Fair Play (33 page)

She points at the phone in my hand and I press Cherry’s name at the top of the recently called list. It rings, and rings, and finally it goes to voicemail. That’s it, a big red neon guilty sign flashes in my mind. Grant glances at me through the rearview mirror right before he pulls into a three-car garage attached to his house.

It’s not a house any normal FBI agent would own for sure. Grant has done well for himself since leaving law enforcement. The sprawling three-story brick colonial-style house is proof of that. It’s so impressive that Amethyst is momentarily distracted by it.

“This is your house?” she says as the garage door closes behind us.

“Mmmhmm.”

She shrugs her shoulder and puts her hand on the door, only to find it still locked.

“You think maybe you could open the door now that I’m trapped in your garage, Mr. FBI?” she says with the smart-ass sass that I haven’t seen much of since she arrived.

He rolls his eyes and the locks click simultaneously. Ame exits the car and looks back at me.

“You coming with us or are you going to let this guy lock me up alone?” Her hand is on her round hip, and I would love nothing more than to be locked in a room alone with her right now. But I have things to do, and she won’t be going anywhere.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t bother if you’re coming back a killer.”

“Nobody’s killing anybody, we just want to talk to her,” Grant says, rounding the rear of the Rover.

“I don’t get what talking to her is going to do. If she’s jealous enough to try to kill me, then call the damn police.”

“We don’t only need to talk to her, there’s something I have to get from her, something important. I swear we can talk about this for days when I get back. We’re probably going to have to anyway.”

She frowns and chews on her bottom lip before pointing at me with her pretty French-manicured finger. “No murdering,” she says like a mother saying
no biting
to a three year old.

“Promise. I’ll get what’s mine and I’ll be back.”

She approaches the open door and purses her lips for a moment.

“You really didn’t want to leave me?” she asks quietly so Grant doesn’t hear. I reach out my hand, and she slides hers across the seat, lacing her fingers with mine.

“No baby, I didn’t want to leave you, not for one single second. I swear to God.”

She lowers her eyes, and two big tears splash on the leather seat in front of her. I hold up a finger to Grant and pull her back into the car. Grant closes the door to give us a moment of privacy.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and she covers her eyes with her free hand and a heart-wrenching sob rips from her throat. She never did like anyone to watch her cry other than me. But I’ve become someone else to her, a repulsive, womanizing cliché athlete without a heart.

I know she had to have seen all the press coverage on my wild lifestyle and multiple girlfriends, and every bit of it was true. All except for the key reason I was even there playing for the Redkings at all–coercion, extortion and blackmail. If not for my father, Amethyst Amero would now be Amethyst Silver and we would be on our way to having baby number two according to our life plan.

I draw her into my chest and cradle her in my arms while I try to console her, but she’s just had the rug yanked out from under her life and it’s a lot to take. I know. It happened to me too.

“Okay, shush, I’ll stay here with you. Come on, let’s go inside.”

“What about your thing?” she says with a sniffle and gasp between each word.

“Grant can do it for me, it’s okay.”

I rap on the window and Grant opens the door.

“I’m staying here, can you handle it alone?”

“Of course, wait here and I’ll get a wheelchair.”

I hadn’t thought about how I was going to get out of the car. He’d put me in from my wheelchair at home. It’s sort of unsettling that he has one just sitting around.

When he returns, he helps Ame out and they both work at getting me transferred into the chair. I can’t help but ask, “So why do you have a wheelchair around anyway?”

He clears his throat before saying, “It’s for my grandfather.”

Grant doesn’t have any family, and he knows I’m aware of that, so the chair must be for someone else. The kind of someone who can walk into his house but not out.

Ame pushes me across the threshold between the garage and the house. The sound of a dog barking dominates the space. It’s not a happy welcoming bark or even a warning bark like Lady uses when a stranger enters the house. No, this bark is more like a wild rabid dog banging itself against the bars of a cage.

“What’s with Cujo?” I ask.

“He’s a Doberman, and he’s pissed because I won’t let him attack you.”

“Oh, well uh, thanks dude.”

“You’re welcome.”

The house is decorated in masculine navy blues, grey, and silvers, very Grant. The entire back wall of the open concept living room and dining room is floor-to-ceiling glass. The windows have a view of dense woods with bare, snow-covered trees. It seems like a security breach to be so exposed to the outside, but Grant has assured me they are one way and bulletproof.

I visited him once when I met him to discuss the details of my problem. We toured the house, and he suggested the safe room/apartment for Amethyst. I’m glad he’s not gloating about being right on that one, not yet at least.

An elevator right outside the kitchen takes us down to the secure apartment below where he leaves us alone to go and find Cherry and Harper. He doesn’t bother to show me around. I’ve been here before.

The space is decorated simply, no frills or extras, probably because no one usually occupies it. It has one bedroom, a living room, one bathroom, and a kitchenette, all the essentials for a short stay.

“This is, I don’t know … weird,” Ame says, parking me next to the couch and sitting down on the edge with her arms between her knees.

“Yeah, not much to write home about, but it’ll do for now.”

“How long is
for now
going to be?” she asks, piercing me with her green/blue stare.

“Until Grant comes back. I need to talk to you about that.”

She lowers her head into her hands, facing the floor.

“Can it wait a few minutes? I’m still trying to process the whole gambling and blackmailing thing. I can’t believe you didn’t do something about this sooner, like right away. Why did you let them control you like this, and for so long?”

