“Oh, yes. The trip went smoothly. He’s still a little confused. He doesn’t know where he is or why he had to move, but that will pass.”
Jack exhaled and nodded. He probably should have been relieved, but he wasn’t. Instead, a tight knot formed in his chest, a mixture of guilt for not caring whether his father settled in well or not, and anger at that guilt. Hell, he had the right not to care! He was doing more for his father than anyone could ask of him.
“I’m glad,” he finally managed. That was what a normal son would say, right?
“Wonderful. You know, it might help him to hear a familiar voice?” Bridget suggested. “Assuring him that everything is okay?”
Jack’s throat tightened. “No, wait, I don’t think…”
“Hello?”
Jack broke off and paused. Bridget had passed the phone, and her voice had been replaced by his father’s deep, raspy one, the result of years of chain smoking. His dad deserved lung cancer, not dementia. If only he had lung cancer, all of this would be so much easier. Jack knew it was a horrible thought and hated himself for it…but it was the truth.
“Hey, Dad,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and leaning against the door. “Hello, who is this?”
“This is Jack.”
“Jack? I don’t know a Jack.”
“Yes, you do,” he murmured. “You know a Jack.” It was fitting that he was the first person his father had forgotten.
Something clicked on the line and the next moment, the nurse was on the phone again. “I’m sorry, but he’s not having a good day.”
Yeah, he hadn’t had a good day for three decades.
“Anyway, your father arrived safely, and it would be nice if you could find time on Friday to visit him and discuss the rest.”
“Okay,” Jack murmured, rubbing his forehead. Something else to look forward to next week.
Chapter Thirteen
Jack was right: Dax kept quiet. Penny didn’t know what kind of relationship they had, but they didn’t seem to hate each other. Dax’s profile must have been out of date. Nevertheless, over the next few days, she received some sharp looks and a horde of curious and doubtful glances from the striker.
What the hell had Jack told him? That it had been a one-time thing and that there was nothing else between them? That he hated that she had turned out to be his boss, because he would have liked to date her, maybe even be happy forever? That she was a loon who had taken advantage of his moment of weakness?
She should have stayed and listened, but she panicked and was so embarrassed that she hadn’t even considered it. God, she was such an idiot. She had let herself be carried away, by Jack’s looks, his words, his whole demeanor, which she had missed over the last few weeks. It was absurd. They barely knew each other…but she had the feeling that they had something in common. It felt like there was more between them than the one-night stand. It felt like there could be much more between themif they weren’t stuck in their stupid roles. If they lived on a deserted island, for example.
But it was irrelevant. He was Jack West, the Hawks’ saintly top scorer. She couldn’t do anything with him…but she could take his words to heart.
Let them judge. You know who you are. They don’t.
So simple. So true.
If the others didn’t want to give her the chance to get to know them better, then she wouldn’t give them the chance to ignore her any longer.
So, when the upper management meeting about a new striker came up on Friday, three days after the inconvenient dirty talk in the hotel hall, she had not only prepared a plan, but also three pages of statistics about Leon Alvarez. She put an indifferent, cold expression on her face. She would do what any manager and CEO worth their salt would do: shout out her opinion as loudly as possible. In preparation, if fact, she had not used her voice for half the day beforehand. And when she heard Gareth’s booming voice at the end of the corridor, she was glad she had. Her brother truly did have an enviably powerful voice, one that could keep up with any ship’s horn.
“…are youcrazy? You can’t possibly expect me to respond to this offer with anything other than laughter.”
“You can laugh? Have you finally trained your mouth like I showed you?”
“Hazel…” he growled.
Oh God, he was using his assassin’s voice. She should probably speed up her pace.
“I’m still Miss Barrow to you.”
“Hazel! Could you for once act like a human being, not some crazed banshee, and do your job properly? Moreau isn’t worth that ridiculous amount of money.”
