Page 6 of SALT

He kisses the side of my forehead, and I can't help the way I stiffen. It's my fault I'm in this mess with Parker. I'm the one who had too much to drink and came up with the half-cocked idea to start messing around with Parker.I feel likeI defiled him in a way.Parker is a genuinely good guy, and I knew he and Everett weren't on the best of terms, which made him easy prey. I wanted to get Everett's attention and make him own his feelings, just like Mac said, and I thoughthimseeing me with Parker might accomplish that. But it did none of those things. Instead, it backfired.Spectacularly, I might add, because now Parker and I are close.We aren't dating or even in asituationship, but we hang out. We do things that couples would do, like go out to eat, catch an occasional movie, and show up to parties together. But we're not intimate. The problem is I know if I allowed it or gave him a signal that I wanted it, we would be. He's made it more than abundantly clear he'd be down, but I don't want to cross that line. I can't. Crossing it would only end in hurt.

"Parker…" I start.

"Can we not talk about it? Just have dinner with me. It's been a long day, and we both need to eat."

I finally look at him, and I see it. Everett being home is wearing on him too. Everett is now Parker's coach. Parker's issues with Everett are worlds different than mine. His feud is more of a clash of principles, or at least I think it is. I'm still not sure I completely understand it. Everett didn'ttrulywrong him, and Parker has never fully divulged precisely what made him agree to our little fake dating arrangement for Connor's wedding, but if I had to guess, like me, he was trying to make Everett feel something.

We just ordered burgers and fries, and Parker has already downed his second glass of water. He's unusually quiet, and I know why. I know he said he doesn't want to talk, but I also don't like our silence. We've been friends for years, and I don't want to fuck that up now. Hell, I'm hoping I didn't already royally mess it up.

"I know you said you don't want to talk, but I don't want to pretend."

"You were fine with pretending a few months ago," his tone is laced with a hint of irritation.

I take a drink of my beer. I wasn't expecting his comment to be so snarky, but I suppose I deserve it a little.

"You weren't exactly an innocent bystander. I get that I was the ringleader, but you weremore thanhappy to play the puppet role."

"Things change, Cam. Maybe I don't want the puppet role anymore."

I take another long pull of my drink. This is not at all where I saw this conversation going. Would Parker be down to fuck? Yes, but there's a difference between fucking and what he's insinuating, or at least what I think he's implying. I'm not going to make the mistake of assuming.

"Okay…" I spin the bottle in my hands. "Then what role do you want?"

His eyes hold mine, and I know the girlfriend card is on the tip of his tongue, but I also know if he said it, it wouldn't be genuine. He's had months to play it if that's what he wanted. The timing of his ask is all wrong, and he knows I know it.

When I quirk a brow in a silent challenge, he says, "I played the part but didn't blindly make a deal. The deal was that I'd help you if you helped me. It's time for you to help me, Cam."

Damn it, I don't know where he's going with this, but Ifeel I'mnot going to like it.

Chapter 5

Everett

I'm just turning the corner to grab a coffee when I see Connor walking down the breezeway with a tall woman whose dark brown hair runs halfway down her back. At first glance, I thought it was my ex-wife, but Moira has grown snootish over the years. She walks with an air of class and sophistication she wasn't born into, but rather my money provided. I don't resent her for it; I was happy to provide for her. I only notice it now because it's a striking contrast from the woman she once was. Whoever he is giving a tour to now is far too lax to be Moira Michaelson.

As they continue walking down the corridor, I return my focus to the fancy cappuccino machine and make a mental note to buy regular coffee on my way home tonight. I like my coffee black, but this place doesn't open up to the public for another two weeks, so the shipment of provisions doesn't arrive for another week. The mere thought of worrying about coffee instead of my next meeting already makes me feel lighter. When I arrived here a few days ago, I thought I'd be in an office managing the back end of the business. It's been so long since I started my own company that I forgot that in a startup, you wear all the damn hats. I'm still determining why I allowed myself to believe I would be a figurehead, ensuring direction and stability were maintained. Connor does all that while coaching a winning team, contacting scouts, setting up tournaments, and running the damn stadium.

