“It’d make you one of the highest-paid players,” his dad pointed out.
“It would.”
“You don’t seem enthusiastic.”
He shrugged. “Brad is strongly encouraging me to take it.”
His dad nodded. “Of course he is. He could buy a castle with the commission he stands to make off the deal. And them grooming you to coach would give you a good transition from playing to retirement. You need to be prepared for the day you won’t be able to play football any longer.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“You need to do more than think, son,” his dad said gently. “My career ended before I’d wanted it to, and it was fate that had brought clarity, and Titania, to me.” He put his arm around her and she snuggled into his side. “I’m happy with how it turned out, but I would have preferred to make the decision for myself rather than have fate push me into it. Don’t let fate decide your future for you.”
“He’s too smart to let that happen,” his mum said with her usual fierce loyalty. Then she grinned. “Jamie got that from me too.”
His dad poked her in the side, which set her laughing.
Jamie smiled. He didn’t think of himself as smart, or wise, the way his teammates thought of him. Mostly it was just common sense, with some of the more useful things he’d learned from their sports psychiatrists over the almost decade and a half of playing football.
He didn’t discount how much his parents—especially his dad—had passed on to him. He wondered what Erik’s parents were like, that he was so clueless in social situations.
He chatted with his mum and dad a bit longer, and then decided to clear his head with a run. As he put his mobile into its armband holder, he checked to make sure Rachel hadn’t sent him another text. Nothing. Oddly disappointed, he started one of his favorite motivational podcasts and set out.
As he made his way to the path along the lake that he’d been taking, he tuned out the podcast and instead thought about Rachel’s word for Didier.Power. Didier had a quiet, confident sort of power, and it was always evident whenever he stepped into a room as well as onto the field. It was a good word for him.
And where had she gotten her wisdom? He had a feeling it was from Lottie. The closeness of her relationship with Lottie was apparent, as was their mutual respect.
Without consciously meaning to, he realized the route he took home led him by Rachel’s house. Slowing down, he checked the time. It was likely too early for Rachel to be home from work.
As he approached the house, he saw a woman in the front yard, kneeling by the flowers. His heart pounded, remembering Rachel kneeling there on Saturday, but he knew it wasn’t her by the silhouette. It was her grandmother.
Making an impulsive decision, he put his earbuds into the pocket of his shorts and headed to the front gate. “You look like you could use a hand.”
Lottie straightened, her hand going to her forehead to block the sun. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.”
He let himself into the gate and strode up the walkway, holding out a hand to help her to standing. “You don’t have a gardener to help you?”
“A gardener. Ha!” She lowered her chin, her eyes narrowed, as she wiped her hands on her pants. “I’m an old, retired secretary, not Queen Elizabeth. Besides, weeding is good for the soul.”
He raised his brow. “I’ve never weeded, but I’m a little skeptical.”
“Ha! Rachel was the same when she was a teenager. She never embraced gardening.” Lottie looked around her garden with a frown. “Come to think of it, I’m not overly fond of weeding either.”
“Why do you do it?”
“Because it’s better than not having anything to do. I can’t watch Netflix all day. At least, that’s what Rachel says.” She flashed a wry smile as she turned to walk up the steps to the house. “Come in and sit with me. We can talk.”
“You want to know my intentions with Rachel,” he surmised as he followed her inside.
She snorted as she closed the door behind them. “I already know your intentions. I’ve seen the way you look at Rachel.”
“And you want to warn me?” he asked carefully.
“Hardly.” She chortled, waving at him to go with her. “Especially when Rachel looks at you the same way. Come on.”
Intrigued, he followed her down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, he looked at the photos hanging on the walls. Most were of Rachel, but there were a couple older ones of Lottie and presumably her husband. “I don’t see any photos of Rachel’s parents,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen after her.
“They’ve lived in Arizona for a long time. Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair. “Lemonade or coffee?”