5. Everett
Chapter 5
Everett
I 'm just turning the corner to grab a coffee when I see Connor walking down the breezeway with a tall woman whose dark brown hair runs halfway down her back. At first glance, I thought it was my ex-wife, but Moira has grown snootish over the years. She walks with an air of class and sophistication she wasn't born into, but rather my money provided. I don't resent her for it; I was happy to provide for her. I only notice it now because it's a striking contrast from the woman she once was. Whoever he is giving a tour to now is far too lax to be Moira Michaelson.
As they continue walking down the corridor, I return my focus to the fancy cappuccino machine and make a mental note to buy regular coffee on my way home tonight. I like my coffee black, but this place doesn't open up to the public for another two weeks, so the shipment of provisions doesn't arrive for another week. The mere thought of worrying about coffee instead of my next meeting already makes me feel lighter. When I arrived here a few days ago, I thought I'd be in an office managing the back end of the business. It's been so long since I started my own company that I forgot that in a startup, you wear all the damn hats. I'm still determining why I allowed myself to believe I would be a figurehead, ensuring direction and stability were maintained. Connor does all that while coaching a winning team, contacting scouts, setting up tournaments, and running the damn stadium.
The first thing I did after Connor officially announced I would be the head coach for the summer was send my brothers an email saying I would be taking on a silent partner role for the summer. The email couldn't have been in their inboxes for ten seconds before I was on a FaceTime call with Colton and Garrett. They both thought my email was either a prank or my way of letting them know I was terminally ill. After I explained the situation with Connor, they were both fully onboard. I've never truly taken a vacation, or even a break, for that matter. Even now, I'm here early because I can't fully step away. All week, I've been getting to the stadium earlier than necessary to check emails. I passed my cases over to Colton, and in exchange, I've taken on overseeing and mentoring some of our less senior-level lawyers. Still, the workload associated with those responsibilities is almost nil. We only hire people who are capable.
With my coffee in hand, I head out toward the field. It's something I've done every morning this week. I stare at the field, reflect, and plan, but today, it looks like that will not happen. I can see Coach Teague and Denver on the field. Because the presumption of innocence is ingrained into my DNA, I don't immediately assume they are attempting to meet behind my back. Instead, I pull out my phone and check to ensure I don't have any missed calls, texts, or emails from them or Connor alerting me to a meeting that somehow slipped through the cracks. When I see that I don't, I stop just short of stepping out of the shadows of the walkway. I have no reason to believe they are up to something, but I also wasn't aware of a meetup, and eavesdropping feels essential. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't. I don't think Denver and Teague have a reason not to like me, but that doesn't mean they aren't upset that Connor didn't ask one of them to step up for the summer. The last thing Connor or I need is someone sabotaging the opening season.
Before I get a chance to let conspiracy theories run away with my thoughts, another person jogs onto the field. The small spike of anxiety that existed vanishes when realization sets in. It's Parker. Stepping out of the shadows, I make my way to the field. As I approach, Denver notices me first but doesn't say anything. His eye holds mine for a beat, and I know without words why he isn't acknowledging my presence. He's letting me eavesdrop, which tells me this meeting wasn't planned by him or Teague but rather by Parker. Interesting.
"For a lot of the guys, this is their last shot. They're in their senior year of school, and if they don't make it, that's it. We don't want this season to be an afterthought just because Connor is more focused on the future than the now."
His back is to me when I say, "Have I given you a reason to believe I'm not dedicated to ensuring this team has one of their most successful seasons to date?"
Teague and Parker both turn toward me simultaneously, but it's Parker who is clearly taken back.
"Yeah, you have, actually," Parker says, widening his stance. "So far this week, the team has spent half of its practice time helping move furniture and inventory into the stadium, and what little practice time we have squeezed in has been subpar at best. We're not here to simply stay in shape. If that were the case, we'd be at the gym. It's cheaper."
I don't appreciate his smart tone or that he didn't come to me with this, which speaks volumes about where we were a year ago. I know he's unhappy with how I handled things last year, but I don't have to explain myself or my choices to him. Last summer, I asked him to step up and marry someone for protection. I wince a little at the memory. In my head, the ask isn't as egregious as it sounds. After all, I wasn't asking him to do something I hadn't done myself; at the end of the day, it was only meant to be temporary. Nothing about it was going to be authentic. It was an exchange of names, period. However, the girl who was supposed to be his met my son first. The rest was history. I can't help that Mackenzie chose Connor over him. That has to be what this is about. I've treated Parker like a son where most wouldn't. He's not my blood; he's my ex-wife's stepson and not my responsibility.
I see two more players coming in through the south gate. "And I'm assuming you're not the only one who feels this way, seeing as two of your teammates are here an hour before practice starts as well."
Denver and Teague look over their shoulders, but Parker doesn't, cementing that all this is news to them too.
