Holding Out for a Hero (21 page)

“Jake was amazing,” Trish said, rising to his defense as she ignored his scowl. “Confronting Tony, wrapping me in his jacket—taking me home.”

Ella frowned. “Not to the police station?”

“I didn’t want to. Not right then. I was a mess. I was crying … shaking so hard. I just wanted to get away, go back to my house where I felt safe. Jake wanted me to go the next day but who was going to believe me, Ella? Tony and I were in a relationship. I went into the room with him more than willingly. Fooled around quite happily. I’d had a couple of drinks. I knew how these things went down. It’s never the guy who ends up looking bad, Ella.”

Ella wished it wasn’t so but she had to admit Trish’s concern had been more than valid. Part of the reason she detested big money sport so much was the unforgivable behavior of some of the men who played it. She may not have been big on keeping up with sports news but she’d seen enough headlines over the years to know sports stars got away with all kinds of despicable, not to mention illegal, behavior.

Trish shrugged. “I guess I was in shock. I loved Tony. We’d only been going out for a month but I think I fell for him the first time I laid eyes on him. He was so big and strong. He had this curly blond hair—I swear he looked like an angel. I couldn’t believe he was capable of that. I knew he was impatient with my decision to wait before taking our relationship to the next level but I never thought he’d just take what he wanted.”

“So the next day I went to the club instead,” Jake said grimly. “Told them everything. Demanded a police investigation. Demanded Tony be sacked.” He looked at Trish. It was hard to believe now he’d ever been that naive.

Ella looked from one to the other as they both fell silent. “I take it they didn’t quite see it your way?”

Jake snorted. “After a cursory investigation they closed ranks, offered Trish money to go away quietly. Had a confidentiality agreement drawn up.”

“They threatened Jake, too,” Trish said. “Told him he’d sit on the sidelines all season. That he’d be dropped from the team. That he’d never be picked for an Origin side. That he’d never play for Australia.”

“Hardball,” Ella murmured.

Jake nodded. He’d broken the code. And there’s one thing he’d learned early, you don’t break the code. In times of trouble the clubs closed ranks around their players and you get on board with that or you get mown flat.

Trish grinned. “Jake told them they could stick their club and their agreement where the sun didn’t shine. That he’d rather never kick a ball ever again than play for a club that protected a rapist.”

Ella looked at Jake as he continued to inspect the bottle. “That was very noble of you.”

Jake looked up. “No. Noble would have been me kicking down the door in the first place.”

Trish shook her head. “I think it’s time you stopped beating yourself up about it,” she said impatiently. “I’m the aggrieved person here, Jake. Not you. Let it go. I have.”

Ella could see they cared for each other; there was affection and familiarity. They’d obviously been through a lot together. It would be easy to condemn Jake for his inaction. But if Trish had forgiven him, who was she to judge?

“
I
signed the agreement,” Trish reminded him. “
I
took the money. I started a new life for myself. We both did.”

Ella’s heart banged to a standstill temporarily as another thought occurred to her. Had their solidarity spilled into their private lives? Had Jake fathered Miranda? It certainly made sense now she thought about it.

She couldn’t deny that a part of her had rejoiced when Jake had denied being with Rachel. She hadn’t really had a chance to figure out what that meant for them. But now it seemed kind of moot; he and Trish obviously had something special.

She looked at Jake. She had to know. “Are you Miranda’s father?”

Jake spluttered into his beer as Trish laughed at the question that had come from left field. She raised her hand to her mouth trying to smother her hilarity.

“Good grief, no. Jake and I aren’t … we don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re friends. Good friends. But there’s nothing romantic. Never has been. Miranda’s father was someone I was with briefly. He ran a mile when he found out I was pregnant. He was a jerk.” She shrugged. “I seem to attract them.”

Ella felt heat in her cheeks, embarrassed that she’d gotten it so wrong. But the relief was overwhelming. Jake was watching her with unfathomable eyes and she almost squirmed in her seat. “I’m sorry. It’s just you seem so—I thought—” Jake’s gaze was unnerving and Ella lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she ended lamely.