“I didn’t have the money they wanted, for starters.”

“You could have called the police.”

“And risk them slitting your throat in your sleep? No fucking way.” I shouldn’t have used that graphic of a description, but that’s exactly what they said they would do.

“Do you remember a few years ago when Nathan came close to dying?”

“Yes, drugs or something.”

“Or something. He had been clean for at least a year, and those bastards tempted him until he fell off the wagon and OD’d. I couldn’t even come home and check on him, and if he had died, I wouldn’t have been able to attend his funeral. They did that to prove a point to me, that they were powerful and not afraid to kill.”

“They didn’t kill him though,” she says, making a good point.

“They meant to. It was an act of God that Nathan got home to Mom before he blacked out. If she hadn’t been there, he would be dead.”

She lifts her head, pulling her hair on both sides of her head in frustration. This shit is so fucked up I’m not sure she’ll ever fully understand the danger she was in.

“How much money did your dad lose, for God’s sake?”

“Millions. He had acquaintances all over the country that he gambled with online and met at casinos. They would set him up because he’s a charismatic guy but when he lost it all, he didn’t know how to pay them back. Enter Vinnie.”

“Wow,” she says on an exhalation.

“I get it now, kind of. It all seems so unreal. I didn’t know things like this really happened. I mean I watch 20/20, but this is our life. This happened to us, not some strangers.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, I should have kept better tabs on my dad when I was at school, but it was such a relief to be out of that house. I was sick of being responsible for the whole family. I was selfish when I got to college. I wanted to have a normal life for a while, you know?”

“I’m not blaming you, it’s just so bizarre.”

I sit quietly next to her as she wraps her head around all of this. I need to tell her I still love her, I need to tell her I have a daughter too. It’s like my life was set on pause six years ago and someone recently pressed Play. I want to talk about everything: my family, her last two years of college, her job, her family, home, all of it. I want to pick up right where we left off, but I know it’s not possible. Too much damage has been done. She could decide to walk away after we catch Vinnie and never look back.

The thought of never having her back in my life permanently kickstarts a bundle of anxiety that lays dormant in my chest, waiting for moments like this. Usually when I get this feeling, I run, or lift weights, anything physical to eradicate the pressure in my body. But I can’t do much from this stupid fucking wheelchair. I’m an invalid dependent on others for everything, and that makes the anxiety all the more powerful.

“Amethyst?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you care if we lay down? This day is kicking my ass.”

“Oh no, of course I’ll help you. Are you ready for pain meds? I threw all your stuff in my purse when we left.”

“No, I’m good.” I’m not, my knee hurts like a motherfucker, but I want to be alert in case anything else happens today.

“I don’t know why I even ask. I know it hurts. Are you a masochist now or something? Your friend Cherry says you’re into kinky stuff now, is that why you won’t take pain meds, because you enjoy the pain?”

Damn Cherry, what the hell has she been feeding Ame? I am most certainly not a masochist, and she knows it. We did a few kinky things, so what?

“God no, Ame. I thought you and Cherry didn’t talk about anything.”

“We didn’t really, she mentioned you were good in bed and I agreed. Then she mentioned you were into kinky shit.”

“You think I’m good in bed?” Funny how that’s the only part of that sentence I actually heard. I can’t help it, I’m a man and having my ego stroked, or anything else she wants to stroke, is pretty damn awesome.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that, your track record sort of speaks for itself,” she says, standing up.

And just like that, the ego stroking is reversed. She’s never going to let me live my promiscuous lifestyle down.

“Would it help to know I never gave a damn about any of them?”

She bends at the waist, aligning her face with mine, and says deliberately, “No, it would not.” She straightens up to shrug her coat off and pushes me into the open door of the only bedroom in the apartment.

I’m not tired, I just wanted to get her into bed, but now I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.

She pulls to a stop next to the bed with a jolt and ‘helps’ me out of my coat. I watch as she goes about plumping the pillows and moving the foot pedal from under my good foot so I can stand and pivot. Every task is carried out with a little extra tude and every movement is a tiny bit rougher than usual.

I stand as she supports my bad leg and turn; we’ve gotten into a routine already so no words need to be exchanged. I continue to stare at her as she elevates my leg and moves the wheelchair away from the bed.

“You pissed at me?”

“No.”

“You’re pissed at me.”

“If you knew, why’d you ask?”

“I guess I just wanted to verify.”

“What would I have to be pissed about? That the only man I’ve ever loved has slept with thousands of women? That the world thinks he’s a male whore? Or maybe that your father’s addiction ruined our future? I suppose I could be a little irritated that we have been separated for six damn years because some fucker thinks it’s cool to threaten women and families. We should be married, you should be playing for a team you chose, not one forced on you, we should have kids …” She turns away, shielding her eyes again. I take her hand and pull her gently toward the edge of the bed.

“You’re right. You deserve better than me now, you should have had that fairytale life that we always talked about. Look at me, please. Come on, I know you don’t want me to see you cry, but I swear to God, Amethyst, it’s still me in here,” I say, placing my had over my heart.

“I still love you, I never stopped. I messed around with women and drinking because it numbed the pain of not being with you. I knew you were suffering alone and confused, and it killed me to think about it. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth and I want there to be nothing but truth between us again.”

She lowers her hand and looks down at me. I nod encouragingly and pray she can find it in her heart to forgive me. I’m not sure if she does or not, right now I’m not sure of much, but when she crawls into bed and curls up against me, a glimmer of hope is born.