8. Campbell #2
I slow my pace to a light jog as I approach the outer perimeter of her property, my lungs burning from exertion. I may have overdone it. I’m just about to turn around and head back toward town when a rustling in the tall brush along the ditch line catches my attention.
A small black and white goat pops its head out of the weeds, its yellow eyes locking onto me.
“Oh. Um. Hi there,” I pant, stopping completely.
The goat doesn’t just look at me, it lets out a loud, friendly bleat and trots right out of the ditch, planting itself directly in front of my running shoes. It nudges its head against my shin, acting entirely too comfortable with human contact. Also . . . oww.
“Okay, buddy. Where do you belong?” I look around, scanning the nearby fences, but there are no obvious breaks. I take a step forward, intending to jog past, but the goat instantly turns and matches my stride, trotting happily alongside me like an emotional support animal.
I slow to a walk again.
“Seriously? You’re coming with me?”
A soft laugh tickles my chest, and I reach out a hand. The goat presses its head into my palm. This thing is definitely a people-pleaser.
“I feel ya, pal. Me too.”
We walk down the dirt shoulder together for a few minutes, me looking for an open gate, the goat looking up at me like I’m his new best friend.
I’m entirely out of my element, completely unsure of how to handle a rogue piece of livestock, when the gritty rumble of a familiar engine echoes down the road.
Jake’s black pickup truck slows to a crawl beside us a few seconds later.
The passenger window rolls down, and he leans across the bench seat, his warm eyes taking in the scene.
A slow, highly amused laugh thunders from his chest, his dimples catching the fading sunlight.
He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a flannel shirt over one of his gray workout tees.
“Well, look at you,” he teases, his voice laying on a thick, gravelly drawl. “I didn’t know you added animal wrangling to your duties, city girl.”
“He’s tracking me, Jake!” I cry out, gesturing helplessly at the animal currently nibbling on the hem of my running shirt. I yank it from his mouth and wince at the small tear. “I don’t know where he came from. He just appeared out of the ditch.”
Jake chuckles, shifting his truck into park and stepping out into the road. He walks around the hood, looking completely at home in his faded jeans and boots. He snaps his fingers and lightly whistles, and the goat trots toward him, letting Jake scratch him right behind the ears.
“This is Willie,” Jake explains, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Well, Willie 2.0, but that’s a whole story.
He’s my dad’s goat. Though, technically, he’s my mom’s, but Roddy bought him.
The thing about Willie is that he really wants to live with his aunt on the other side of the hill.
He breaks out of the back pen at my dad’s house at least once a week to make the trek. ”
I give him a completely puzzled, bewildered look. “His aunt? Goats have family dynamics here?”
Jake lets out a loud, genuine laugh that makes my stomach somersault.
“It’s a long story.” My face is still heated from my run which means it's probably red too. His gaze focuses on it before tracing the lines of sweat trickling down my collarbone and then lifting to meet my eyes. My heart skips. “Tell you what. Get in the truck. We’ll throw Willie in the back, I’ll drive him home, and then I’ll give you a lift wherever you need to go.
You look like you’ve run far enough today. ”
My legs are actually feel like lead, and the thought of being enclosed in a truck cabin with him is terrifyingly appealing. Apparently, I’m incredibly weak-willed.
“Deal,” I agree a little too quickly.
Jake hoists the goat into the truck bed, locking the tailgate before opening the passenger door for me. The interior of his truck smells exactly like him—leather, clean sweat, and a hint of that cedar cologne. I climb in, catching my breath as he slides behind the wheel and shifts into drive.
The trip to Roddy’s property is short. When we pull up the driveway, I notice Roddy is standing near a small shed, a wrench in his hand as he works on some type of mower.
Jake kills the engine, and we both step out. Jake heads to the truck bed, scooping Willie out and dropping him over the fence line and back into the pen.
