Page 32 of The Keeper
“Fucking Ronnie Kade,” Jeremy says as we make our way around the corner to the lot. “Ofcoursehe’s fucking Ronnie. That dick.”
I glance up at Jeremy and I’m shocked to see a smile on his face. “Why do you look so happy if you sound pissed?”
“Why would I be pissed? Jealous is more like it,” he answers, flashing his charming smile at me. “That guy gets so much ass, and he doesn’t even try.” My mouth drops open. “I know he’s your coach, so I shouldn’t say stuff like that. But, damn. Ronnie Kade.”
I chew on my lip as we walk, wondering if I should ask any questions or if that’s too obvious. Ultimately, my curiosity gets the best of me.
“The girls made it seem like they’ve been together a while.” It isn’t a question, but I know it’s enough to get Jeremy talking.
“I always suspected something was going on ‘cause they’ve known each other since he was playing in Chicago. He’s never been one to chat about who he’s banging, but with the number of chicks he’s pulled since he’s been here for all of a month, I just assumed they’d called it off.”
“What?” My voice is a slightly higher pitch than I wanted it to come out, but I can’t help myself but ask.
“Don’t get me wrong. If he wants to sleep around while he’s living in LA, more power too him. I’m just surprised he was able to keepherin his bed when he’s been inviting so many other ladies into it. Like I said, he’s been here under a month, and he getswaymore play than I do.”
I grit my teeth, trying to hide my frustration and confusion, and if I’m honest with myself, sadness. We walk the rest of the way to Jeremy’s SUV in silence.
“You okay?” Jeremy pulls me from my thoughts after we’ve been on the road for a bit. When I look away from the window, I see him looking at me with concerned eyes.
I nod. “Just thinking about everything,” I respond, my tone low and distracted, a perfect reflection of my mental state. I know by saying it that way, he’ll think I’m talking about dad, our rocky and uncomfortable relationship, the game on Wednesday.
But my thoughts are stuck on Mack and his date. And I wonder how I ever could have misunderstood.
Chapter Five
“I appreciate the thoughtfulness, Jeremy, but you don’t have to babysit,” I say with a sigh.
Jeremy’s offer to attend my game on Wednesday is sweet, but unnecessary. He has his own life, his own practice schedule to contend with. He doesn’t need to concern himself with our dad’s need to embarrass me.
“It isn’t about babysitting,” he replies as he pulls up into the lot at the college where my car is and shifts into park. He runs his hands through his hair, then grips the steering wheel again. “I just know he’s going to be an absolute fucking nightmare. I don’t want you to have to deal with it on your own.”
“I love you Jer, but you’re not coming. I’ve dealt with him before. I can do it again.” I lean across the console and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you next week.” I quickly grab my bag and hop out of his SUV before he can argue with me any further.
He stares at me for a moment before nodding. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says.
I nod and close the door, walking off to Trusty Rusty. I wave as he drives off, then turn on my car and begin the short drive home, reviewing the day.
How has everything that has happened today happened in one single day?
I woke up from my dream about Mack with such high hopes. Our date had been so perfect, so sweet, so real. And that kiss.
That kiss.
Warmth had radiated through me, cracking some frozen piece inside I didn’t know existed. Contrast that with the heartbreak of finding out he’s my new coach, followed by our uncomfortable argument in his office and at my house. Then the drama of practice and hearing about Mack’s relationship with Ronnie. Thenseeinghim with Ronnie. I just can’t wrap my head around it all.
And the shit with my dad. Frank Jameson is a mess, and if I’m not careful, he’s going to drag me back to an emotional place I don’t want to be.
How am I ever going to get through the game on Wednesday?
My stomach turns over as I think about the certainty of my dad showing up wasted and belligerent, causing problems and hassling people in the stands, shouting out at us while we play.
His antics caused a heap of problems for me in high school. Parents didn’t want their kids to be friends with Frank Jameson’s kid, even though we were old enough to have friendships that didn’t involve parents facilitating play dates. My relationship with Carter was strained partly because of him and my soccer team gossiped about me behind my back. When your dad is seen as the trash of the town, the assumption is that the apple is rotten too, no matter how far it has actually fallen from the tree.
I don’t want to see that happen again.
When I get home, I park and quickly call his home number.
“This is Frank,” his voice comes through the phone in a slur.
