Page 4 of The Rookie
I inhale, silently practicing the speech I rehearsed on the last flight. Logan may be resistant, but given that I’m his ticket back into the game he loves, I’m not anticipating much of a challenge.
The van slows as the driver turns onto yet another long gravel road with thick trees lining both sides of it. It’s not until a house comes into view that I realize it’s not a road, but a driveway. A very long and winding driveway.
When the van stops in front of the house, I’m hit by a sudden wave of nerves.
Hunting down a potential client like this isn’t something I’ve ever done. To be honest, it’s unheard of. But between Logan refusing to return my phone calls and emails, and Les telling me about how much this player needs the help ... I’m here. And let’s not forget what this opportunity can do for my career
Nerves may be filling my stomach, but I’m here, and I know a thing or two about pretending you have it all together, even when you don’t. I’m not going to focus on the fact that I may be violating a professional code of conduct by showing up like this. Honestly, if I’d known just how remote this place was, I’m not sure I would have come at all. I didn’t see a single motel on the hour-long drive up the mountain. But I’ll deal with that once I’ve pitched my services to Logan. At least I’ve still got some daylight left to figure things out before night falls.
The driver hands me my bags—a laptop case and a leather duffel bag—while I shoulder my oversized purse.
“Good luck. Stay warm,” he says, grinning at my thin jacket.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He nods once and climbs back inside.
Well, here goes nothing.
The van pulls away, leaving me alone in front of the house. I feel so small under the enormous trees and endless expanse of sky.
As I approach the house, I take note of the details. It’s cheery looking, two stories with bluish-gray siding and fieldstone accents.Cedar pillars flank the stone porch. Shutters are in need of a new coat of paint. A potted juniper sits to the left of the large front door.
Before I can reach the door, it opens, and a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length hair and kind blue eyes steps out.
“Can I help you, honey? Are you lost?”
I straighten my shoulders and extend my hand. “I’m Summer Campbell. The team sent me.”Sort of.“I’m looking for Logan.”
She gently shakes my hand, breaking into a smile. “Oh, come on in then. He’s inside warming up.”
Without anything further, she leads me inside. The foyer is large, with storage for coats and boots, and I set my bags on a bench before following her. The living room is warm and inviting with a large fireplace lit with a cozy fire. The windows look out onto endless green, and the whole house smells faintly of damp wool and cinnamon.
An older man with a gray beard rests in a recliner in front of the fireplace, reading a newspaper.
“Forgive me. I’m Jillian, Logan’s mother. And this is Grandpa Al.” She gestures to the man.
He lifts his head to get a look at me. “Albert Tate. Nice to meet you. Jillian, offer the lady something to drink.” His voice is gruff, but there’s a tenderness to him too.
“Oh yes, how rude of me.” Jillian touches her cheek, then looks toward the other room. “Logan, Summer’s here to see you,” she calls out.
A man is standing in the dining room watching us, and I don’t know how I didn’t notice him before. He’s very tall, and well, he’s ... enormous. His T-shirt hugs his biceps, which are huge and muscular. His dark brown hair is rumpled, possibly from the knit hat he holds in one hand. His eyes are blue, like his mother’s, but with none of the same kindness.
When he takes a step closer, a spike of something hot and unfamiliar races through me. I’ve never been attracted to a potential client before, and it’s disorienting.
“Hi, um, Logan. I’m Summer, a sports psychologist.” I gesture to myself.
His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. Apparently, I’m not off to a great start.
I try to smile, but I fear it looks less inviting and more calculating. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he says in a deep voice that causes my stomach to jump.
Weird. That’s never happened before.
I clear my throat. “I’m ...sorry? Your season is hanging in the balance, and—”
He stalks closer. “Actually, I do have something to say. Did you follow me all the way here from Boston?”
