Delay of Game (The Baltimore Banners Book 6) (23 page)

Val curled her legs under her, hugging a throw pillow to her chest, the glass of wine forgotten in her hand. She should move. She knew that, told herself she needed to get up, to get moving.

But she couldn't. There was no reason to.

She'd been home for a week. Back in her apartment for seven long days. Alone, with nothing to do except work. And right now, for the first time in as long as she could remember, not even work was enough to get her going, to get her excited and keep her moving.

She was floundering, lost in circumstances she couldn't control and didn't understand. They had left Justin's father's place and gone back to the hotel, but just long enough to pack and check out. Justin had barely talked to her, refusing to answer her questions, hardly even looking at her. He'd come back to her apartment but only long enough to pack his things.

He needed to go home.

He needed time to think.

He needed to figure out what he was going to do.

Justin had kissed her, nothing more than a grazing of his lips against her cheek, and walked out. Val hadn't seen him or talked to him since. And she didn't know why. Didn't know what had happened or what was going on. She had told him she loved him. Justin had told her the same thing. And then…nothing. It was like the last few months had never happened, like they had never been together.

Val brought the wine glass to her lips and sipped, barely noticing that it was no longer chilled. The conversation she overheard, the chilling hateful words from Justin's father, replayed in her mind. Such hurtful words. How could a father say such things to his own son? Deep down inside, Val understood Justin's need for space. She knew him well enough to understand he needed some time to sort things out, that what happened between him and his father wasn't something he could come to terms with in just a few days.

But she didn't understand why Justin was shutting her out, too. She loved him. Didn't he know that she wanted to help him? That she was here to support him? She didn't care about his father or the hateful words she overheard. She cared about Justin.

And she was worried about him.

Val leaned over and placed the glass of warm wine on the coffee table then reached for her cell phone. Her hand hovered over it, uncertain. More than once over the last few days, she'd thought about making a phone call. Just one call. To Mat. To see if maybe he might know what was going on. But she changed her mind each time, not quite able to complete the call.

If she did, what would she say? Would it make things worse? But how could anything be worse than what was going on now? Justin wasn't speaking to her. As far as she knew, he wasn't speaking to anyone. No. Val couldn't make the call. If she did, she'd feel like she was betraying Justin. Maybe that didn't really make sense, but that's how she would feel.

What she should do is stop feeling sorry for herself, stop wallowing in this pity that was so unnatural for her. Yes, that's what she needed to do. Just stop, get up off the sofa, clean up, and go over to see Justin herself.

That's exactly what she needed to do. But she couldn't seem to find the motivation to do it. If Justin wanted to see her, wouldn't he have called? Or stopped by? Or at least sent her a text message?

And God, she had to stop this. This wasn't like her and the only thing she was doing was driving herself crazy.

Val pushed the phone out of her reach, out of temptation's way, and stood. She'd get cleaned up, go into work for a few hours, then stop by Justin's on the way home. After that…well, she wouldn't think after that, she'd just wait and see what happened. If Justin wanted even more space then he could damn well tell her when she saw him tonight.

Val grabbed the glass of wine and headed toward the kitchen only to be stopped by the sound of the doorbell. She paused, her fingers tightening around the stem of the glass. Her first thought was that maybe it was Justin. Her second thought was that she couldn't let him in, not when she looked like this, dressed in a pair of threadbare cutoff sweatpants and one of the shirts he had left behind, her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.

The buzzer screeched again, cutting through the silence of the apartment. The sound continued, like someone was pressing on the button and not letting up. Val muttered under her breath and hurried to the door, not surprised to see Randy standing in the hallway.

What surprised her was the flash of worry in his eyes when she opened the door. He blinked and the worry was gone, replaced by a scowl when he frowned at her.

"You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks." She turned away and headed toward the kitchen, hearing the door click shut behind her brother. She dumped the wine down the sink and rinsed the glass, placing it on the dish mat as Randy walked into the kitchen. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him, still frowning.

Val crossed her own arms and frowned back. "What?"

"So what's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Then why haven't you been to the restaurant?"

"I needed a few days off. And since when do you keep tabs on when I'm working?"

Randy grunted and unfolded his arms. He looked around, grunted again, then jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "So what happened with you and Justin?"

"Nothing happened, why?" Val couldn't quite meet her brother's eyes, couldn't quite keep the small tremor from her voice. And dammit, now Randy looked worried. Worried and angry at the same time.

"What did he do?"

"Randy, he didn't do anything. Let it go." She tried to push past him but he stepped to the side, blocking the doorway.

"He must have done something. One minute you two are all lovey-cuddly, running off together. Then the next thing I hear, you're back and he's nowhere around. So what did he do?"

