The Fight Within (6 page)

“Look, I need you to keep the kids this weekend,” he panted, as if his mere call was a favor. She could envision the man twirling about in his oversized leather chair behind his desk, the big window to his back, showcasing all of Manhattan as if he were some urban God. “Something has come up.”

“You mean something has come
down
, right? Like another whore’s panties on your behalf.”

“Not this shit again…”

“No, this is
your
weekend to spend time with
your
children, Jackson! Remember them? You have a sixteen-year-old son and a fourteen-year-old daughter! Would you like to see their birth certificates to help jog your memory?”

“I don’t need this crap right now, Treasure. I can’t have them over this weekend, okay?! I have a really big case to prepare for on Monday, and I will be working on it the entire time, non-stop. This is serious.”

“And so are Brian and Asia. This is the
third
time in a row you’ve come up with an excuse that surrounded work. Where are your priorities? You haven’t seen them in two months! Do you even know what’s going on with your kids anymore, Jackson? Do you even
care
?!” She quickly glanced over her shoulder, hoping and praying her raised voice didn’t meet the sensitive ears of Mr. Owens, though he seemed a million miles away in thought, and distance.

“I’m working like this to keep you and the kids in that damn house! With as much alimony as I’m payin’ you, you’d think you could cut me a damn break.”

“You really are unbelievable! Alimony can’t replace a hug from a father to his children. Fine, Jackson, skip out on your children again. I’m done lying to them on your behalf, though. I’ve been covering for you, and now I’m done with that!” She quickly ended the call and made her way back over to her client who was now twirling one end of his mustache, reducing it to paper-thin consistency, angled into a tight, pointy tip.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said sternly as he rocked back on his thick, shiny brown heels, his hands pushed deeply into his pants pockets as if he were some world-renowned speaker in a jam-packed auditorium.

“Wonderful.” She smiled from ear to ear, folding her hands dexterously over her milk chocolate cake colored skirt. “Which one did you choose?”

“None of them. I wish to see the quartzite tile catalog!” he declared, throwing his hands in the air as if this was something she’d wished to hear.

Her entire body burned as if the bowels of hell became her internal inferno. The heat began its rapid trek from the bottom of her freshly pedicured feet until the blaze rushed to her ears, scorching them so, no doubt turning them freshly pricked blood red. Surely, profuse swirls of smoke were tumbling out of her eardrums, as if she were some cartoon maniac that had transformed into the Tasmanian Devil. She’d spent literally hours with the man, going over this and that, trying to speak reason into him, but she finally gave into his demands at his insistence that granite countertops were his best option. She assured him that with a house like his, he’d probably prefer the quartzite catalog, but no, he’d insisted on seeing the granite samples—noting that it was just as good, and he knew what he wanted and refused to be swayed by her words of discouragement.

She’d worked with the bastard several times in the past, and knew his taste just as well as her own. Despite that, he insisted on taking her through these changes, time and again, wasting valuable energy, and she simply had no more on reserve. He looked about the place, his chin raised high once more and his attentions elsewhere, as if he’d done nothing the least bit wrong. Her fingers juddered, just like his damn mustache. She wanted to reach out and rip the grotesque thing clean off his face in one violent swoop.

Now, three unrecoverable hours later, the man switched directions as if he were doing the Cha-Cha Slide; only there was no happy-go-lucky beat. The bastard made a U-turn on a rocky mountain road, dragging her by the hair down his twisted path of nonsense. In that moment, she fantasized about wrapping her hands around his number two pencil thin neck, and squeezing the very life out of him! She could almost envision his beady eyeballs popping out of his damn skull, and his little stupid facial hair twitching, moving about like a playground seesaw gone wild as he gasped for air…but no, she’d squeeze and squeeze a bit more until she’d had her fill.

“Ms. Chambers. Ms. Chambers?! Shall you direct me to the quartzite?” he interrupted her fantastical trance, slicing it in half with the shrillness of his voice.

Bastard. The damn daydream was getting oh…so…good.

“…Why, of course, Mr. Owens. Right this way.” She gave a sleight of hand, observed him turn on his heels like a soldier and saunter off, as if he ran the show, the after-party, and the groupies at the hotel. Walking steadily behind him, she glared at his small, lemon shaped head as it bobbed about, to and fro, the tip of it pointy, covered in a smattering of dull brown hair that shone slightly under the showcase lights. She had a desire for a
big
glass of lemonade right at that moment, fresh fucking squeezed…

‡

“T
hat’s right, baby!”
Sean laughed. With two fingers placed between his lips, he whistled loudly before erupting into an avalanche of clapping while watching nine-year-old Jacob steal second base like the damn star that he was. The Manchester Monsters Little League Team was kicking butts and taking names thus far, and he was beyond thrilled to see all of his hard work paying off. The gig didn’t pay much, but he was rewarded in other ways—the kids were
finally
winning, and smiles stayed on their faces more times than not. He’d been called in after another abysmal season, begged to do his friend Anthony this big favor. The engagement would only last for one month and a half while the man went on some extended business trip. In exchange, he was given a meager weekly check, but he was having so much fun, it didn’t even matter. He took the job as temporary Assistant Coach, and after forcing the team to do rigorous outfield drills that the little guys moaned and groaned about, he saw a definite improvement.

