Game On (11 page)

“Ah, Shane,” Lou said, his booming voice echoing off the chandelier hanging in the alcove above his head. “I was just telling Troy here what a great ball player his old man was. He set a quite an example for young people today.”

Come again?
Shane could hear the blood roaring up the back of his neck to his brain.

“And I want both you boys to know that I am going to do everything I can to make sure your daddy gets a fair shot at making it into the Football Hall of Fame,” Lou said proudly.

For a wiry, one-hundred-seventy-pound, five-foot-ten lawyer, Roscoe sure could move like a defensive back when the pressure was on. Shane wasn’t sure how he managed it, but somehow Roscoe got them not only out the door but to the car without Shane punching Lou right on his fat kisser. Not only that, but he’d called out a polite good-bye, ruffling the kid’s hair as he hauled Shane’s butt out.

* * *

“I really ought to pay you more,” Shane said as
he took another swallow from his bottle of beer. They had just polished off a plate of nachos and two sirloin burgers at the Old College Inn.

“That’s what my wife says every day, dude.” Roscoe leaned back against the vinyl booth. Even in the dimly lit bar, Shane could see the frustration in his friend’s face. “Seriously, man, you’ve to get a grip on that temper of yours. I can’t even imagine the public relations nightmare it could have been if you’d punched out the league’s player rep at your own father’s funeral. You keep this up, and I’m going to have to put that PR firm on retainer again.”

Shane plopped his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hands. A prolonged sigh escaped as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, I know. I can’t afford to screw up this chance.”

“It could be your last,” Roscoe said, pouring salt in the wound.

Shane threw his head back against the high booth back and closed his eyes.

“It’s just the hypocrisy of it all. It sticks in my craw,” he said through a clenched jaw. “The world thinks Bruce Devlin is a saint. When all he ever was, was a bastard.”

“That’s always going to depend on where a person’s sitting,” Roscoe said. Shane’s eyes flew open as he braced two hands on the table. Roscoe held a hand up to stop him.

“Hold on, Shane,” he said. “I’ve been on the bad end of this argument way too many times to go at it again tonight. Yeah, your father treated you and your mother poorly. That fact is irrefutable. But you can’t change the past. Bruce is dead. Stop letting him dictate your life.”

Shane hated that Roscoe always made the same argument. He hated it even more that he was always right. Snatching up his beer bottle, he chugged the remainder of it down. Bruce’s death hadn’t dulled Shane’s hatred for his father one iota. It was a hatred he’d nurtured on his own for more than twenty years. He couldn’t remember exactly when it had started. As a child, he’d been proud to have the Great Bruce Devlin as a dad. He was a professional athlete—a Super Bowl Champ. He’d wonder why his father didn’t come home at night, but his mother always had an excuse.
Your father needs to concentrate on his game,
she’d say.
He’ll come home after the season.

But he never did.

Adoration and expectation led only to disappointment, which bred cynicism, eventually leaving him with a hatred that saturated Shane’s bones. The emotion was embedded so deeply in his heart, it had become a part of him. It was the one thing that kept him going. It was also the one thing that kept him from fully living. Everyone had forgiven Bruce Devlin. Everyone except Shane.

“Like my father always says, ‘you don’t get to pick your family, so choose your friends wisely.’” Roscoe looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, I need to get back to the hotel so I can call home.” He signaled for the waitress to bring their check. “How’s Beckett doing with Darling Carly?”

Shane peeled the label off the beer bottle, not wanting to think about Carly. He hadn’t slept the past two nights. And his restlessness had nothing to do with his father’s death, either. It had been two days since he’d had his hands on her, yet he could still feel her; he could still taste her. Fate seemed to be stymieing him every time he touched her. Or maybe it was his conscience.
He knew any kind of involvement with the coach’s sister-in-law could lead to the end of his career. His brain just couldn’t get the message to the other parts of his body.

They’d agreed to a one-night stand. One night of sex to get it out of their systems. Jeez, Carly had practically proposed the deal herself. He knew she’d honor the deal. Carly wasn’t interested in a relationship with another jock—or the headlines that would surely go with it. Shane needed to focus all his energy on making the team. The sooner he got Carly to bed, or the sofa or the backseat of his SUV, the sooner she’d be out of his system. And they needed to ditch the cell phones first.