"Randy, honest. He didn't do anything. He just…" Val swallowed, cursing the tremor that was back in her voice. Why was she being so emotional in front of her brother? That wasn't like her. Especially not with Randy. She cleared her throat and tried to smile, felt it waver on her face. And then mortification washed over her as tears fell from her eyes. It didn't make sense, that she would start crying for no reason. There was no reason to cry, she wasn't the type of woman who cried—

And then it didn't matter because Randy pulled her into a big hug, his hand awkwardly patting her back. And that only made her cry harder, big sloppy tears that burned her cheeks and shook her shoulders.

Until Randy tightened his arms around her, squeezing too hard, patting her back too hard. She brushed her face against his shirt and tried to move, tried to catch her breath. But her brother was built like a tank, all hard unforgiving muscle, and wouldn't budge.

"Can't…breathe." Val managed to choke out, the words barely more than a wheeze. Randy finally stopped pounding her on the back and pulled away just enough for her to catch her breath.

"I'll kick his ass for you."

"Randy, no." Val hiccupped then grabbed the hem of Randy's shirt and wiped her face with it. "No. He didn't do anything. He just needs time—"

"Are you snotting my shirt?" Randy stepped back so fast Val almost stumbled. She glanced down at the hem of his shirt, crumpled in her hand, then up at the horrified expression on Randy's face.

"Uh—" She shook her head and let go of the shirt, smoothing the hem back down. "No. And no, you won't kick his ass. He didn't do anything."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm not. I wasn't. It was just…I don't know."

"Bullshit, Val." He stepped away from her and grabbed a handful of paper towels, wadding them up into a ball and wiping at his shirt. He frowned at her, tossed the towels in the trash, then frowned again. "You've never cried over a guy before. Except that dork who dumped you before your eighth grade dance."

"I did not cry over him."

"Yeah, you did."

"I most certainly did not."

"Did too."

"No, I didn't." Val waved her hand in front of Randy, dismissing the argument. Randy leaned forward, an evil grin on his face.

"You did. And I kicked his ass for it, too."

"What?" Val shrieked. "Oh my God. Is that why he always ran away from me after that?"

Randy shrugged, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead with the movement. He brushed it out of the way then leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge behind him. "That's what big brothers do. And I didn't beat him up, that would have gotten me arrested. I just talked to him. The guy was a jerk anyway. Kind of like someone else I know."

"Justin is not a jerk."

Randy's grin faded, his expression turning serious. "He is if he's made you cry."

"Randy, it's not what you think. Honest. It's just—he's going through some stuff and he needs time alone, that's all."

"And?"

"And…I don't know. Maybe I thought I could help him get through things, work them out."

"Val, you can't fix everyone. It doesn't work that way. And I told you before, Justin is carrying around a lot of garbage."

"No, he's not. Not anymore. And I wasn't trying to fix him. He doesn't need fixing. And there's a big difference between trying to fix someone and supporting someone you love."

Randy's eyes narrowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter even tighter. Val chewed on her lower lip, waiting for whatever was coming next, wishing she could take the words back. She hadn't meant to tell Randy that, hadn't meant to share that much with him.

But, to her surprise, Randy didn't say anything. He just watched her, his brows pulled down over his hazel eyes, his frown made more ferocious by the small scar across his left eye. A long minute went by, finally broken when Randy grunted and pushed away from the counter.

"Go take a shower, get cleaned up. Go to work. Get your mind off things." He threw the list at her like a series of commands then pushed by her, stopping long enough to squeeze her shoulder with one of his big hands. Val turned, giving him her own frown as he moved to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I have things to do."

"Randy, I mean it. I don't want you talking to Justin."

He paused, his hand on the knob, and looked at her over his shoulder. "I'm not. Now go get ready for work. Or something. You look like shit."

"Randy—" But it was too late, he was already pulling the door closed behind him.

Val stood just inside the kitchen for a few minutes, torn between chasing after Randy—or doing what he suggested. He said he wouldn't talk to Justin. He was her brother, she should believe him.

Except it was Randy, so she didn't know what to believe. No, he said he wouldn't talk to Justin, she had to take him at his word. She'd do what he suggested and jump in the shower then head to work.

Then she'd have Alyssa talk to him and find out what he was really planning. Because while he might not be completely truthful with her, she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't keep anything from Alyssa.

Sweat poured from his face, dripped into his eyes, stinging. Justin increased the speed on the treadmill, ignoring the burning in his eyes, the burning in his legs and lungs.

Ignoring Mat, who stood beside the treadmill, looking bored. Let him be bored. Justin didn't invite him over to keep him entertained. He invited him over to spot him, in case Justin pushed too much, pushed too hard.

In case he wanted to talk.

Right now, talking was out of the question. It took all of his effort to focus on the run, to ignore the flash of pain that shot through his arm with each stride. And to breathe.

"How do you know this isn't going to make your arm worse?" Mat asked the question for the sixth time in the last hour.

