THREE YEARS LATER . . .
“Cal’s, um, a little extreme.” Mom tried to hide her eye roll, but she failed. “He realizes this is T-ball, right?”
“He just gets excited for the kids.” And this was an improvement over the last three weekends, not something I’d admit to my parents. When it came to my husband, they were overly critical, so I’d learned to be careful about what I shared.
Mom and Dad, each seated in a camp chair beside mine, shared a look.
“Let’s go. Let’s go.” Cal clapped his hands as the kids on our team raced out of the dugout with their gloves in hand. “Be ready, boys. Three up. Three down.”
“Oh, my.” Dad pinched the bridge of his nose.
I blew out a soothing breath, hoping some calming vibes would carry across the baseball diamond to my husband who paced along the baseline.
I’d carefully mentioned to Cal last week that too much pressure on these kids might dull the fun. It had instantly sobered the seriousness, and he’d backed off substantially today.
But even a quiet Cal was intense when it came to sports.
He might be taking his role as coach a bit seriously, but he was living for Tuesday night T-ball practices and Saturday afternoon games. So I’d kept my commentary on his intensity to myself.
Besides, the parents on the team didn’t seem to mind that Cal showed up with black under-eye paint before each game and insisted the kindergarteners do laps around the bases before a set of pushups.
While Pierce was technically the head coach of Elias’s baseball team, Cal had been such a strong influence as the assistant that most of the kids went straight to him for instruction.
Pierce didn’t care because he met Cal’s intensity beat for beat. The other dads were just as dedicated. A line of them stood behind the dugout as the unofficial cheer squad with water bottles at the ready for the inning change.
Meanwhile, I watched the games next to Kerrigan, each of us enduring the muttered comments from the mothers who weren’t as competitive as their male counterparts.
“It’s just a game,” Dad said. “They’re so little. Oof.”
“He’s doing it for Elias,” I reminded him. “And he’s a good coach. It’s good practice for when Tripp is old enough for a team.”
Dad hummed.
Mom bit her lip.
Gah! These two were driving me crazy. I’d been defending Cal for years, and this attitude of theirs was getting old.
“Mommy, where is my choc-it milk?” Tripp hopped up from his seat on the grass, enunciating each word as he planted his fists on his hips.
Tripp had the clearest diction of any two-year-old I’d ever met. With his articulation and his size—he’d surpassed every growth chart since birth thanks to Cal’s giant genes—most people didn’t believe me when I told them he was only two.
“You’ve had enough chocolate milk.” I bent down and picked up the water bottle I’d stashed in my oversized purse. “You can have water.”
Tripp’s hazel eyes widened. “No water. I want my choc-it milk.”
“Sorry, baby. All I have is water.”
His face crumpled before he flung himself onto his knees and started to wail.
Now he looked two.
“Tripp Stark, we are not having a tantrum today about your milk.” I bent to pick him up, but before I could haul him to his feet, Mom was out of her chair and fussing over her grandson.
They might be uncomfortable around Cal, but our son was adored.
“Oh, my little Tripp.” She picked him up with a grunt. “Boy, you’re getting big. How about we go to the swings and the slide?”
He clung to his Nana, wrapping his arms around her neck. As she set off for the playground, he glanced over her shoulder and shot me a glare.
That glare he’d learned from his father. I laughed and blew him a kiss. “Have fun!”
“He’s got her wrapped around his pinky finger, doesn’t he?” Dad chuckled, taking the chair that Mom had vacated. It was the same green chair Cal had bought years ago to sit outside that Winnebago he’d rented for a summer while his house was being built.
Our house.
After we’d come home from the Benton fundraiser, Cal had moved into my home. He’d complained for months that the house was too small for a man his size, that the hallways were too narrow and the stairs too shallow.
Months and months of muttered comments that I’d addressed with eye rolls. You’d think the man would have been thrilled to finally move into the house on the ranch. But the night before the moving crew had been scheduled to arrive, he’d hemmed and hawed about leaving that tiny brick house. Moving is a pain, Nell. We could just stay.