“Don’t worry about it,” Trish assured her.

Ella nodded and was silent for a moment or two as she contemplated everything she’d heard today. Her heart went out to Trish. She looked at the diminutive blond woman sitting tall and straight opposite her like an Amazon.

“Doesn’t it stick in your craw to know that Tony Winchester got away with it?”

She nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t stand by two years ago and watch him walk over another woman. If I’d spoken up when he’d raped me, maybe she’d have been spared what I’d gone through.”

“So Jake spoke up,” Ella said softly.

Trish nodded her head slowly. “I couldn’t stand how the media were going on like Tony was this bastion of respectability: a happily married man, a great father, a stalwart of the community, blah, blah, blah. And that’s when I realised that clubs were  always going to defend their legends no matter what they did and I just couldn’t sit by and let them crucify her without them knowing he’d done it before.”

“But you couldn’t say anything because of the confidentiality agreement?” Ella asked.

Trish nodded. “Jake entered the fray for me, with all guns blazing. He went to the police and the media and told everyone that Tony had raped a woman in the past and the Seals had covered it up.”

Ella looked at Jake, a stupid welling of pride stretching the confines of her chest. She mightn’t know much about professional footy but it sounded like a suicide mission to her. “I take it that wasn’t exactly the way to win friends and influence people.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t let her go through with it. Apart from the agreement, she was exposing herself and Miranda to intense media scrutiny, the very thing we’d avoided all these years.”

“The media went into a frenzy,” Trish recalled. “The Seals closed ranks again. The Heroes’ management were furious.” Trish looked at Jake. “They gave him an ultimatum. Quit or be sacked.”

Jake pushed out of his chair and headed for the railing. The breeze blew his shirt back as he leaned heavily against the glass panels and stared unseeingly at the river.

Trish’s gaze settled on his back. “Jake refused, forcing them to sack him, forcing them to have to publically defend their decision to get rid of the captain of one of the best teams in the NRL. Someone who was not only honorable but who, despite his age, was still playing brilliant football.”

She turned to Ella. “You should have been paying attention, Ella. You would have been so proud of him.”

Ella glanced at Jake. Or his back anyway. Two years ago? Around the time Rachel had died. That must have been why he’d been back in Huntley. Not his groin at all.

She looked at Trish. “Thanks for filling me in. And please, I understand why Jake doesn’t want to push this. I really don’t want to bring any more crap down on your head. You’ve been through enough.”

“Nonsense,” Trish dismissed. “There are some things more important, bigger than me. I’ve brought Miranda up to believe in fighting for what’s right, sticking up for the underdog. And that’s us. We’re the underdogs. It’s time to stand up and fight.”

Jake turned around. “Trish.”

Trish shook her head. “What will happen, will happen, Jake, but you can’t walk out on those boys. Not now. And I know you don’t want to either. You’ve got them this far—you need to take them the rest of the way.” Trish gave him a look dripping with steely determination as she stood, pushing the chair back. She turned away from him and bathed Ella with the same look.

“Convince him for me,” she said and left.

Jake and Ella stared at each other. “Well, I don’t know about you but I need another drink,” he said, pushing away from the railing. He picked up her half-finished wine. “I’ll top you up.”

Ella followed him into the kitchen and stood quietly while he busied himself. He passed her the refilled glass and popped the top on a Corona. He took a swig, leaning his bottom against the granite bench top, his gaze never leaving her face. “Well? Go on, say it. You must be dying to.”

The bitter edge to his voice prickled against her skin. What did he want her to say? That she was disappointed in him? That she was saddened by his inaction? That he wasn’t the guy she thought he was? Because the truth was, she’d heard too much good stuff about him just now to justify grilling him over a stupid error of judgment that was ancient history.

“I’m sure there’s nothing I can say that you haven’t already thought yourself.” She didn’t have to be a psychologist to see that what had happened that night to Trish still ate at him.

Jake threw his bottle cap into the bin on the other side of the kitchen with the precision of a trained athlete. “Damn right about that.”

