Page 7 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Considering she signs my paychecks, you’re right,” I said. “She’s scary, isn’t she?”
“Are you kidding? She’s terrifying.” Bridget grinned. “I want tobeher when I grow up.”
My eyebrows arched slowly. “You’re well on your way.”
Bridget laughed. “Good luck with the kids, and ...” She paused.
“And what?”
Bridget gave me a stern look. “Don’t be too mean to the neighbor.”
“I’m never mean,” I said evenly. She pursed her lips, and I gave a slight eye roll. “I’m just not ... warm. There’s a difference.”
Bridget gave me a condescending pat on the shoulder as I passed by. “Mm-kay.”
The drive home from the facilities took forty-two minutes instead of the normal twenty-five, considering it was at the peak of rush hour as opposed to my usual nine-thirty arrival during the weekday. Most coaches didn’t get home that early during the regular season, but this was the sole reason I’d made the move to Buffalo, a family-friendly atmosphere and an owner who promised me flexibility to be home, at least a little bit more time for my kids. Pearl Pennington may be the most intimidating woman I’d ever met, but she was also a devoted mother and grandmother.
Even though the streetlights came on earlier in the winter thanks to daylight savings, there was still a hint of light in the sky when I turned my truck onto the curved street of the two-story brick homein East Amherst I’d bought when I signed my three-year contract in Buffalo.
My ex-wife would’ve hated it.
Not big enough. Not fancy enough. And maybe that was why I loved it so much and placed a cash offer the day we walked through.
It was a little outdated—something I’d address eventually—but we had room to grow, and I liked the tall trees weaving through the neighborhood, offering us a modicum of privacy from the homes behind us and to the left. On the right, though, we had less privacy. Only a wooden fence running through a backyard that needed updating and some oak trees that provided shade for our lawn, though the thick trunks took up residence in Scott and Patty’s yard.
The retirees were kind and friendly, giving us a warm welcome when we moved in, in the form of baked goods and the offer to let my kids use their pool anytime they wanted in the summer. This year, though, they’d decided to winter in Arizona, escaping Lake Erie’s brutal lake-effect winters until the middle of February.
The lights on inside their house drew a narrow-eyed gaze from me as I turned my car into my own driveway.
Don’t be too mean to the neighbor.
Even if she’d meant it as a joke, the admonishment from Bridget stuck like mud in my throat. I was so frustrated over this entire turn of events that I could feel my temper lifting the hairs on my arms as I climbed out of the truck and slammed the door hard enough that the truck rocked a little bit.
My ability to stay calm under pressure earned me the nickname Ice Man in college. Nothing—and I meannothing—got under my skin to the point where I couldn’t keep my cool. If I could bottle that up and sell it, I’d never need to work another day in my life, but unfortunately, no one had figured out how to extract that personality trait straight from the source.
At the moment, I found my patience rather thin, temper bubbling dangerously as I crossed the yard between our house and the neighbors’.Every light was on, and as I drew closer, the loud thump of music from inside had me clenching my teeth.
A shriek of laughter pierced the air.
Maggie.
I pinched my eyes shut. When was the last time I heard her make a sound like that?
They were always begging to do something fun. Begging to go visit Uncle Griffin, and I damn well knew why.
He was the fun one. The guy who let them make a mess. Who bought them frivolous toys and spoiled them rotten.
Before she’d left, my wife accused me of being stingy. Not just with my spending habits but also with my time, with my affection.
Cold-blooded,she’d said. I wasn’t—or at least, I didn’t think I was. But something needed to change. The thought hung heavy in my brain, and I struggled to breathe through the sludge of failure again, a running list of all the places I fell short.
As a husband.
A coach.
A housekeeper lecturing me on how I needed to parent.
Now I had a fucking stranger making judgment calls on behalf of my kids. It was all too much. The helpless feeling of wanting to do something well, something right, turned the corner into heat and anger and frustration.
