Page 34 of All This Time (Blossom Peak #1)

Fletcher

Job Offers and a Meatball Sub Full of Honesty

I finish the last set of push-ups and then fall to the floor, waiting for the burn in my arms to subside. There’s not much room to work out in this cabin, but I’ve been managing with the limited space.

Before I can fully recover, my phone rings on the coffee table next to me.

It’s Thursday morning, but as far as I can remember, I don’t have anything going on.

Last night at Laney’s we finalized the details of the bachelor party, and then I pinned her up against her front door, stripped her shorts off, and made her come on my tongue again.

Fuck, I’m getting hard just from the memory.

Welcoming a distraction, I pick up my phone but hesitate when I don’t recognize the number. The area code is from Blossom Peak though, so I answer more out of curiosity than anything.

“Hello?”

“Is this Fletcher?” A deep voice comes through the line, one that sounds familiar, but I can’t place exactly.

“Who is this?”

“This is Principal Hastings,” the man says. “But you probably remember me as Mr. Hastings, the history teacher.”

I sit up from my spot on the floor. “No kidding. You’re the principal now at the high school?”

When his laugh hits my ears, I’m brought back to the years I spent in his classroom, listening to the same sound as he cracked jokes, making history as entertaining as it could be. “I am. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

Pushing a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, I sigh. “It’s hard to keep up with everything in Blossom Peak these days,” I say, thinking back to Laney’s revelation last night.

She finished her degree, just like she planned before her mom died, and I hate that I didn’t know that—that I wasn’t one of the people who got to cheer her on in that pursuit.

“I can imagine,” Mr. Hastings says, pulling me back to the conversation. “I’m sure your life is exceptionally busy, but I heard you’re in town. Is that correct?”

“I am.”

“Well, I know this is short notice, but I was wondering if you’d have time to come down to the school and speak with me while you’re here?”

I mentally debate what on earth he could want to talk about. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

“I’d rather talk more in person.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I notice it’s just after nine. “Today is the only day I would have time.”

“Today would be perfect if that works for you. I’m at the school right now. Summer isn’t really time off for the principal, you know?” He laughs.

“Can I meet you there in an hour?”

“Perfect. Just call when you arrive so I can let you in.”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks, Fletcher. See ya soon.”

After I shower and change my clothes, I stop by Bites & Bliss Bakery for a breakfast sandwich and coffee before making the drive over to the high school. Even though I drove by here last week, I haven’t stepped foot on the campus since graduation.

As I lock up my truck and start walking toward the main building, the football field taunts me on my left.

The smell of the freshly cut grass mixed with the humidity in the air brings back long practices during the same weather.

The bleachers are empty, but I can still hear those hometown crowds cheering when I’d scored a touchdown.

And the same scoreboard stands at the far end of the field, one that I looked up at so many times I lost count.

But that field holds some not-so-great memories as well, memories that I shove down with expert precision each time they try to crawl their way to the surface.

Mr. Hastings opens the front door to the main building as I approach.

“Fletcher Adams…Blossom Peak’s own bona fide celebrity.” I step through the door and wait for him to lock it behind me.

“I’m still a regular guy.”

As I follow him down the same halls I once walked through as a student, eerie familiarity creeps up my limbs. When we arrive at the principal’s office—the same one Principal Bell had back when I went to school here—we both take a seat in our respective chairs across from each other at his desk.

“So, how can I help you, Mr.—” I stop myself. “Principal Hastings.”

He acknowledges my correction with a nod. “Well, I’ve been watching your career, as you can imagine.”

“I appreciate the support. Thank you.” Lacing my hands together, I rest them in my lap.

“Of course. So how much longer do you think you have left in the game?”

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked this question recently, I could probably retire a year early.

The truth is, when it comes to the NFL, I’m getting toward the age where I’m practically considered ancient. Ten years in the league is a long time, but very long for a wide receiver, with an average career length of just under three years.

“Taking it season by season at this point, sir.”

He nods. “Have you thought about what you might do when you’re ready to hang up the cleats?”

“A little bit, but I’m just not done yet. Why? What’s up?” My nerves are humming under my skin right now.

“Well, I was wondering if you’ve thought about coaching,” he says, clearing his throat as he shifts in his seat.