The first thing I did after Connor officially announced I would be the head coach for the summer was send my brothers an email saying I would be taking on a silent partner role for the summer. The email couldn't have been in their inboxes for ten seconds before I was on a FaceTime call with Colton and Garrett. They both thought my email was either a prank or my way of letting them know I was terminally ill. After I explained the situation with Connor, they were both fully onboard. I've never truly taken a vacation, or even a break, for that matter. Even now, I'm here early because I can't fully step away. All week, I've been getting to the stadium earlier than necessary to check emails. I passed my cases over to Colton, and in exchange, I've taken on overseeing and mentoring some of our less senior-level lawyers. Still, the workload associated with those responsibilities is almost nil. We only hire people who are capable.

With my coffee in hand, I head out toward the field. It's something I've done every morning this week. I stare at the field, reflect, and plan, but today, it looks like that will not happen. I can see Coach Teague and Denver on the field. Because the presumption of innocence is ingrained into my DNA, I don't immediately assume they are attempting to meet behind my back. Instead, I pull out my phone and check to ensure I don't have any missed calls, texts, or emails from them or Connor alerting me to a meeting that somehow slipped through the cracks. When I see that I don't, I stop just short of stepping out of the shadows of the walkway. I have no reason to believe they are up to something, but I also wasn't aware of a meetup, and eavesdropping feels essential. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't. I don't think Denver and Teague have a reason not to like me, but that doesn't mean they aren't upset that Connor didn't ask one of them to step up for the summer. The last thing Connor or I need is someone sabotaging the opening season.

Before I get a chance to let conspiracy theories run away with my thoughts, another person jogs onto the field. The small spike of anxiety that existed vanishes when realization sets in. It's Parker. Stepping out of the shadows, I make my way to the field. As I approach, Denver notices me first but doesn't say anything. His eye holds mine for a beat, and I know without words why he isn't acknowledging my presence. He's letting me eavesdrop, which tells me this meeting wasn't planned by him or Teague but rather by Parker. Interesting.

"For a lot of the guys, this is their last shot. They're in their senior year of school, and if they don't make it, that's it. We don't want this season to be an afterthought just because Connor is more focused on the future than the now."

His back is to me when I say, "Have I given you a reason to believe I'm not dedicated to ensuring this team has one of their most successful seasons to date?"

Teague and Parker both turn toward me simultaneously, but it's Parker who is clearly taken back.

"Yeah, you have, actually," Parker says, widening his stance. "So far this week, the team has spent half of its practice time helping move furniture and inventory into the stadium, and what little practice time we have squeezed in has been subpar at best. We're not here to simply stay in shape. If that were the case, we'd be at the gym. It's cheaper."

I don't appreciate his smart tone or that he didn't come to me with this, which speaks volumes about where we were a year ago. I know he's unhappy with how I handled things last year, but I don't have to explain myself or my choices to him. Last summer, I asked him to step up and marry someone for protection. I wince a little at the memory. In my head, the ask isn't as egregious as it sounds. After all, I wasn't asking him to do something I hadn't done myself; at the end of the day, it was only meant to be temporary. Nothing about it was going to be authentic. It was an exchange of names, period. However, the girl who was supposed to be his met my son first. The rest was history. I can't help that Mackenzie chose Connor over him. That has to be what this is about. I've treated Parker like a son where most wouldn't. He's not my blood; he's my ex-wife's stepson and not my responsibility.

I see two more players coming in through the south gate. "And I'm assuming you're not the only one who feels this way, seeing as two of your teammates are here an hour before practice starts as well."

Denver and Teague look over their shoulders, but Parker doesn't, cementing that all this is news to them too.

"No, I'm not. Our warm-ups were tired at best, and the training reeked of rec league-level aptitude. This isn't Little League. We don't all get a damn trophy. We need someone who isn't washed-up and didn't peak in high school."

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