Page 91 of Hard To Leave

Chapter 29

Jack

The bell rang,and the sound of children’s voices and adult footsteps echoed throughout the hall.

I nervously ran my sweaty palms down the side of my cargo shorts. A bead of perspiration sat at the tip of my hairline.

Moms and nannies were collecting their over-excited children that were more than ready for the school day to be over.

I took the day off work and booked a flight down to South Carolina, so I could talk to Tanner, face-to-face and man-to-man. Brad was right, and as much as I dreaded this conversation, Tanner needed and deserved to hear from me.

On the other hand, it’s been over a week, and I still haven’t talked to Chloe to get her side of the story. I convinced myself that I needed time, but the funny thing was, I still didn’t know how I was supposed to feel.

Avoiding her, keeping my distance and putting walls up was supposed to make me feel better, but as the days went on, I only felt like a coward.

I spotted the Derek Jeter jersey immediately walking with a crowd of kids down the hallway. My heart pinched, remembering happier times. That day at Yankee Stadium was one of the best I’ve ever had.

His shoulders were slumped as he walked with his head facing down. As soon he saw me, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Hi, Jack.” The pitch in his voice was slightly higher than usual. It felt great to see him, even in spite of the guilt I felt for letting him down.

“Hey bud, how’s it going?” I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts, trying to keep it casual. I had no clue how he would react to seeing me, and I was a fool to think that I had the right words prepared because I didn’t feel prepared at all.

He tugged on the strap to his backpack and adjusted it over his shoulder. “I’m doing okay, I guess.” He glanced around and waved at a couple teachers that walked by. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about a few things. Is that okay? That I’m here?”

All day I’ve wrestled with what to say, practiced in my head, and now that I was finally here, I was having trouble stringing basic words together.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” I gave him a smile packed with false confidence. I placed my arm around his shoulders and guided him to the front office so I could sign him out for the day. It felt good to hold him. I didn’t realize how much I needed this until now.

Once we were out in the parking lot, we reached my Jeep and climbed inside.

I adjusted my mirrors and started the engine. “You hungry? I thought maybe we could go to Banditos on the beach and grab a couple tacos.”

He clicked his seat belt and stared out the window. “Sure.”

His response was flat and void of any emotion. I sighed, while putting my blinker on and pulled out of the parking lot. The kid loved tacos like most kids loved candy. Clearly, it was naïve of me to think an offer for some Mexican food would make this conversation any easier.

We rode in uncomfortable silence on the way to the restaurant. I didn’t know what Chloe had told him, but he seemed unsure how to act around me. And I didn’t like that. Not one bit.

I tried to make light conversation by asking him about baseball and school, but I was met with one-worded responses. How is it I could broker deals with some of the wealthiest men on the planet or convince companies to invest in properties that no one else would touch, but I couldn’t figure out how to talk to an almost eight-year-old?

Once we reached our destination, I jumped out of my seat, thankful for the fresh air and change of scenery.

We walked up to the bar, climbed on the stools and placed our orders with the bartender. “So, you’re probably wondering why I picked you up from school today, huh?”

He played with his straw in his cup and shot me an inquiring look over his soda. “Mom just said you wanted to talk to me and that I shouldn’t be nervous.”

I reached across the bar and grabbed my water. The weary look he offered wasn’t making me feel any better about what I had to say. “I do want to talk you, and it’s okay to be a little nervous. I know I am.”

“Really?” he asked, as our server placed a bowl of chips and guacamole in front of us.

“Really,” I repeated, as my fingers toyed with the paper napkin around my silverware.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked, cutting right to the chase.

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