Page 17 of Old Fashioned
She smirked. “Never.”
Noah ran his finger over the edge of his glass, brows furrowed as he thought. “You know, I see where your frustration comes from. You saw what Sydney didn’t see, because — like Mom said — you know those boys better than she does. Keep in mind, this is her first year on the team.”
“It’s also her first year back at work after being a stay-at-home mom for years,” Mallory added, joining us at the table.
“What’s wrong? Not interested in how we got a robot to Mars?” Noah asked.
Mallory rested her hand on her small, but rounding, belly. “All the orange makes me nauseous.”
“Trust me, sweetie.Everythingis going to make you nauseous for about another month, at least,” Mom chimed in. “Let me make you some tea.”
Before Mallory could argue, Mom was already up and in the kitchen.
“Seriously, though,” Mallory said, her attention on me. “I don’t know if you know Randy Kelly, but he’s a prick. And she wasmarriedto him. Don’t you remember that she was one of the smartest girls in school? She wasyearsahead of me and even I remember her sweeping the award ceremonies. She already had college credits when she graduated high school, and she graduated with her master’s degree at twenty-two.”
“What are you saying?” Noah asked.
Mallory shrugged. “I’m just saying. She wanted a career, and yet she never had one. She got pregnant before she ever had the chance to be a trainer like she’d wanted to be. And now, she’s finally working, finally has the chance to prove herself — and all that after a divorce where you guys know as well as I do that she was painted as the villain.” Mallory’s eyes caught mine just as Logan came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders. She placed a hand over his. “Wouldn’tyoufeel like you had something to prove — not just to the team full of boys you work with, and not just to this town, but toyourself?”
It wasn’t a question she expected me to answer, and thanks to Mom delivering tea, I didn’t have to. Ruby Grace joined us at the table and the conversation turned fully away from me and onto the upcoming wedding.
I sat quietly the rest of the evening, chewing on what Mallory had said, considering Sydney in a way I hadn’t until that moment. I’d known she was married to Randy, of course, and that she had a kid. But I’d never considered the sacrifices she’d made — just like the ones my own mom had — nor had I considered what she must feel like as the only woman on a staff of men.
I’d pointed out that she could be a distraction, and now, I wanted to laugh at myself because I realized that was far from news to her.
Sheknewshe’d be dealing with boys, that she’d be proving herself to men, that she’d be fighting an uphill battle from the moment she walked through those locker room doors.
And I’d been the General of the opposition.
More than that, what Mom and Noah had said sank in more and more the longer I sat there sipping on my whiskey. Sydneydidn’tknow those boys as well as I did. And if Parker really had been hurt, she would have been responsible for letting him back on the field — even if it had been my call.
I sighed, disappointed in myself, and more than that, frustrated with where to go from here. I understood why Sydney took Parker back to do a full assessment. He was limping. He was claiming he was hurt. He was showing all the signs of not being okay to go back onto the field. It didn’t matter that he was faking, to a responsible and professional athletic trainer, he was hurt.
And had it been our previous trainer, Perry, who’d done what Sydney had tonight, I would have appreciated him taking his job and the safety of our players seriously.
I’d judged her too harshly, and placed blame on her for something that was entirely Parker’s fault.
And, maybe, partially mine, too.
“It’ll all work itself out, Son,” Mom said, leaning down to kiss my cheek as she passed by me and into the kitchen. I could tell when I glanced up at her that she saw the warring thoughts in my head even when I didn’t speak them out loud. “Now, eat up. You’re not allowed to leave that table until that plate is empty.”
She patted my shoulder and continued into the kitchen, and I stared down at my full plate of lukewarm food as if it could somehow solve my problems.
I knew I, alone, was responsible for that.
I just had to figure out how.
Later that night, home alone with the glow of my laptop screen the only light in my living room, I felt another rush of adrenaline.
It had been more than a month of entries in Dad’s journal since he’d mentioned the Last Will and Testament he’d found while cleaning Robert J. Scooter’s office. Every night, I’d translated an entry from Latin to English, just to be disappointed that it spoke only of the new branding initiative or some other boring board discussion. It was frustrating, and more than one night of work on the journal had left me feeling deflated, like I was wasting my time looking for something that didn’t exist.
But that Friday night, knowing I wasn’t ready to sleep, I’d translated two more entries.
And what I found in the last one stole the last shred of hope I’d been holding onto that I’d get any sleep at all.
Something has been eating at me.
It’s been over a month since I found Robert’s will. I should have told Patrick about it, but I didn’t. The truth is, I haven’t told anyone — not even my wife.
