“HERE’S YOUR MICROPHONE.” A woman handed a wireless mic to Chase. Her gray-tinged brown hair poked out around her headset as if she’d stuck her finger, not the headpiece into an electrical outlet. Her frazzled voice matched her erratic hand motions. “The teleprompter is there.”
Chase clasped his hands behind his back and eyed the wireless microphone like a writhing snake. Beside him, Wesley gaped at the harried woman. Wesley and Chase had only just arrived at the Pioneers’ weeklong Spring Break Camp for Kids. They’d returned late from Tahoe, but not late enough to miss Travis’s reminder that Chase had committed to helping at the camp. Nichole had scheduled vendor meetings that morning, and conveniently Wesley declared he wasn’t allowed to remain home alone. Chase had offered to bring Wesley with him, grateful for the company. Nichole hadn’t been as pleased, but she’d finally agreed.
Chase kept his expression contained, not wanting to rattle the headset-wearing woman any further. “I think you have the wrong person.”
“You are Chase Jacobs, correct?” The woman rapped a metal clipboard against her leg.
Chase nodded, his chin dipping by gradual degrees.
The same hesitation never seized Wesley. The boy planted his hands on his hips and even widened his stance as if he’d suddenly signed on as Chase’s bodyguard. “Of course, he’s Chase Jacobs and my new dad.”
Dad. Chase stuttered, lost his focus. There it was again. That one word that shuffled his insides and rearranged his equilibrium.
“Then he’s the emcee for the morning sessions all week.” The woman clutched her clipboard under her arm and thrust the microphone at Chase’s chest. “Travis Shaw volunteered you.”
This was not the kind of help Chase had planned to offer. He gripped the microphone but missed the tackle on his sudden panic. “When do we start?”
“Fifteen minutes we go live for the welcome.” The woman already moved on to the next item on her clipboard. “Then you head to the field to cover the day’s activities.”
“Any chance I could share the duties with Wesley?” Chase set his hand on Wesley’s shoulder. He slowed his words into calm and collected to cover his unease. “It’s a kids’ event. So, getting a kid’s perspective on the morning might be entertaining.”
“We need waivers and release forms signed by a parent or guardian then approval from legal.” She gave Wesley an absent glance. “I can get those forms to you. We could possibly work your son in for a short guest spot late this week.”
His son. Those two words slammed everything into another level. Dad and son. He’d always wanted that bond. Wesley was so much more than just a kid. They’d built zombie snowmen, rescued kittens, discovered an easy rapport. Laughed and bonded like a team. Dad and son. Chase coughed. A guest spot for Wesley did nothing for Chase now. Nothing. Chase’s sweaty palm captured the microphone.
“But can I stay with my dad?” Wesley asked. “I promise I won’t go on camera.”
“Sure.” The woman stilled long enough to touch Wesley’s shoulder and motioned to someone behind them. “I’ll get you a headset and you can watch on the camera and listen in.”
“Cool.” Wesley grinned as if delighted with his role on the team.
“Wait here.” The woman rushed across the makeshift studio that had been built near the visitors’ end zone.
Chase wanted to run into the locker room. Wesley couldn’t help Chase read the teleprompter. Or read the teleprompter for him. He faced a disaster. He should’ve worn glasses off the field for the past few seasons. Added glasses to every press appearance. Then he could’ve claimed he’d forgotten his glasses and couldn’t possibly emcee. Chase touched his forehead.
“You okay?” Wesley’s hand dropped on Chase’s arm. “You look sweaty and weird.”
Chase walked into an empty corner and leaned toward Wesley. His voice hushed. “I don’t like speaking on microphones.”
“But you do it all the time after games.” Wesley’s gaze narrowed on Chase’s forehead. “Are you sick? My head gets wet when I get sick too.”
Could he claim a sudden attack of food poisoning? Clutch his stomach and rush to the restroom. Tempting, but cowardly. Nonna and his mother hadn’t taught him to retreat like a quitter. He refused to teach the same lesson to Wesley. “I’m not sick. But remember when I said your mom tutored me?”
Wesley nodded and edged closer as if he understood the gravity of the situation from Chase’s subdued manner alone.
“Well, your mom helped me read,” Chase confessed. Tossing his weakness into the space between them like a coach’s challenge flag. Except Wesley never picked up the flag. Never paused to demand a replay. Chase added, “I mix up the letters and get words wrong a lot.”
