by RC Boldt
She tries to look affronted and swats at me. “Oh, you!”
I lift my chin toward the cookbook she asked for. “What are you planning to make?” I glance around at the multitude of containers of baked goods on nearly every inch of counter space in the kitchen. “Doesn’t look like you need much more.”
She thumbs through the pages without looking up. “It’s not for us.”
I narrow my eyes on her. “For the neighbors?”
“No.” She still doesn’t look up.
“For someone who works with Ava?”
Before she even answers, I know what it’ll be.
“No.”
I study her a moment. “And what are you planning to bake?”
There’s a hint of hesitation before she answers. “I need to make some peanut butter blossoms.”
Fuck. I know exactly who she’s making these for. No other explanation for her being so secretive.
Dragging a hand down my face, I exhale slowly. “Need a hand?”
She finally glances up at me. “Sure.”
Minutes later, we’re working together at the small island making my mom’s favorite recipe for peanut butter blossoms. Once they’re baked, we pull them out of the oven and start pressing small chocolate Hershey kisses in the center of each cookie while they’re still warm.
As we work, I casually ask, “You dropping these off at her place?”
She doesn’t spare me a glance. Just keeps right on placing kisses in the cookie centers. “Mmm, I thought maybe you’d do it for me.”
“Mom—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I know. I didn’t say you had to see or talk to her.” Her concerned gaze settles on me. “Just drop them off at her place. Everyone deserves some homemade cookies.” She resumes placing the chocolates in each cookie’s center. “Especially around the holidays.”
Once they’re cooled and packaged up in a large container with a brief handwritten note from my mother taped to the top, I load my truck with my gifts and say my goodbyes.
Darcy’s car isn’t in the condo parking lot when I pull in and dart inside to leave the cookies at her door. Becket and Ivy had told me she’d be spending Christmas with them.
I linger for a moment and lay a palm flat against her heavy door. God, I miss her. Since she didn’t contact me after the scavenger hunt, I assume her silence means she’s not ready yet—that she can’t be with me. So I’m giving her space.
I let my palm slide down the door before it drops at my side. In a faint whisper, I say, “Merry Christmas, Duchess.” Then I turn and make my way to my truck, filled with a fraction of relief.
Because regardless of everything that’s transpired, I’m glad she’s not alone on Christmas.
Late January
“Congratulations on winning a spot in the Super Bowl.”
I nod in response to the comment from one of the reporters in the post-game press conference.
“What do you feel you could improve on in preparation for the big game?”
“I think we need to prepare ourselves like we normally do. Continue working on our plays, perfect our routes, and just make sure we’re working cohesively.”
A few more questions get tossed out, and I answer them readily.
Then the zinger hits.
“Are you playing harder because Darcy Cole broke up with you?”
I narrow my eyes on the asshole who smirks back at me, obviously thrilled he’s succeeded in putting me on the spot.
I turn my head and make it a point to look behind me, where both the NFL and Jags insignias are displayed as the background. Then I frown in confusion. “I’m not sure I know your name, Mr.…?”
“Cartino,” he supplies proudly.
“Mr. Cartino. I’m not sure I understand how questions pertaining to anything other than my performance on the field are important.” I lean forward on the table, resting on my forearms. “Am I playing hard?”
I’ve thrown him off-kilter a bit. “Yes.” His answer has a questioning lilt to it, but I let it go.
“Have the Jags won each of the playoff games?”
This time, his answer is begrudging. “Yes.”
“Then I think that’s all that really matters here.” I turn my attention to the rest of the press. “If that’s it, I’d like to be excused.” I paste on a practiced grin and wink. “Mom’s waiting for a call, just like every Sunday. And you know I can’t keep her waiting.”
Laughter sounds throughout the crowd of reporters, and I rise from my seat to leave.
When I pull up to the house, I notice a large package sitting at my front door. After parking in the garage, I disarm the security system and head out to see what was delivered.
The large box has multiple stickers claiming it contains cool packs and needs to be “refrigerated upon opening.” I haul it inside and set it on the kitchen counter and carefully unpackage it.
As soon as I uncover what’s beneath the multiple layers of cool packs, a harsh laugh is ripped from me. I know who it’s from before I even read the small printed note attached to one of the larger bags.
It was more of an assumption you’d win the playoffs, so I figured you’d need an obscene amount of kale smoothies to keep you in top form for the Super Bowl.
Even if you lost today (and, if so, I’m sorry), I know you’ll still enjoy this disgusting kale.
P.S. Thank you for helping your mom make those cookies. They were delicious.
P.P.S. Thanks for the Chucks. They really are the most-prized gift I’ve ever received.
My brow furrows at the first post script. How does she know I helped with those cookies?
Before I realize it, my phone is in my hand, and my mom answers on the other end.
“Did you talk to Darcy?”
“Well, hello to you, too,” she says with a little laugh. “Sheesh. And, yes.” More cautiously, she adds, “Why?”
I sidestep her question. “When did you see her?”