"No, I'm not. Our warm-ups were tired at best, and the training reeked of rec league-level aptitude. This isn't Little League. We don't all get a damn trophy. We need someone who isn't washed-up and didn't peak in high school."
Teague coughs into his hand. "That just earned ten laps, Michaelson."
I hold up my hand. "No, that's fine. I want you guys to speak your mind. You don't think the workouts are up to snuff, and that's because they're not, but that's also why I'm the coach and not you. We technically couldn't start our season until the SEC Tournaments were officially concluded, which means that practices starting Monday will look a lot different. As for the washed-up, peaked in high school part…" I run my thumb over my lips and drop my eyes, thankful I traded in my suits for athleisure today of all days. "Since the three of you arrived early today, you can join me for my daily workout. We'll see if that gets you warmed up and if you're still vertical by the end of practice. I'll run your laps."
"You're on, Callahan," Parker says, quickly taking the bait.
I understand Teague's knee-jerk reaction. Not only am I Parker's elder, but I'm the interim head coach. There's a level of respect that comes with both of those positions, no questions asked. While I'm years beyond looking to people for validation, I'm not beyond earning respect. I won't just step in here and demand it. If I need to prove myself to these boys for them to play hard, so be it. Game on.
We've just finished practicing base drills, and I can tell Parker is running on fumes. I'm in good shape, but I'll admit I'm starting to get fatigued. We're going on our third hour of practice, and the heat is beginning to set in. I may have underestimated the depth of his dissension.
"Alright, balls in," I call out, and half the team sighs in relief before I say, "We're going to work on leads and steals. After going over footage from last year's season, I noticed that the number one area in which the team consistently fell short was bases stolen. Half of you were part of the team last year. Moretti and Warson are the exceptions. They can sit this one out."
As the team walks back to the dugout to grab a quick drink, I hear one of the guys, say quietly, "Tap out already. This is your fight, not the team's."
I don't get a chance to hear what Parker says in return because as I grab my bat to hit balls, Denver asks, "So what's your plan if he doesn't drop from exhaustion?" I don't immediately answer because, honestly, I hadn't thought that far when I challenged him. "I mean, don't get me wrong, he looks tired. If I had to bet money, he's probably got another thirty minutes, an hour max, before he gives up, knowing he's still going to have to run laps but?—"
"He wasn't the only one who questioned my dedication and ability to do what they do. If this is what it takes to prove I'm not fucking around, that I care just as much as Connor, then I will. I'll do this every day until they believe it, and if they don't, so be it, but you better believe they'll be winners."
After drinking half of my bottle of Gatorade, I grab my glove and a ball and step onto the field, ready to start throwing some pitches and picking guys off when Parker jogs out of the dugout, his eyes connecting with mine for the briefest of seconds before he takes off down the foul line and starts running laps. It's not the pomposity I expected. Even in defeat, I would have guessed he'd give me lip service. Perhaps something about how I didn't truly win because he's only conceding for the team. In the end, it doesn't matter. Defeat is defeat, but I have a feeling this is just the first of many.
By the time I pull into my driveway for the evening, I'm exhausted; not just from training with men half my age but from all of it. The training, the personalities, and the sheer amount of work. If you had asked me a week ago if I'd grown complacent in my own career, I would have said no and meant it. Lawyers are constantly having to evolve. No two cases are identical, but it's more than just knowing the law. It's knowing people, reading them, predicting their next move, and knowing what makes them tick. As a lawyer, your interpersonal skills are continually adapting. Your attention to detail, organization, and time management are all constantly on. I come home for one week to run a stadium and suddenly feel like running a law firm is easier. It could be the familiarity. I have done it my whole life. Or maybe it's that I want to impress my son so I'm going extra hard. I don't want to let him down. I want to be the man he used to see. The one he looked up to, relied on, and respected.
It's the thought of being that man that has me feeling like a complete ass when I open the garage and see Cameron's car. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt anyone, let alone her, but that's precisely what I did. This time of the year is already hard enough for her, and then I had to pile onto it by blowing up on her the first night I got back into town. But in my defense, it couldn't be helped. I had so much weighing on my mind after the day I spent with Connor. That same day, I realized helping him meant stepping back from my own business in a big way.
Then there's her. I left because of her, and when I came back, it was as though I hadn't left at all. Everything I thought would disappear didn't. I needed space. I needed to get away from the thoughts that started to cloud my better judgment, the ones encouraging me to step over the line.
My best friend died and more or less left his daughter in my care. While Cameron believes her staying in Waterloo was a choice, it was anything but. However, that detail isn't known to anyone but me. Damon was one of the most brilliant men I knew. It's why we became Callahan she knows my subtleties and nuances. Living under the same roof, we were bound to cross paths, but not to the extent we had been prior to me leaving town. Cameron wasn't conveniently in my space. She was intentionally in it. Another revelation that I shouldn't like.
