The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(4)

“A while,” she muttered. “Listen . . . we’re fine here. You can go.”

“No.” I cracked my neck.

“Cal!” Nellie winced at her own volume.

Elias dropped his pen.

“Sorry, buddy.” She gave him a soft smile and picked up a red Sharpie. “How about red?”

“Yeah.” He took it and went to town on his piece of paper.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, like she was trying to suck patience from the air. “Go. Away. Cal. The cursing and pacing and snapping and cracking of your neck. I don’t want Elias to see me strangle you today. Just go away.”

“No, thanks, sugar.”

“Don’t call me sugar.”

I planted my hands on the island. “Seriously, what’s taking so long?”

“It’s only been three hours. It’s going to take a while.”

“Like how long?”

“I don’t know.” She tossed up her hands. “Kerrigan could be in labor for hours. And even then, they’ll keep her and the baby at the hospital overnight. So would you chill? Once they get settled, Pierce will call us.”

“Fine,” I mumbled, walking to the kitchen window. My thumb and middle finger touched, ready to snap, but I stopped myself as Nellie cleared her throat.

“Should we take a break from coloring?” she asked Elias. “We could go play outside.”

“Yay!” He catapulted off the stool, stumbling as he landed, but he recovered quickly and beat it out of the kitchen.

I hurried to follow as he streaked into the living room.

Nellie rushed to catch him too, and as we both passed through the arched opening, her arm brushed mine.

My feet stopped instantly as sparks shot up my arm. Touching Nellie was as dangerous as catching a live grenade.

She’d felt that electric jolt too. Sometimes it made her melt. Others, like today, it earned me a snarl. “Why are you here?”

“In your house? Or Calamity?”

“Both.” She navigated the maze of boxes, making it to the door just as Elias tugged it open. Then she whisked him outside and left me behind.

Why was I here?

Because I didn’t have any other place to go.

Maybe I could have pushed for a few more years in the league, but my contract with Tennessee had expired. I’d helped win them two Super Bowl championships but the general manager had wanted someone younger. Someone cheaper.

Instead of renewing my 39-million-dollar-per-year contract, the second highest in the league, they’d let me walk. Their first-round draft pick was a hotshot quarterback from Michigan.

I could have gone to another team, but another team meant new coaches, new players and new bullshit. More press and more politics for less pay. My agent had warned me that no GM would likely match my former contract given my age, even if my name was Cal Stark.

At thirty-three, I still had years of play left in my bones. I loved football. But I was just so damn tired of the bullshit.

I had enough money to last ten lifetimes, and though I already missed the game, it had been time to walk away. And Calamity sounded like a decent place to start fresh.

“Unka Cal!” Elias waved as I stepped outside. “Watch me.”

“I’m watching, bud.”

He furrowed his brows and raced across Nellie’s lawn, his legs pumping as fast as he could muster.

I jogged to catch him, sweeping him up and tossing him in the air. “When did you get so fast?”

His giggle was the reason I was here. I loved this kid. I was his Unka Cal. Elias, Pierce and Kerrigan were family.

Mom was in Denver, living in the same house with the same, ruthless bastard. Until she divorced Dad, there would always be tension between us. An unspoken choice—him or me. She always picked him. So I always picked me.

And if I was giving up football, I might as well live close to my best friend. He was the only person who didn’t expect anything from me.

Not a performance. Not a handout. Not an attitude.

“Nellieeeee.” Elias squirmed to be set down. “I’m hungwee.”

“Okay, let’s get a snack.” She held out a hand, taking his, and retreated into her red brick house.

“So much for outside playtime,” I muttered.

The last place I wanted to be was inside. There wasn’t enough space to put between Nellie and me within those walls. Distance was the key to our survival.

But I followed them through the door anyway, catching the scent of her perfume. Oranges and orchids clung to the air. Habit made me draw it in and hold it. Necessity made me blow it out. On my exhale, I marched to the nearest window. “It’s stuffy in here. I’m opening this.”

“Fine.” She dismissed me with a flick of her wrist, taking Elias to the kitchen.

In nearly two decades, we’d perfected our hate-hate relationship. The reasons for our mutual disdain were as plentiful as the dust particles floating in the air, catching the afternoon glow.

Birds chirped from the oak tree beside Nellie’s single-car garage. A breeze blew in the smell of fresh-cut grass and summer sunshine. That scent reminded me of Nellie too. Of memories tainted by angry words and betrayal.

Her voice carried from the kitchen where she bustled around, opening the fridge and cupboard doors. “Do you want crackers? Or a banana?”