“I didn’t.”
When she makes no indication to explain, I huff out an exasperated breath. “When did you talk to her, then?”
“She called me to thank me for the cookies when she got home that night. I told her you’d helped me make them.”
Of course, my mother didn’t mention any of this to me. Because I’d made it clear I didn’t want to discuss anything Darcy-related.
I release a long sigh.
“I also mentioned that you missed her.”
“What?” I scrub a hand over my jaw. Jesus. Darcy probably thinks I put my mom up to that.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I told her you’d be upset if you knew I’d said that.” Her tone swiftly changes to a stern lecture. “Which you shouldn’t because I’m your mother, and I know best.”
I raise my eyes to the ceiling, counting backward from ten. “Okay, Mom.”
She goes silent for a moment. “Why are you asking me this now? That was a month ago.” I can hear the confusion in her voice.
“Just curious.” I exhale slowly. “I need to get situated since I just got back home. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetie.”
I toss my phone on the counter and stare at the twenty-four bulk-size bags of organic kale.
“Darcy Cole,” I murmur within the silent kitchen. The corners of my mouth tip up slightly. “You love me, dammit.”
A few minutes later, I’ve got half of the kale in my freezer for later use and the rest—minus half a bag—stowed in my fridge. Only then do I add the rest of the usual ingredients to the kale in my blender.
After I sit down in my chair, I gaze out the large windows into the backyard and drink my smoothie, savoring every sip.
It’s the best damn smoothie I’ve had in years.
Two Days Later
Call it coincidence. Call it fate. Call it whatever the hell you want. It doesn’t matter.
The only thing that matters right now is that Darcy is standing only a few feet a
way from me in the natural foods store. Staring at the turmeric root in her hand, she’s muttering to herself about muffins.
My eyes drink in the sight of her. Blond hair twisted up in a clip, well-worn jeans that fit snug in all the right places, and a simple long-sleeved shirt. Makeup free and undeniably beautiful, she makes my chest ache with the urge to touch her, kiss her, and have her back in my arms.
She’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice when I step up beside her until I speak.
“Thinking of baking some muffins?”
Startled, she fumbles and almost drops the root before recovering and placing it back in the bin. I notice the slight shakiness of her hand. Her eyes lift to meet mine, and I hate the wariness in their depths.
I cut to the chase. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” I step closer, softening my tone. “Because I know we’re not over.”
She stiffens, expression turning almost fearful, and glances around nervously. “I should go.”
When she moves to take a step and make her escape, I mimic her movement, blocking her.
“I know you’re trying to protect me from something. I don’t know what from, but you don’t have to.”
Anguish washes over her features. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I have my suspicions about what it might be she’s trying to protect me from, but I want—no, I need—to hear it from her.
I want Darcy to trust me enough to tell me. To trust that I can handle it.
She averts her gaze. “It’s for the best.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Especially right now.”
I frown. “Why now?”
“Because you need to concentrate on the Super Bowl, and I don’t want anything to overshadow th—” The words rush out before she catches herself, eyes going wide like she hadn’t meant to say as much.
I study her before offering a curt nod. “Okay, if this is something you need to tackle alone, then I can respect that. But I have to be honest.” Raking a hand over my jawline, I shake my head. “A part of me thinks maybe I should just give up on this.” I swallow hard before tacking on softly, “On you.”
She nods as if to punctuate my words. “You should.” But her voice cracks, giving her away. Quickly, she averts her gaze.
If I’ve learned one thing from all this, it’s that Darcy Cole is a terrible liar.
“Thank you.” A hint of a smile tugs at my lips when her head snaps up, blue eyes locking with mine in confusion.
“You’ve just convinced me not to.”
Her lips part in surprise, then snap shut firmly. She spins around and gets two steps away before I call out her name. She stops but doesn’t turn around.
“Thanks for the kale,” I offer softly.
Her tone is hushed when she counters with, “Thank you for the shoes.”
Then she walks away, disappearing past the aisles of the store.
It’s only now that I realize beneath the low hem of her jeans, she’s wearing the pink Chucks.
Super Bowl Sunday
post-game conference
We’ve secured another Super Bowl win. I can’t lie and say I’m not thrilled—I am. Although I’m happy we succeeded in making the fans and city of Jacksonville proud, the victory feels a little empty.
The instant I settle behind that microphone in the post-game conference, I know what I need to do. The words flood me, poised on the tip of my tongue, waiting impatiently while I go through the motions and answer the questions tossed at me.
I don’t care about my endorsement contracts. This needs to be done now that I have a captive audience.
After I field the reporters’ questions about the game, a few toss out ones pertaining to me and Darcy. I figure this is my opportunity. If they want to take it there, then we’ll go there. But it’ll be on my terms.
“I have something I’d like to say.” I wait as many of them lean closer, their microphones or micro recorders poised to catch every word.