“I think Trish is right. If she’s moved on, then perhaps you should too? Maybe it’s time to stop hating yourself, Jake.”

Jake stared at his bare feet for a while, then he lifted his head and said, “Do you hate me?”

Ella felt tears prick the back of her eyes. He looked so anguished, like a little boy, and she wanted to gather him close and stroke his head. And the truth was she loved him, warts and all.

She sucked in a breath. “No. Of course not. I think you got into a situation when you were young that wasn’t of your making and you couldn’t stop even though you think you should have. I think it made you feel angry and powerless. I think it still does.”

Jake gripped the side of the bench and expelled the breath he’d been holding. She was right. All these years later he still wanted to bring Tony Winchester down.

The silence between them grew and he couldn’t remember a time when he wanted her more. It’d been months since he’d touched her and he wanted to rip that blouse of her so badly his fingers itched.

“You still want me to coach the team?”

The huskiness of his voice did funny things to Ella’s abdominal muscles. He’d lost that little boy look. His abs were laid bare to her gaze and her thoughts were far from maternal now. She ground her feet into the floor as she felt a sharp tug toward him.

She nodded. “They need you, Jake.”

“And what about you, Ella?” he asked. “What do you need?”

Ella felt the question slither straight to the ache between her legs. “That doesn’t matter.”

Jake reached out for her, snagging her hip and dragging her to him. She held herself back from him as much as possible within the confines of his arms but their thighs met and she was close enough to smell him—beer, lemon and sex. It infused her senses and she actually felt a little dizzy.

“Of course it does, Ella. You need to start thinking about number one.”

He raised a hand and gently lifted a section of fringe that had worked loose from her ponytail. He pushed it behind her ear and then cupped her cheek. He stared at her mouth. “I wish I didn’t want to kiss you so much,” he groaned before kissing her anyway.

Her lips were hot and she whimpered into his mouth as he flayed her with a passion that exploded full roar from his loins. She matched his ardour and he was instantly hard, instantly aflame. He deepened the kiss further, pressing her closer. She opened to him, grinding her hips into his, squashing her breasts against his chest, snaking her arms around his neck, raking her fingers into his hair.

Ella broke off, dragging in much needed air. Her heart was pounding like speakers at a rock concert. He filled her up too much. Made it hard to breathe. He reached for her again and she placed a stilling hand on his warm, muscled abdomen, her head spinning.

“No. Wait.” She heaved in another breath, “I take it this is a yes. You’ll coach the team.”

Jake also sucked in lungfuls of oxygen. “Yes,” he said.

He put his beer down on the bench behind him and reached for the hem of her peasant blouse, lifting it over her head in one swift movement. “Paradise,” he said, staring at the pink bra and the luscious bits it held in check. He cupped them, kneaded them, lowered his mouth to them.

Ella dragged herself back from melting into a puddle on the floor. “Stop,” she panted. She put her forehead on his chest, reaching for sanity. She hadn’t come here for this. The fact that it was happening gave her hope but she needed to focus right now. She lifted her head and looked at her watch. “There’s still three-quarters of an hour left of training.”

Jake ignored her, reaching for the twinkling diamante clasp taunting him from the depths of her cleavage. He flicked it and her breasts sprang free.

Ella looked down at her chest. “Is there some place you go to study that?”

He grinned. “Sure. Got myself a PhD.” He traced the ridge of her collar bone with his index finger and then headed south over the swell of a breast to the tip of a rapidly hardening nipple.

“Jake,” she whimpered, grabbing for his shoulder, trying to keep her head. ‘Training.”

“Tomorrow,” he dismissed as he bent his head and let his lips retrace the path.

Ella shut her eyes and arched her back. She was so going to hell.

Ella, who hadn’t left Jake’s bed since he’d thrown her on it the day before, reluctantly prised herself out of it to get to school—she made it just before the bell. Bernie raised an eyebrow when he noticed she was wearing the same clothes she’d worn the day before and Ella felt her cheeks flame as he gave her a wink.

