Fair Game: A Football Romance (8 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Adam

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Stop kissing my ass, Adam; we have to talk.”

“I like kissing your ass. Do you remember the time in the back of the truck …”

“I mean it, stop.”

“Somebody had a little too much to drink last night?” I ask.

“Thanks to you, yes.”

“I didn’t tell you to drink the whole thing, Ame. That’s on you.”

She has her coat off, and she’s wearing the jeans and the cashmere sweater I bought her. I knew she wouldn’t have warm enough clothes when she got here.

She was packed up and ready to go to Florida to take care of Jones, and there was no way I was going to let that happen. Jones is famous for his perverted ways, and his unwillingness to take “No” for an answer when he wants something.

That creep has been taunting me for years about getting injured and hiring Amethyst to come and be his personal love-slave nurse. I damn near took his head off once after a game when he said something to that effect.

He went to school near us growing up, and he knows she’s a sensitive spot for me. I try to keep my past quiet; the less dust disturbed, the clearer the air. The guys on the team know I used to date her. Some of them have hired her to help after an injury. They have no idea how important she is to me. It’s been important to keep that a secret to keep her safe.

Amethyst sits next to me with her back stiff and her hands folded in her lap like she’s at church.

“You’re right. I drank too much. That is my own fault, but I realize now why I did that.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know why you left me, Adam. I can’t take care of you with all of this bitterness in my heart. I won’t be giving you my all, and you need all the help you can get right now.”

I pretend to stab myself in the heart. “Ouch, damn, Ame. Tell it like it is, why don’t you?”

“I just need the truth, Adam.”

I lay still, staring into her pleading hazel eyes. I can’t tell her, but lying isn’t my style.

“Okay, I didn’t want it to go down like that. I really didn’t. The scout for the Redkings came to the house the morning after graduation and gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse with one special condition.”

“What condition?” she says quietly.

“That I break all ties with my past and be the kind of playboy quarterback that they wanted to catapult into superstardom. A nice guy with a steady girlfriend didn’t fit their image.”

With every word I speak, Amethyst’s face pales a little more, and her eyes burn with anger. Maybe I should have come up with something less incriminating for the NFA. It’s easier this way. Maybe she’ll hate them and not me.

“They told you it was me or them? How can they do that? It’s a professional career—not
The Bachelor,
for God’s sake. And what did your family have to do with you being a playboy or whatever it is they wanted you to be? Everybody has a damn family, why cut them out?”

That’s a good question. I should have been more prepared for it. Ame’s smart, and if there’s a hole in my story, she’s going to find it.

“They wanted me to dedicate all of my time to the game, and they said if I was always going home for holidays and visits, it would be harder to stay away from you.”

“Who are
they
exactly, Adam? I can’t imagine anyone with authority in the NFA making ultimatums like that. I know a lot of athletes, a lot, and I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“They don’t advertise it. A lot of deals similar to mine are made every season. They are the scouts luring in players, and they don’t want the world to know what they’re doing. Think of it like this, they want hot new players that women want to watch play as much as men. They don’t want them attached to a girlfriend or a wife when they’re young and new, so they stick the single guy phrase in the contract. They don’t want the world to know they’re tricking them into loving a new sexy player, so it’s written into the contract that the player isn’t allowed to talk about it.”

She’s shaking her head and standing up to pace. She always paces when she’s upset. It’s the perfect tell to know when I should leave the conversation or steer it away from the current topic. Only I can’t steer it away, and I definitely can’t leave.

“Why didn’t you wait for another team? Why didn’t you talk to me about it? How could you drop me and leave after thirteen years? You had dozens of teams interested in you. All of them couldn’t have had this stupid playboy clause.”

She stops at the foot of my bed and throws up her hands, frustrated with my flimsy excuse for leaving the best thing that’s ever happened to my life.

“Never mind, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter anyway. You did what you did and now I know why. That’s what I asked for, and that’s what you gave me.”

“Don’t be like that, Ame. Come on now, sit down so we can talk some more.”