Her back is to me when I step up from behind and gently grab her arm to assess the burn myself. Her skin instantly pebbles, and her breath audibly catches. A long second that feels like a short eternity stretches between us before she says, "I said I was fine."
She attempts to pull away, but I don't let her. "We need to talk," I say, keeping my voice unaffected even though I'm anything but inside. I pin her between myself and the sink, flip on the water, and dampen a hand towel. "I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I came home and assumed the party was yours."
"Since when do you care if I have parties?" she asks, her tone quieter and less contentious.
Good fucking question. Do I like the kids throwing parties here? Not exactly, but I allowed it for many years. It's better here than where I couldn't watch them. One bonfire out in the fields when I was seventeen changed the entire trajectory of my life. I didn't want to see history repeat itself with Connor or anyone's kids, for that matter. But that's not what this is now. I wasn't mad about the party per se. Rather, I was upset about what parties entail and how she was dressed. Even though I know the root of my discontent, it doesn't mean I care to own it or accept what it says about me. Monsters can live inside of us, but it doesn't mean we must let them out to play. I've done well enough taming my beast. I've made it this far. What's another couple of months?
I place the cool, damp towel on her arm. "If you want to stay until the end of your senior year, that's fine…"
"Everett—"
"Let me finish," I cut her off before she can distract me from finishing the thought that just came to mind. I know what's triggering my deplorable thoughts. Which means I know how to end this madness. I take a step back and immediately miss her warmth. "If you stay, there are going to be some rules."
"Rules," she repeats as she slowly turns to face me.
"Yes, rules. The first one being no more parties."
I watch as she adjusts the towel on her arm. "Again, what do you suddenly have against parties?"
"You're living under my roof, which makes you my responsibility."
"Your responsibility?" she questions bemused. "You were just about to kick me out."
Her ice-blue eyes connect with mine and do things to my stomach. Why does responsibility suddenly somehow feel like a claim that isn't mine to take? Either way, I made a promise to my best friend that I'd watch over his daughter, that I'd keep her safe. It's not her fault I gave her father my word or that I'm now a divorced man who notices things he shouldn't. I'm angry with myself enough for the both of us that I have impure thoughts of her at all and even more indignant that I haven't been able to find the strength to push them out.
I step around the island, putting more distance between us. "Look, I don't need to explain myself to you. But this summer, I have a lot on my plate between working at the stadium and the firm. I don't need to come home to my house filled with strangers. You, of all people, should know how important helping Connor is to me."
"Okay," she starts, but I cut her off once more because I want to get everything out and be done with this madness.
"I want you home by midnight every night. No exceptions."
"Everett, what am I, seventeen? You can't be serious."
I place my hands on the island and dare to meet her eyes again. "Dead serious. I don't need to lose sleep wondering where you are or who you're with, and I don't need the noise that comes with those late-night entries, which leads me to my next rule. No boys in the house." She removes the damp towel I placed on her arm, and I drop my gaze and grip the ledge hard, fighting my desire to go over there and put it back on.
"This is absurd. Why can't I have guy friends over?"
"Easy. I don't know what's happening under my roof when I'm not here or while you're off in another room. I don't need you pregnant and unmarried on my watch."
"First of all, I'm not a virgin. If it's my virtue you're trying to protect, it's a little too late. Second, this is total bullshit."
"Watch your mouth, Cameron."
"Oh, now I can't curse either."
"Not when you're speaking to me."
"Fine." She slaps her hands on the counter, leaning in, her light pink crop top highlighting her braless, erect nipples. "I'll speak in terms I know you'll understand. Your rules are a double standard because of my gender. Connor was never subjected to these same rules when he was living here."
"You're not wrong, but it has nothing to do with your gender. When I had Connor under my roof, I had a wife helping me raise him. I clearly no longer have that."
The way her eyebrow quirks up tells me my rules may not be the answer I'd hoped they'd be, but I don't dare backtrack now. I said what I said. It doesn't have to be fair. My house, my rules. Picking up the dish towel she threw down, she turns around and grabs the cake pan from the counter behind her only to set it down on the island and slide it toward me. "Cake?"
"Sure..." I say pensively.
"Here, let me get you a fork." I watch as she grabs a fork and walks around the island, setting it down next to the pan.
"You're not having any?"
"Oh, I baked the cake. I can't eat it too." Then, grabbing the water bottle she was drinking, she sets it down on the other side of the pan. "In case you choke on your misogyny."
Turning on her heel, she exits the kitchen. "Cameron," I call out after her though I know it's useless. She's not going to come back, and I have yet another interaction I could have handled better to add to my ever-growing list. The woman manages to steal all my rational thoughts when I'm in her vicinity. Fucking hell. She could just move out. However, I know she won't. I just made this a game for her.