Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (32 page)

Emily laid her book down. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. You are beautiful. You are famous. You are wealthy. You have a gorgeous husband, a baby on the way, and the future’s limitless. I own a small flower shop. I’m alone. I share my time with a goldfish, and I will never measure up.”

“You’ve lost your mind.” The color was draining out of Emily’s face. “You can’t believe this.”

“I do. I always have.” Amy ripped open the bag of chocolates, shredded the wrapper off, and crammed candy into her mouth. “You have it all. I don’t.”

“How did we go from ‘Call Matt’ to this?” Emily asked. “You—you don’t know the first thing about my life.”

It was muffled, but she could still speak. “I’ve been your sister for the past thirty-five years. I think I could write a book about your life.” Amy needed more candy. She’d never been an emotional eater, but if there was ever a good time to start, this was it.

“No, Amy, you couldn’t.” Emily pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

Amy held up one hand, and ticked her reasons off, finger by finger. “Let’s see here. Emily is born. The music teacher sends a note home when she’s in second grade that Emily shows unusual aptitude, has perfect pitch, and is learning to read music. Emily starts voice lessons. She gets into a training—”

Emily cut Amy off. “Stop it. Just stop it.”

“No. Do you want the rest?”

“No!” her sister shouted. To Amy’s shock, tears were streaking down Emily’s face. “Let me tell you the real version. I was a freak! The other kids wouldn’t even play with me. After all, I was a teacher’s pet. Mom and Dad took me to appointment after appointment with voice teachers. I just wanted to be normal. Nobody would let me!” She took a long, shuddering breath. “I had to have a tutor. Then I had to leave home. I wanted all the stuff the other kids got to do—they got to go to dances, play sports, and just hang around. I knew that if I didn’t succeed, it—I—oh, fuck it. I sound like every bad cliché on daytime television.” She reached over. “Give me that.”

Emily grabbed the bag of chocolate out of Amy’s hand, reached in for a handful, and got the wrappers off in a record amount of time. She crammed them into her mouth.

“Do you know where I got my first kiss?” Emily demanded through a mouthful of candy.

“No.” Amy poked through the candy bag again for a Midnight Milky Way. Dammit. Where were they?

“I was onstage. I had to kiss another guy in the production. I didn’t know how. He told me what a bad kisser I was. He tasted
awful
. I don’t think you get it. I just—I wanted the things you probably had and you don’t care about. I wanted to kiss a boy my own age, not some older guy with bad breath and an attitude. Isn’t that how you’re supposed to learn how to kiss—that stumbling, bumbling kind of stuff, where you don’t know how to move your head or whether or not to use your tongue, but you’re learning together? I never got any of that stuff.” She let out a gusty sigh. “I never slow danced until I met Brandon.”

“That can’t be true,” Amy argued.

Her sister was crying, shoveling chocolate into her mouth, and blushing. “I asked him if he would dance with me. We had to go to this fundraiser, and I was afraid I wouldn’t know how if we had to slow dance together. I thought he was going to laugh at me. He was”—she rubbed her runny nose with the back of one hand—“He was wonderful.” Amy loved her sister, but that was one more reminder of her saintly brother-in-law, who always seemed to know exactly what Emily needed before she did. “Did you dance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Josh gave you your first kiss?”

Josh and his family had moved next door to the Hamiltons when Amy was five. Amy had no fear of dirt, so playing outside with the neighbors’ son wasn’t unusual to either set of parents. They failed to notice, though, their kids were growing up. Josh and Amy were outside in her parents’ backyard one warm, clear summer night when they were both thirteen. Their parents were in the Hamiltons’ kitchen, playing canasta.

Before Amy knew what was happening, Josh tipped her chin up and kissed her.

She still remembered the softness of his lips, his fingers in her hair, the taste of the strawberries they’d been eating from her mom’s garden, and the sweetly clumsy way his arms finally slid around her.

Amy had been kissed more than a few times since, but the only man who ever made her feel that way again—pounding heart, weak in the knees, safe and cherished—was Matt.

“Everyone is proud of you. Everyone! Mom and Dad—” Amy burst out.

“You don’t think they’re proud of you?”