She looks away from me, and her fingers curl around the end of the bed. I watch the woman I planned on spending my life with twist in pain with tears that I caused, tears currently pooling in her eyes. 

“Adam, I don’t think I can do this. I need to go. I have another job in Florida, and I can have the agency send someone to replace …”

“No. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Look, I know it seems selfish, and I know I don’t deserve you, but please, stay. I’ll behave. I promise, no more flirting or innuendos. This will be strictly professional. I need to get better, and you know how to push athletes hard. I’ll never get back on the field without you, Ame. I’m begging you to help me. The minute I’m able to play, you can go, no strings, no guilt trips.” 

She sighs, and the tears she’s been fiercely trying to hold at bay spill down her cheeks. She turns her back on me and walks out the door without a glance back. Exactly what I did to her six years ago, except I didn’t want to do it at all, and she does.

Every minute away from her has been painful. I thought over time it would lessen, but nothing could fill the void in my heart. I tried all kinds of women—glamorous rich women, trashy poor women, and every type in between. I couldn’t drown my pain in alcohol for fear I’d become addicted like my brother, and drugs were out of the question for the same reason—in addition to regular drug tests by the NFA.

For two years, I followed the rules. I made public appearances with different women every chance I could, and I became proficient at playing the playboy role. That’s not me though, far from it.

I constantly thought of the life I gave up with Ame to play football and questioned my decision to help my dad. My finger hovered over the call button on my phone a million times over the years, but whenever I thought it was over, another fucking death threat would show up on my doorstep, literally, on the steps outside my house.

When Dad was in the black, I was relieved. I planned a trip home to see my family and to try and beg for Ame’s forgiveness—only to find out the sharks were in bed with the Mafia.

A black envelope showed up on my doorstep one crisp fall morning. Casey opened the front door, and a man in a suit hand-delivered her the envelope. She brought it to my office.

She explained that a man had instructed her to hand-deliver it to me and told her to relay the message, “It’s not over.” Inside the envelope was a dead black rose and five photographs timed and dated that morning of Amethyst exiting her apartment, boarding a plane, one from two rows back in the plane, and one more of her arriving at her next job in Texas.

I thought I would vomit when I read the card with the photos. It said, “The money keeps coming or she goes.”

I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified. They were following her so closely, and I knew what they were capable of when I got to the fifth picture in the envelope.

One year prior, an NBA player’s wife had been murdered, and the case was never closed. The details were never released, and when I slipped the picture of Ame in the plane to the bottom of the pile, I knew why.

In the photo, Neil Callaway’s wife lay decapitated in a ditch half-buried under the earth, dressed in a white dress suit. The papers, magazines, the news, social media, and television specials plastered pictures of what she was wearing when she was last seen.

Her body was never found, and Neil was never the same again. He retired and six months later, he tried to commit suicide.

It all made sense when I saw the picture. Neil had been a gambling addict, and his wife ended up paying his debt. There was no way in hell I was letting that happen to Amethyst, so I kept my distance. I paid the damn money for two more years.

The urge to follow her and bring her back is overwhelming. The only thing holding me here is this fucking brace on my leg. I don’t yell for her, because I know her. It wouldn’t do any good. If there’s anything I know for sure about her is that when she’s upset or emotional, it’s best to leave her alone and let her breathe.

Giving her space is the hardest thing to do right now with all the risks surrounding her. I grab my phone and text Grant to make sure he knows that she’s leaving unexpectedly, and that she’s upset. He’s FBI, so I’m sure he doesn’t need the heads up. He watches her around the clock. If he sleeps, his partner takes over. The phone rings immediately. “Sir, she hasn’t left the hospital; she’s in the waiting room down the hall from your room.”

She didn’t leave? That’s good news. Maybe she’s thinking it all over, and she’ll be back.

“And sir.”

“Yeah?”

“He contacted her this morning. He was asking around at the bar next to her apartment last night, and he knows where she is.”

“Fuck. Damn it, Grant, you were supposed to keep this from happening. He’s probably already here. As soon as he knew I was her next job instead of Jones, he probably came straight to Virginia.”

