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Nellie
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CAL
Nellie’s journal entry about my dad was the only one in the book that made me laugh. Because after months of being in the same school and unofficially declaring each other as enemies, her dislike of Dad was something we would have wholeheartedly agreed upon.
I really don’t like Cal’s dad.
“Well . . .” I slammed her diary closed and chuckled. “That makes two of us.”
I hadn’t spoken to my father in years. Whenever I went home to Denver, I spent my time with Mom. We’d eat lunch at her favorite bistro. We’d go shopping if she wanted to shop. Once, I’d waited at her salon while she’d gotten her hair colored. Then we’d pick a new restaurant to try for dinner.
I’d pick her up from the house and drop her off at the house. But I never went inside.
The last time I’d entered Mom and Dad’s house had to have been exactly ten years ago for her birthday. Dad and I had gotten into a fight when he’d decided that appropriate celebratory dinner conversation was critiquing my plays from the previous season.
The asshole had pulled out his phone and recited how many interceptions I’d thrown. How many passing yards the other league quarterbacks had compared to my own. How many times I’d been sacked. How many games I’d lost.
He’d picked my career apart over their chef’s beef Wellington. If it hadn’t been Mom’s special day, I would have left before dessert. But I’d stuck it out, and after our meal, I’d vowed to avoid the bastard at all costs.
Dad was more critical than any coach or manager. Hell, he was worse than Nellie. Then again, she didn’t seem to give a damn about the actual football stats, just how I behaved after the game clock had run to zero.
Mom had simply stopped watching my games years ago. Maybe that was why I loved her so much. Either she didn’t care about football or she recognized that Dad cared too much. Her apathy balanced the scales. She was more interested in my personal life, always asking if I’d met someone special or if a future daughter-in-law was on the horizon. My answer was always no.
So in a way, I’d been disappointing both my parents for years.
I returned Nellie’s journal to the drawer in the kitchen where I’d hidden it last night when she’d stopped by. I doubted she’d visit again but living in the same town . . . things were different.
She’d be pissed as hell if she found out I’d stolen her diary. I’d deal with her fury if that time came, but mostly, I wasn’t ready to give it back. Not yet.
Why this book had become so important I still hadn’t pinpointed. Maybe because each time I opened the cover and saw her neat script, I didn’t feel quite so alone. Maybe because it was a connection to her, to any person, that ran deeper than the surface.
Maybe because torturing myself with the actions of my past was better than sitting around feeling lost without my football career.
With the journal out of sight, I swept up my phone from the counter and pulled up Mom’s name. She answered on the second ring.
“Oh, Cal. I got your flowers this morning. They are stunning. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like them.” I smiled. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. I wish you were here to celebrate it with me.”
“Next time.”
I’d considered flying to Colorado for a quick visit, and had I known that Darius and Kylie Rivera would be in town, I probably would have gone south. Except I was content in Calamity and wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. Probably because leaving, even for just a weekend, felt a lot like losing to Nellie.
“How’s your special day going?” I asked Mom.
“Good.” There was a smile in her voice. “I just arrived at the spa. It was your father’s gift.”
My jaw ticked. “Isn’t that what he got you last year too?”
“Yes, but—oh, shoot. They’re waving me in already. Can I call you later, Cal? We’re going out to a fancy dinner later, but I should have some time to catch up on the drive home. I’d like to hear how Montana is treating you.”
“Of course. Call me whenever.”
“Okay.”
“Happy birthday, Mom,” I said again. “Love you.”
“I love you too.”
I hung up and stared at my phone, guilt creeping in. She was spending the day at the spa. Damn. I should have gone to see her. At least then she wouldn’t be around strangers on her special day. Though the amount of time she spent at the spa, I supposed those people were hardly strangers.
Dad sent Mom to the spa at least one day a week. Always a gift, so she’d feel indebted. It was his way of keeping her pacified. Because according to him, a spoiled wife didn’t ask questions. She was more willing to overlook his discretions.
Like the fact that he was probably spending her birthday with his latest mistress.
Was the reason Mom avoided him so willingly because she knew about the girlfriends?
I knew of five myself. Dad hadn’t been shy about parading them around whenever Mom was occupied elsewhere. The first I’d met my freshman year in high school, back when he still introduced them as his assistants. One had been his travel agent.
Maybe he’d thought I was too young to realize the truth. But he’d spoken too closely into their ears. He’d touched the smalls of their backs. He’d smiled at them like their secret affair was safe with me.
The son of a bitch.
In one of my first games with the Titans, Dad had decided to fly out and watch. He’d asked for two tickets, saying he was bringing a friend.
That friend had turned out to be a twenty-something brunette with fake tits, a short skirt and a tight ass. When I’d asked him after the game who the fuck she was, he’d brushed it off. Told me it was just sex. He’d said that I’d understand when I was his age.
The fuck I would.
Our relationship had been strained before that day. After that, it had been over.
Any time Dad had asked me to get him tickets, I’d call Mom and invite her first. No surprise, his attendance had dwindled over the years. They’d missed my last two seasons entirely.
This time of year, I’d be in the thick of spring training. I was going to need more to do with my life than sit in this camper.
Christ, I missed football. I missed the focus it stole from my personal life.
My architect had finished the initial draft of the house plans. He was making some tweaks based on my feedback. Hopefully we’d have them finalized this week so they could be submitted to the county for a building permit approval. But even if I had to pick out flooring and tiles and cabinets and paint colors, I was going to need more activity.
For today, it was laundry. A pile of stripped sheets was on the RV’s floor. I had Nellie and her impromptu visit last night to thank for a task to do today. As much as I liked her scent on my sheets, it had to go.
Nothing good would come from holding her too close.
I scooped up the pile and walked outside, about to head for the motel’s laundry room.
“Cal,” Harry called, opening her front door.
“Morning.”
“It’s too early for me.”
It was almost nine, and I’d been up since dawn.
“Laundry?” She nodded to the bundle in my arms.