Because he checked with the team doctor, got him to approve a workout regimen that would keep him in shape—get him in better shape—while he waited for the arm to finish healing. He got approval to start physical therapy next week, ahead of schedule. In two weeks, he could add light weights and low reps to the movement exercises. Two weeks after that, hopefully more. A little at a time, building up until he got released. The surgeon had told him three to six months. Justin was going to do his best to make it three.

But he couldn't tell Mat that, not when all his energy was focused on running and breathing. So Justin grunted and shook his head, earning another eye roll from Mat.

"When are you going to call Val?"

Justin almost tripped, his hand reaching out for the sidebar to keep him from flying off. He regained his balance and stride then eased the speed back before giving Mat a dirty look. That was another question Mat had been asking for the last hour, one Justin didn't know how to answer.

He was an ass for not calling her yet. He wanted to. He'd stay awake at night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what she was doing, missing the feel of her body curled against him. And he'd tell himself he'd call her in the morning. To apologize, to make things right, to ask if she still meant what she said. To ask if she really did love him.

But then morning would come and he couldn't make himself do it, couldn't bring himself to call her. He was afraid of the answer, afraid she changed her mind after what she saw and heard at his father's place.

After the way he acted, the way he just left, when they got back here.

He should have called days ago. Now, with each passing day, it just got harder. What excuse could he give her for acting the way he had? What excuse could he give her for waiting so long to call? There was no excuse, other than he had been afraid.

Was still afraid.

"Dude, someone's at your door."

Justin slowed his pace, frowning at Mat. "Then get it." He pushed the words out with each harsh breath, sweat still pouring from him. Mat rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, the words too low to hear over the music and the whirring of the treadmill.

Justin brushed his face against his shoulder and slowed his pace to a walk, cooling off. He grabbed the water bottle and took a long swallow, then another. Ten minutes. He'd cool down for ten minutes then grab a protein shake and hit the shower. And then—he didn't know what he'd do then. Probably nothing except stare at the television and think about calling Val—

"You fucking asshole."

Something barreled against his side, pushing him off the treadmill and damn near throwing him to the floor. Justin stumbled, regained his balance, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He turned and came face-to-face with Randy, only to duck at the last minute as the man took a swing at him.

"What the fuck?" Justin jumped back, out of Randy's reach as Mat grabbed his arm, stopping him from taking another swing. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem? What did I tell you about my sister?" Randy pulled his arm from Mat's grasp and advanced on Justin, his dark brows lowered in a menacing slash, his face red with anger. "I told you she didn't need your shit. I told you I'd fuck you up if you hurt her. But you couldn't leave her alone, could you?"

Justin took another step back, and another, inching away from Randy as the man advanced on him. The words ran through his mind, making no sense at first. Hurt Val. That was what Randy said, that he'd hurt Val. And shit. Shit fuck shit.

Justin reached the wall, his back pressed against it as Randy moved even closer. And Justin didn't care. If Randy was going to hit him, then fine. It was no less than he deserved.

He'd hurt Val. Of course he did. The way he left, the way he acted. Fuck, he hadn't even called her, he'd waited too long. And now it was too late and Randy was here, after blood.

He didn't blame him. It was no less than he deserved.

Mat scrambled across the room, trying to get between them, to grab Randy's arm and pull him away. But Justin shook his head and held his own hand out, holding Mat off. "No, let him go. He's right."

"Dude, what the hell—"

"So you're not even going to deny it?"

Justin shook his head again, waiting for Randy's fist to connect with his jaw. "No. You're right. I didn't mean to hurt her but I did. I fucked up. Go ahead and hit me."

Randy and Mat both stared at him, their expressions of shock nearly identical. But it was Randy he was watching. Justin's gaze drifted down to the man's clenched fist and he held his breath, waiting, praying his teammate wouldn't break his jaw when he hit him.

Randy fisted his hand tighter and raised his arm, holding it behind him. Seconds went by, tense and drawn out. And still Justin waited for the blow he deserved.

"Dammit." Randy relaxed his fist and shoved Justin in the chest. There was enough force behind it that Justin would have fallen if not for the wall at his back. "What the hell, Tome? The least you could do was deny it or something. Act like an ass about it."

Randy stepped back and ran a hand through his hair then turned back to Justin, still scowling. "She was crying. Val. My sister. She doesn't cry, but she was crying over you. And then she told me she loved you and begged me not to come kick your ass."

Justin's mind was having trouble processing all the words, trying to separate the meanings. His stomach clenched at the idea of Val crying—because of him. At the same time, he wanted to shout because Val had told her brother she loved him.
Him
.

Justin glanced over at Mat, standing off to the side and rolling his eyes, like he was tired of the scene already. Then he turned back to Randy, taking a step closer, not bothering to hide his eagerness, to hide his grin. "She told you that? That she loved me?"

