Calling the Shots

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He sat in the same chair he’d been in last night and she stayed where she was near the wall of photos. Snow slid off the roof overhead with a crunching grind and they both glanced up, but neither of them said anything.

The silence stretched.

Working as a consultant meant she joined existing companies or groups, recommended changes and facilitated shifts in products and systems. Most of the time, she came on the scene after a breach of data security when the company was already out time, money and reputation. She was used to being around people who were on edge and uncomfortable around her. She was also used to not caring how those people felt about her as long as they managed to work logically on the issues. She’d never experienced quite this level of strained silence before.

A small voice in her head murmured that maybe she was uncomfortable because Bryan was attractive, male and just plain took up space in a way most guys, especially the tech guys she was used to, couldn’t.

She cleared her throat and watched him, hoping he’d pick up on her signal that he should start talking.

It was bad enough she was going to be the only woman in this meeting with three old hockey pals, she didn’t care to fall into the traditional female role of small-talk facilitator.

Nothing.

He seemed perfectly capable of sustaining an uncomfortable silence for hours. Gender roles be damned, she was ready to break the silence herself, except how? Hey, Bryan, did you figure out why your child hates my child yet?

Where the hell was his wife? Weren’t meetings about the kids like this traditionally the wife’s job? Shouldn’t Allie’s mother at least have come with him? She thought she’d seen a woman driving the car when Allie got dropped off at practice last night. So where was she this morning? The tension might have been eased if there were another person here. Certainly she would find it easier not to fantasize about the man’s hair if his wife were sitting next to him.

Would his wife have made time for this if they were meeting at the police station instead of the hockey rink?

Enough.

Not only was she developing a case of baseless animosity toward the missing Mrs. James, she was dangerously close to being affronted on Bryan’s behalf.

“Your wife couldn’t make it this morning?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

Well, that had been spectacularly unsuccessful as far as conversation starters went. He hadn’t looked at her, was sitting with his chin down, studying his hands, a worried wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Is she working?” Clare tried again. So much for getting away from the topic of his wife. Why was her brain so uncooperative?

“Sleeping probably. She’s in California.” He twisted the silver ring he wore on his right hand. She realized then he didn’t have a ring on his left. Even before he continued, she started to recalculate.

If he wasn’t married…she sneaked a glance at his hair and then linked her hands behind her back. He was cute, but he was a dad whose daughter was bullying Tim. He wasn’t a man. Not to her.

“Actually,” Bryan said, “she’s on the road with Lush. The girl band? They have that song, ‘Little Me’?” He looked at her as if she might recognize the name but she didn’t. “Anyway, I never know exactly where she is. I can’t keep the schedule straight.”

“She’s in a band?” Clare was shocked enough to forget about his hair and her fingers. Bryan was over thirty, she was sure of it. How old was his wife? “I thought I saw a woman dropping Allie off.”

“Must have been my sister. She watches her when I’m out of town. My…Allie’s mom is on the crew. She does the hair.” He twirled his hand in the air near his ear as if his wife liked to create Princess Leia style ear buns for the band. He sounded angry. He paused and then asked, “Where’s Tim’s dad?”

Clare felt her cheeks heat up. She was sure the aggression in his tone was payback for her prying. She supposed she deserved it because she had been poking into his business, but the man couldn’t expect that he’d say his wife was on the road with a band and people wouldn’t want to know more.

“Tim’s dad lives in Italy. We don’t see much of him.”

Bryan studied her for a moment and she wondered how much emotion he could see in her face.

“Well,” Bryan finally said. “I guess it’s just the two of us then.” He crossed his arms on his chest, which did amazing things to his shoulders under the fine knit of his sweater. The combination of hard muscle and soft fabric was making her hands twitch again.

She turned her back to study the photos on the wall. She realized that, of course, the one right in front of her was Bryan. His name was printed on a piece of tape on the bottom of the picture. Once she knew it was him, she recognized the man in the boy.

He was about ten and he was facing the camera, hefting a trophy that looked as if it was made out of a traffic cone spray-painted gold. A bunch of grinning boys surrounded him with their fingers in the number-one sign, all of them soaked in sweat with their hair sticking up and ice caked on their hockey socks. Bryan was head and shoulders taller than most of the kids and he looked…well…he looked exactly how a ten-year-old hockey champion should. Cocky. Thrilled. Adorable.

