Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(161)
Except six years after retirement, it’s always the biggest thing on my mind, every damn year before the season starts.
Except this one.
I can hear Emily stomping around upstairs, letting me know she’s up. I’ve been up since seven a.m., when Serena slipped from my arms and from my bed, telling me she was stealing yet another pair of sweats and a t-shirt before she slipped away, presumably to a waiting cab outside.
That’s another funny thing about the now me vs. the me from my youth. The me from back then was up at noon at the earliest. Too many late nights, too many drinks, too many women. Meeting Sarah changed part of that. Meeting Sam Horn changed the rest.
The thought of bitter insights I now hold about him and Serena sit like bile on my tongue. I take a thick swallow of black coffee, letting it sear my mouth a little, but it’s not making the guilt of not telling her yesterday go away.
I should have told her.
Except it’s a fucked up scale. Not telling her is a shit move. Not telling someone something that big just isn’t right, and I already know it’s going to drive this wedge between…well, whatever the hell is going on with us. Because it sure as hell isn’t just “co-workers who sometimes have sex to blow off steam.”
That would make this easier.
Because then there’s the other option: telling her. But telling her breaks her. Telling her the truth I now know but wish I didn’t destroys everything she’s ever known about her life, her family, and her place in this world.
And I’d get to watch her face shatter and her heart break when she finds out.
You try to not shoot the messenger in that scenario.
The sound of Emily coming bounding down the stairs pulls me away from my brooding, and I chuckle as she comes tearing around the corner.
Jesus, I can’t even remember a time I was that animated before coffee.
“I’m hungry!”
“What’s up, hungry, I’m Dad.”
Emily rolls her eyes.
“Hey, you know where the cereal is.”
This is a new part of our routine. Of course I feed my kid, and of course I fix her things to eat ninety-nine percent of the time. But sometimes, when it’s something like cereal on a Sunday morning, I let her take over.
Self-reliance isn’t something I think a lot of people teach their kids these days.
“What if I don’t want cereal?”
“Well what do you want?”
She hesitates, chewing on her lip. “Cereal,” she finally admits.
I grin. “You want me to make it for you?”
“No, I got it,” she says dramatically, making this elaborate stage show of slumping her way back into the kitchen as I try not to laugh out loud.
My cell rattles in my pocket, and I furrow my brow at the office line on the caller ID.
“Morning, Don.”
“Landon, hey.” Don’s voice sounds tired.
“What’s going on?”
“Listen, I’m sorry to call you at home like this, but, well…” He sighs heavily. “We gotta talk, Landon.”
I sit up a little bit on the sofa. “Sounds serious.”
“Yeah.”
Don doesn’t say anything else.
“Everything okay?”
“Not really, Landon,” he says awkwardly.
Shit.
“Okay, I’m coming in. Let me just call Serena and see if we can all meet-”
“We can do this over the phone, actually.”
I frown as I rise from the sofa, a cold feeling in my gut.
“Tell me what’s going on, Don.”
He sighs heavily. “I’ve looked at the projections the analysis guys drew up.”
Oh shit.
“Landon, I’m sorry, but I’m swinging the vote. We’re going to sell.”
The room blurs around me as I whirl, my hand tightening so hard on the phone I wonder if I’ll crush it.
“You can’t do that, Don,” I hiss through clenched teeth, shaking my head as I stare at the wall. “You can’t fucking do that.”
“Son, I know you’ve been working at this, and I gotta say, you and Ms. Roth did a hell of a job with damage control. But there’s just so much up in the air! Sam in the hospital, the team not even knowing about it, this damn mystery about Ms. Roth, losing Holden Cade right before training started.”
“We got a new quarterback, Don.”
The house phone rings in the other room, but I ignore it.
“I know, I know,” his voice sounds wearing, but he’s not breaking on this. “And he’s great, and you guys did a hell of a job on the bit for Rocky Mountain Soap.” He sighs once more. “But numbers are numbers, Landon.”
The house line starts to ring a second time, pulling my attention for a second before I hear Emily answer it.