“That’s just enough time to meet little Jack!”
I glance at Simone, quirking a brow.
“It was going to be a surprise.” She shrugs. “We wanted to honor Dad, and well, you didn’t ruin the name, even if you sometimes do questionable things.”
“Are you going to get traded to Alberta, Uncle Jack?”
I cock my head to the side. “Not that I know of, but maybe your sources are better than mine.”
I know anything is possible in the league, but I’ve always felt like my spot, as the Hometown Boy and the Son of John Parker gave me a little more security than some other players.
“Some boys at school told me that their dads think you act like a diva rat, and they want to trade you to a Canadian team. And if you were in Canada, we’d see you even less.”
“Well—luckily, as far as I know, those dads don’t handle the trades for the Badgers, so don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” I squeeze her extra tight before lowering her to the ground.
I swallow down all the times I worried my dad would be traded too.
I’m not going anywhere, Jack. Don’t worry.
Right, I never gave much thought to the fact that some people who love me would be impacted by something like that. It’s so much easier to think of myself as a lone wolf.
“Hey, Luce—” Simone says softly, like she knows I need a second to process. “Grant and Coby will be here to see Uncle Jack soon, so why don’t you prepare your room and hide anything you don’t want broken.”
Little Luce sighs, lowering her shoulders and gazing at the ceiling.
“They’ll grow out of it, dear. I promise.”
“They’re six. They should have grown out of it already!” Lucy continues her sulk as she marches to her bedroom.
“Amy’s still a bit of an enabler,” Simone says, grabbing a broom to sweep up the crumbs from the fallen scones.
“Our Amy? Really?” I stick my hand out and commandeer the broom. No way will I stand here and let the thirty-six-week pregnant woman sweep up my shit. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
Growing up, Amy was my favorite sister because she always let me have my way. Simone called me on my shit way too much—she still does.
“I’m sorry for springing tomorrow on you, half-pint, but I think you should come. It’d be good for you.”
I shake my head, trying to sweep under the cabinet’s lips. “I can manage the dinner, but I’m still not ready for the cemetery.”
Simone reaches out and grabs my hand. “Will you ever be ready? It’s been ten years—and we already lost you for four when you were in college. What’s really going on, Jack?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I’ve never told my family why I vanished or that I still feel bitter that everyone had time to process and say goodbye to him when I only had a week. One fucking week before he was gone. News outlets knew before I did.
All because, what? They thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it? I’d be too emotional. Well—I’m doing what they wanted, right? I’m handling it by not handling it. I’m not emoting. And every time I want to feel pain over the situation, I get a tattoo. Healthy.
“Probably just a man processes death differently thing. I’m over it. I’ve moved on. That’s it.” I shrug, bending down, collecting the crumbs in the dustbin and walking them over to the trash can. “We good? Was that it?”
“Yeah. We’re good.” Simone frowns. “I’ll let you eat your scones in peace before—”
Bang.
Simone’s front door slams open.
A thunder of footsteps that sound like they belong to a herd of galloping horses follows.
Lucy screams.
Something crashes.
