Chapter 7: Forever Wild: Chapter 6

“You look like hell,” James says. “Do you need me to contact a barber?” My agent scrutinizes me through the screen. If he were sitting across from me, he’d have already made the call, but instead he’s sitting on a beach somewhere in Hawaii.

“No, I’ll go by next week.” Maybe.

“What did the doctor say this morning?”

I’m not surprised that he’s keeping tabs on my schedule, even from three-thousand miles away. “Arm cast comes off next week and he gave me some new physical therapy exercises. I told you, everything is going fine here.”

“I’m glad it’s fine for you. Meanwhile I’m developing an ulcer.” He picks up a drink with a pink umbrella in it and his mouth turns down at the corners. “I am not a vacation person. Sitting around, drinking, and watching the water. How many hours can one guy be expected to do that before he cracks?”

The first real smile in days pulls at my lips. “Where’s your husband?”

James sighs. “Yoga on the beach with some other tourists. Are you sure you don’t need me to come back sooner?”

“Go join him,” I say sternly. “That’s the only thing I need from you.”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. “Okay.”

“Have fun.”

“Oh, before I forget,” James interjects before I can end the call. “I sent over a dozen or more emails since last week. Sponsorships, events, a new lease agreement…” He trails off.

“I saw them,” I admit. Sort of. I turned off email notifications on my phone after the first few I didn’t want to deal with.

“Good, good.” He chuckles softly. “Now how about responding to them before the summer is over?”

“On my list.”

When we hang up, I feel a little lighter. James has that effect. He’s the best agent in the game. He’s been with me since the beginning, both of us just starting out. Now I’m the highest paid hockey player in the league, and he owns an entire company with dozens of sports agents under him.

My light mood doesn’t last too long. I open my email, intending to go through them, but when I see how many have piled up, I break out in a cool sweat. I scan the list. Sponsors inviting me to attend events or reaching out with potential dates to shoot commercials, as stipulated in my contracts. Charities I regularly donate to or visit, such as the local children’s hospital, asking me back. And so many more things, all that require me to reply and none that I want to let down.

I set the computer aside and go to the kitchen, but there’s nothing to cook and I’m not that hungry anyway.

I think I’m tired of being cooped up. I can’t drive, or maybe shouldn’t is the better word, but some fresh air might be needed. Donning a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, I head out to the backyard. The first step outside, I inhale deeply. Damn. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this. Maybe I should have taken Sandra up on the walk around the neighborhood with the walker. Nah, absolutely not.

Scanning the yard, I do a double take when I spot the pink circle floatie in the middle of my pool. Or rather the woman on it.

Surprise shoots through me, but, actually, it’s not that shocking. With Everly, you always expect the unexpected.

As if she can feel my stare, her head snaps around and our gazes lock. She’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, but her dark brows lift beneath them.

By the time I make it to the edge of the pool, Everly has lifted the dark shades and paddled closer.

“Do I even want to know how you got in here?”

“I climbed over the fence.” She tips her head in the general direction.

My gaze drifts over to the fence that surrounds my house. It’s six feet tall, and Ev…she’s not short, but that couldn’t have been easy.

“I didn’t want to bother you again, but this pool deserves to be used.”

“Oh good. You didn’t want to bother me. This is way less intrusive.”

She rolls her gorgeous hazel eyes. Today they’re lined with black that extends out past the corners of her eyes. “Fine. Fine. I should get out of the sun anyway.”

Her comment makes me wonder how long she’s been out here.

Everly slides off the pink floatie, tosses it over the side out of the pool, and then pulls herself up. Water cascades down her body, from the ends of her blonde hair, over smooth curves and long legs. Today’s bikini is red. Appropriate since I should absolutely stop looking at her.

“How’s the knee?” she asks casually, leaning her head to one side and squeezing water from her hair.

“Better.”

“How much longer do you have to wear the cast?” Her chin juts toward my left arm.

“It comes off next week.” I fidget in place as she fires questions at me. I wasn’t prepared to see her and my defenses slowly rise back up, turning me back into the grumpy asshole I’ve become this past month.

“What kind of physical therapy are you⁠—”

“You can’t just show up uninvited, scale my fence, and act like my pool is your personal getaway.”

Her eyes widen like a hurt puppy at my gruff tone and scolding words, but then slowly a fire lights up behind those hazel irises and everything in her body language stiffens.

“So sorry I invaded your fortress.” She stomps over to a lounge chair and grabs her towel and beach bag. Her march back has the same haughtiness, but she stops in front of me and pulls something from the bag.

“Here.” She shoves a plastic container at me. “I made you more cookies. I hope you choke on them.”

She circles wide around me and heads for the back door.

“Not gonna jump the fence again?”

She lifts one arm over her head and flips me off as she keeps going, disappearing into my house.

I blow out a long breath. The girl makes my blood pressure rise. Getting fresh air seems pointless now .

As I’m stepping into the house, my phone rings. I’m half expecting it to be Everly calling to yell at me some more. And when I see who it is, I wish it were.

Bracing myself, I set Ev’s cookies on the kitchen island, then accept the call and bring it to my ear. “Hey, Dad.”

It is not my dad who replies. “Jackie boy. It’s John.”