He turned his back for a moment to stifle a yawn and caught the eye of a woman sitting on the metal bleachers, her shapely legs, clad in tight blue jeans, crossed, and an oversized light pink hoodie covering her chest. It didn’t hide her beauty regardless of the thing partially cloaking a portion of her dark, slightly wavy hair. An unmistakable flirtatious smirk lined her face as their eyes locked. He looked away, placing his attention back toward the field, yelling and screaming his borderline inappropriate urgings right along with the parents and opposing team. The score was 3 to zilch, with only a few minutes left in game. He tried to keep focused, but someone kept calling out to him, a voice like that of a hummingbird, and it simply wouldn’t cease.

“Coach Mahoney!”

He heard it a bit louder that time, and slowly turned his head in the direction of the voice, finding the source to be the dark-haired beauty wrapped in pink. Now standing on her feet, her hands framing her mouth in a makeshift megaphone, she gave it another go.

“I’m kinda in the middle of something right now,” he announced. He couldn’t believe it. What the hell was wrong with people? Couldn’t she wait to say whatever it was she had to say, dammit?

Yeah, she was hot, hotter than an egg frying in the middle of the desert. To add to that sweltering pot, the foxy vixen was just his type, but the rudeness she demonstrated left a bad taste in his mouth, much worse than the warm beer he’d left by the side of his bed that he’d guzzled earlier that morning. He’d downed it with a couple Tylenol due to laziness and lack of forethought. Regardless, it served its purpose.

Soon the game was over, and the sweaty boys gathered around him, their grimy faces covered in the grins that only winning could administer. He’d all but forgotten about the attractive woman until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, her shoulders slumped, now looking suddenly bashful. The sun had disappeared, leaving everyone under the kiss of an overcast haze. He peered up into the clouds, suspicious of rain, and could almost smell the shit in the air. He had a love hate relationship with rain. It ruined things, but made things grow, too. Parents made mad dashes to their children, surrounding them with hugs, praises and pointers of unsolicited advice for the next go round. It had been a good game, and a great day.

“I’m Lance’s mom.” She grinned a bit brighter, as if that news within itself should make his day.

“Lance? Oh yeah!” He chuckled. Lance preferred to be called by his nickname, ‘Tiger Blood’. The strawberry blond-haired boy hated his damn name so much that he’d balk and stomp about every time it was called. Once the other children got wind of his annoyance, of course they stuck it to him even harder, saying his name in a sing-song way over and over again. So, it was time for a change. This change revolved around the kid having the heart of a wild animal on the damn loose, a one-day furlough to wreak havoc. That was paired with a comment from Coach Davis a few weeks back when he’d made a joke that Lance had ‘Tiger Blood.’ The shit stuck and the boy liked it.
“Tiger Blood he is…”

“Yeah.” She laughed lightly, bringing him out of his remembrances as she cocked her head to the side, her shimmery blue eyes sparkling a bit brighter. “I just wanted to thank you for talking to him last week. He was kinda bummed out.”

“Oh, no problem.” Sean threw up his hand and shook his head. “He’s a really good kid…and he’s improved so much.”

She nodded in agreement, seemingly lost in thought. They both turned in the direction of the boy, who was huddled with two others as they gripped sopping wet bottles of purple Gatorade and tipped the things to their mouths in celebration.

“Um, sorry about interrupting you earlier. I was tryna talk to you before he came over, but—”

“It’s cool…”

“Thanks,” she offered a nervous laugh and rubbed her hands together, fingers painted in red polish. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda inquired about you.”

“Inquired about me?” His brows dipped a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I…I don’t follow what you mean by that.”

“I mean.” She glanced back over at Lance, then back toward him, her eyes narrowing just so. “Asked if you were married, single, you know…” Her lips curved slightly upward.

He warmed to the realization of what the hell was playing out, hooked his newfound understanding on a smirk as he looked back over at the small huddle of boys who were now approaching them.

“Ahhhh, I see.” He shot her a lazy glance.

“You’re not making this easy,” she said, chuckling lightly. “I was just wondering if—”

“Hey.” He put his hand up. “Let me say this super fast before he overhears.” He shot a look back over at the boys then back at her. “I think you’re
extremely
attractive, you might be real nice, too, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable going out with one of my player’s moms. I know I’m just a temp, but they’ve gotten to know me. It doesn’t seem right, ya know?” He winced, hating that he had to do it, especially as he surveyed her luscious lips…