“No. They want me to go back to being a CPA. According to them, what I’m doing is just too risky.”

Emily crammed some more chocolate into her mouth.

“Mom told me that they never knew how much determination you had. They brag about you all the time. Me? I get good reviews. They hand out your business cards.”

“They’re just being nice.”

“No. They said all their effort went into me, and they still feel badly about it,” Emily said.

“So, they feel sorry for me.”

Emily reached out, grabbed Amy’s shoulders, and shook her once. “They are proud of you.
We
are proud of you. When will you get it through your thick head?” She stared at Amy. “How long have you felt this way?”

“All my life.”

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me about it?”

“What was I going to say? ‘Gosh, Emily, I’m pissed off that I live in your shadow. You’d better not achieve. After all, I’ll feel bad’?” Amy said. Emily pressed one hand to her mouth. “How can I ever do anything that equals what you already have?”

Emily was speechless. Even more, she sat motionless.

“How in God’s name could each of us get what the other one wanted?” she finally said.

“It’s a cosmic joke.”

“I wonder which one of us is the actress.” Emily sprang up from the chaise lounge, and walked to the railing that surrounded the balcony. “So, you were just going to go through the rest of your life and never talk to me about this?”

“There’s nothing you can do about it.” Amy got to her feet as well and crossed to the railing. Emily whirled to face her.

“This is what you’ll do about it.” Her sister’s invisible tiara was back. Emily drew herself up to her full five foot four, and gave Amy the look she’d perfected while crossing hundreds of stages in her career.

“I don’t have the courage to operate my own business. I have five different people telling me where to go, what to do when I get there, dressing me and making me up, making my travel arrangements. You have a thriving business that you built yourself.” She moved closer to her sister. “You’ve succeeded in an area I never could. I am so proud of you.”

“Brandon fell in love with you.” Amy stared out at the deep blue water of the Pacific Ocean, and the puffy clouds overhead. “What if I never have that? I love my business, but I want someone to go home to.” She bit her lower lip.

“You already have it. Reach out and take it.”

“You don’t understand.” Amy’s voice was desperate. “I’d be stepping into Matt’s shadow instead. He’ll get bored, and he’ll leave me.”

“Now I know you’ve lost your mind. You’re certifiable. He’s in love with you. He’s not leaving.”

“Every man I’ve loved has left me!” Amy burst out.

Stillness came over Emily’s face, and she covered her mouth with one hand. She stared at Amy. “This isn’t about Matt. It’s Mom and Dad. I had to work through my feelings about what happened with them when I met Brandon, and now it’s your turn,” she said.

“I don’t think so, Em. You weren’t in love with a man who gives a whole new meaning to ‘testosterone poisoned.’”

“Oh, yeah? You think Brandon’s so perfect?” She flung the words back at Amy. “I fell in love with him because he’s not. Matt isn’t perfect, either. Why don’t you focus on the fact that maybe you don’t see him as everyone else does?”

Amy turned to grab her unread book. “I can’t listen to any more of this. I’m going to bed.”

“Not yet.” Emily caught her hand. “Does it occur to you that the reason why Matt came after you was that he was tired of the façade? He wanted you, not someone he’d seen in a magazine or on a TV show. He wants someone he can be who he is with.”

“He takes over.”

“He takes care of the women he loves.”

“It’s suffocating.”

“You’re just making excuses now.” Emily let out a long sigh. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life running? He’ll spend the rest of his life chasing you.”

“Until I get that restraining order,” Amy muttered.

Her sister laughed in her face. “Oh, there’s a threat. You finally met the guy you can’t live without—”

“Oh, yes, I can.”

“I’m going to tell you exactly what’s going to happen. You’re going to let him catch you. You’re going to overcome your fears, you’re going to fall in love for the rest of your life, and you’re going to be disgustingly happy, too. Then you’ll have to come up with something else to worry yourself to death about.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

M
ATT SHOULD HAVE
known that everyone else’s comments about his love life were tame compared to the reception he received on the
NFL Today
set. He and his colleagues were taping a pre-season look at this year’s pro football schedule. They were playing that Adele song on the overhead PA when he walked in—the one with the lyrics that felt like a punch in the gut every time he heard it. He wasn’t going to be able to find anyone else like Fifi.