Why couldn’t he have been a thug?

She scanned the wall and discovered there were quite a few photos of him at different ages. In most of them he was holding awards or trophies. Perfect. Tim had tangled with the daughter of Twin Falls hockey royalty.

She spotted a more formal one, from when he was in his late teens, probably his college team. His smile was just as cocky as it was in the first picture she’d seen, but this older version seemed to include not only joy, but a promise. A sinful promise. She wondered how many girls had fallen for his smile back then.

He hadn’t uncrossed his arms, but he was looking at her, must have been watching her. His eyes were so guarded, so different from the boy in the photos behind her. Had she hurt him by asking about what seemed to be a difficult family situation?

“I didn’t mean to pry about your wife,” she said. “I was trying to find something to say and that came out.”

“At least you didn’t ask who I voted for.” He sighed. “Forget it. I still wonder where she is half the time. But to be clear, she’s my ex.” He held up his ring-free left hand.

Clare nodded and held up her bare left hand. “I never had one in the first place.”

He started to smile but then stood up abruptly, the motion bringing him near her, startling her with his sudden closeness and the way the room seemed even smaller. The spots of color high on his cheekbones, probably from the heat of his recent shower, deepened. She stood her ground, looking up to him, and for a second neither of them moved. Then he spun, pacing the few feet toward the far wall, away from her.

“Listen, Clare. My kid is in big trouble because you accused her of bullying your son. I don’t intend to sit here and swap life stories.” He crossed his arms on his chest again. “No offense.”

Clare let out an impatient breath. No offense, my ass.

“I thought we were here to talk about mediation. Shouldn’t we set a good example?”

“I’m not planning to bully you,” Bryan said slowly and deliberately. “So as long as you’re not planning to bully me, I’d say we’re good.”

HE SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID that, Bryan conceded. He’d meant to keep quiet until Danny and John came back. Instead he sure had ticked Clare off. She had a wide mouth, with corners that turned up naturally, making her always seem as if she was on the verge of smiling. Except she wasn’t smiling at him after that remark. Her mouth had tightened to a thin line.

He was just so sick of people making him feel as though he didn’t know what he was doing. He was perfectly capable of making himself feel incompetent. And if he needed any reinforcement, he had his sister who’d chewed him out for being late to get Allie, at least half of Allie’s teachers who were concerned about her attitude and a whole mess of other people who never seemed to miss an opportunity to mention how Erin liked to run things. “Are you serious?” Clare asked, her brown eyes flashing. He’d noticed the night before that her pronunciation got sharper when she got mad, as if she were biting each word off individually.

“What did you expect?” he said.

“I expected that we’d meet here and try to work out this problem like civilized people.”

“Was that a crack about Allie?”

“What?”

“Civilized? She lost her temper. That doesn’t mean she’s not civilized.”

“Lost her temper?” Clare took a step toward him. “She slammed Tim’s head off the floor!”

“Well, since she hasn’t hit anybody else, I’m curious what Tim did to make her hit him.”

“What he did—”

The door opened and John and Danny came back into the office. “We’re ready,” John said. Danny looked worried as he glanced between them.

Clare’s mouth snapped shut. Bryan forced himself to lean back against the wall. God. He couldn’t believe they’d been shouting at each other. He hated that Clare saw Allie as a punk. He wanted to make her understand how wrong she was, but instead he kept making things worse.

John held up a stack of stapled paper. “We went over the league bylaws and the solution is legal. So, if the kids go to mediation and successfully complete the course, everything is settled. Allie keeps her spot on the team and we relax and enjoy the ride while the Twin Falls Cowboys take States.”

Bryan looked quickly to Clare, but she was studying John.

“And if they don’t?”

“Don’t?” John asked. “Don’t take States? I don’t see that happening considering that we have the new-generation James on the team.” He winked at Bryan. Clare saw it and her mouth tightened even more.

“I meant if they don’t agree to mediation,” she explained.

John put the rule book down on the desk and leaned over a folding chair, gripping the back in both hands. “Allie’s membership in the league would be deactivated.”

“She’d be kicked out?” She raised her eyebrows. “Just like that?”

John nodded. “We haven’t been able to find any wiggle room on that one.”

Bryan wanted to say something, but Danny beat him to it.