The day flew and she was heading to training before she knew it. Seeing Jake back at the Hanniford oval was a sight for sore eyes. The team greeted him like he’d risen from the dead and Ella winced as Cam gripped his coach in a rib-crunching bear hug. Jake laughed and ruffled Cam’s hair in the manly way sports stars seem to have perfected and got straight down to the business of putting the Demons through their paces. Considering the man had had no sleep last night, he was firing on all pistons, which was just as well, given the final series was only a few short weeks away.

When Jake drove Ella and Cameron home after training , there wasn’t any question in his mind that he wouldn’t follow her inside. He was totally hooked. A more manly man might have cared that she had him firmly by his testicles. Jake didn’t. After years of musical girlfriends, he was more than ready for the One.

The dogs greeted them enthusiastically as they walked up the front path. Cerberus almost wriggled out of his skin, he was shimmying so much, and Jake gave him some extra attention. They detoured around the verandah, following the aroma of cigarette smoke and found Daisy, Iris and Rosie in their usual spots at the chipped linoleum table.

Daisy watched him through the thin smoke curl of her cigarette. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.”

“Jake!” Rosie leaped up from her chair and gave him a big fan-girl hug. She raised her eyebrows at Ella over his shoulder and Ella gave her an I’ve-been-in-bed-all-night-with-a-sex-god grin. “We missed you around here.”

Jake pulled out of her embrace and inspected the black miniskirt, black army boots with long black socks pulled all the way up to her knees, black
Drac Sucks
T-shirt, blood-red lips and studded dog’s collar around her neck. “Hey Miss Rosie, we missed you too.”

Rosie and Simon had been to every Demons’ game and Jake had watched her go from scary semi-Goth chick to an even scarier Stepford-wife with suppressed semi-Goth tendencies over the course of the last six months. He knew which Rosie he preferred.

Rosie gave him a sad smile. “Never change for a man, Jake. Never.”

He nodded. “I’ll take that on board.”

“So,” Daisy said, dragging on her cigarette, “haven’t seen you around here for a while.”

Jake glanced at Ella. “You will now.”

Daisy stared for a moment then gave a nod of approval. “Good.”

Jake grinned and switched his attention to Iris. “Hello, Iris. Are we all still doomed?”

She gave him a solemn shake of her head, gripping her tarot deck hard. “I’m afraid so,” she murmured. “It’s getting closer. The cards never lie.”

He put his arm around Ella’s shoulder. “We’ll get through it.”

They sat on the verandah with a light breeze blowing and chatted for a while. They talked about the footy competition and the house and scrupulously avoided talking about Simon.

Ella was excruciatingly aware of Jake’s gaze on her. On her face. Her mouth. Her cleavage. She wondered how long they’d have to sit here. All she could think about was excusing themselves and picking up where they’d left off at dawn. In a million years she never would have pictured herself with a Huntley native, someone who was privy to her past, warts and all. And certainly never with Jake, though he’d been a life-long fantasy—a sexy man way out of her league.

But instead of running scared, suddenly she was pleased for the shared background, pleased that they understood each other because they both knew what the other had been through. Pleased that she didn’t have to explain or justify herself and knew that if they could overcome their pasts, they could certainly have a future.

Suddenly the dogs who’d been lying placidly, tongues lolling, became alert at the very faint creaking of the front gate and they were off, barking as though a poltergeist had arrived on their doorstep.

“Oh crap,” Rosie said standing. “That’ll be the journalist.”

“Journalist?” Jake and Ella said simultaneously.

“
Rosieee
.”

Rosie froze as Simon’s shaky voice carried toward them, just audible above the row of canine disapproval. The dogs had obviously bailed him up and, as she’d spent all last night maligning him in their presence, it didn’t sound like they were about to let him pass.

“Simon,” she murmured.

“
Rosieeeeee?
” The plaintive call came again.

Rosie looked at her aunts and then at Ella and Jake. She didn’t want to face Simon alone. It was too soon.

Ella stood and held out her hand. “I’ll come with you.”

“Me too,” said Jake.

“We all will,” Daisy and Iris said in unison.

