Page 9 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

Get some damn control, Eli.

I lean over, throwing my arm around the blonde that was just tucked into Connor’s side. “Got any friends?”

The blonde nods and Connor smirks, slapping his hand on the bar. “There he is! About time you showed up, brother.”

I smile, ignoring the way my mind begs me to steal one last look at the redhead in the corner.

It’s September first. It also happens to be the first Saturday of the month, which is why I’m sitting at my kitchen counter, staring at my phone, willing it to disappear. If it does, I don’t have to make the call I’m desperate to avoid, but know I’ll never miss. At least this time I’ll have some good news to share. Maybe Pops will see the prestige in coaching, and it’ll help bring a little bit of his spark back. But I doubt it.

I blow out a breath, pinching the bridge of my nose, steeling myself for the guilt that’s about to rise up like a tidal wave and capsize me for not going home. There are not many times I let it in, but during these calls it’s unavoidable.

I grab my phone and dial.

“Hey, Eli,”

my sister answers.

She used to be the happiest—if not the most naive—kid on the block. Somewhere along the way, that changed. Now when we talk, it’s lined with a melancholy I wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing, even if I could.

“Hey, baby sis. How are you and Pops?”

“Same as last time you called. Eli… he’s not doin’ good, you know? He drinks. A lot. I think he needs help.”

“Did you get the check I sent?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I wish you’d stop sendin’ ‘em. We can’t have money lyin’ around here like that. Daddy can’t be trusted with it.”

I laugh. “Come on, Lee. Pops is a grown man. If he’s not working, you two should use all the help you can get. Let me take care of you.”

She’s so dramatic when it comes to Pops. Always spouting off about his drinking and trying to guilt me into coming back home. I’m not worried. He’s the most controlled man in the universe.

Where’s she think I learned it from?

“What else is going on? You still working both jobs? How are things with your dancing?”

“Yep, still both. And I’ll have you know we do just fine without your guilt money.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly thick. Guilt money. I don’t know what she wants from me. She begs me to help then bitches when I try. “It’s to help, sis. So you don’t have to work so hard. So Pops doesn’t have to go back to construction since you say he’s in no shape.”

“Fine, Eli.” She sighs again. “Listen, Daddy’s up. You wanna talk to him?”

The little bit of hope I had going into this call drains away. My stomach sinks, the knot in my throat growing when I realize she’s not planning to ask about me. I’m not even sure she knows I’m in Florida. Last she asked, I had only been interviewed. Maybe she just doesn’t care. She never really has. I wish with everything in me I could just not care too.

“Sure. Hey… you doing okay? You sound tired.”

She exhales. “Yeah, Eli. I’m doin’ alright. Just gettin’ by one day at a time. Here’s Daddy.”

Pops comes down the line, but we never talk for long. Quite the twist from growing up when he’d lecture me for hours. He tells me all about his fishing, and how he’s enjoying his “retired” life. I ask how things are with Lee, and he complains about her mothering him.

He doesn’t ask what I’m up to.

Like father, like daughter.

I’m not surprised. If it doesn’t involve my name in bright lights or bringing Ma back from the dead, he’s not interested.

I hang up after an excruciating ten minutes of small talk and glance at the clock on the stove. Five minutes. That’s how long I’ll give myself to feel this… ache that reaches through my stomach and splits open my chest, gripping my heart and squeezing. But only five minutes. After that, I’ll push it to the corner of my mind and lock it up tight.

Back where it belongs.

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