“It’s being handled. I have two extra men on her all the time. A new security system is being installed in the guest house right now, and I’m going to insist on being her driver from now on.”

Grant
is
good. It sounds like he’s got this under control. As in control as he can be with a psycho killer following Ame around.

“Good. Change all the locks on the doors and put whatever security system you’re installing in the guest house into the main house, too. Oh, and tell Casey to let Lady stay in the guest house with Ame.”

“Got it. She met her this morning. It appeared random; she wasn’t suspicious.”

“All right, don’t let her leave the hospital in the Rolls. I want you to drive her home. Somebody could have been messing with it in the parking lot. Are you sure you’ve got enough eyes on her? This job just got a lot more complicated, Grant. I won’t have anything happen to her. I mean it,” I say, my voice vibrating with anger and worry.

“Yes, I’m on it. Things are tight, and nobody’s touching her.”

Chapter Fourteen

Amethyst

He left me, because they told him to. There wasn’t another woman, no cash incentive or special deal, no perks or posh house, he just … left. Amazingly, part of me is glad to know this. It means I can extinguish any thoughts of love or rekindling an old romance, because any man who can leave a woman so easily was never really in love at all.

That’s the part that’s hard to swallow. All the years I thought we had something special and rare, and all the while he was only pretending. His feelings were never as deep as mine.

You’d think after six years, I’d have gotten over him, but I guess this is what I needed. Cold, hard, in-your-face truth is hard to deny.

That’s what’s going to get me through this though. I swipe the tears from under my cheeks with my fingertips and stand up to take a deep cleansing breath. I blow it out slowly and smooth my hands over my waist. I can do this. It sucks, but I know the truth now. I’m going back into that room and do what I came here to do.

I waver for a second at his door and harden my heart, bracing myself for his onslaught of apologies and excuses.

But they don’t come.

I pass through the door, and he lifts his head, seemingly surprised that I’m still here.

“Thank you for not leaving,” he says, following me across the room with his eyes.

I remove my planner from my purse and sit down as far away from him as possible. I’m going to have to ease myself into this, like I’m entering the shallow end of a pool.

“If they release you today, we can start some physical therapy in two weeks. I’ll be giving you your meds when we get back to your house and helping you with daily living tasks, such as bathing and dressing. That won’t be a problem for you, will it?” I ask, flipping thorough the pages of my planner, refusing to make eye contact.

“No, of course not. That’s what I’m paying you for,” he answers, his voice curt and full of professionalism.

“Fine then. In the meantime, we can work on range of motion exercises while you’re bedridden. I’ll have a formal schedule for you tomorrow.”

“Ame?” he says, and I look up from my planner. His eyes capture mine and a little piece of my heart cries out, “Why?”

Why does it have to be this way?

What is wrong with me that he can’t love me?

Why the hell do I care?

“Don’t baby me, work me hard. I need to get back on the field.”

I sit up straight in my seat and close the planner with a slap.

“Don’t worry, you’re probably going to hate me before this is over.”

“Not possible.”

“We’ll see.”

There’s a quick rap on the door before Dr. Moto enters.

“Good morning, how’s our star quarterback today?” he asks with entirely too much cheer.

“Fine, when can I go home?” Adam’s face is as flat as his tone.

“You don’t sound fine. Are you still having a lot of pain?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” His eyes dart to mine and back to Dr. Moto. The good doctor must have mentioned what I said about Adam’s fear of addiction.

“Can you handle him at home?” Dr. Moto says to me, gesturing to Adam with his clipboard. I swear Adam bites his tongue to stop himself from saying something inappropriate. Good, I hope he bleeds.

“Yes, we were discussing his plan of care. I think we’ve covered everything here, haven’t we?” I ask Adam.

“Yep. Pills, range of motion, physical therapy, work my ass off, got it.”

“All right then, I’ll meet you at your house in a couple of hours.”

“Where are you going?” Adam says, jolting up in bed. He winces in pain.

I stand up, frowning, and swing my purse over my shoulder. What’s it to him where I’m going?

