Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Renthrow
I spend the next two days doing my best not to think about Cordelia Davenport.
It helps that things get busy at the office during the day, and at night, Gordie and I spend every hour before bedtime working on a “get well soon” card for Miss Truman.
When it’s time for her to fly out, I offer to drive Miss Truman to the airport. She initially hesitates, but I beg her to consider it for Gordie’s sake.
My daughter’s been with Miss Truman since she was old enough to talk, and I don’t want to rob her of the chance to say goodbye.
At the airport, the older woman accepts our card with thanks and descends on Gordie with lots of tearful kisses. The two share a long, tight hug.
“It’s okay, Miss Truman,” Gordie says, leaking a brave smile as her nanny sobs loudly. “I’ll grow up strong and healthy, and you will too.”
That seems to break the woman, and I helplessly offer her one of the Kleenex packets I keep in Gordie’s activity bag.
“Say bye, pumpkin.” I heft Gordie into my arms, and we both wave as Miss Truman blows us a kiss and disappears through security.
On the way back to town, I glance in the rearview mirror and find Gordie playing with the motorcycle keychain from Cordelia. She’s been messing around with that a lot lately, and every time I glimpse it, it reminds me of the woman who gave it to her.
It’s now been zero days since I’ve managed to forget Cordelia Davenport’s existence.
I seriously regret allowing anything of that woman’s into my house.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask.
“Yup,” Gordie chirps.
“You sure? You can always talk to me if you feel sad about Miss Truman leaving. And we can call her as much as you want.”
“Mom said the same thing,” she mumbles.
I stiffen. Gordie hasn’t mentioned her mom—or her mom’s absence—for a few weeks, and I was lulled into a false sense of security.
“Your mom loves you very much. She’s just…busy pursuing her dreams.”
“Yeah,” Gordie says, turning the bike around and around. Her intense focus on the key chain reminds me of how Chance flicks his fidget spinner when he gets nervous.
“Should we get some ice cream?” I ask hopefully.
“Yeah,” Gordie says though not with as much enthusiasm as she usually would when sugar is offered to her.
When we get back to town, I stop at an ice cream shop.
“Dad”—Gordie looks up at me from a cup of chocolate ice cream—“when can we go to the garage? I need to start my booklet.”
“I know, sweetie. I’ll ask Grandma to take you.” I wipe the corner of Gordie’s mouth with my thumb and then lick the ice cream off my finger.
“Grandma has to go back to the cruise ship.”
“Yes, but I’ll ask her to take you there before she leaves.”
“Why can’t you take me?”
Because I don’t want to see Cordelia Davenport. I do very strange things when I’m around that woman.
I still don’t know what possessed me to grab her by the belt loops and pull her close.
Whipping out my keys, I tell her, “Come on, pumpkin. I have to get back to work. Finish your ice cream in the car.”
Later that night, I bring up the matter of Mom taking Gordie to the garage.
“Why don’t you take her?” Mom asks just like Gordie did earlier.
“I’ve…got practice,” I fib.
“Didn’t Max give the team a week off for winning the playoffs?” Mom arches a brow.
I glance aside.
Mom looks stricken. “You’re not avoiding Cordelia Davenport, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I’d just rather not see her.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.” I scrub a hand down my face. “And please don’t do anything like that again. Cordelia and I were very uncomfortable being set up. She doesn’t like me romantically”—or as a human being—“and the feeling is mutual.”
“But…why did you have her in your lap then?”
The memory of holding her close singes my mind, and I wave it away. “It was an accident.”
“Son, I saw the way you were staring at her. You haven’t looked that intrigued by a woman since you moved here.”
“Please, Mom. I’ve told you before. I’m not interested in dating. Don’t do it again.”
Mom sulks, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. I note that she doesn’t offer any promises to stop the matchmaking, but at least, I’ve made myself clear.
After Mom leaves, I get Gordie ready for bed, read her a story, and then rub her hair as she drifts to sleep.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, pumpkin.”
“I’ll be with you forever, right?”
“Yes, pumpkin. It’s you and me forever.”
She settles into her pillow and drifts off.
“We’re going to be okay, just the two of us,” I whisper. “I promise.”
Her deep, peaceful breathing is all the answer I get.
The next morning, I wake early and make pancakes, bacon, and orange juice, just in case Gordie needs a little pick-me-up before school. The first day without Miss Truman may be tough for her, and I want her to know that I’m here.
Gordie eats all the food and happily accepts the lunch box filled with mashed potatoes, mini sausages cut like tiny octopi, and a fruit bowl.