That time, I’d rolled my eyes so hard I’d given myself a migraine.
It wasn’t like we’d done any actual moving. Cal had hauled exactly two boxes from the car to the house because when I’d picked up one to carry it myself, he’d had a conniption since I’d been pregnant with Tripp.
I’d thrown out my birth control pills on our Vegas wedding-slash-honeymoon week. It hadn’t taken long for his all-star swimmers to score a touchdown.
“How are you feeling?” Dad asked, putting his hand over mine.
“Good.” I reclined in my camp chair, pressing my free hand to my belly.
At five months pregnant, I was already showing. Cal was sure we were having another giant baby boy like Tripp, but I was holding out hope for a girl. Since we were waiting to be surprised, we’d find out who was right this September.
“I’m glad you guys are here,” I told Dad. Even if their relationship with Cal was awkward, I’d missed my parents.
“Me too.” He smiled and the two of us turned our attention to the baseball diamond where a little boy from the opposing team carried a bat toward the tee at home plate.
Mom and Dad had flown in for the week, and at some point during their stay, I was hoping to have a serious conversation about their future plans. They’d both tossed around the idea of retiring, and even if they only spent the summers in Montana, it would give my children the opportunity to have a close relationship with their grandparents.
Cal’s father was non-existent in our lives but his mother visited every few months. And though I’d grown to love Regina, we’d always have Colter between us.
I had no idea if my parents could afford retirement yet, and they wouldn’t touch a penny of Cal’s money.
Dad’s pride was expensive.
Even after three years, they were hesitant around Cal. Especially Dad. So naturally, instead of acting like the buffer, I made sure to thrust the two of them together as often as possible. Eventually they’d find something to bond over, right?
It hadn’t been me or Tripp. Maybe the baby?
“Well, it’s a good thing they don’t keep score,” Dad said as the batter was thrown out at first, ending the game. “That was a killing.”
“Yeah.” The volunteer umpires might not keep score, but Cal did.
Dad stood and folded up our chairs, stuffing them in their cases.
Cal finished with the team and walked over to join us with a smug grin. “Twenty-five to zero.”
“Congratulations, Coach.”
“Uh . . . good game,” Dad muttered.
“Thanks, Darius.” Cal nodded. “I know I get a little into the game.”
“Just a smidge,” I teased.
He brushed his lips to mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry. I’m ready for lunch.”
“Where’s Tripp?”
I pointed to the playground where Mom was pushing him on a swing. “I’ll go get them and meet you at the car.”
“I’ll come with you,” Dad said, giving Cal a hesitant glance.
“How about you guys load up the chairs?” I handed mine over before he could argue, then gave my husband a reassuring smile.
He nodded and set off for the car, matching his strides to Dad’s.
Cal was trying. God, how he was trying. But Mom and Dad didn’t know him well enough. They hadn’t spent enough time in Calamity to see Cal fully let down his guard. Their three weekend trips a year hadn’t been enough. And whenever we’d gone to Arizona, the visits had been too quick.
Mom and Dad had accepted my choice, but they were still cautious, especially Dad. He was still protecting me. He just didn’t realize that it wasn’t his job anymore.
It was Cal’s.
I set off across the park toward the swing set and collected my son and mother. Then we all piled into our Escalade and headed home. Even with every window rolled down, the air in the SUV was sticky and thick. I sat behind Cal, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.
He looked miserable, and my parents’ vacation was only beginning.
Mom and Dad had agreed to stay in our guesthouse instead of the motel. It meant they could be closer for Tripp, but it also meant they couldn’t escape Cal like they had in their past visits. There’d be no space, no downtime to regroup.
I was grateful that we’d invited a bunch of people over tonight. Hopefully a crowd would diffuse some tension.
Mom and Dad thought this casual party was so they could meet our friends. Really, it was to give Cal a break from their scrutiny.
By the time we turned onto our property at the ranch, Tripp was as hangry as his mother, so we all congregated in the kitchen and scarfed sandwiches. Then Mom and Dad excused themselves and disappeared to the guesthouse.