Wesley brushed his bangs off his forehead and looked at Chase. Understanding shifted across his face. “Ella uses braille to read because her eyes don’t work like mine. Mom is like your braille.”
Nichole was more like his best half. If he wanted another half. Needed another half. Teleprompter panic had jumbled more than his focus.
Wesley stuffed his hands in his front sweatshirt pocket. Worry pinched his face. “How are you going to read that screen now without Mom?”
He appreciated smart kids; even more, he adored Wesley in this moment. Though he knew the boy would eventually think less of him for his weakness. How could he not—Chase’s own father had. Chase shrugged. “I have no idea. Got any good ones?”
Wesley straightened his shoulders as if pleased he could assist Chase. “I can read for you.”
Great minds. Chase had already tried that option. “Except you can’t go on camera.”
Wesley’s concentration was clear. “We could put one of those little microphones in your ear. I could sit over here and read the lines to you. Like the spies do in the movies.”
If only he had an earpiece, Chase would channel every spy-action hero he’d ever watched on the big screen. “We don’t have the right equipment.”
Wesley nodded and stepped right into Chase’s side. He tugged Chase down to whisper into his ear. “Then you have to distract them.”
Chase leaned back and eyed Wesley. “What do you mean?”
“Mom always says I’m distracting her when I get in trouble.” Wesley ground his shoe into the turf.
Chase understood distractions. Nichole was one all by herself.
“One time I broke a window on the porch.” Wesley’s hands dropped out of his pockets as he stepped into his story. “So, I made Mom coffee and her favorite sandwich. It’s pickles and peanut butter by the way.” He made a gagging motion before continuing. “I did all that before she got home. Then I hugged her and hugged her and hugged her when she came inside the house. Then kept on hugging her when she finally saw the window.”
“And...” Chase pressed. He’d gotten stuck on the image of hugging Nichole. How much he liked being in her embrace. How much he would’ve liked her here now with them.
“And she was really mad.” Wesley clutched both Chase’s shoulders, moved their faces together until their noses almost touched and grinned. “But she wasn’t really really mad because I distracted her first. Get it?”
Chase nodded.
No. No, you don’t want to do this. Nichole’s insistent voice slipped through Chase as if she stood right beside them. How many times had she tried to dissuade him from some idea or another? How many times had he disregarded her advice?
Wesley squeezed Chase’s shoulders as if he were pumping him up before a game. “You just need one super good distraction. Then they’ll forget you were supposed to read the monitor. It really works.”
Chase scanned the studio, searching for a distraction. His gaze landed on the teleprompter. “Can you tell me what it says on that screen?”
Wesley rose up onto the balls of his feet and read the opening message out loud. Chase closed his eyes, asked Wesley to repeat the same paragraph. Wesley reread the message a half-dozen times. Then Chase repeated back the welcome.
Wesley scratched his cheek. “You missed the middle and last lines.”
“But it’s close,” Chase said.
“Definitely.” Wesley lifted his eyebrows. His voice an urgent murmur. “Now you need the really good distraction.”
“Still working on that.” Still working on ignoring Nichole’s voice inside his head. Chase waved to the headset woman, calming the producer’s frantic search. Her shoulders dropped and she rushed toward him. She handed Wesley a headset, pointed at a chair, then grabbed Chase, guiding him to his marker in front of the camera.
Chase rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck. He could do this. Movement at the entrance of the tent caught his attention. A familiar player, his curly hair and smile in place, stepped inside the tent. Confidence erased Chase’s distress. He muted Nichole’s voice and locked on to his distraction. Surely, she’d understand once he explained.
Chase finished his welcome remarks, stepped closer to the camera and spoke as if imparting a very good secret. “I’m going off script, but I think you’ll really enjoy this part of the program.”
He motioned for the cameraman to follow him, turned his back on the teleprompter and the foreboding sensation twisting around his spine. He worked his way toward Beau Bradford—the cornerstone of his distraction. A firm handshake brought Beau in front of the camera. A quick question about the best part of the obstacle course outside granted Beau a reason to stay. And revealed unexpected information, including Beau’s involvement in designing the individual obstacles.
“If you designed the obstacles, you must have tried each one already.” Chase’s smile widened. Now he’d maneuver them both into the perfect distraction. And his reading disability would remain hidden like always. “Which one is the hardest?”
Beau scrubbed his hand over the back of his hair, disrupting the curls. “I haven’t tried the course yet.”