They cut through the cool, central hallway of the house and emerged into the late afternoon sunshine to see Simon pinned on the ground by Genghis, his big paws on Simon’s chest, his top lip lifting in a don’t-think-I-won’t-do-it growl.

The other dogs had adopted their alpha stances. Except for Cerberus, who did a dithering wiggle between wanting to be with the pack and loyalty to Simon, who’d fed him countless tidbits from the table. Once a stray, always a stray.

“Rosie,” Simon called, so relieved to see her he almost let go of the tenuous control he had on his bladder muscles. “Thank God.”

Rosie stood on the steps. Her arms were crossed and she drummed her fingers against the sleeve of her T-shirt. Jake, Ella, Daisy and Iris stood behind her.

“He’s not going to help you.”

“Please, Rosie. Call them off. I need to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

Simon’s head fell back against the grass. “Rosie.”

Rosie gave it a moment or two more before she called the dogs away. They backed off but sat alert at Rosie’s feet on the step below, putting themselves between her and Simon.

Except for Cerberus, who continued to dither in the middle.

Simon picked himself up and brushed at his jeans and shirt to remove the grass. Rosie watched him with a heart that was thumping like a clanging bell. He looked so gorgeous. So Simon. All neat and pressed—ironed jeans, for crying out loud—in his obviously designer clothes.

But she wanted him anyway, even though he was out of her league, even though he was her total opposite. Even though his mother was a heinous snob with way too much influence and he lived in an ugly monolith by the river.

Oh God—she sucked at being strong where men were concerned. She reached behind for Ella and drew strength from the grip on her hand.

Simon looked up at Rosie, taking in the posse behind her. “Do you think I could talk to you alone?”

Rosie shook her head. God, if they were alone, she’d jump his bones no question. It had been just over twenty four hours but her libido didn’t care that she wasn’t the woman he wanted her to be. “Anything you want to say to me, you say to all of us.”

Simon paused. “You look good,” he said.

“I know.”

Simon swallowed. “It was wrong of me to watch you changing and not speak up.”

Rosie knew she couldn’t let him take the fall for that one. She shrugged. “It was my choice. It was wrong but it was still my choice.”

“It was wrong of me to let my family crap interfere in our relationship.”

Rosie nodded. “Yep. That was wrong.” She tapped her foot. “What else?”

“I’m sorry for not understanding about the house. I’ve never had this,” he said, gesturing to Rosie’s silent family. He shifted uncomfortably—they should have all been wearing black, with
SECURITY
stamped across their fronts. “It’s a new thing for me.”

Rosie nodded again, giving him another concession. Simon’s place, his family, were colder than permafrost.

Encouraged by her nod, Simon took a few steps forward until his foot rested on the bottom tread. Genghis growled. “I used my contacts and spent all night in the council archives.” He looked at Daisy and Iris. “The woman who sold the house lied. I can only guess that a devout Christian woman like her, who’d been running a respectable Christian boarding house for six decades, didn’t want anyone to know the origins of the house. It’s significantly older—late eighteen hundreds. A woman called Anne Palmer had it built. Purpose built as a brothel, called Annie’s. It was quite well known at the time, by all accounts.”

Simon paused and waited for the news to sink in. Everyone was looking at each other.

“Oh God,” Ella whispered clutching at her throat as the irony smacked her hard in the face. She leaned heavily against Jake, his arm automatically encircling her waist.

She’d run away from one whorehouse to seek shelter in another?
“Apparently there were rumors that a famous bushranger, Slippery Shamus O’Grady, frequented the establishment and used it to stash his hauls. He and Annie had a thing but apparently she double-crossed him, took off with his loot. She and the loot were never seen again.”

Jake frowned as his brain sorted through the information. “So this means …?”

Simon nodded. “If this house…” He paused and looked at Rosie. “
Your home
… can’t get heritage listing, then no building is safe.” It took a minute, but Simon watched the transformation on the faces in front of him as realization dawned.

Rosie wanted to leap off the stairs straight into his arms but it all seemed too good to be so. “Really?” she asked.

Simon smiled. “Really. I have the papers in the car to get the ball rolling.”