“Oh. Well, uh…” I rub the back of my neck. “I honestly don’t know.” But then something dawns on me. “Wait. My dad is the coach. Are you saying…”

“Think of what a full circle moment it would be to have the two of you coaching together, or you even taking over for him one day. I mean, Blossom Peak having two back-to-back NFL stars as coaches would be pretty spectacular.”

Nausea swirls in my gut over the idea of working alongside my dad. I mean, it was bad enough being his player and son. But trying to be his colleague? Expecting him to respect me as an equal? I think pigs would fly before that would happen.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, Principal Hastings, but…”

He holds his palm out toward me, cutting me off. “Just think about it, okay? There’s been a few…complaints,” he says with an arch of his brow, “about the coaching staff and I’m just trying to be proactive and look out for the program.”

“Complaints?”

He nods but says nothing more.

Is he alluding to my father? Has he put his hands on another kid? If so, I’d beat the shit out of him myself, consequences be damned.

Luckily, his cell phone rings on his desk before I can spiral too far. “Uh, I’m sorry, Fletcher, but I need to take this.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Standing from my chair, I reach out to shake his hand. “Thanks for the offer.”

“It would be an honor to have you. Keep me in the loop on your career decisions, will ya?”

“Sure thing.”

But as I head back out to my truck and glance at the football field once more, this uncertainty builds in my chest.

I know I want Laney. That much has become clear to me since I returned.

But do I want Blossom Peak too?

Her life is here, and mine…isn’t.

My job, my house, my other friends and teammates—they’re all in Charlotte. But once my career is over, does that mean I’ll leave Charlotte too?

Could I see a life back here with Laney?

But that would mean a life with my dad in it again too.

***

“At least some things haven’t changed around here,” I say as I lift my meatball sub to my mouth and take another bite.

The Happy Belly Deli is a staple in Blossom Peak, and when Rhonan called to see if I wanted to grab lunch with him, he didn’t even have to finish his thought when he mentioned sandwiches.

“Trust me, the locals would riot if Riley changed anything.” Rhonan says, taking a sip from his drink.

“The seasonal menu is new though.”

“Yeah, and he’s had some winners on there too. But nothing beats the meatball sub.”

Homemade meatballs and sauce, with thick slices of provolone cheese melted to bubbly perfection on toasted garlic, parmesan, and rosemary bread—this meatball sub would even make Joey from Friends weep with happiness.

“Agreed.” I take another bite, savoring this meal because I’m not sure when I’ll have it next, and I’m starving after signing autographs and taking pictures for a while after we first arrived.

For a moment, I debate bringing up the meeting with Principal Hastings, but decide against it. I don’t want to cause rumors or false hope when I don’t even know how I feel about his offer just yet. “So, how’s bike riding with no training wheels going?”

Rhonan flashes me a deadpan gaze mid-chew. “I didn’t realize there were multiple versions of hell until I became a parent.”

My chest shakes with laughter. “Aw, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

“All I know is that my daughter’s stubbornness will either be her greatest strength, or her doom. I thought maybe since it was her idea, she’d be more proactive about it, but she won’t even touch her bike after this past Sunday when Laney and my dad were over.”

“Laney was the one that told me about the whole ordeal.”

Rhonan shrugs. “I figured. Speaking of my sister, how is she handling everything?”

Oh, she’s thriving. Your sister seems to be very fond of the orgasms I’ve been giving her.

“It doesn’t seem to be fazing her at all,” I reply instead, knowing he’s referring to the wedding planning. “And by the way, she wasn’t too pleased with you and Henley telling me about Spencer.”

“She can be mad all she wants, but someone has to look out for her.”

“I agree. She seems to always be doing things for other people, but not herself.”

“She takes after my mom in that regard.” Rhonan lets out a sigh, dropping his eyes to the table. “Fuck.”

“What’s up?”

He shakes his head, clearly debating what to say as he glances to either side of us and then lowers his voice. “I don’t mean to be a downer, but sometimes I just feel like Laney and I are so fucked up from losing our mom that our lives will never be normal.”

My brow furrows. “That’s a strong statement…”

Sighing, he picks up his drink. “You know how when we were kids, and every cut or scrape left a scar? Visible proof that something hurt.”

“Yeah…”