Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I keep repeating that excuse in my head until I drift off to sleep.
Nine
Will
* * *
The stadium is buzzing. Draft week is officially here, and even though it doesn’t start until later in the week, there are people milling around everywhere. Our team has gone over our options to the point of exhaustion.
Every name on the board has been circled, erased, and circled again. Pros, cons, injury reports, interviews, late-night calls with scouts, we’ve dissected it all. There’s a whiteboard in the conference room, also referred to as the war room, that looks like it’s been through battle itself, layers of marker ink bleeding into one another, arrows pointing in every direction like some kind of conspiracy map. If you stare at it too long, it starts to feel like the future of the franchise is hanging by a few dry-erase smudges.
My phone rings. I see McIntosh Garage displayed, so I quietly step out of the room to take the call. “Hello.”
“Is this Will?” a guy asks.
“This is Will.”
“Will, this is Gary from McIntosh Garage. I was able to take a look at the Highlander you had brought in over the weekend, or your son-in-law did. Either way, I took a look, and it’s the alternator. We can have it fixed and back on the road for you today.”
“Thank you, Gary. Do you have time to give it a thorough look-over? Brakes, tires, that kind of thing, while you have it?”
“Sure, we can do that. Do you want a call after?”
“Nah, just take care of it, and I’ll be handling the bill, no matter what anyone else tries to tell you.”
Gary chuckles. “Sounds good. I’ll have the guys check it over, and we’ll start the repair, and any others needed. We’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“That sounds like a plan. Thank you, Gary.” I end the call and pull up Amanda’s contact. I know she’s at work, so I hesitate between calling and texting, but a phone call wins out.
“Good morning,” she answers, the sound of her voice soothing in a way I didn’t expect.
“Mandy,” I rasp, using my nickname for her again. “I heard back from the garage. It’s your alternator. It’s a simple fix, and they’ll have you back on the road tonight.” I don’t tell her about the extra look I’m having them do. It’s not lying; it’s keeping a secret, a safe one. A secret where no one gets hurt. No, this secret protects Amanda and Mia, so that’s a good one in my book.
“That’s a relief. I’ll call them to give them my credit card. I’ll see if Bellamy can go with me to get it, then drop your SUV off with you. Thank you again, Will, for everything,” she says, her voice growing soft.
“I took care of it.”
“What?” she asks, as if she didn’t understand what I just said, when we both know she heard me just fine.
“I handled it. What time do you get off work? I thought you and Mia could meet me at my place, and I’d ride with you to get it, and then take my SUV back home with me.”
“What do you mean ‘you took care of it?’”
“Amanda.” I sigh. “I wanted to help. I would have done the same damn thing if it were Bellamy.”
“I can afford to repair my car.”
“So can my daughter, but that wouldn’t stop me from handling it. I wanted to,” I say, my tone softer. “Just say ‘thank you, Will.’”
“I—” She pauses. “Thank you, Will. I’ll make you dinner or clean your house or something to pay you back.”
I laugh. “My intention was not to add strings to the situation, Amanda. I wanted to help you, so I did. Now, if you and that sweetheart, Mia, want to have dinner with me, I’ll take you up on that any day of the week,” I tell her, before clamping my mouth shut. I’m probably creeping her out. Who wants to hang out with their best friend’s dad? I wasn’t thinking when I said it, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t mean it. I enjoy the times we’ve spent together, no matter how it came about, and I’m lonely in that big ole house. Amanda needs someone to lean on, and I’m unattached. There’s no reason I can’t help out where I can.
It hits me that for the first time in my life, I’m seeking more than what football can give me. I want more than the game. The one I’ve devoted my life to. The one that assisted me in ruining my marriage and almost lost me my daughter.
“I’d like that,” she replies softly, and I don’t know if it’s my revelation or her agreement that has my heart tapping a crazy rhythm inside my chest.
“Anytime, you call me,” I tell her, my voice raspy. The idea of having someone to have dinner with here and there settles inside me, and I love the idea more than I should—especially since she’s my daughter’s best friend. “What time do you get off work?”