“They still hate me,” Cal said as the door closed behind them.
“Hate is a strong word. They don’t hate you.” I walked to his side, wrapping my arms around his waist. “But yeah, it’s awkward.”
He frowned. “Gee. Thanks.”
“They’ll come around.”
“You’ve been saying that for three years, sugar.”
“And I still believe it’s true. Look how long it took you to win me over?”
“So by the time Tripp graduates from high school, they might like me?”
“Give or take a few years.”
“It’s not fair.” He sighed. “My mother loves you.”
Regina did love me. Whatever standoffishness she’d had initially hadn’t lasted long. The day Cal had called to tell her we were getting married, she’d sent me two dozen roses. And as soon as we’d made it back from Vegas, she’d flown to Calamity to spend a week in Montana, mostly to get to know her new daughter-in-law. She adored her son and loved mine entirely.
“This will be a good week,” I told him. “I have a good feeling.”
He shrugged, already putting up the wall so no one but me would see how deep my parents’ aloof attitude cut.
If they didn’t start lightening up by tomorrow, we were going to have a very long, very overdue chat about their feelings toward my husband.
“I’m going to put Tripp down for his nap.” Cal kissed the top of my hair. “Maybe lie down with him.”
“Okay. I’m going to get a few things ready for tonight.”
His hand splayed across my stomach. “You’d better rest too.”
“I will.” I leaned my temple against his heart, taking a long inhale of his scent, then let him go so he could snuggle with Tripp.
They both fell asleep on our bed, the two of them curled together while I walked around the house, picking up toys before settling on the couch to read for an hour. When the guys finally woke up, both of them with mussed hair in that same shade of chocolate brown, the caterer buzzed in from the gate at the driveway.
Our home at the ranch was a dream. The land itself was beautiful, nestled against the mountain foothills with sweeping meadows and a view worth millions. Cal had insisted on a state-of-the-art security system to keep out the crazies.
At eight thousand square feet, the house was larger and fancier than any home I’d ever had. And though I loved living here, it screamed wealth. And that scream was yet another thing driving a wedge between Cal and my parents.
They’d probably balk at the fact that we’d hired a caterer for the party instead of cooking ourselves, but Cal had insisted. He didn’t want tonight to be stressful for anyone, especially his wife.
So as the caterer assumed control of my kitchen, my parents returned from the guesthouse, settling in the living room with their attention fixed on Tripp. They barely looked at Cal, so he turned on ESPN for some background noise.
Thankfully, Pierce and Kerrigan arrived with their kids. Larke showed up next, followed by the rest of our friends from town. Harry arrived last, and as usual, knew everyone but my parents.
Mom and Dad were the epitome of friendly. They laughed and joked with our friends, but they always chose the cluster that didn’t include Cal.
Yeah, we were most definitely having a chat tomorrow.
“Ugh,” I muttered, plucking a carrot from the vegetable tray on the kitchen island.
“What’s wrong?” Larke asked.
“I’ll tell you later. It’s just more of the same crap with my parents and Cal. At our next girls’ night, I’ll give you the full scoop.”
“Yeah, I’ve, uh . . . got a little scoop of my own.”
“You do?” I studied her face, my gaze dropping to her water glass. Everyone in the house was drinking a beer or glass of sangria. Everyone but me. And Larke. “You’re not drinking.”
“I’m not drinking.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you pre—”
“Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Including Kerrigan.”
“But you’re telling me? Before your sister?”
“Duh. You’re my best friend.”
“Aww.” I pulled her into my arms. “You’re my best friend too.”
I’d made a lot of best friends in Calamity. The absolute best? Cal. Not that I’d admit it. His ego still needed tending.
“Details later,” I said, letting Larke go and lowering my voice. “I had no idea you’ve been sleeping with someone.”
“I’m not. I mean, I did, but just as a fling.” She checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “I met him in Hawaii.”
“Oh.”
