Double Contact

by Christy Pastore

  Nice? Okay.

  I reach for my wallet inside my purse.

  Brenner stands. “No, this is my treat. I think you’re Olympics material, Lark. Think about it.”

  I nod. “Thanks for breakfast, Brenner. I’ll give it some thought.”

  “See ya around.”

  He strides up to the counter and gives Monika a hug. After he pays, I watch him walk out the door and never look back.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brenner

  Present Day - July

  They’ve done it! Landers and Saddler move to the next round of competition in the FIVB Beach Volleyball World Championships. What a story here today, a come from behind win for the Americans.

  I smile and sip my beer.

  Good girl.

  It’s been a while since I’ve talked to Lark. I still think back to that day at the diner. If I’m being honest, I think about her a lot. Every time I think about reaching out to her, I remember that she’s not mine and once again swallow my feelings.

  After our three-game sweep of the Rapid City Buffaloes, I was part of a six-player trade . . . hello, Chicago. Traded in my sunblock for a parka and relocated to the Windy City.

  Three months later, my old teammate, Sanchez, drills a pitch and hits me square in the wrist. Clean break and I missed the rest of the season. Then I aggravated the damn thing during training camp and had to start the season on the disabled list. Things were never the same after that. Therapy and rehabilitation became my life. Then to make matters worse, my old back injury revealed its ugly head.

  Once I completed my rehab, I signed a one-year deal with the Cannons and played a shaky, average season in Chicago. After we were eliminated from the playoffs, I had a tough conversation with my agent, and that led to me announcing my retirement.

  This past March, I signed a one-day contract with the Los Angeles Stingers so I could retire as a member of my old team, the team where my career began.

  And now, I’m an on-air commentator with Global Sports Net Inc. I miss the game. I do. But reporting isn’t a terrible job.

  There are worse things in life.

  I shrug into my suit jacket, straighten my tie. Sunday night, and I’m headed to the studios to wrap up the games of the day.

  “God, I want to do that again.”

  My eyes flick to the screen. Lark. Jesus. Drenched in sweat, light brown hair stuck to her cheeks, out of breath—she’s stunning. But I’ve pictured her flush and satiated in my dreams many nights. All because of my magnificent skills between the sheets.

  She’s literally the one who got away. Of course, she was never mine to begin with.

  “We battled back against a tough Brazilian team, but it’s just so crazy.”

  “We set our expectations high as a team, Lark and I . . . and to just come out here and win. Ahhh!”

  The camera cuts away to the crowd, and I flip the television off. I pull out my cuffs, so my sleeves are smooth in my suit. Opting for no tie tonight, so the collar is open.

  As soon as I pick up my keys, my phone rings. A picture of my sister with her tongue out flashes on my screen.

  “Why are you calling me at six o’clock? Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “Calm down, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “Thanks, Rikki.”

  “Do you have any plans? Did you do anything fun?”

  “I worked out, had a beer, and now I’m off to work.”

  She puffs out a breath. “Wow, big day. Don’t you have a lady friend to make you a cake or anything?”

  “No. And I’m perfectly capable of making my own cake.”

  “You’re gonna make someone a wonderful hubby someday.”

  I snort. “Yeah, sure.”

  My sister says nothing more on the subject. She’s happily married to her high school sweetheart with two kids and another one on the way. Not the life for me.

  I’m too busy to settle down. Although, today isn’t the best example of my daily life.

  “Uncle Brenner,” a squeaky voice booms out. “Are you coming home soon?”

  I laugh. My nephew, Lucas, asks me this question every single time I talk to his mom.

  “Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”

  “I’m good. I hit the ball at the game today,” he singsongs with delight.

  “I saw that. Your mom sent me the video.”

  He’s got a heck of swing. Although he won’t inherit any of my genetic talents. Lucas’ success will be of his own making through hard work and practice.

  Monika and Porter became my foster parents after my mom died in a car accident. I left the wreckage with barely a scratch. Porter was the policeman on duty that night and took me to the hospital.

  One of his friends had been working in the emergency room that night. Thanks to some clever paperwork maneuvers, the doctors managed to keep me in the hospital for a week. Porter came to visit me every day, then Monika came with him.

  My mom had just died, and I was all alone. I had no family. No clue where my dad was because I never met him. For as long as I’d been alive, it was just Mom and me. Until it wasn’t.

  I don’t really remember how it all happened, but I remember Monika asking me if I’d want to be a part of their family.

  And I said, yes.

  After I hang up with Rikki and Lucas, I ride the elevator down to the parking garage and climb into my black Mercedes. The satellite radio pipes through the speakers and I crank up the volume. The nasal-toned voice shifts the topic to the Olympics.

  “Gold medal buzz just keeps getting better and better for Team USA. In the world of beach volleyball today . . . how about the duo of Saddler and Landers?”