I drop her off at school, and she waves happily to me before bouncing inside.
The routine is repeated the next day too, and I start to breathe a little easier. Things will get hectic for a while until I find a new nanny, but we’re making do. Both my daughter and I are resilient.
My phone rings on my way out the door for lunch, and I pick up immediately when I notice Max’s number.
“Hey, Max.”
“Renthrow, do you have thirty minutes to spare? I’d like to meet with you, Chance, and Gunner.”
I check my watch. “I’ll be right there.”
When I get to the arena, Chance’s flashy convertible and Gunner’s truck are already parked there.
I hustle inside Max’s office. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Gunner nods in greeting.
Chance smiles at me. “No worries, man. You saved us. Max was just about to offer us his atrocious coffee.”
“These are Egyptian beans, and you guys have no taste,” Max says, putting a packet in a new drip machine.
I whistle. “Impressive.”
“I was finally able to pay myself a salary.” He lovingly caresses the machine. “This is Tricia.”
Chance makes a disgusted sound. “I’m not calling it that.”
“Her.” Max covers the machine’s ears. “She’s sensitive.”
I bark out a laugh.
Gunner snorts.
Chance falls into a chair. “So what’s this meeting about, Boss? I skipped a lunch date with April for this, so it better be worth it.”
Gunner raises a hand. “I was going to cook for Rebel, so…same.”
“I…eat lunch alone,” I admit gruffly.
Chance laughs at me. “That’s not what I heard from the ladies at the nursing home. Didn’t you have lunch with Cordelia Davenport two days ago?”
“Do you go to the nursing home to visit Mr. Brooks or to gossip?” I throw back.
“Ehem.” Max gets our attention. “As you know, we got a new sponsor.” Max lumbers around the desk and nearly whacks his head into the ceiling light. “And that comes with some changes.”
Thinking about the sponsor makes me think of that moment when Cordelia grabbed my arm and tried to pass me off as her boyfriend.
“Yeah? And? What about the sponsor?” I grunt. “Does she want us all to parade around in boxer commercials like our captain?”
“Hey!” Chance throws his arms wide. “Why are you gunning for me?”
Max waves a hand. “No, one of the conditions for accepting investment was that I invest in the Lucky Strikers going pro. That means signing bonuses, modest but above-average salaries, and new coaches.”
Gunner doesn’t look surprised, but Chance and I both whip our heads around.
“Seriously?” Chance gasps.
“Why not?” Max grins. “Go big or go home, baby.”
“Max, that’s insane.” Chance extends his hand, and Max pulls him in as they both thump each other on the back.
I nod in approval.
Gunner remains seated, rubbing his chin as if something’s bothering him. “Why are you only telling us?” he asks, his face as serious as always. “Shouldn’t the entire team be here?”
Max tugs at his collar. “Well, the thing is…not everyone on the team can make it.”
The smile drips off my face. I step back, thinking of Theilan and Watson in particular. “What do you mean?”
“I’m opening an official training camp. A tryout of sorts. I’m inviting Lucky Strikers team members, along with some other players I’ve been scouting. We’ll organize a tournament, and we—the four of us, I mean—are going to score each player. Pick the best. Make it legit.”
“Are we competing too?” Gunner asks, lips tense.
“No.”
“Why not?” I ask.
Max points at each of us. “You three are senior players.”
“You mean we’re your top pick,” Chance says, his somber expression matching Gunner’s.
“I know it feels uncomfortable, but it has to be done, guys.”
“The Lucky Strikers won’t be the Lucky Strikers anymore,” Chance whispers.
“It’s cutthroat,” I grunt.
“To go to the top, things have to change,” Max answers solemnly. “A small-town team can be kumbaya until the cows come home. A pro team comes with higher stakes and higher expectations.”
It’s true, but then…it also feels like we’re stabbing our friends in the back.
No one speaks again.
In the thick of the tension, my phone rings.
I answer distractedly. “What?”
“Hello? Mr. Renthrow?” a frazzled voice says in my ear.
I pull the phone back and check the screen.
It’s Gordie’s school.
Instantly on alert, I put the phone back to my ear and grind out, “Is Gordie okay?”
Chance, Gunner, and Max all look at me, their muscles tense.
“Yes. I mean…” the secretary breathes out, “I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean? What happened?” I growl.
“She’s under the desk…”
“Under the what?”
“It’s hard to explain, but something’s wrong. I think you better get down here.”