“He made a run for it again?” Roddy asks, walking over and wiping his greasy hands on a rag. His eyes shift from the goat to Jake, and then to me in my workout clothes. He offers a polite, quiet nod. “Good evening.”
“Hi, Roddy,” I say, wrapping my arms over my chest against the chill. That storm is definitely rolling in. It’s a good thing Jake showed up. Otherwise, I’d be soaked and miles from my apartment.
“Yeah, found him down by the main road,” Jake says. His tone isn’t warm, but it’s surprisingly civil. There’s no shouting, no immediate walls. It’s a semi-pleasant, downright adult interaction, and I find myself smiling a bit as it plays out.
Roddy throws the rag over his shoulder, looking at his son with a softened expression. “Well, I’m glad you brought him back before dark. And . . . I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the roster move. I’m glad you aren’t too upset about not making the trip to Arkansas.”
The entire atmosphere shifts in a microsecond.
Jake freezes. His relaxed posture evaporates as his entire frame turns rigid. His eyes narrow, turning dark and sharp thanks to his heavy brow. “What about me not making the trip to Arkansas?”
Roddy blinks as though realizing he’s stepped on a landmine. His jaw tightens.
“Jake, I thought Coach talked to you after workouts today. You’re not on the travel roster for the weekend.”
“No,” Jake bites back, his voice dropping into a quiet register that sends a chill down my spine. “He didn’t say a damn word to me.”
Roddy steps forward, his hands out in a placating gesture.
“Look, son, don’t take it to heart. I’m sure it’s just Coach’s way of giving the younger rookies some extended looks this weekend.
He wants to weed them out, get their stats on paper so he can justify sending them down to Double-A before the mid-season break. It’s standard management.”
I’m sure Roddy’s right. He would know, and I don’t think he’d be very good at lying. It’s just a hunch. Plus, I didn’t know about the move either, and usually, I get some sort of heads-up when the roster changes. Local reporters will want updates as soon as I roll into town.
Regardless, the explanation seems to do nothing to dull the blow.
Jake wears the slight like a heavy blanket, and a deep flash of hurt cuts through the brewing anger in his eyes.
I can sense the thoughts running through his head.
He had swallowed his pride, stood at that picnic table, and lied his ass off for the media, hoping the good press and sudden spotlight would buy him some actual earned playing time.
Instead, he’s being left behind. He’s in worse shape with the coaching staff than he was before we started.
“Jake, listen to me—” Roddy tries to reach out, his voice thick with apology.
“Save it,” Jake snaps, his voice cutting like a razor through the twilight air. He doesn’t let his father finish, turning sharply on his heels and marching straight back toward his truck.
He yanks the driver’s side door open and slams himself into the seat. The engine roars to life with a violent twist of the key, but he doesn’t drive off. He promised to give me a lift home, and even in the middle of blind rage, it seems he isn’t going to leave me stranded.
Roddy stands in the gravel, looking completely helpless. He turns his heavy gaze to me.
I swallow the lump of guilt in my throat. I look at the broken father, then back at the furious son behind the steering wheel. “I’ll try to fix it,” I mutter quietly to Roddy.
I jog around to the passenger side and climb in, shutting the door.
The ride back to town is suffocating. The silence inside the truck cab is thick enough to crush a person.
If I weren’t so stressed over repairing things, it might choke me.
Thankfully, my mind is whirling a thousand miles a minute, so I don’t have time to take on the weight.
Jake’s hands are gripped so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles are stark white, his jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle pulsing in his cheek.
He stares straight ahead at the dark asphalt, completely shut down.
I don’t say a word, knowing that any attempt at hollow comfort will just cause him to blow.
When he finally pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex, he idles the engine, staring blankly out the windshield. The silence lingers for several agonizing seconds before I finally decide to break it.
“I ran today because of my dad,” I say quietly, my voice soft in the dim light of the dashboard.
Jake doesn’t move, but I see his eyes shift slightly toward me in his periphery.