Page 42 of The Keeper
“You worthless little shit,” he finally says. “You’re spreading it for your coach? Is that the only way you can get him to put your disgusting attempt at playing soccer on the field?”
I ignore the comment, choosing instead to focus on the best thing to do moving forward, which is to get my dad out of here.
“It’s time for you to go home, dad.” I say in the sternest voice I can muster.
“Yes, Mr. Jameson, I think it is time for you to go home,” Mack’s voice pipes up from beside me. He sounds like ice, cold and brittle. “In fact, we will make sure you get there safely.” Mack suddenly takes my father by the neck and begins pushing him forward.
“Get your hands off me you little…”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, sir. Rachel and I will escort you home. Now. Any attempts to struggle out of this and I will call the police regarding your public intoxication and the assault I witnessed you commit against Ms. Jameson a few moments ago.” When my father says nothing, Mack pushes him forward again.
I follow in silence, unsure what to do. Part of me is embarrassed that Mack is involved in this situation at all, that he’s seen my dad this way. But another part of me is flooded with relief that I don’t have to shoulder this one interaction on my own, that I have someone to help me.
I feel less likely to crumble.
We make it to Mack’s truck and he shoves my dad into the back seat. Once the door is closed, I look up at him and whisper, “You don’t have to do this.”
Mack’s eyes roam over my face for a moment, but then he simply says, “Get in the truck, RJ,” before turning and walking around to the driver’s side.
Chapter Seven
Two and a half hours later, we’ve left my dad asleep on the couch in the living room of the house I grew up in, and Mack is driving me back to Glendale. Other than arguing about driving me home instead of returning to USD for the men’s game, we haven’t said anything to each other in the past two hours. And there is still another thirty minutes left until we make it back to town.
I can feel the tension and frustration rolling off of Mack in waves. His hands are clutching and releasing the steering wheel with such force, I’m surprised he hasn’t been able to crack all of his knuckles.
When my phone begins to ring, I lunge for it, desperate for anything to alleviate myself from the dark silence dripping from Mack’s truck.
“Hey Jer,” I say, my voice tight. I was trying to sound light-hearted, but alas.
“Hey Rach! How was the game?” Jeremy’s warm voice wraps around me through the phone, making me feel safe.
“It was fine.”
Silence comes from the other end of the line and I know what’s coming next.
“What did he do?”
I let out a sigh.
“I’ll tell you about it later, okay? I’m almost home and I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Wait, you’re almost home?”
“Yeah, Ma… uhm… Coach McIntosh is driving me back.”
Silence again.
“Put him on the phone.”
“What? No. Look, we’re almost back and I’ll just…”
“Rachel, put Mack on the phone.”
I look over at Mack, expecting his eyes to be facing forward. But I find him watching me, his eyes soft as they go back and forth between me and the road.
I extend the phone towards him.
“It’s Jeremy. He wants to talk to you.”