Our girls-only trip had never happened. Larke, Kerrigan and I had gone to Hawaii, but both Cal and Pierce had tagged along. Larke hadn’t said it, but I got the impression she’d felt like the fifth wheel, so this year for spring break, she’d taken a beach vacation alone.
And got knocked up.
“Who—”
Before I could finish my sentence, Pierce hollered, “Hey, Nellie! Get in here! Cal, you too.”
I rushed to the living room, expecting to find something wrong with Tripp, but he was off playing somewhere with the other kids. “What?”
Every adult stared at the television.
Pierce snagged the remote from the end table and cranked the volume.
“What’s going on?” Cal came in behind me, his hands going to my shoulders. Then he saw the screen. “Oh.”
Before he could sneak out, I slapped my hand over his, holding him to me. “Don’t you dare disappear.”
Next to the ESPN announcer’s face was a headshot of Cal. “This next story tonight is going to pull at your heartstrings. Many of you remember Cal Stark who was just inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. The former star quarterback for the Tennessee Titans is making news again this spring after donating thirty million dollars to create a sports camp outside Bozeman, Montana for disabled children and kids with terminal illnesses.”
I leaned against Cal’s body, smiling as the announcer continued to explain how the camp was currently under construction and would open next summer.
We’d already started receiving online applications for kids interested in attending. Pierce was kicking in fifteen million too, and though he’d hated doing it, Cal had been calling former teammates and NFL colleagues, either to donate time or make celebrity appearances at the camp.
“The camp is named Camp Hollis York after a youth who met Stark through the Make-A-Wish Foundation,” the announcer said. “Sadly, Hollis passed years ago, but not before making an impression on Stark. In the press release, Stark said, and I quote, ‘Hollis York was a brave and kind soul. Knowing him was one of the greatest privileges in my life. This camp is to honor his memory and celebrate his love of sports.’”
My eyes flooded as I looked up to Cal.
He swallowed hard, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. Then before I could stop him, he let me go and escaped to the kitchen, hollering, “Let’s eat.”
Pierce handed me the remote and followed Cal. Then the rest of the party retreated, leaving only Mom, Dad and me with the television.
“Was it your idea for the camp?” Dad asked.
“No, it was his.”
Dad shared a look with Mom, then stood, passing me for the kitchen. He walked right to Cal, clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a nod. “Proud of you, Cal. That camp is a great idea.”
“Thanks, Darius.”
“And good idea, catering this shindig. Save Nellie and you the hassle of cooking. Plus we’ll have leftovers while we’re here this week.”
“Uh . . . yeah.” Cal looked at Dad, then to me.
I smiled wider.
“He’s a good man, isn’t he?” Mom asked, coming to my side.
“The best.”
She sighed. “We haven’t taken enough time to get to know him.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll do better.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Tripp flew past us, racing toward the kitchen and Cal. “Daddy, can I have my choc-it milk?”
I laughed and went to the fridge, pouring my son some milk in his favorite cup. Then I retreated to the living room to shut off the TV.
A pair of strong arms banded around me as I tossed the remote on the couch.
“I’m proud of you too,” I told Cal.
“Team effort.”
He’d told me his idea for the camp not long after our wedding, and from the moment he’d voiced his dream, I’d been right at his side, encouraging him to see it through. Once football had consumed his life. Now, his focus was our family. But this camp was a wonderful purpose for him and a chance for him to stay connected to the game he loved so much.
I spun around, rising on my toes for a kiss. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Mommy, I need more.” Tripp came running my way, his already empty cup thrust into the air.
“Okay, baby.” I took the cup, knowing I was in for a fight because it was getting refilled with water.
“Nell. Wait.”
“Yeah?” I turned to see one of Cal’s heart-stopping smiles.
“Tell me what you hate about me.”
Years together and he’d never quit this little game. I’d had to get creative since, when it came to Cal, there was a lot more to love than to hate.
“I hate that you’re going to snub our guests later and haul me to the bedroom for a quickie. It’s rude, Cal.”
“And I’m not even sorry.”
I winked. “Neither am I.”