“I have to go buy some clothes. I was supposed to be in Florida for several weeks—not Virginia. I’ll be at the house when you get there.”

“The Rolls has a check engine light on. My phone notifies me,” he says, holding up his phone as if to prove it. “My driver, Grant, will take you wherever you need to go.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m quite capable of taking a cab or an Uber.”

“It’s necessary to me. If you’re going to work for me, I want you to be driven by Grant. Everything else is negotiable, but this is not.”

His authoritative tone surprises me. Adam always used to be a laid-back go-with-the-flow kind of guy.  Something about having this Grant guy drive me around has him acting serious.

“Okay.” I’m not arguing. He’s the boss, and he’s paying MBS. So if he says Grant drives, then Grant drives.

“Thank you. He’ll meet you outside.”

I turn to Dr. Moto, who is as interested in Adam’s strange disposition as I am. The tension in the room is thick, and I’m more than ready to get the hell out of here and do something normal—like shop for a coat.

Dr. Moto shrugs when I pass him on my way out.

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Amero.”

“It was nice seeing you too. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’m flying back to California tomorrow. Dr. Balls will be taking over Adam’s care.”

I stumble and catch myself on the doorframe. He didn’t say “Dr. Balls,” did he? I don’t know why, maybe it’s all of the recent tension and confusion related to Adam, but a smile spreads across my face. I sputter and cough, trying to swallow back laughter.

Adam’s expression of shock tips me over the edge. I burst out into a fit of giggles. It’s so unprofessional and childish, but I can’t control it. I cover my mouth and look at Dr. Moto with wide, watery eyes. This is so embarrassing. What is wrong with me?

Adam is laughing too. We always did share the same sense of humor, however inappropriate it may have been, and now is no different.

“Sorry doc, but you gotta admit, that’s some ballsy name,” Adam says, laughing even harder at his stupid joke.

Stupid, but hilarious. I’m gasping for breath and swallowing back the hysterical fits of laughter that are threatening to escape my mouth.

“I’m, I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to slow my breathing and keep from snorting like I do when I laugh really hard.

“That’s much better. I could have cut the tension in here with a knife,” Dr. Moto says.

“You mean there’s no …”

“No, Adam. There’s no Dr. Balls. The two of you are intense. You needed a stress-busting moment, so I gave it to you. You’re welcome.”

That Dr. Moto, I knew he was a good guy.

I blink back the tears of laughter and ask, “So are you really leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, that part is true, but it’s Dr. Narime that will be taking over. Dr. Balls was too busy to come to Virginia,” he says with a warm smile.

“What a relief. You had me a little worried there, doc. Thought you gave me to a porn star doctor or a urologist or something,” Adam says.

Adam is all boyish charm and dimples now, opposite the cold serious man from a few minutes ago.

“You’re in good hands. I wouldn’t worry,” Dr. Moto says, glancing at me.

“Thank you for all you’ve done, and maybe I’ll see you again if I have a patient in California.”

“That would be lovely, and you’re welcome.”

Adam clears his throat, drawing our attention back to him. “Grant’s probably waiting for you.”

I close my eyes and shake my head. He thinks we’re flirting, and his obvious attempt at subtly getting rid of me would be sweet if I thought he really gave a damn. As it is, it’s pathetic and irritating. Why are men like that? I don’t want you, but I don’t want anyone else to have you either. It’s so cave man. 

I’m about to leave the room when an ornery streak zips through me, and I step toward Dr. Moto and hug him goodbye. He is a lean man, a runner maybe, not at all unattractive—and muscular in all the right places. Surprised, he is stiff at first, but softens and returns the embrace until I pull back and hold him at arm’s length.

“See you in Cali,” I say and without another word, I turn, leaving both men in a quandary. 

Right outside Adam’s door is a rugged black man with a close-cut goatee and a bald head wearing a black leather jacket and jeans that hug him in places I try not to notice.

“Hello, Ms. Amero. I’m Grant.”

“Nice to meet you, Grant. I’m told you’re my only option for a ride around here from now on.”

