Hoops (27 page)

Stewart’s voice held genuine regret. “I thought you two really had something.”

“We did.”

“I’m so sorry, Carolyn. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love . . .” She turned her hand over and gripped his. “I wouldn’t blame you if you held a grudge because I made you be academic adviser.”

Admiration, respect, gratitude, affection—she’d always felt those things for the president of Ashton University. Now she felt a flow of love for the man who’d loved her and accepted her for seventeen years. He shared her pain. She’d never really seen that before.

“Oh, Stewart. No. I don’t hold a grudge.” She reached across the wedge of table separating them to hug him. “I’m glad you did it. It’s opened my eyes—to a lot of things.”

As she pulled back, she saw in his eyes a warm pleasure at her gesture, tinged with a little uncertainty. He needed some exuberant loving; the kind Helene could provide, Carolyn decided. Just as she’d needed the kind of love C.J. gave.

“I don’t regret anything about it. I learned so much more than I taught. From the guys. And from C.J.”

Hours into the night, as she watched the tapes of her parents, she’d examined the person she’d been and the person she was now. She welcomed the fun-loving, colorful and sensual sides so long shunted aside by Professor Trent.

She would never shut them away again.

And, perhaps to the amazement of Professor Trent, Carolyn was no less respected, no less accepted, no less taken seriously.

You’re afraid if you’re not serious all the time, then everyone’ll find out you’re just like everybody else—still wondering when you’re going to grow up inside.

She’d built walls around herself made up of all the things a professor should be so that she’d be loved and accepted—but the love and acceptance had been there all the time.

It had taken a basketball team to knock enough holes in the walls to let some air in. And it had taken one special basketball coach to knock the walls down.

“I just wish … I just wish …” If only she’d been able to help C.J. find the same freedom. Through a sheen of tears she looked up. “I love him, Stewart.”

He encircled her with a father’s arms, and Wisconsin dusk turned to frigid dark as he listened to her.

When he got up to leave, she realized she needed to tell Stewart one more thing. “I’m not going to England. I’ve written to the seminar, declining their very flattering offer,” she said with a small laugh at her self-quotation. “It would took great on a résumé, but I’ll be happier staying at Ashton for now.”

Her eyes welled with tears again, both at the pleasure in Stewart’s face and the thought of how much happier she’d be if C.J., too, were at Ashton. She shook herself free of the thought. “Besides, I have some things I need to finish up—I’ve promised Frank Gordon the toughest summer of his life.”

“You’re quite a woman, Carolyn,” Stewart said. “Your parents would be proud of you.”

“I hope they’d also like me.”

“I know they would,” he said with conviction. He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. “Stewart. I think they’d like Helene, too.”

He looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then smiled with a trace of self-consciousness.

“She’s very special,” Carolyn added. “I like her a lot.”

His smile lost some of its self-consciousness and deepened. “Me, too.”

* * * *

“You know our program, C.J. Our facilities are among the finest in the country.” The athletic director didn’t have to brag; he just told the truth.

“We’re confident that with our facilities and your talent we could have the finest basketball program in the country. You’d have your choice of assistants, of course. And office support staff. We can arrange special financing if you’re interested in buying a house. And we provide a new car every other year. You’ll want your lawyer to look this over, but with performance bonuses, you’d be looking at something around . . .”

C.J. listened to his dream being detailed, luxury by luxury, bonus by bonus. A sparkling new field house instead of Ashton’s anachronism. A flotilla of assistants instead of Dolph Reems and a team manager. An office staff instead of a shared receptionist and battered filing cabinets. A house, a car, a bonus. Everything he wanted. Everything it took to be somebody.      

Then why did he find it so damn hard to concentrate on what the man sitting across the table in this posh hotel suite was saying? C.J. blinked away the image of a laughing face framed by glowing golden brown hair.

Have his lawyer look at it, wasn’t that what the man had said? With Stewart it had all been done on a handshake. Submitting a resignation hadn’t even been necessary. He’d just wanted to make it seem more real to himself. He was free—with no obligations, no commitments.