“Coach.” My brows pull together as I recognize my old hockey coach’s voice. “Everything okay?”

It’s a stupid question. Things are never okay when he or my dad calls.

“Your dad is here. A new bartender overserved him and we’re having a hard time getting him to leave. I hate to call you, I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, but I really don’t want to have to call the police.”

Fuck.

“Don’t call them. I’m on my way,” I say, searching for my keys and finding them on the front entryway table.

“I’ll do my best to keep him calm and happy until then.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket. It isn’t until I walk outside to get in my SUV that I remember I can’t/shouldn’t drive.

Dammit. I could call an Uber but by the time it gets here, I could already be halfway to my dad.

My eyes lift from my vehicle to the car behind it. Everly.

She’s changed, or rather pulled on a short, white dress over the wet bikini. She tosses her bag in the back and then glares at me.

“I’m leaving. Geez. You don’t need to follow me and shoo me off your property.”

“I need you to drive me somewhere.

”

She just stares at me, squinting slightly like she’s not sure she heard me right.

I unlock my SUV and open the door for her. I haven’t even driven it yet. My last one was totaled. James went with me to pick this one up and bring it home. It still has that new car smell.

Everly doesn’t move. Instead, she continues to look at me skeptically.

“Please? It’s not far, but I shouldn’t drive yet.”

She opens the driver’s side door of her car. “Maybe you can finally take that walker out for a spin.”

Fuck. I hate needing people and right now I need Everly to do this for me.

“You can use the pool again tomorrow. No scaling the fence necessary.”

She doesn’t look as tempted by my offer as I hoped.

“Tomorrow and the day after.”

No reply.

“Any time you want!”

Her expression shifts, gaze narrowing and lips turning down at the corners.

“Please?” It’s a last-ditch attempt and I’ve already accepted that I’m going to have to call for a ride when she grabs her purse and heads for me.

Relief sweeps through me.

“Thank you,” I say as she climbs behind the wheel of my G-Wagon.

I don’t wait for her reply. I hustle as much as I can around to the other side. Everly adjusts the mirrors and the seat while I struggle to get myself up into the passenger seat.

“Where am I going?” she asks as she pulls through my circle drive and onto the road.

“Take a right out of the neighborhood.”

I’m grateful that she doesn’t pepper me with more questions. The beginning of a headache is starting behind my eyes. We drive in silence, except for the prompts I give her at each turn. When we reach Brettwood, the small town my dad lives in, anxious energy starts to thrum through me, making it hard to sit still. Luckily, it’s not that big of a town and I’m instructing Everly to pull up to the curb of Perry’s Pool Hall a few moments later.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I say.

The old bar smells like stale cigarettes. It’s been years since smoking was banned inside this place, but the scent still hangs thick in the air. Country music plays from a jukebox. The pool tables are empty, as are the few tables set up in front of the windows looking out toward the street.

A handful of people sit at the small wooden bar, but I head toward the only one slumped over, too drunk to hold his head up at two o’clock in the afternoon.

His dark hair is streaked with white. The greasy strands are slicked back and hang down onto the back collar of a dingy white button-up shirt. His face is buried into one arm but what I can see of his skin has that reddish flush that would be a telltale sign that he was drunk if that weren’t already obvious.

“Jackie boy.” My gaze lifts to the man behind the bar. He’s almost more familiar to me than my father. Gray hair, same old mustache he’s been sporting since the nineties, and his usual attire of pocket T-shirt and khakis. It’s hard to believe of the two, Coach John is older than my dad.

“Hey, Coach.

”

“Good to see you.” His eyes crinkle with a smile, but then his expression falls into one more appropriate for the situation. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Not your fault.”

His nod isn’t all that convincing, but he pivots asking, “How are you?”

“Been better,” I admit. Certainly didn’t plan on leaving the house in this condition today.

“Thank you for calling me.” It’s preferable to bailing my dad out of jail again. He isn’t on a first-name basis with the booking officers or anything, but once is enough to earn a place on the “never again” list.

“You’ll be okay.” His words temporarily heal that nagging seed of doubt since the accident, but I don’t have time to dwell right now. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“No. I got a ride from a friend.” I tip my head toward my dad. “What’s he owe you?”

My old hockey coach shakes me off. “He’s all settled.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s on me for overserving him.” Coach owns Perry’s but hasn’t worked here in years. His presence is purely to keep my dad out of more trouble because someone else didn’t know that Lance Wyld is the town drunk. My gaze cuts quickly to the younger guy working behind the bar. I hate that my dad is a cautionary tale. “Don’t serve the old man or he’ll get belligerent and refuse to leave.”

I take out my wallet and stuff all the cash I have into the tip jar. “Thank you.”

“Need some help getting him out?” Coach asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

Fuck. How the hell am I going to carry him home like I’ve done a million times before? Like I’ll have to do a million more.

Swallowing down my frustration and loathing, I nod.

As Coach comes around the bar to help me, I rest a hand on my dad’s shoulder. It’s hard to believe this frail man in front of me was once the most promising and talented hockey player in the state. I used to dream of having his height, his broad shoulders, and his slapshot. If I’d known then what I know now, I might have dreamed of more practical things, like a father that doesn’t drink himself into a stupor regularly.