Chapter Two Barrett #2
“They’ll be at the neighbors’ with their house sitter when you get home,” she informed me. “Who was not very friendly to me when I tried to get the kids to come back. Not the kind of woman I’d want my kids around.”
“And yet you’re leaving mine there?” I asked incredulously.
Jill snorted. “You say that like I am capable of dragging those two back home. Mr. King, I appreciate that you give me that much credit. It’s been an enlightening month in your employment, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.
If I were you, I’d think about finding a new job so you can deal with them yourself. ”
And with that, she hung up.
I stared, slack jawed, at my suddenly black phone screen.
“What the hell?” I breathed.
The door to my office swung open, Bridget barging in with a furrow in her brow. “You’re not supposed to be here right now. Why aren’t you in your meeting?”
I held up my phone. “My children—”
“Are at the neighbors’,” she finished. “I know.”
Slowly, I leaned back in my chair and fixed her with an incredulous look. “And how do you know that?”
She merely smiled, pulling out her cell phone to reference something on the screen.
“Maggie sent me a picture of a dog and said, Will you help me convince Dad that I need one?” I muttered something under my breath, but she ignored it and kept reading.
“To which I replied, Maggie, darling, whose dog is that and whose living room are you in?”
I slicked my tongue over my teeth. “Keep going.”
“The house sitter is supercool, according to your offspring,” Bridget said.
“Maggie met her in the backyard when they were hiding from that b-i-t-c-h Jill,” she read, glancing over the rim of her glasses to make sure she read it correctly.
“And yes, she spelled it, because your daughter is nothing if not conscientious of following the house rules about swearing.”
With jerky movements, I shoved my laptop and my tablet into my bag. “Doesn’t follow any other rules, apparently.” I paused, glancing at the boxes of ornaments. “Why are there multiple Christmas trees in my office?”
She folded her arms over her chest and quirked a brow. “To let everyone know that you’re full of Christmas cheer and not even remotely a grump.” She pursed her lips. “Jury is out on whether it’s working or not.”
I gave her a long look, and Bridget rolled her eyes.
I’d only met one other person in my life who dared to do that when I was in one of my moods—my twin brother. It wasn’t a talent specific to him; I was just as skilled in the reverse. There was a span of time when I was certain my brother disliked every single thing about me.
It didn’t feel quite like that anymore. We were trying, for lack of a better term, after a solid decade where even that felt impossible. Being separated from your twin was weird.
There was always an awareness of him, a heaviness I’d never really been able to shake, and no matter how the press liked to pit us against each other—the Brain and the Brawn, the serious twin and the fun twin (no need to guess which one I was)—I still loved my brother. I worried about him.
Figuring out how to show it in a way that didn’t feel like I was trying to tell him what to do had eluded me thus far, something I seemed to be carrying over into my parenting skills, apparently, judging by how often my children acted out.
They’d all probably call me a Grinch, say that my heart was two sizes too small—and that was on a good day.
My kids did love me, but I worked so damn much they felt ignored, and I couldn’t even blame them.
A headache bloomed at my temples, and I rubbed the back of my neck. My heart wasn’t too small, but it did feel like it was stretched so thin that it was close to snapping around inside my chest if pulled any tighter.
With a heavy sigh, I closed the bag and slung the strap over my shoulder. “If you could please ask Mike to handle the two meetings on my schedule after dinner, I’ll finish watching film at home and connect with him there, if you don’t mind setting up a virtual meeting room for the next few hours.”
“You got it, boss.” She paused after she cleared the door, her red braid swinging over her shoulder as she poked her head back into my office.
“Thank you for the Christmas bonus, by the way. Someone was in a generous mood when they wrote out the checks. The other assistants started crying when they opened theirs.”
I grunted. “Your wife told me you don’t take enough trips, so I figured if I pay for it, you might actually go.”
“True,” she mused. “Now I’m going to be stuck on a beach somewhere after the season is done, with a horrible fruity drink in my hand, and Janie will be reading her fairy-smut books while I beg to go do something active.”
I gave her a serious nod. “Sounds miserable.”
“Indeed.” She tapped the doorframe. “Pearl wants a quick meeting in the next few days if you can manage it.”
“Pretty sure I pay you to decide those things for me.”
She smiled smoothly. “You don’t really have the option to say no to her.”
“Considering she signs my paychecks, you’re right,” I said. “She’s scary, isn’t she?”
