Page 18 of Sliding into Love
Jake hums. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure his name is Kenneth. Since when is he Kenny?”
I shrug, not looking up from the page. I know three sets of eyes are on me, and I don't have the energy to fight them off with some misdirection. It should be easy considering all three of them are littles and one stern word would have them turning away.
“It's what everyone calls him. What am I supposed to do? Be different?”
Finn giggles. “But you are different, Royce. In the best way possible. Meeting you helped me realize that it was okay to be who I wanted to be. To have my Daddy. You're an inspiration.”
That gets me to look up. As much as I pretend to have my shit together, there are still times when I can be self-conscious. They're very few and far between. Usually it's when I'm wearing a new outfit I'm not quite sure matches perfectly, or one of those horrible days where my hair decides the humidity of this state should win.
Curse you Louisiana weather.
“I appreciate the kind word, Finn. If I helped you embrace all the parts of you, then I'm honored. And now you're family. You're a Bellport. No one can say shit to you about being different unless they want to piss us all off.”
Finn nods. “Exactly. So if you want to call him Kenneth, you should be able to.”
I frown as his words sink in. I walked right into that one.
Jake's gaze analyzes me. I know all of the different looks he has. This one spells trouble for me. Might not be now.
Might not even be soon. But eventually this conversation will come up again.
Clearing my throat, I turn the page. “What else is in here? I need more stuff to help me make sense of everything. The business side of this is easy. It's the sports I don't understand.”
“What don't you understand?” Timothy asks in his assistant voice. I notice he also has a pen and paper before him like he was going to take meeting notes.
Jake doesn't realize how lucky he is to have someone as dedicated as him at his side.
“I’m talking about the fixation on the sport,” I tell them. “People treat this game like it's a cult. I mean, I have been to fashion weeks in Paris that haven't had this much chaos behind it. Millions of people are screaming at their televisions demanding that a team plays better. They call it America's pastime for a reason, and I'm trying to understand that.”
Timothy jots down notes as Finn bobs his head. “I don't want to admit that I'm part of a cult, but I can see how it looks from the outside. Sports fans are pretty intense.”
Jake chooses that moment to whistle and avert his eyes. We all know just how intense he can be, especially when his men are playing, and I say his men but really, it's his team.
I mean the man loved hockey enough to bring his two favorite players and build an entire team around that fact. Not to mention those players are now his partners.
“You don't have anything to say, brother dear?” I poke him in the side where I know he's most ticklish.
Jake shrieks and scoots away from me. His brow dips as he shakes his head. “You all know how much I love hockey. Baseball is different, but not so much so in that it's not idolized by people. I mean, it's still pretty cool. Those guys hit baseballs that fly at them at like a bajillion miles an hour and then they have to run all the bases. Sometimes they get to slide in real cool and get all dirty. Mom would have a fit if we'd done that as kids.”
“We did do that as kids,” I remind him. “In fact, I believe there were more days you were dirty than clean. How many times were we preparing to go to a banquet, and you had to go get hosed down before getting in the shower?”
Jake leans back. “How dare you?! If I do recall, there were many a time when you had make-up experiments go wrong that had to be corrected. You were lucky our mother is a saint.”
“That she is,” comes the deep baritone of my father's voice. I look up to see him stepping into the living room where we've spread out with all of our baseball paraphernalia and charts.
He looks around with a smile. It's subtle, much like everything my father does. When people look up the word nonchalant in the dictionary, they would find a picture of him there because he is absolutely the most carefree person I know. Even when he's having a business meeting where he needs to be focused and intense, there's a calmness to it. A stillness no one else has. I have idolized him since I understood what was going on around me.
My mother has been soft and loving, but she's also driven. It's in her to be the absolute best.
It's why the Bellport Foundation is as big as we are. Why she raised four children who strive to bring even more to the community. But my father, the man that he is, is the one who truly taught me about work ethic in a way I don't think you could ever learn without observing someone intently.
“What's happening, Dad? Everything okay?” I ask.
Curious as to why we're seeing him. Usually, he's busy with meetings or keeping up with the laundry list of things my mother has him do until dinnertime. For him to be out and about is only troublesome.
He waves his hand in my direction. “There's nothing to worry about. I knew you were coming over and just wanted to come see you. It's rare that we get a Royce visit these days.”
I pause, thinking about that fact. I guess it's true. Between my businesses, the side work I do, and now the baseball team, my free time has been cut to nothing. Maybe that's why Kenny, or rather, Kenneth, is getting under my skin.
