Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Hi, Dad,” Pike said, grimacing in his father’s direction. “Good to see you, too.”
“Don’t start, you two,” Mia warned, casting a pleading look over her shoulder at Pike, before leaning down to peck her father on the cheek. “How’s Mom feeling, Dad?”
Their father grunted. “Better. She thinks it was something she ate. She’s been fine since this morning, and she’s making lasagna for dinner.”
“Good, I’ll go see if she needs any help,” Mia said, moving toward the front door. “Y’all play nice, you hear? No one is allowed to fight during my wedding week.”
Pike settled into the chair next to his father, already feeling the familiar tension creep into his shoulders. He’d spent most of his adolescence butting heads with his dad, and, no matter how much older or wiser he became, it never got any easier to look into his father’s eyes and see nothing but statistics reflected back. Jim Sherman was capable of seeing his daughter as a person with thoughts and feelings, a soul worthy of affection whether or not her business succeeded or if she was ever named Lonesome Point “Entrepreneur of the Year.” But when it came to his son, there was only pro ball and what kind of legacy Pike Sherman, pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, was going to leave behind.
When Jim said the game was what mattered, he meant the game was all that mattered, and every time Pike came home that painful truth only became more obvious.
“How much longer are you going to be out?” Jim asked after Mia disappeared into the house.
“I’m not sure.” Pike shrugged. “At least another two weeks. I’m doing all my PT but—”
“Rick Fogler said he saw you jogging downtown today. You should be resting and icing, not putting more stress on the injury.”
“My physical therapist cleared me to run with my knee brace,” Pike said, the muscle in his jaw leaping as he fought the urge to tell his father to mind his own business. “I’m taking care of it and doing what I’m supposed to do, Dad. Now it’s just a matter of time. I have to wait and see how I heal.”
His father exhaled audibly. “You’ve already missed the All-Star game and two weeks of play. If you don’t buckle down, you might be out for the season. The guys on Sports Center were saying the docs they talked to said this injury could be a career ender. What do you think about that?”
“I think I’d like it if you would pick up a phone and talk to me instead of getting your information from Rick Fogler or the douchebags on Sports Center,” Pike snapped. “Jesus, Dad. I’ve been playing pro ball for almost seven years. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a kid anymore.”
Jim grunted. “Well, you wouldn’t know it from the pictures in the magazines. You know your mother sees that crap, Pike. She saw that shot of you drunk on the red carpet with that girl from the vampire movies.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” Pike said, voice rising. “It was a doctored photo. Something manufactured to sell magazines. How many times do I have to—”
“There’s my boy!” His mother’s voice sounded from behind him and a moment later her arms were on his shoulders, rubbing the tension away as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “So glad you’re home, baby. I made all your favorites. Even the green bean casserole I usually only make at Thanksgiving.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Pike sighed as he stood to pull his mother in for a hug, hating that he’d let his father get to him not five minutes into the visit. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too. I can’t wait to hear all your news,” she said, looping her arm around his waist. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen and we can have a glass of wine while Mia finishes up the salads?”
“Sounds great,” Pike said, glancing over his shoulder at his father. “You coming, Dad?”
“I’ll be in in a minute,” he said, rising from his chair and starting for the porch steps. “I need to go check on the group down at the lodge.”
Pike’s lip curled. The lodge—the hunting lodge his father had built on their property, turning their failing cattle ranch into a hunter’s paradise—was always a good excuse for Dad to bail when he was tired of dealing with his son.
“But I thought you’d already checked on them this afternoon,” his mom said, her brow furrowing. “Come on in, Jim, and do it later. I can’t remember the last time we had the entire family here.”
“I do,” Pike said. “But last time, Dad made it through the main course before he bailed.”
His mother stiffened beside him. “Now, Pike, let’s not—”
“No, let him say what he wants to say, Jenny,” his father interrupted. “He should talk ’cause he’s certainly no good at listening.”