Rosie did a little jig that looked like Riverdance meets Marilyn Manson. Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.” And she put out her arms, saying, “Genghis, heel,” before falling straight into his.

Everyone was talking at once and hugging each other, standing on the steps, making plans, just being happy and grateful and thankful that their beloved home was safe. It wasn’t until the dogs started barking that any of them tuned into the car doors slamming and the gate opening and a small crowd of people surging toward them.

“What the fuck?” Rosie said, staring at the eight people that Genghis’s pack had bailed up. Several of them had kick-ass cameras with long lenses that were madly clicking away. She’d been expecting a journalist, not the paparazzi.

“Genghis, heel,” Daisy commanded. The dogs retreated to their original position on the stairs in front of their humans.

“Oh, this is bad,” Iris murmured. “Very bad. It’s beginning.”

A flash flared and then another. “Can I help you people?” Daisy demanded as she clutched her sister’s hand.

Ella felt Jake’s arm around her waist grow tighter as the reporters drew nearer all shouting questions at once and she turned in time to see his mouth flatten into a thin line.

 Genghis growled.

“Whoa!” Rosie said above the hubbub, holding up her hand. “One at a time. I’m expecting a Steve Pennyworth from the
Brisbane Herald
.”

A middle-aged man stepped forward. “That’s me.”

“Well, who the hell are the rest of you?” Rosie demanded.

“Blake Abrahams,
Brisbane Herald
sports desk. How does it feel to be heading back into a finals series again, Jake?”

“Jenny Jones, gossip columnist. Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Lewis, sir?”

“John Wells. Investigative journalist for the
Sydney Mail
. Long time no see, Jake.”

Jake gave John Wells a carefully neutral look. The other reporters were like dogs straining at their leashes. John, however, was cool and calm.

Ella watched as four sets of reporters thrust mini tape-recorders at the group and their photographers, who it seemed weren’t important enough for introductions, continued to snap shots. John Wells? Wasn’t that the name of the reporter Jake had told her about? The persistent one?

“Mr. Lewis, sir.” Jenny leaped into the pause after the intros. “It’s a matter of record that you aren’t seeing anyone yet there was a rather intimate photo of you and this woman,” she indicated Rosie with a slightly distasteful air, “in a local paper the other day at a football match and here you are together again. There are many women out there who would be interested to know your relationship status.”

Rosie bristled at the journalist’s disdain. “Now hang on a moment.”

Simon placed a calming hand on Rosie’s arm. He knew how this went. He knew Jenny was baiting him and that the wisest thing to say was no comment. He’d grown up around media advisors and could have recited the correct response in his sleep. But today was not the day for political correctness. Not anymore.

“Rosie and I are seeing each other. We have been for six months. In fact, we’re getting married.”

Rosie’s head just about spun of her shoulders as she blinked up at him. “We are?”

Simon nodded. “Just as soon as we can.”

Rosie grinned and then turned to the reporter. “We’re getting married.”

More clicking of cameras as the other journos, even Steve Pennyworth, who’d come here about the battle for their home, sniffed a bigger story. A political story.

“And where do you plan on settling?” Jenny asked.

“Well, seeing as how his mother’s going to disown him when she sees this, he better come and live here.”

The reporters laughed. It was patently obvious to them all that Simon Charles Henry Lewis, political royalty, would never live in such a rundown dump.

Except John Wells didn’t laugh. And that made Jake even more nervous. They needed to stop this now.

“What about you, Ella?” Blake asked. “You must be pleased with how the Demons are going, making the finals. This is the kind of publicity your beleaguered school needs, right?”

“Don’t answer that,” Jake murmured.

Ella squeezed his hand. “It hasn’t hurt,” she admitted.

“Quite a coup for an acting school principal,” Blake continued. “You must be looking forward to the finals—you have a lot riding on it.”

“Don’t answer that,” Jake repeated. He’d gotten too close to these people over the last six months and he loved them and their quirky ways but they were like lambs to the slaughter. No idea how the media machine could twist things. He glanced at Iris rubbing her arms, eerily tuned into her foreboding.