“Perhaps we could change that this morning.” Chase lifted his shoulders and spoke into the camera, adding interest and speculation to his voice. “A trial run before the course opens to the teenagers.”
“Yeah.” Beau’s fingers stilled on the back of his head and his arm lowered. Laughter and anticipation flashed into his gaze. “You know, it’s meant to be a race. The obstacle course has two sides.”
“I’d heard there is some good competition out there warming up now.” Don’t. That word echoed inside his head. Another silent order from Nichole. But Nichole understood him like no one else. She’d recognize the difficult position he’d been put in.
Beau grinned. “But if I’m going to do a trial run, I’d like to choose my competition.”
“Anyone you’d like to compete against?” Chase looked at the camera as if requesting suggestions from the audience. Inside, his inner competitor raised his hand and jumped up and down. “I’m sure we can find someone willing.”
“You.” Beau pointed at Chase.
Chase wanted to point at Wesley and celebrate. Operation Distraction worked. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m on emcee duty.”
“Surely we have a stand-in.” Beau looked around the studio. “It’s just one race.”
The onlookers and crew cheered. The frazzled producer woman gave Chase a thumbs-up. Chase faced the camera. “I’m getting the all clear. Looks like Beau and I are heading to the obstacle course. Stay tuned.”
Chase turned off the microphone and handed it to the cameraman. Wesley raced to his side, shook hands with Beau and the trio walked out onto the field. Cheers sounded from the participants and camp attendees. Teammates called out odds and favorites, Beau or Chase for each of the different obstacles.
“Want a rundown of the course?” Beau asked.
“Can’t hurt.” Chase lifted his foot, grabbed his ankle and stretched his thigh, then his other leg. Beau described the course. The high-level details gave enough information for Chase to build a contingency plan for his shoulder. He’d rather dislocate his shoulder than divulge his dyslexia to the public. In a perfect world, his shoulder would hold up, his distraction would capture the good kind of attention and his image would remain fully intact.
The world wasn’t perfect.
Four obstacles into the course, Chase’s shoulder cursed him and his so-called ideal distraction. He’d finished the balance beams without jarring his shoulder. The abrasive landings on the dozen jumps from one solid wooden leap pad to another had trembled along his nerves. He’d relied on his good arm and legs for the wall climb and the rope swing. Now he caught his breath and glared at the long mud crawl under a set of heavy, thick ropes. A ball pit, tire run and net climb still waited on the other side. Beside him, Beau gained ground after faltering on the wall climb. Around the stadium, spectators shouted advice and encouragement.
Chase dropped onto all fours, sank into the mud and army crawled under the first rope. His shoulder throbbed. He tightened his core, transferred more weight to his legs. He’d always preferred physical pain over the frustration of reading. And reading to an audience would’ve been a new level of torture. Chase gritted his teeth and pushed forward. He cleared the last rope and shoved himself out of the mud.
Wesley jumped up and down, cheering near the end of the ball pit. His shout splintered above the others. “You got this, Dad.”
Chase concentrated on Wesley and the pride on the boy’s face. Letting down Wesley became unacceptable. Being called Dad in front of an audience energized him like nothing he’d experienced before. Chase launched into the ball pit and sprinted through the tire run. Wesley paced him on the edge of the course, shouting his praise and approval. Chase filled his lungs at the net climb and willed his shoulder to cooperate for one more obstacle. Adrenaline and Beau’s presence propelled Chase up the rope wall. At the top, he collapsed onto the slide, slid to victory at the bottom of the fifteen-foot drop and accepted an enthusiastic hug from Wesley.
“I’ve been challenged.” Preston Park, Chase’s stand-in emcee, thrust the microphone at Chase and beamed. “Your turn to commentate.”
Preston ran off to join Elliot at the starting line. Behind the duo, more retired and current players paired off to run the course. Volunteers wove camp attendees between the players, making introductions and allowing the players and teens to strategize together.
Chase rubbed the mud from his face and rallied past the intense ache in his shoulder. Later, after the adrenaline rush and inside the privacy of his own home, he’d give in and call JT for an emergency physical therapy session. And remind himself he wasn’t qualified to be a dad.
But on the field, inside the Pioneers’ stadium, he had to be the version of Chase Jacobs that everyone expected. They’d settle for nothing less. He turned on the microphone, grinned at Wesley and continued the rest of the morning off script.