Playing For Keeps (7 page)

Jacelyn watched Kyle cross to them. He
grinned as he knelt down. “Hi, there. You like to be called Ty or
Tyler?”

Tyler nosed his face into Mike’s waist Mike
locked a hand at the boy’s neck. Jacelyn had a flash of Neil moving
away from Kyle when he was little and got clingy.

Tyler said, “I like it when my daddy calls me
Ty.”

Mike’s brows arched. “I didn’t know
that.”

Kyle said, “You want me to call you
that?”

“Kinda.”

“I hear you like board games.”

Tyler nodded.

“I dug out all my old ones.” Kyle glanced at
Jacelyn. “I’ve got lots from when I was little.”

Kyle’s manner was coaxing, tender. Again
Jacelyn had a memory of Neil rolling his eyes at Kyle’s
demonstrativeness. Later, when she’d mentioned it, he’d barked at
her that he wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

“Kyle plays the piano, Ty.”

The little boy’s eyes widened. “I like the
piano.”

“So your dad said. I’ll play for you if you
want.” Standing, Kyle held out his hand. “Come inside to the living
room with me.” Tyler edged closer to Mike. For several seconds, he
stared at Kyle’s hand, then grasped it. The two headed into the
house.

“That’s right nice,” Mike said.

“Yes, it is. I’ve never seen Kyle in that
role. As the adult in a situation.”

“He’s going to be good with Tyler.” Mike
shrugged. “Ty, I guess.”

“I’m sure they’ll get along. I hope this job
is good for him. He gave up an important music seminar to do
it.”

“Well, he’ll be back in school before you
know it.”

Jacelyn nodded.

Casually, Mike dropped down into a chair
across from her. “How’s the foot?”

“Okay.”

“Still keepin’ it raised?”

“I overdid it yesterday. It was sore again
today.”

“Ah, cardinal rule of sports. Don’t go back
into play when you’re injured.”

“Oh, really? I hear stories all the time of
athletes playing with broken hands and sprained ankles.”

“That’s nuts. I’d kill one of my guys if he
did that.”

Jacelyn realized she knew very little about
the world of professional athletes. “You never did it?”

“I—” The full rich tones of the piano drifted
out from the house. Mike halted in midsentence and his mouth
dropped. After the song, “Claire de Lune,” finished, he said, “I’m
speechless. I...that was indescribable.”

His compliment of her son made her like him
more. “Kyle’s gifted.”

“That’s an understatement.”

A children’s song came next. Then the William
Tell Overture. Jacelyn never tired of hearing her son play, so she
sat back and let his music wash over her. But Mike’s reaction was
distracting. He clearly was in awe.

When the impromptu concert was over, the two
boys came back out.

“He’s really good, Daddy,” Tyler said.

Mike addressed Kyle. “You knocked the wind
out of me, Kyle. I felt like I’d been tackled.”

Her son blushed. “Thanks.” He looked down at
Tyler. “Want to play one of those games now?”

Tyler looked up at his father. “Can I?”

Glancing at his watch, Mike hesitated. “Well,
it’s near five. We don’t wanna spoil their supper hour.”

“Stay and eat with us,” Kyle suggested. “I’m
cooking. It’s okay, isn’t it Mom?”

“As you said, you’re cooking.” She smiled and
nodded to her foot. “I have one more day of loafing.”

“What are you making?” Tyler asked.

“Chicken crepes.”

“What are they?”

“Your dad says you like fancy food. You’ll
love them. Come on, you can help.” Kyle caught Mike’s attention. “I
can throw a burger on the grill for you, Coach, if you want.”

Mike smiled. “No, I think I can handle some
of them crepes.”

Kyle and Tyler headed for the kitchen.
Jacelyn heard Kyle say, “This is fun.”

It was. They had a nice meal at the umbrella
table outside. It was only six and the sun hadn’t set yet; the air
was warm but a mild breeze drifted around them.

Tyler really loosened up and talked. Jacelyn
learned he’d lived in Cincinnati with his mother and had just moved
here to be with Mike. Though they were different, Tyler clearly
idolized his father. He latched onto Mike’s every word and
gravitated toward him physically. And Mike never missed an
opportunity to cuddle him close.

