Chapter 12
Parker had gotten out of the studio pronto, before Harlan could get wind of what had happened. He was at his condo, working
up the questions he wanted to ask his morning guest—a former major league ballplayer turned celebrity author—when his laptop
pinged to announce an incoming email. Harlan? Jay? Whoever it was, they’d have to wait. Parker ignored it and finished what
he was working on.
“Always complete the task at hand,” his Uncle Jerome used to tell him growing up. “Otherwise, you never get any traction.”
It had proved to be good advice, and Parker had gotten a lot of traction in his day job by following it. He’d also managed
to write a book in a year and find an agent. Not bad for a thirty-one-year-old guy who’d had to reinvent himself at twenty-three.
The average career span for pro baseball players was a little over five years, although some made it clear to their forties.
Parker hadn’t even gotten in the five years, had barely gotten started.
He’d just been called up from the Tacoma Rainiers, sampled that sweet taste of the majors before it all ended and he’d had to pivot.
He considered himself lucky that he’d been able to parlay his half second of fame as a pro into a job he enjoyed.
But it had been staying focused and working hard that had enabled him to keep it.
The questions ready for the next morning, he turned to his email. It was from David Fox of Fox Literary. Three question marks
sat in the subject line, and he frowned as he opened it.
What’s going on Parker? Seeing some disturbing things about you on the social platforms.
He typed out his reply.
Fake news. Someone took a pic of me and my mom at a fundraiser.
His phone rang about ten minutes after he sent the email. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was David.
“Parker, you’re going to need to do some damage control,” he said. “We’re trying to make a deal here, and this isn’t on brand.”
Getting called a closet romance lover hardly lined up with his image as a savvy misogynist who was showing men how to avoid
relationship minefields. “Don’t worry, I’m on it,” Parker assured him.
Except he wasn’t. He couldn’t exactly gallop all over the internet and demand people take down that picture. Was he supposed
to comment on every observation and joke every book babe on TikTok and Instagram was posting?
He was willing to bet that Alice Willoughby was laughing her head off over this. How does it feel, Parker? Hehehehe.
Jay was next to call. “Guess where I’ve been.”
From his tone of voice, Parker knew it was nowhere good. “Okay, I’ll bite. Where?”
“In Harlan’s office, getting my ass chewed off. He’d have chewed yours, too, if you hadn’t left the station before he caught you. Expect an email. Old pencil neck is ready to let the Kraken use us as hockey pucks.”
“Who showed him the picture?”
“How should I know? But he saw it, and he thinks you look like a fool and a hypocrite and he’s blaming me for not keeping
you in line.”
Parker tried to rub away the ache sneaking across his forehead. “This is getting out of hand. We need to go back to nothing
but sports.”
“He wants us to get proactive. Go on the offensive.”
“Good old Harlan, using sports terms when the only team that turd in a tie was ever on was the chess team.” Except there was
a lot of mental strength and strategy involved in chess. Maybe Parker needed to start thinking like a grand master.
He checked his email again. Yep, there was one from Harlan, informing Parker that he expected to see him and Jay in his office
the next morning right after Parker’s show.
Parker frowned. That would be fun.
“Did you read the email?” Jay prompted.
“Yeah, just now.”
“We need a Hail Mary, and we need it fast,” said Jay.
“Come on over,” Parker said with a sigh. “We’ll think of something.”
“I’ll bring the beer.”
Fun times.
But the fun times weren’t ending. The next person he heard from was his mother.
“How lovely to learn that I’m in an incestuous relationship with my son,” she drawled after he’d said a tentative hello.
“Mom, I’m sorry about that. It was petty revenge,” he said. “So much for your sweet little book lady,” he couldn’t help adding. “I’m laying odds she’s the one who set this fire.”
“Might I point out who brought the kindling?” said Mom. “Honestly, Parker. When you insist on stirring the pot you’re going
to get splashed. And I don’t appreciate getting splashed right along with you. Oh, and it’s nice to know I’m not a real writer.”
His face had ignited with her first words, but with this last jab his entire head was on fire. His mom hadn’t let him have
it like this since he was in the ninth grade. And he deserved it.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. How did she know what he’d said on the show?
“Oh, but you did. I heard you.”
He tried to turn the conversation. “Since when do you listen to my show?”