Sure, they’d had a good thing going, but things like that ended. Brown eyes, low-lidded with passion, invited him to come nearer.

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes . . .

C.J. shifted his long legs in the easy chair, completely unaware that the movement caused the man across from him to raise the bonus for winning a conference tournament by several thousand dollars.

Ashton. He was thinking of Ashton. And the basketball team.

It had been a hell of a season. C.J.’s cheek creased into the beginning of a grin. The weeks of studying tapes, the months of searching for players, the days of practices, the hours of straining on the sidelines all seemed rather fun from this short distance. That one-point victory in the second round of the tournament over Bracken State had made it all worthwhile.

He needed no tape to again see those final seconds. To see Brad move in to knock back Bracken State’s open shot from the corner; Ellis adjust the defense; Frank rise to stop the pass; the players hug one another in the middle of the court with the exuberance of victory.

Their faces flashed in front of him, a season compressed into a moment. He saw the upperclassmen, who could so easily have resented a new coach and a new program, accepting lesser roles and contributing to the best of their abilities. He saw Brad learning to tone down his razzle-dazzle to a constant glow. He saw Ellis gaining the confidence to wield the leadership he was born for. He saw Frank grow until he was willing to expose his weaknesses in order to improve his strengths.

The time-lapse clicked off and he saw himself.

The one-point victory wasn’t what had made all the months that had gone before worthwhile; it was all those individual moments of effort, triumph and failure that gave meaning to the victory.

The athletic director sitting across from him was still talking about his offer. But the remembered thunder of Rake’s voice dimmed the athletic director’s words.
In my book the biggest win of all is the one you’ve got wrapped up in your arm right this second. Don’t let go of that one, C.J.

Carolyn.

He nearly said the name aloud.

You are somebody . . . You’re important to Ashton. You’re important to me, C.J.

Carolyn . . . . Carolyn laughing. Looking down her nose at him. Fiercely fighting any interference with the players’ studies. Carolyn at the basketball games. Reaching out to touch him in comfort. Dancing so close that their bodies moved together. Storming at him across a basketball court. Releasing her passion. Carolyn in his arms, kissing him awake in the morning, leaning back against him in the kitchen. Loving him.
I love you, C.J.

Then how the hell can you leave me?

The question was a bayonet in his chest.

A real, physical injury he could deal with. He could meet it straight on and defeat it. He could do the exercises, grit his teeth through the therapies, withstand the physical pain. But this was a wound to the heart.

How do you cope with that, Coach Draper?

Sometimes you just have to give it time, to see if it’s going to heal or if it needs more attention.

Helene hadn’t been talking about burns from any imaginary spilled coffee, and they both had known it. She’d been telling him he might need patience with Carolyn. Maybe a lot of patience. He’d thought the waiting was all over when she’d opened her heart to him. But it wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be until he had her head, too.

Right now her head told her to take that job in England. But that wasn’t really Carolyn. That was just a leftover reaction from the marble mask she’d sculpted because she thought it would please the world. If he gave her time, she’d realize what was best for her.

Who the hell are you kidding? his honesty demanded.

Sure, she’d be happier at Ashton, but it’s yourself you’re worried about. You’ve grown to need her. You love her . . .

I love her.

His heart spoke with authority: then why the hell did you give up?

The athletic director’s voice was insistent enough to break through his thoughts. From the edge to his words, he’d clearly said them before. Maybe several times.

“So what’s it going to be, C.J.?”

                                   * * * *

Carolyn pulled into her driveway and brought the car to a stop in the dimness of the early spring twilight. The weather softened with another tantalizing whisper of spring, but the early sunset reminded her that winter hadn’t let go entirely. She’d have to hurry to get changed before going to Stewart’s for dinner. She would watch the championship game on TV tonight with him and Helene.

