Page 69 of Pitcher Perfect

My phone buzzed in my hand. I resisted the urge to read whatever sexy text Austin had surely sent.

“Well, I called because I’m going through some things to clean up the house. Do you want anything from your old room?”

A warning bell rang in my ear like a tornado siren. “You’re downsizing? How come?”

Dad paused for a moment. “I’m selling the house.”

“Why? What’s going on?” I dropped onto my couch and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I gripped my hair with my free hand.

“It’s too much for me to maintain. I’m going to find a little apartment or something, maybe one with a hot tub or shuffleboard.”

“You gonna start doing cruises now too?” My voice was too short, and I immediately felt guilty.

“I know it’s a big change, but it’s what’s best for me.”

I knew he wasn’t telling me everything. I’d learned to pick up on the nuances of his voice when Mom got sick. I could tell just by how he greeted me whether they’d gotten good or bad news from the doctor.

“Is something else going on? That house is your pride and joy. You’re barely sixty and in great health, but it’s too much for you?”

I wanted him to tell me about his job. I didn’t want to assume and speculate based on someone’s Facebook posts or my sister’s gossip.Oh, god, what if he’s sick?

“Caleb—”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“I’m losing the house.” His voice cracked. “I got laid off and fell behind on the payments.”

“Oh, Dad. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” My stomach roiled. Even knowing that might be true didn’t make it easier to hear. I felt terrible for him. He’d put so much into that company for decades.

We talked about what happened, and I let Dad vent, though all I wanted was to ask what he would do, offer to make calls for him, and start researching options. Surely he could do something.

“Not even sending us off with a severance. What kind of thank-you is that for decades of hard work?”

“It’s horrible. What are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet. Retire early? Still weighing my options.”

I swallowed. “And the house? You know, I saved up some money, and—”

“Absolutely not, Caleb James. Now, you listen to me. I know you want to help. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, just like your mom, but I will not accept your money. That’s for your restaurant. I’m your dad, and it’s not your job to bail me out. You hear me?”

I wanted to scream that it was my home, too, but I had no right to make claims. I’d left Idaho for Oregon. I wasn’t on the deed or the mortgage. Just because a room there held my old shit and memories of our once-complete family didn’t mean I could do anything. “Yes, Dad.”

“Don’t you worry about me, kiddo. I always land on my feet.”

“Like a cat.” I chuckled through unshed tears.

“Exactly.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me if you want help researching or money or anything?”

He sighed. “Promise. You promise you’ll tell me the second you get that restaurant. Okay?”

“You got it.”

We talked for a few more minutes then said our goodbyes.

My childhood home, the last place I’d seen my mom’s smile, the last place I’d hugged her when she’d left the hospital to spend her last days as comfortable as possible, the source of my best and worst memories. I didn’t make it back to Idaho much beyond holidays because of my business and Dad being on the road so much, but the thought of that house not always being there for me tilted my world’s axis.

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