“Since I heard you were dating your mother. No, actually before that. One of my friends had told me about your debate and
I listened to that as well. Honestly, Parker. This nonsense needs to stop. It’s unworthy of you.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m not going to read any more books.”
“Maybe you should read some. On your own time instead of on air.”
Not one of yours. Please don’t suggest that. The last thing he wanted was to read a sex scene written by his mother. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. All you’ve really done is read some cherry-picked excerpts from mediocre novels, starting with the one that
horrible Luna wrote. You’ve certainly never read one of mine.”
She sounded offended. “Mom, come on. You know how creepy that would be, reading sex scenes your mother wrote?”
“They’re not sex scenes, they’re love scenes, and they’re mild. Tasteful.”
Reading tasteful love scenes his mom wrote. He’d rather be beaten with a baseball bat.
“Why can’t you write books like Uncle Jerome?” he complained. “Why do you have to write that—” don’t say drivel! “—stuff?”
“Because I like writing about positive things. I like to write about love. I think it should be celebrated.”
“Love,” he scoffed.
“Parker, it’s all around you. Look how happy Uncle Jerome was with your aunt. They were great for twenty-two years until the
cancer took her.”
“Yeah, there was a happy ending. You had a real happy one, too. The sperm donor who took off when I was a baby and never came
back.”
“Love didn’t work out for me in the end, but it gave me you. Reading romance novels was comforting and allowed me to hope.
I still believe that people can experience deep emotions and be good to each other.”
“Yeah, the way Alice Willoughby’s been to me,” he said.
“How about the way you were to her?”
“If you’re talking about the debate that wasn’t me. Barker set that up.”
“Maybe I need to put you two in a book,” she said in disgust.
“Real funny,” he said sourly.
“Look, you boys have strayed far from being professional. This isn’t what your show is supposed to be about.”
“It’s all about ratings.” That again. The words left behind an unpleasant taste in his mouth, and he had to remind himself
that he was trying to help men.
“And how are your ratings doing now?” she taunted. “I listened to today’s show. Remember? I heard few enough conversations about sports, few conversations, period. And a lot of monologues—you, filling in empty spaces? Where were your listeners?”
Shouldn’t she have been writing?
“Look, Mom. Everything’s under control,” Parker lied. “I’m done reading the books on air and no more debates. And I’m sorry
about the picture. But maybe you need to talk to this Alice Willoughby about that, tell her to show a little love.”
“Mmm-hmm, like you’ve been showing,” said his mother, and his face got hotter. “And you don’t know that she’s the one who
posted that picture. It would be very out of character for her. Anyone could have taken it.”
“Anyone on Team Alice,” he grumbled.
“These days it’s a large team.”
He was about to respond, “So’s Team Parker,” but he’d lost players, so he swallowed that comeback.
“I’ve gotta go, Mom. I’m up to my ears here.” In deep kimchi.
“All right,” she said. “I hope you can find your way out of this mess. And maybe even, at some point, find someone who will
prove to you that not all women are manipulative and mean-spirited.”
“Well, my mom isn’t,” he said. Why couldn’t more women be like her?
“The one you’re dating? If you’re not careful, she’s going to break up with you,” she joked, then ended the call after telling
him she loved him.
Yeah, when it came to love, his mom got it right. She was always kind, always encouraging, never griped or tried to guilt
him into helping her when she needed it. Not that she had to. He was always there when she needed him, whether it was for
an oil change on her car or to unclog a plugged sink. She was there for him, too. And she never got on his case.
Until just then. But that had been short-lived. He knew she wanted the best for him, and if she could find him someone like her he’d give love one last try. But his mom was obviously a rare kind of woman.
Despite that, love hadn’t exactly worked for her. If it was so great how come she hadn’t found someone? Why hadn’t she been
looking? Ha! He should ask her that.
She’d probably make some lame excuse like she’d been busy raising him.
Maybe she thought she still was.
He got on and ordered a big box of Godiva for her. It was the least he could do for the woman he was “dating.”
Jenny Riddle, aka Genevive Eden, had finished writing her pages for the day. Time to reward herself. She made a cup of herbal
tea and settled on her couch with her brother’s latest novel.
It was hard to concentrate though, after the latest conversation she’d had with her son. She had her own suspicions about
who might have been responsible for that picture of them together but deemed it best to keep them to herself.
Poor Parker. He was in a mess now. Sadly, it was a mess of his own making. Still, she understood his hurt, and his anger over