The best defense was always a good offense with these clowns.

“I’ll bet that’s your favorite song, Falcon,” he called out as he walked toward his seat.

“Not really. I thought you might like it. Hey, McCord, I heard Stephens is single again. Maybe we should fix him up.”

Hank’s upper lip twisted into a sneer. “Oh, hell, yeah. Heard she dumped him, too. I should have no problem introducing her to my big anaconda.” He pointed at his groin. “She looks like a great piece of ass. I can’t wait to find out for myself.” He smirked at Matt. “She needs a real man, Stephens.”

The words barely left Hank’s mouth as Matt threw himself over the desk and onto his co-worker. He’d left the league ten years ago, but he still knew how to tackle. He also remembered how to punch. He and McCord hit the floor with a “thud.”

Six people pulled him off McCord, but not before he managed to mete out some punishment. McCord got a couple of shots in, too. Matt wiped his hand over his mouth, and came away with blood.

He was breathing hard, wrenched away from the men that held him, and told the man still lying on the floor, “There’s more where that came from, you son of a bitch. Don’t let me hear you say anything about Amy again.”

“Settle down, Stephens. That’s enough.”

“I haven’t even gotten started,” he snarled. “Anybody else want some?”

The producer arrived on the run. “That’s it. Stephens, get out of here. You have the day off. Without pay.”

Matt laughed in his face. “You’re unaware of the terms of my contract. I get paid no matter what.”

“Don’t make me call the cops.”

“Call them. I don’t give a shit.”

The only sound he heard was his own footfalls on the highly polished studio floor as he walked away.

Matt threw himself into the back of a cab outside, barking out the name of the hotel he wished the Pro Sports Network group stayed at when he spent eighteen Sundays a year in LA. He booked a room in the time it took the cabbie to drive the mile and a half, and sent his agent and publicist a text. His phone was vibrating thirty seconds later. He shoved it into his pants pocket.

The cabbie pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel and popped the trunk for Matt to retrieve his carry-on and garment bag. Matt pulled out a pair of twenties to pay the guy.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“You might want to get that cut looked at,” the cabbie told him.

“I’ll do that.”

Matt’s luggage was snagged by a bellman, who followed him to the reception desk. The woman behind it was visibly shaken.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you? You’re bleeding.” She grabbed a box of tissues on the credenza behind her, and extended them to him. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Matt could think of a couple of things, but one typically got arrested for that. “I’m Matt Stephens,” he told her. “There’s a very large tip in it for you if I can check in here as Daffy Duck.”

“Of course, Mr. Duck. I’ll also make sure some first-aid supplies are sent up to your suite.” She typed for a few minutes on the laptop in front of her.

“I’d also like a bottle of Herradura Silver, a bucket of ice, lime wedges, and salt. I’ll take Patron in a pinch.”

“Those items will be in your room as quickly as I can secure them.” She nodded at the bellhop as she passed the folio with Matt’s room keys inside across the counter. “Welcome, Mr. Duck. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“I think I will.”

An hour later, Matt poured his second drink. The tequila wasn’t helping. He didn’t really regret punching McCord, even if he was in pain as a result of being punched in return. McCord richly deserved what Matt had dished out to him. He’d do it again, too, and he’d make sure McCord apologized to Amy as well. He lifted the glass to his lips. He could slam the entire bottle, but he couldn’t drink away the real problem.

Matt had to admit his anger with McCord’s comments was nothing compared to his torment over his own stupidity with Fifi. It was eating him alive. He couldn’t believe he ever thought she would buy his line of crap about the “loan.” She wanted the pride of knowing she’d built a successful business by solving her own problems, and he’d taken that away from her. He was too stubborn to admit that he lied to her about where the money came from, too.

His girl was smart. He should have known she’d react like she had when she’d stumbled across the proof in his office. Instead of manning up, telling her he was a dumbass and doing whatever he had to do to convince her he was sorry for meddling and lying to her about it, he made things even worse. He thought he could BS his way past her justified anger and hurt. He had nobody to blame but himself.