The men cleaned up as Jacelyn limped back to
her chaise. When they were done, Mike suggested they toss a
football in the yard. Jacelyn watched the three of them with
undisguised interest, until she noticed Tyler lagging.

“Hey, Ty, want to play Perquacky with
me?”

The child left the two guys and ran over.
“Yes, ma’am.”

So, as Kyle’s grunts and the low cadence of
Mike’s comments surrounded them, Jacelyn set up the board and
played with Tyler. It was pleasant—until a booming voice came from
the left. “Kyle Worthington, what the
hell
do you think
you’re doing?”

Jacelyn turned to the fence to see her
ex-husband, red-faced and stiff, poised at the entrance to the
yard.

o0o

His father always blindsided him, so Kyle
shouldn’t have been surprised. As he watched Dr. Neil Worthington,
eminent professor of musicology at Ithaca College, come through the
back gate, he remembered some of the other times his father had cut
him off at the knees....

I’ve enrolled you in that summer music
program on Canandaigua Lake; you’re old enough to be away from home
for six weeks.
He had been eight.

I’ve changed my mind about letting you go
camping
with Millie Smith and her boys. They’ll be
canoeing and waterskiing. I don’t want you to get hurt.
He had
been ten.

And then, when he was eleven, the big
bombshell...
I’m moving out, Kyle. When you’re older, you’ll
understand.

Now, in the bright sunshine, his father
approached him—his gait confident, his slight frame covered in
expensive-looking dress slacks and a beige polo shirt. Kyle glanced
at Coach Kingston, who stood stone-faced and still, waiting—Kyle
guessed—to see what would happen. From the corner of his eye, he
saw his mother awkwardly trying to get out of the chaise where
she’d been playing with Tyler.

“I asked you a question, young man.”

Kyle shrugged. “Just tossing around a ball,
Dad.”

Jamming his hands on his hips, his father
straightened to his full height of five foot eight. Kyle had been
taller than him for a long time. “Just tossing around a ball. Do
you have any idea what that
thing
can do to a musician’s
fingers?”

“We were taking it easy.”

His father’s face flushed. It used to scare
the hell out of Kyle when that happened. Tonight, it irritated
him.

“Hey, man, no big deal. Nobody got hurt.”
Coach Kingston had come to stand beside Kyle.

His father’s gaze was heated. “Who are
you?”

Coach held out his hand. “Mike Kingston.”

Neil studied Coach. He didn’t offer his own
hand. “Kingston? Why does that name sound familiar?”

“You follow football?”

The look on his father’s face would have been
funny if he wasn’t about to insult Coach. His light complexion
reddened even more. “Football? You’re joking, right?”

“Guess you don’t follow the game. I played
for the Buckland Bulls and now I’m a coach.”

“Ah, I get it. You’re part of that public
relations nightmare at Beckett and that ridiculous Sports Studies
program they just instituted.”

Kyle’s mother joined them. “That’s enough,
Neil. You’re insulting our guest.”

His dad turned to face her. Immediately Kyle
moved to her side, paltry armor against his father’s wrath.

“And where the hell have you been during all
this?” Neil swept the backyard with his hand. “Isn’t it bad enough
that your son is working for that team instead of attending
Hochstein’s music seminar? Paul Hadley’s very disappointed. His
phone call today is why I drove a hundred miles to find out what
the hell’s happening up here.”

“Dad, I went to the seminar you told me to
take in summer school. But I didn’t want to be in classrooms all
through August.”

His mother’s gaze narrowed on his father.
“Kyle e-mailed you about that.”

“I’ve been skimming my e-mails for vital
information. I’m putting together mat Labor Day Music Festival at
the college and have been up to my ears in arrangements.”

Translation:
I
didn’t have time
to read my own kid’s e-mails.

So what else was new? Still, the old familiar
hurt welled up inside Kyle, threatening to drown him. For a minute,
he couldn’t breathe.

His mother was staring at him. She knew how
much the notion hurt. Now she’d try to work his father, get him to
qualify his words so the neglect wouldn’t seem so big. He glanced
at Coach, whose expression told Kyle that he’d caught on, too.

A little blur raced up to them. “Daddy, why
is that man mad?”

Distracted, Neil Worthington peered down at
Tyler. “Who is that?”

“My son.”