  I ease out of the parking spot and navigate my way out of the garage.

  “The next round will not be an easy one for the duo. Although given their hard-fought battle today, they could win it all. And then it will be on to the Olympics.”

  The pair of voices continue to discuss how Lark and her partner, Holly, played today. Weaving through the heavy flow of traffic, I catch the smile on my face in the rearview mirror.

  Jeez. You’d think I’d been the one who won today.

  My winning days are long behind me. The only thing I can do now is hope for some interesting interviews and possibly my own show, Podcast, or something on the GSN Plus channel, I’m not picky.

  “By the way things are shaping up, Saddler and Landers could face a feisty Dutch team next round. Let’s take this to social media. Are you surprised to see the American pair moving on? Tweet us your thoughts.”

  I switch the station and continue the drive over to Pier 17. My cell rings, Mom’s name flashes across the screen.

  A smile breaks across my face as I answer the call through the hands-free system of my SUV. “Hey there.”

  “Happy birthday, son.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Did you have a good day?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I’m off to work now.”

  The clanging of dishes and the din of voices in the background tell me she’s at the diner. “I’ve got your program all set to record, and I’ll watch when I get home.”

  Ah, home. There are days when I miss the ocean breeze, the sound of waves crashing and, without a doubt, Mom’s cooking.

  “Speaking of home,” she drawls out. “I’m trying to finalize the headcount for Anson’s wedding. Do you think you could give me an answer? Or at least drop that little RSVP card in the mail for your future sister-in-law?”

  Anson, my little brother, is marrying Claire in August. I’m not on the best of terms with him. Although to be fair, he’s marrying my ex-girlfriend. It makes things slightly awkward. I’m happy for them, truly. Things between Claire and I ended a long time ago.

  I blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “And really, honey, it’s no big deal if you don’t have a date. We have two tables filled with single people right now. And you know that Claire has lots of fr
iends.”

  Friends. I know all her friends. I have zero desire to date any of them. Although it’s been suggested that I turn the tables of awkward on the two of them. But I refuse.

  I flick my turn signal and ease into the right lane. “Okay, Mom, I’ll get that card in the mail to Claire. I gotta go.”

  “Well, okay, we miss you.”

  “I miss you too. Thanks for calling me.”

  I end the call with my mom and pull up to our valet service to park my car.

  “Hey, Jonah, how are you?” I ask as I step out and hand him my keys.

  “Just great, Brenner.” He bumps my fist. “Have a good night.”

  “Will do, man.”

  I walk into the building as my phone buzzes. A text flashes on the screen.

  Anson: Hey, man! Happy birthday.

  Mixed emotions tug at my heart.

  I take the elevator up to the executive lounge. I’m about an hour early, but there’s plenty to do before we go live.

  “Happy birthday, Brenner!” Kandace, my personal assistant, shouts as I step around the corner. She hands me a cupcake with a candle. “Make a wish.”

  As cheesy and corny as it is, I make a wish.

  “Thank you. You didn’t plan a bigger surprise, did you?”

  A blush breaks across her neck, and she pushes her black-rimmed frames up her nose. “I didn’t, but they did.”

  “And by they, you mean Nolan and Sebastian?”

  She nods. “They’re in your office with a bottle of bourbon.” Kandace takes a step closer. “And there’s more.”

  My eyes close as I let out a deep sigh. “What?”

  Her voice drops an octave. “Brant’s here too.”

  “What? No shit.”

  She smiles and jabs a finger at my chest. “Now, you act surprised when you see them, got it?”

  Nolan and I met at the ESPY’s a few years ago. He’s the GM for the New York Renegades. I’ve known Sebastian since college. And Brant was my financial advisor until his career plans shifted.

  My hand clasps her shoulder. “No worries. I got this.”

  I push the door to my office open, and I’m greeted by my three best friends. I’m a lucky bastard. That’s for sure.

  An hour later, I’m sitting at one of the finest cigar clubs in New York City. Apparently, this little surprise has been in the works for weeks.

  The four of us are in a private room. The space smells of wealth and power. I can’t imagine how many “deals of the century” have been made by men and women sitting in this room.

  “So, Brantley,” I drawl out. “How’s marriage and fatherhood treating you?”

  “I’ve got zero complaints.” He takes a puff of his cigar. “It’s all good.”

  I take a sip of my drink. “And the bourbon business, how’s all that going?”

  “Aside from the fact that we’re expanding two new tasting locations. We’ve got new products rolling out and new partnerships in the works. Nolan convinced his boss to add Cardwell Bourbon to the beverage menu. Not only that, but he also gave me a nice discount for advertising.”

  Sebastian rubs his hands together with delight. “You’re a good man, Nolan.”