Shane refocused his attention to find Roscoe staring at him.

“I asked about Beckett. Shane, tell me nothing is going on with the coach’s sister-in-law.” He put a strong emphasis on the last two words.

“Nothing’s going on,” Shane said. It was mostly true.

“Good,” Roscoe said, tossing a few bills on the table. “That would be an epic mistake. If you took anything away from that fiasco in San Diego, it’s don’t mess with team personnel or family. Your career couldn’t handle another scandal like that. So keep your hands off her.”

As they left the restaurant for the hotel, Shane didn’t bother mentioning to Roscoe that he’d have an easier time of controlling his temper than keeping his hands off Carly March.

* * *

“I can’t believe they let that jerk out of jail!”

“Me neither, Jules,” Carly said into her cell phone. “But they didn’t have much to hold him on. Besides, his grandfather owns the television station where he works and he has a lot of clout in this town. According to Hank, his grandfather has agreed not to press charges against Shane. Joel is going into rehab, so he won’t bother me again.”

“And you believe that?” Carly had to hold the phone away from her head. When Julianne got angry, she spoke quickly and loud.

“I don’t have any reason not to,” Carly said, tucking her feet beneath her in the Adirondack chair. She looked across her meager backyard at Beckett, his big head sniffing beneath the hosta plants surrounding the black maple tree growing against her fence. “His grandfather doesn’t want Joel getting into any more trouble, either. It’s not the best publicity for the station. Joel just needs a little help, that’s all.”

Julianne was muttering something in Italian on the other end of the phone and Carly braced herself for her friend’s tirade.

“Look, honey,” Julianne said. “Haven’t the last few years taught you anything? You’re too trusting of men. You can’t keep going around living life like a doormat.”

Ouch! No matter how many times she heard the same refrain from Julianne, it still hurt.

“If I want to be psychoanalyzed, Jules, I’ll go see my sister, the professional.”

“Oh, Carly. You know I love you. I just want you to be happy.”

“This from a woman who spends her life lusting over a priest!” It was fighting dirty, but Carly wanted to prove she wasn’t a doormat. At least not to her best friend anyway.

“Hey! You leave Nicky out of this!”

“Face it, Jules. You are in love with a man you can’t have. Instead of dealing with that, you take it out on me.”

Julianne was silent on the other end of the cell phone.

“I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t mean it. I guess I just got a little mad at the doormat thing. I really am happy, though. I wish you could see that.”

“We’re quite a pair, huh?” Julianne’s question came out more as a hiccup. “You attract narcissistic bastards and I can’t stop dreaming of St. Nicholas. It’s pathetic. And Carly.” Her voice cracked. “I do know you’re happy. I guess I just don’t like that you’re happy living down there and not here in New York with me. The guy attacking you has me a little wigged out. I would just die if something happened to you.”

“All you had to say was that you missed me, you idiot.” Carly wiped a wayward tear from her eye.

Beckett wandered over, nudging his wet snout between Carly’s hand and the armrest, forcing her to pet him.

“Oh, sweetie, do you miss your daddy?” She nuzzled the dog’s nose.

“Are you talking to that dog?”

“I am,” Carly cooed. Beckett’s head lolled back as she rubbed behind his ears. “He really is kinda cute. A little sloppy with his food and water. And he snores like a freight train. But other than that, he’s kind of nice to have around.”

Julianne snorted. “You’ve just described my last boyfriend.”

“As I recall, you didn’t think ‘Chad the Cad’ was all that nice to have around,” Carly teased as the dog tried to climb up on to the chair.

“Yeah, you’ll feel the same about that dog. Just give it a few days. When’s Dark and Mysterious coming home anyway?”

Carly shoved the ninety pounds of drooling dog off her lap and stood up, brushing tufts of brown dog hair off her yoga pants. She closed the glass door behind them as she went inside, checking the lock twice. Beckett trotted over to his water dish for a drink, sending as much water to the floor as into his belly.

“I’m not sure. The funeral was yesterday, but he texted me last night and said he wouldn’t be home until sometime tomorrow. Something about the will.” Beckett went over to the old comforter she’d thrown on the floor for the dog to use as a bed. He scrunched up the sides and lay down with a humph. Grabbing a towel from the bar stool, Carly bent down to wipe up the water he’d slopped on the floor. “If he doesn’t come home tomorrow, I’ll need to go back over to his place and get more food for Beckett.”