Randy moved so fast, Justin didn't see the punch coming. But he felt it, hard against the left side of his jaw. His head snapped back and he stumbled, hitting the wall and dropping to his knees before he could catch himself. Pain exploded along the side of his face, bringing tears to his eyes and clouding his vision. He grabbed his jaw, groaning and trying to stand at the same time.

"Shit. Dude, are you okay?" Mat grabbed his arm and helped him stand, propping him against the wall until Justin shook him off. He kept rubbing his jaw, his skin tingling where flesh connected with flesh, the bone already aching. He looked over, not surprised to see Randy shaking his hand, rubbing at the knuckles he had just used to punch him.

"What the hell? I thought you weren't going to hit me!"

"I changed my mind." Randy shook his hand a few more times, clenching and unclenching his fist. "So. About Val. Do you love her?"

"Yes, I do." Justin didn't even hesitate with the answer. After everything he'd been through, all the shit from the last few months—no, the last twenty years—what he felt for Val was the only thing he was certain about. She made him want to be a better man. She believed in him—and made him believe in himself.

"Then why the fuck haven't you called her?"

"Because I—" Justin snapped his mouth closed, unable to answer. Because why? Because he'd been ashamed. Embarrassed. Because he didn't think she'd still want to be with him after what she witnessed. After what she heard.

No. They were all bullshit answers. The truth was, he was scared. Scared of what he felt for her. Scared he wasn't good enough for her.

Justin glanced at Mat then Randy, noticed both men were watching him. Waiting. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he told them the truth.

"You're not good enough for her. As far as I'm concerned, no man will ever be good enough for her." Randy pursed his lips, studying Justin for seconds that stretched between them. "But for some reason, she's convinced she loves you. So what are you going to do about it, Tome?"

"Talk to her. Apologize. Hope she forgives me for acting like an ass this past week."

"No. You're going to
beg
her forgiveness. And then you're going to make it up to her." Randy stepped closer, pushing his finger into Justin's chest with each word. "And if you hurt her again, I really will kick your ass. Got it?"

"Yeah." Justin pushed his hand away but didn't step back. "But that's not going to happen."

"You better hope to hell not." Randy turned and walked away, stopping at the door to glance over his shoulder. "She's going to be at work in a little bit. I wouldn't waste any time getting ready."

Justin watched him leave then let out a deep sigh, reaching up to rub his jaw once more. Then he looked over at Mat, not surprised to see him shaking his head, like he was tired of the entire mess.

"I need help."

Mat cocked one brow in his direction, amusement flashing in his green eyes. "You think?"

"I mean, I need help with what to say. I don't want to screw this up."

"Really? What the hell is it with you guys that none of you can figure out what to do on your own? Why the hell do I have to be the one to give out the advice?"

"Because you're good with it."

Mat laughed, the sound just a little too harsh for him. "Yeah. I'm the relationship king. That's why the ladies are falling at my feet."

"I didn't mean it that way. I mean, you're just good with that kind of thing. You know how to talk to people, how to say the right things."

"Yeah, whatever. Listen, all you have to do is tell her what you're thinking, what you're feeling. It's not a secret. You love her, she loves you. It's not that hard to figure out."

Justin nodded. Mat was right. He just needed to apologize, explain to Val what he was afraid of. She would understand. And, hopefully, forgive him. And then, somehow, he'd make it up to her.

He glanced down at himself, at his sweat-soaked shorts and shirt, and grimaced. Then he looked back over at Mat. "Uh, I may need your help with something else."

"What now?"

Justin lifted his left arm, waving it a bit. "With getting ready."

"I am not helping you shower. I draw the line at that shit."

"Not shower. Just help wrap my cast."

"Why do you need help now? What the hell have you been doing all week by yourself?"

"Mostly quick baths. I don't have to wrap it then. But I need a shower. I can't go see Val without taking one."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. Right? You're kidding me."

"No. Just wrap it, that's all I need."

"Christ." Mat walked over and grabbed his duffel bag off the weight bench, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"Home. I'm done."

Justin followed him out of the room and down the hall to the living room. "You're not going to help?"

"Nope. Figure it out on your own."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Saint Mat needs a break. No more saint. No more taking care of everyone else. I'm done."

Justin laughed, the sound dying when he realized Mat wasn't joking. "Hey, Mat. I never called you a saint. I know better. Come on, just give me a quick hand."

"Nope. I'm on strike." He opened the door, waved, then stepped out. Justin stood in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door in surprise. What had just happened? Was Mat really serious?

It didn't matter. Justin couldn't worry about it, not now. Not when he had to get ready then go make things right.

Yes, make things right. For the first time in a long time, he was going to make things right. With the only woman—the only person—who mattered. With the woman he loved.