off.
“It’s not funny,” I protest.
He holds up a palm and bends in half, laughing even harder. His cheeks are actually turning red.
“Come on, Roddy. It’s not funny.” I rock back on my heels and tilt my head, giving him the hard stare this time.
“Oh, it’s funny. But also, it was bound to happen. Hunter, you’re going to need to learn a thing or two about being the guy.” He straightens his spine, then slings an arm over my shoulder, urging me to walk along with him back to the parking lot “Come on. You’re buying my beers.”
“I can’t,” I utter, my shoulders low and ego deflated. “I told Renleigh I’d be over to watch the Texas game with her and her dad.”
“Good. We’ll sneak Dale a beer too. You could probably use the tutelage of a couple of wise, older men.”
I give in and let Roddy lead me to our trucks, then hop in with him to go to the grocery store about a mile away from the Blackwood house.
By the time we leave with a fruit platter to make Renleigh happy that we’re following her dad’s diet, along with the twelve-pack of Sam Adams meant to counteract the health effects, I feel as if mastering my pitching technique was nothing compared to the minefield that lies ahead.
Sloane was a friend, or at least a genuine person from my past. The next woman to show up in my room, especially when I get called up, might be a complete stranger.
And while sixteen-year-old Hunter would have rubbed his hands together excitedly at the prospect, twenty-three-year-old me is bloody terrified.
“You really had a woman fake a pregnancy to get you to marry her?” I respond to Roddy’s latest story as he pulls up in front of the Blackwood home.
“Sure did. And when I tell you that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my crazy-ass journey . . .” He settles into a sad sort of laugh, flopping his hands over the top of his steering wheel as his focus drifts to something far away, beyond the Blackwood home, I think.
“Maybe one day you’ll fill me in on the rest.”
It takes him a few seconds to answer.
“Probably not, kid. Probably not. Let’s go eat.” He ends the view into his life there, effectively cutting my questions off with a swift exit from his truck and a slammed door.
I snag the beer and fruit, then follow along behind him to the screen door propped open with a faded wooden porch chair.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Roddy puts on his thick Oklahoma accent as he stretches an arm out and hugs a woman who is almost the spitting image of Renleigh, only twenty years older. It’s clear this is Renleigh’s mother.
“Roddy, I heard you were back in Sweetwater. Good to see you.” Her mother’s gaze stops on me as she hugs him.
“I hope you’re planning on hiding that beer from the man parked in front of the big screen,” she says.
“Did I hear beer?” Dale chimes in.
I hike my shoulders up and smile through gritted teeth, feeling instantly guilty, which I think was Roddy’s goal in making me both buy the beer and then carry it in.
“Sorry, Dale. The mean old women in this house said no,” Roddy says.
“We’ll see about that,” Renleigh’s dad adds over his shoulder.
“No, we won’t,” Renleigh cuts in, putting a definitive end to the entire conversation as she takes the twelve pack from my right arm and carries it out to the garage.
“Oh, now, that stuff? That he can have,” her mom says, taking the fruit tray from me. She rubs her free hand along her tight-fitting jeans, drying her palm, I presume, before holding it out to me. “I’m Sarah. It’s nice to meet you . . . Hunter?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirm, taking her hand. Her grip is solid, and it makes sense that she puts some muscle behind it. Her daughter is the same.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she says, motioning to the living room. Roddy takes the easy chair next to Dale’s and quickly pops the recliner back to talk with his old coach.
“I’m just gonna see if Renleigh needs a hand,” I say, gesturing toward the garage door. Nobody seems to care, so I slip out quickly and find Renleigh pulling the last two beers from the carton to tuck them behind some meat in the outdoor fridge.
“Hey, mind if I have one of those?”
I startle her, and she jumps as she turns, clutching the beers to her chest.
“Sorry,” I wince.
“It’s fine. I’ve been on edge a lot today.
Not used to having so many bodies in this house.
Lindsey’s upstairs putting the twins to sleep.
Her husband is coming later to barbecue, so I hope you’re hungry.
And then, of course, my mom was here when I woke up.
And when I got off work. And is still here . . . for now.”
I take both beers from her hand, pulling the cap off one and handing it back to her. “I’m pretty sure you need a beer, too.”
A faint smile plays at her lips as she pulls the beer to her mouth.
“Thanks.” Her raspy voice scratches an itch deep inside my chest.
“Let’s get some space, yeah?”