“Many of you are aware that my friend and former teammate Becket Jones’ wife has a successful company, Ditched. His wife’s sister, Darcy Cole, started a company, Hitched. It’s a hands-on approach to matchmaking and date-coaching.” I look into one of the cameras trained on me, recording live. “Check out her website. Her stats are impressive.”
Redirecting my attention to the crowd before me, I continue. “Darcy is an incredible woman, and her company has been touted by Forbes magazine. She’s good people. Unfortunately, some people tend to get jealous of others’ successes and try to question their integrity and morals.
“I was a client of Hitched.” Titters sound among them. “I thought if anyone could help me find my Mrs. Kendrick, I’d get the same happily ever after Jones got.” A few laughs sound. “But something happened, and it wasn’t lewd or inappropriate.”
A few of them lean forward, following my every word.
“Darcy and I became friends.” There are a few surprised laughs. “Next thing I realized, she’d become my best friend.”
And then more, I silently tack on. But that’s for me, not them. I’m not sharing every damn thing with these people.
I’m hoping Darcy, the woman who’s been conditioned to operate as a lone warrior, will realize she’s not alone. She’s fighting to protect me, but she needs to realize—regardless of what happens between us—she has people in her corner now.
“It’s been brought to my attention that certain individuals would like to paint her as something she’s not and imply her business isn’t on the up-and-up. So, let me make this clear.” I lean closer to the microphone, my tone steely, my expression fierce. “Darcy Cole is good people, and I’ll have words with anyone who tries to say differently.”
With a nod to punctuate my words, I leave without a backward glance, aware of the pandemonium I’m leaving in my wake.
48
Darcy
Hitched® Tip #13:
Sometimes love happens when you least expect it. Be open to it.
♥
FEBRUARY
The Jags have claimed another Super Bowl win. I heard a few things on the TV and radio mentioning Dax’s unusual press conference following the game, but I’ve avoided any details. It’s too painful to hear his voice or any mention of him.
I’m free of clients for the first time ever, but it doesn’t mean I’m not working my ass off. Leif has been digging around and uncovering more information than I honestly thought was possible. It seems like it’s taken forever to gather proof and testimonies and he and I have been busting our asses to pull everything together.
He’s gone above and beyond, like usual, and gotten his hands on information from the lawyer who’d originally attempted to help me. She willingly shared her documents since she’s not licensed to practice in Florida.
Ivy reached out to one of her former professors, who pulled some strings to get the local law firm which helped her when she was in a bind a few years back on board. Partners at a prestigious and well-known law firm here in Jacksonville, James Orr and Bethany Ling, are seated at the large rectangular table I have on one side of my office with the appointed court reporter working side by side with Leif. We’ve been busy laying the groundwork.
Henry calls up from the front desk to let me know I have a visitor.
“A Mr. Kyler Watson says he needs to meet with you?” The questioning lilt at the end of his tone alerts me to the fact that I informed him I wasn’t expecting or seeing clients.
“That’s fine. Thank you, Henry. You can send him up.”
There’s the barest hesitation. “Uh, Miss Cole? He has two guests with him.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
I’m not entirely sure who he’s brought with him, but he did mention he’d been in contact with individuals who would be willing to come forward and speak out against Chad Garner.
Once I hang up my office phone, I exchange a look with Leif. In the slight raise of his eyebrows, he silently asks who Kyler might be br
inging by. The only response I can offer is a faint shrug because I honestly don’t know.
Kyler’s become a great friend—one I’m thankful to have. He’s been keeping tabs on me, checking in to see how I’m faring through everything.
“Hey, gorgeous.” His megawatt smile is the first thing I notice when he enters my office with outstretched arms. I step into his embrace, and he hugs me tight.
I back away and peer over at the two women, one who appears around my age and the other somewhere in her mid-fifties or so.
My eyes meet Kyler’s in question.
“Darcy, I’d like you to meet Delia”—he gestures to the older woman—“and Jackie. Delia quit, and Jackie’s taken a leave of absence from the Jags.” Then he adds, “Because of Garner.”
As soon as he says Garner, each woman stiffens visibly, making it clear exactly why he brought them to me.
I shake each woman’s hand. “Great to meet you, although I wish it were under different circumstances. Please have a seat.” Leif gathers more chairs while I make the introductions, and we all take our seats at the table.
Hours pass after Bethany and James take their statements, poring over files and documentation. The takeout Kyler orders is devoured gratefully. Finally, when everyone stands to say their goodbyes, the mood within my office has noticeably shifted from earlier.
Everyone leaves except for Leif and Kyler. We sit slumped, mentally exhausted from the day.
In addition, I feel emotionally spent. It’s odd how the brain of a survivor functions. For years, I’d locked that part of my life away and never accessed it, strictly intent on survival. Then years later, a simple encounter with Chad has unlocked everything and allowed all of the raw emotions to wreak havoc.
The main difference is, today, I feel empowered. Not only that, but I also feel as though I may have given that power to the other women seated at this table earlier. The possibility that I reminded them that their voice matters, that they still hold power, that someone will listen and hear their voice, gives me an unimaginable feeling of pride.