“Are you kidding? She’s terrifying.” Bridget grinned. “I want to be her when I grow up.”
My eyebrows arched slowly. “You’re well on your way.”
Bridget laughed. “Good luck with the kids, and . . .” She paused.
“And what?”
Bridget gave me a stern look. “Don’t be too mean to the neighbor.”
“I’m never mean,” I said evenly. She pursed her lips, and I gave a slight eye roll. “I’m just not . . . warm. There’s a difference.”
Bridget gave me a condescending pat on the shoulder as I passed by. “Mm-kay.”
The drive home from the facilities took forty-two minutes instead of the normal twenty-five, considering it was at the peak of rush hour as opposed to my usual nine-thirty arrival during the weekday.
Most coaches didn’t get home that early during the regular season, but this was the sole reason I’d made the move to Buffalo, a family-friendly atmosphere and an owner who promised me flexibility to be home, at least a little bit more time for my kids.
Pearl Pennington may be the most intimidating woman I’d ever met, but she was also a devoted mother and grandmother.
Even though the streetlights came on earlier in the winter thanks to daylight savings, there was still a hint of light in the sky when I turned my truck onto the curved street of the two-story brick home in East Amherst I’d bought when I signed my three-year contract in Buffalo.
My ex-wife would’ve hated it.
Not big enough. Not fancy enough. And maybe that was why I loved it so much and placed a cash offer the day we walked through.
It was a little outdated—something I’d address eventually—but we had room to grow, and I liked the tall trees weaving through the neighborhood, offering us a modicum of privacy from the homes behind us and to the left.
On the right, though, we had less privacy.
Only a wooden fence running through a backyard that needed updating and some oak trees that provided shade for our lawn, though the thick trunks took up residence in Scott and Patty’s yard.
The retirees were kind and friendly, giving us a warm welcome when we moved in, in the form of baked goods and the offer to let my kids use their pool anytime they wanted in the summer.
This year, though, they’d decided to winter in Arizona, escaping Lake Erie’s brutal lake-effect winters until the middle of February.
The lights on inside their house drew a narrow-eyed gaze from me as I turned my car into my own driveway.
Don’t be too mean to the neighbor.
Even if she’d meant it as a joke, the admonishment from Bridget stuck like mud in my throat.
I was so frustrated over this entire turn of events that I could feel my temper lifting the hairs on my arms as I climbed out of the truck and slammed the door hard enough that the truck rocked a little bit.
My ability to stay calm under pressure earned me the nickname Ice Man in college.
Nothing—and I mean nothing—got under my skin to the point where I couldn’t keep my cool.
If I could bottle that up and sell it, I’d never need to work another day in my life, but unfortunately, no one had figured out how to extract that personality trait straight from the source.
At the moment, I found my patience rather thin, temper bubbling dangerously as I crossed the yard between our house and the neighbors’. Every light was on, and as I drew closer, the loud thump of music from inside had me clenching my teeth.
A shriek of laughter pierced the air.
Maggie.
I pinched my eyes shut. When was the last time I heard her make a sound like that?
They were always begging to do something fun. Begging to go visit Uncle Griffin, and I damn well knew why.
He was the fun one. The guy who let them make a mess. Who bought them frivolous toys and spoiled them rotten.
Before she’d left, my wife accused me of being stingy. Not just with my spending habits but also with my time, with my affection.
Cold-blooded, she’d said. I wasn’t—or at least, I didn’t think I was. But something needed to change. The thought hung heavy in my brain, and I struggled to breathe through the sludge of failure again, a running list of all the places I fell short.
As a husband.
A coach.
A housekeeper lecturing me on how I needed to parent.
Now I had a fucking stranger making judgment calls on behalf of my kids. It was all too much. The helpless feeling of wanting to do something well, something right, turned the corner into heat and anger and frustration.
I took a pause on the front step and tried to rein in the out-of-control feeling kicking my pulse dangerously high.
It didn’t work.
I knocked on the front door, tipping my head back to stare up at the darkening sky.
The music kept playing. Another scream of laughter and a loud thumping sound had me cursing under my breath.
I knocked again. Louder.
No change from the inside.
Heat crawled across my neck, a dull burning sensation that could either be the beginnings of a heart attack or flames threatening to split my skin open.
Whoever this woman was . . . she would hate me by the time this was over, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care.