“So what’s his place like?” Julianne asked.

“I don’t know.” Carly switched the phone to the other ear so she could wipe under the cabinets. “I didn’t get past the kitchen.”

“Carly!” Julianne wailed. “What good are you? Didn’t you want to check out his place? Aren’t you curious about him? If it were me, I would have made a beeline straight for the bedroom and checked out his bed.” No doubt Julianne would have. Carly stiffened at the thought of her best friend in Shane’s bedroom.

“That’s not nice.” Carly silently berated herself for being a hypocrite. She’d thought about taking a look around Shane’s house, too, but she wasn’t going to admit it to her friend. “He just lost his dad. I didn’t want to invade his privacy.”

Julianne let out a huff. “Yeah, well, he sure didn’t think twice about invading your private parts,” she teased.

“Jules!” Carly’s stomach tightened at the thought of Shane and his wicked mouth. He’d been right though, the real thing was so much better. Her knees got weak just thinking about it, forcing her to take a seat on the bar stool.

“I did get a good look at his kitchen, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t faking his culinary skills on
Good Day, Baltimore
. He has a lot of toys in that kitchen. I think he might even have a few you don’t have.” Carly knew this would divert her friend’s attention back to a neutral subject. Julianne loved to cook. If she hadn’t made it as a fashion designer, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would have had her own cooking show. She also hated to be shown up in the kitchen.

“I seriously doubt that,” Julianne scoffed. “What does a football player know about cooking?”

Carly laughed. “Why, I believe it was the brilliant fashion designer Julianne Marchione who once said that all you need to be a good cook are the proper tools and a passion for food. Are you accusing football players of lacking in passion?”

“You tell me, Carly. You’re the one swapping spit with the quarterback.”

“So, are you still going to the race car driver’s wedding next weekend?” Carly did her best to change the subject as she loaded her dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Julianne mumbled something that sounded like
chicken
.

“Yeah, I’m still going,” she said with a sigh. “But I really wish you’d reconsider and go with me. I won’t know a soul there and the bride’s parents said I could bring a guest.”

“I don’t want to be your plus one.”

“I’d do the same for you! The bride is a client. I don’t even know why I am going at all.”

“It might have something to do with the extra ten thousand dollars the Ricky-Bobby race car driver is paying you to be there in case something goes wrong with his bride’s gown.”

“Ha! Like I’m going to sew on a pearl that might fall off the woman’s eight-foot train.”

Carly grinned. Julianne would definitely sew on a pearl and anything else that fell off. Her dresses were like her children.
She’ll probably be the only one in the church crying because of the gown, not the woman in it
.

“Well, you’re getting a free trip to Sea Island,” Carly reminded her. “Go and have fun. You deserve it.”

“I guess I could call Chad the Cad if I get desperate,” Julianne said. But Carly knew she wouldn’t. Julianne was right; they were quite a pair. Both seemed destined to chase the wrong men. Carly puttered around her kitchen as Julianne regaled her with snippets of gossip from New York’s fashion world. Before ending their call, they agreed to get together in New York before training camp began in a few weeks.

Later that evening, after showering off the sweat from her Pilates class and an evening run with Beckett, Carly stood in her kitchen setting up the automatic coffeemaker for the next morning. The laptop computer on her counter beeped, alerting her to an incoming message. She wandered over to check the email before she shut down the computer.

“If this is another email from Gabe’s bridezilla about his signing bonus,” Carly said to the slumbering dog, “I’m going to scream.”

The email wasn’t from Chloe. Carly’s heart slammed into her ribs as she saw the name of the message’s sender: Joel Tompkins. The message was brief, but it terrified Carly just the same.

We belong together. It’s meant to be. You’ll see.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring at the message. Her hands trembled as she quickly deleted it. Wiping it off the screen didn’t stem the furious beating of her heart. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. Forcing her arms to move, she reached for her cell phone. Who should she call? The police? Maybe she should have saved the message. She tried for a deep, calming breath. She’d call Donovan; he’d know what to do. She searched the phone’s address book for his number as she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Maybe she should call Matt? God no! He’d go ballistic. It was just an email, after all. She was safe inside her house. Besides, Beckett was here to protect her. She looked over to where the dog lay snoring, oblivious to her distress. Great!