Maybe it was because Coach grasped Tyler
around the shoulders in a way Kyle’s father had never once touched
him in his whole life, but something spurred Kyle to say, “I’m
watching Tyler for the rest of the summer. That’s my job with the
team.”

Fury flashed in his father’s eyes. He
directed it at Kyle’s mother. “You allowed this? What’s wrong with
you? First, you let the sports program into your department. Now
you let your son associate with the players. At the expense of his
music.”

“Dad, don’t—”

His mother held up her hand. “No, Kyle, allow
me.” She straightened to her full height, though in the casual
summer outfit, barefoot and with her hair up, she looked more like
a student than a mom. “First, I opposed implementing a Sports
Studies program at Beckett and you know it. Second, Kyle needs some
downtime. His taking care of Tyler is fine with me. Third, you
should apologize to the Kingstons for your rudeness. And last,
don’t you
ever
storm into my house and yell at Kyle or me
again. I won’t allow you to treat my son or me with such
disrespect.”

“He’s my son, too.”

That really sucked, so Kyle let go of his
temper. “Yeah, Dad, you can start acting like a father any day
now.” Kyle looked down at Tyler. “Come on, Ty, I want to show you
this video game I got.” He started to the house, holding Tyler’s
hand.

From behind him he heard Neil Worthington’s
perpetually stern voice. “Now wait just a minute, young man.”

But Kyle didn’t wait He kept going to the
house. Mostly because he didn’t want to start blubbering in front
of Coach and his mom. But also because he was afraid that in order
to really blister his dad, he’d blurt out something he’d been
thinking about since the spring semester and hadn’t found the nerve
to discuss with his mom yet. And since that decision would hurt his
mother as much as his father, Kyle left the backyard.

The newspapers had been filled with stories
of the Buckland Bulls’ arrival in Rockford for their first summer
training camp at Beckett College. Everybody on campus seemed to be
reading about them.

“Listen to this one.” Craig Anderson, a
business teacher who’d lost a course for the following semester,
held up Rockford’s paper, the
Democrat and Chronicle.
“It’s by a veteran player about the
hardships
of moving
the camp to a new location.” His glasses riding low on his nose,
Craig looked at his colleagues scattered around the room. “They
have to be kidding, right?”

Jacelyn sat at a table, pretending to make
notes in her iPad. She remembered showing the instrument to Tyler,
and he’d been fascinated by it. Kyle had brought Ty home a couple
of times when Jacelyn had been there. She was always happy to see
the somber little boy.

Millie, who taught psychology, was openly
watching the show.

“Read the article aloud.” Hal was obviously
amused by all this. “Then I’ll tell you about this one.” He held up
a piece that he’d cut out and apparently planned to pin up to the
bulletin board, near where he stood.

Craig read, “All the familiarity—where’s the
ice machine, how far is it to walk to the playing fields, the route
to the closest grocery story—is gone. It’s going to take three or
four years to learn the new setting. And nobody can help. In years
past, the old guys told the new guys where to go, what to do. Not
only do the players have to deal with the usual pain and anguish of
not having any privacy, now they have no familiar escape routes to
get away from the fans.” Craig rolled his eyes and finished, “I
just hope it doesn’t affect the season.”

“Poor guys.” This from Millie, which
surprised Jacelyn. She was a kind, sensitive woman who rarely put
anybody down.

Craig rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. If you were pulled
out of your comfort zone for a month, Craig, you’d be nervous about
it.”

“They’re in their comfort zone, Millie.
They’re playing football here.”

She shook her head, but before she could say
more, Hal interrupted. “My turn. This is from a player who thinks
he’s going to like it at Beckett. ‘The weight room’s a lot better
than Fairview, where we had the camp before, and they say the food
is going to be great.’“ Hal skimmed down. “And listen to this. He
says, they ‘watch the soap operas. Most of the guys do, even if
they don’t admit it. Victor Newhouse on
The Young and the
Reckless
is an icon.’“

Breaking her silence because she was so
surprised, Jacelyn asked, “Do you think they really watch the
soaps?”

Hal laughed aloud. “Do you think they really
know the meaning of the word
icon?”

“It’s an emblem or symbol of something good.
In this case, Victor stands for the best of actors.” Mike Kingston
filled the doorway, wearing a rolled-up-at-the-sleeves
blue-and-black checked shirt and a scowl on his face. His hands
were tucked into the back pockets of black jeans.