She let out a sigh as she shut the car door. She’d promised herself to hold on to the good things about her time with C.J. and not let the pain obscure them. But she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do that if the TV kept flashing pictures of his face to torment her battered heart.

With two steps left to reach the stairway, a form stepped out of the growing shadows, startling Carolyn. “Wanna shoot some hoops, Professor?”

C.J.

For its battered condition, her heart performed some amazing stunts. It somersaulted at the sight of him in his worn jeans, bombardier jacket open to an Ashton University sweatshirt and a basketball tucked under his arm.

Then it twisted with dread. Oh, God, he’s leaving already. He’s come to say goodbye for good. She’d thought she was ready. She’d thought she was reconciled to it. She wasn’t.

“C.J., what are you doing here?” It was hard to find the breath for words. “The tournament’s not over.”

What a stupid thing to say. He knew that.

“I got done early.” The fading light outlined the shrug of his shoulders but shadowed his face.

“So you found the job you wanted?” She forced the question out.

“Yup.”

“Oh.” She thought she was braced for it, but the pain brought a gasp only smothered by biting her lip. She would remember what he’d already given her; she wouldn’t dwell on what else they might have given each other if they’d continued together. That was what she had to do to survive. But, oh, God, how it hurt.

“That big university in the Southwest?”

“Nope.”

“Oh? Didn’t they offer it to you? The people on TV said—”

“Don’t be insulting, Professor. They offered it.”

She frowned, trying to see his face in the dusk. No bitterness lingered in his voice. Yet he sounded different from the C.J. of old. More grounded, somehow, if that made sense. If they offered it, but he wasn’t going there . . .

“You turned it down?” Her voice was husky with a hope she couldn’t deny.

“Yup. Told them I already had the job I wanted. Told them it was going to take a little longer to rebuild this program and to reform serious Professor Carolyn Trent.”

“You did, C.J.?”

“I did, Carolyn.” His voice softened and deepened.

There hadn’t been much time to practice what he’d wanted to tell her. There had been a job to turn down, then an early-morning flight to Chicago to spend a couple of hours with Rake, followed by the drive back to Ashton and a brief meeting with Stewart to retrieve one letter of resignation.

But C.J. didn’t need practice to tell her what he needed. This move he’d make on instinct alone.

“You were right,” he told her. “I should have known that. I guess I’m just not one of your quick studies. It took me a while to mull it over on my own to realize you were right, to realize I was still carrying some things my father had said around in my head. I didn’t really believe them, but I let them get to me.”

With practiced ease he used his elbow to swing the ball around in front of him. He held it there with his long fingers spread out on the familiar surface. “Then I realized that it’s
my
standards that count, not his. And by my standards, I am somebody; I must be to have somebody like you care about me.”

A cymbal’s crash of hope shook Carolyn. Surely he’d have to shout to overcome its din. But the low drawl came through just fine.

“So I’m going to stick around. I’ve got to satisfy myself that the job is done right.” He took a step toward her, into the light that showed the yearning and the determination in his face. “Stay with me, Carolyn.”

Joy wasn’t a tender emotion. Not quiet and peaceful. It rocketed through her veins, hammered at her heart, burnt in her lungs. And made it very difficult to say the words that needed to be said. What she wanted to do was shout out loud—or say nothing at all, but to let her lips converse another language with his.

“I’m not going to teach at the seminar, C.J.”

For a moment he thought someone had tackled him from behind his weak left knee. Then he realized the weakness in his knees was accompanied by a soaring in his heart. His grin pleated his cheek, but he feigned condolences when he said, “Didn’t get the offer, huh?”

“Don’t be insulting,” she said, echoing his earlier words. “I just mailed the letter thanking them for their kind offer. I told them still had work to do here—a lot of work, taming Coach C.J. Draper.”

He dropped the ball and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her. Her body fitted to his unhesitatingly. She slipped her arms under the jacket to enjoy the solid feel of him while his large hands spread across her back to bring her closer. The immediate heat between them burned away the chill of the past two weeks.