He nods, his face devoid of emotion, seeming to look through me—not at me. Flat affect, zero charisma. Oh well, a little peace and quiet sounds great right about now, anyway.

Grant steps aside, allowing me to lead him through the hospital. Something feels off about this man. I can’t put my finger on it, but he doesn’t seem like the driver type, whatever that is.

I use Ubers and taxis when I travel, and those drivers aren’t exactly personality experts, but at least they do have facial expressions.

Waiting warm and idling right outside the front doors of the hospital is a shiny black Range Rover. Grant opens the back door for me and I slide in, silently thanking the god of heated seats. Maybe being driven isn’t such a bad idea after all. I don’t have to walk through the parking lot, and the car is warm and toasty.

I melt into the soft leather seat and wait for Grant to ask where to, but he never does. I end up at Bloomingdales just the same and rack up a decent bill. It’s been ages since I’ve shopped, so I take my time buying more than I should. I live modestly for my income. I can afford it, and MBS is picking up part of the bill, so that helps.

A helpful saleswoman has been holding the things for me at the register and when I try to pay, she holds up her hand.

“No, everything has been taken care of.”

I screw up my face and hand her my credit card anyway.

“Mr. Silver?” I ask and with a broad smile, she nods her head up and down.

“I’ll pay for my own things. Tell him thanks anyway.”

The pretty woman jerks her head back, stunned. What? Can’t a girl buy her own stuff? I shake my card at her to get her attention, and she slowly takes it from my hand, reversing the sale and charging me for the clothes and shoes.

When I’m ready to leave, Grant appears out of nowhere and removes my bags from my hands and off of the counter. I glance at the pretty saleswoman and find her staring at my hunky driver with her mouth agape. I wonder what she’s thinking right now. A professional football player tried to pay for my clothes and a sexy Chippendale stripper lookalike won’t let me carry my own bags. If I were she, I’d think I was a high-end call girl, and that’s funny, because it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“It’s not what you think,” I whisper to her and wink before turning to walk away.

Grant steps aside to let me lead the way like he did at the hospital, and I feel a bit like a royal being chaperoned around by a security guard. And just like at the hospital, he has the car ready and waiting for me at the door.

The ride home is a quiet one. I didn’t expect Grant to be chatty, but the radio would have been nice. He’s not the warmest guy, so I don’t feel comfortable asking him to turn it on, so I watch the world go by out the window instead.

Virginia is gorgeous in the fall. I was here once for a medical conference a few years ago. Several colleagues and I took a tour around the countryside to experience the beauty of the changing leafs. The entire trip, I worried about accidently bumping into Adam. It wasn’t realistic, but it was the closest I’d been to him in a long time, and he was always in the back of my mind.

I lean my head against the window and heave a heavy sigh. The knot that’s been forming in my belly tightens the closer we get to Adam’s house. I can tell myself I’m over him all day long, but the truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be over Adam.

Grant turns onto the long driveway that leads to Adam’s house, and I watch the mansion grow larger and larger until we are parked in the circle outside the front doors.

“Is he home yet?” I ask, not entirely sure I’ll get an answer. He hasn’t spoken since we were at the hospital.

“Yes.”

Well, that’s something, I guess.

“I should probably find out if he needs anything.”

“Yes.”

I wonder if Grant is such a party pooper all the time or only when he’s on the job.

“Would you mind taking my things to the guesthouse?”

“No.”

He exits the car, and I wait for him to open the door for me, because well, I’m not sure what he would do if I did.

“Thanks,” I say, pulling up the collar of my new coat and rushing to the door. He nods. “Nice talking to ya,” I say over my shoulder. I couldn’t help it. Grant needs to loosen up.

Casey magically opens the door when I approach, making me think of
Alice in Wonderland
. Everywhere I go today, I feel like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole into a strange new world where a surprise is around every corner.

“Welcome back. Mr. Silver wants to see you right away,” she says, sounding out of breath.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, shrugging out of my coat. Casey takes it from me and drapes it over her arm.