“You’re staying late again tonight, Mr. Rockwell?” Vonda asked. She pressed her glasses back up on her nose. They slipped this time of day. Er, night. “Because you could just blow it off and go out with my niece. She won’t care that you have a police record, so long as you also have your bar card.”
Her niece liked lawyers. The Lawyer Hunter, everyone in the office secretly called her. But Dane wasn’t interested in being prey. Eventually Brooke would break radio silence, and when she did…if she did…
“Too much work to do on Ballard v. Insura-Care. Those class-action suits aren’t going to sue themselves.” He sounded stupid, possibly because he’d already been here for fourteen hours. “You go on, though. Have a nice Friday night.”
The stack of files on his desk mocked him, with the to-be-read side at least five times as tall as the already-read side. He might as well stay clocked in here at Tweed Law for the duration. Was there enough caffeine for him to slide through until Monday quitting time? Because that’s what this caseload looked like.
“I’m serious, Mr. Rockwell. You may look young and handsome and invincible, and you might be raking in the fees for Mr. Tweed, but I’ve seen burnout. I know the signs.” Vonda picked up her jacket. This spring wasn’t nearly as warm as last year’s. “What I’m saying is be gentle with yourself. Get an outside interest. It’ll prolong your lifespan here.”
She tugged a protein bar from her purse and left it on his desk as she shuffled out.
Chuh. An outside interest. Check how well that worked out for him a year ago, speaking of springtime weather.
An hour later and only three files down the stack, Dane’s phone calendar alarm sounded. Saturday, First Pitch, noon. Maddox Little League coach/team selection. Contact info even followed.
How did that even get on his phone? He didn’t remember adding it. Maybe it was left from last year as a repeating event.
Not that he had any interest in repeating events of last year. Except, naturally, the serious kiss with Brooke Chadwick in that church. He’d like a repeat of that every single day, and twice on Sunday.
If she’d ever lift her ban on him. Not that it was necessarily stopping him— he’d been under stifling pressure at work ever since starting at Tweed Law— but out of respect, he’d been keeping his distance. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed, except when he’d skipped Quirt’s wedding. Of course, he’d had an excuse for that— it had fallen smack dab in the middle of a huge insurance trial. Winning that case hadn’t felt like much of a victory compared to sacrificing the chance to see Brooke.
Saturday, First Pitch, Noon. It sounded a second time. Big Brother had infiltrated his life via his phone.
He tugged at the next manila folder, Discovery: Insurance Clauses. It was far too late at night for insurance clauses. His head pounded. The little flame in him that usually burned in a bright pattern of “fees for the bosses” and “make partner by next year” flickered and dimmed.
Maybe Vonda was right. Maybe he did need to get some balance back into his life.
Exercise didn’t count. He was already doing that, and it wasn’t enough. Maybe he could wedge church into his life again. That’d be a start. But he didn’t know any good churches around here. Besides, in a way that was doing more stuff for himself. Spiritual health, all that.
He asked himself his fallback question: What would Matthew Chadwick do?
Duh, Matthew Chadwick would find some poor, potentially delinquent kid on his little league team and keep him from falling into the error of his parents’ ways, that’s what.
Yeah, Dane wasn’t exactly in a position to mentor. He barely had his own legs under him. How could he steady some kid? And hello, he didn’t even know any kids. Kids didn’t sue their insurance companies and come to talk to lawyers.
My, how small his sphere had shrunk.
Yeah, Dane couldn’t imagine Matthew Chadwick would’ve approved of that, either.
He dissected sixteen pages of clauses, and then his phone chimed midnight.
He checked it: Today’s tasks. First Pitch, noon. Maddox Little League coach/team selection. Criminy. He’d shut that off…
But as he lifted his phone to delete it, a voice in his head whispered, Matthew Chadwick would coach little league.
Just like his daughter is doing.
Brooke. Brooke coached.
The idea sat in his head, like a seed, a popcorn kernel.
Two file folders later, the kernel popped.
He checked the contact information and sent a message.
Happy to be an assistant coach if you still need one.
“Especially if you need one for Brooke Chadwick’s team,” he muttered but didn’t type into the message. Sure, she hadn’t officially given him notice that he could come around again— hadn’t told him otherwise, so it was risky. But this was community service. Running into Brooke wasn’t guaranteed— but if it happened organically, what could she say?
The answer shot back almost immediately, and he could smell the panic coming off the coach assignment organizer’s midnight message:
Thank you! We just had three coaches quit tonight, for sudden employment relocation. Your message was a godsend. You’ll have your own team. Come at three, please.
His own team. So…
Practice every afternoon.
Games every Saturday.
Commuting to Maddox from Naughton. Not that far. Fifteen minutes on a good day. More on a bad.
Late nights in Tweed Law to make up for lost time, but yeah. Talk about a sudden dose of balance.
And a possible dose of Brooke Chadwick.