  Nolan jerks his chin upward as a puff of smoke curls into the air. “Don’t let that get around, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

  “How’s the team looking this year, Nols?” Sebastian grins, swirling the contents of his highball glass before leaning back in the overstuffed leather chair.

  “Halston’s coming in for his fifth season. Plus, the picks we got in the draft and the moves we’re making on the defense, I think we’ve got a great shot at a winning season.”

  Brant chimes in. “It’ll be nice to see the Renegades back on top of the NFL.”

  Nolan takes another puff from his cigar. “It will happen, mark my words.”

  “So, how’d you get reservations for this place anyway?” My gaze swings to Sebastian.

  “Wasn’t me.” Sebastian flicks the end of his cigar into the ashtray.

  “Lindsay got me the reservations,” Nolan informs and motions for our server.

  Lindsay is Nolan’s little sister. She’s hot, smart, and she’s got tons of connections in the city.

  “How’s hot Linds doing these days?”

  Irritation flashes in his expression. I don’t miss the way Sebastian looks at me when I say her name. I’ve suspected for a while now that Sebastian has a thing for Lindsay. I ask the question mainly to screw with Sebastian.

  Nolan picks a piece of lint from his black dress pants. “I will let you get away with that because it’s your birthday, Brenner.”

  Our server stops by. Nolan orders another round of drinks and asks that our table be ready in thirty minutes.

  When she walks away, he shoots me a glare. “But, let me ask you this, would you like it if I called your little sister hot? What if I said I wanted to bang your sister like a screen door in a windstorm?”

  I shrug. “Doesn’t bother me. I take it as a compliment.”

  Brant laughs. “It doesn’t bother you, because Rikki’s married and off the market. And these two chuckleheads never had a chance anyway.”

  Nolan’s laugh is less than amused. “I’d never break the code and mess around with any of your sisters.”

  “Pfft, please, shouldn’t we agree that that’s an outdated platitude among friends?”

  The three of them ignore my question. I know why Sebastian keeps his mouth shut, but I figured Brant might back me up. Our server returns with our drinks and two bowls of mixed nuts.

  “So, are you still firmly wired to your bachelor status since your ex is marrying your brother?” Sebastian asks and pops a cashew into his mouth.

  “I’m not single because my brother’s marrying Claire. I’m single because I don’t have time for a woman in my life.”

  It’s partly true.

  “You know I’ve dated a few women since Claire and I broke up, right?”

  “Have you?” Brant asks and bites into a pecan.

  I don’t get a chance to respond because the loud cheer from the bar distracts the flow of conversation.

  “Oh shit,” Nolan says, “that was a hell of a match today.” He nods to the television screen.

  Lark appears on the screen. She jumps up and those little white bikini bottoms inch over the curve of her ass.

  “Speaking of hot,” Sebastian interrupts and clears his throat. “Don’t you know Lark, Brenner?”

  “I’ve met her once or twice.”

  Brant takes a measured sip of his drink. “My money is on the two of them to win it all.”

  We sit in silence for the first time all night, our eyes focused on the reel. My thoughts scatter back to the day in Mom’s diner when I had breakfast with Lark.

  I thought I’d see her that night at the after-party, but she didn’t show. And I couldn’t very well ask Alec why she wasn’t in attendance. Before the next game, I thought I’d run down by the beach, maybe to get a glimpse of her practicing.

  No luck.

  Our blonde server approaches the table with a smile. “Gentleman, your table is ready.”

  “I’m starved,” Nolan says, and stands.

  Brant turns to face me. “Me too, but first . . .” He raises his glass. “Happy birthday, Brenner. I’ve got a feeling this will be a good year for you. Cheers, my friend.”

  Smiling, I swallow down the rest of my drink. When I look back at the bar, Lark’s face appears on the screen.

  Hmm.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lark

  FIVB Beach Volleyball World Championships Gold Medal Match

  When I showed up for the match today, I didn’t think my heart would pound so hard in my chest that it feels as if I’m having a heart attack.

  The sounds in the stands are deafening. “USA! USA!”

  The more I think about my chest thumping faster than it should, the blurrier my vision gets.

  No. No. No.

 
Fuck. They score a point.

  Breathe. Inhale slowly and out.

  They score again.

  Holly slaps my ass. “Focus, Lark. Let’s do this.”

  Shake it off.

  My eyes squeeze shut, and I turn off the nerves zapping in my brain.

  Use the energy from the crowd.

  When I open my eyes, things are still fuzzy.

  Get. Your. Shit. Together.

  This is the moment you’ve worked so hard for. If you blow it, you don’t know if you’ll be back here.

  I wipe my face with the back of my forearm. My skin is sticky with sweat.

  “Come on, Lark, we got this.”

  I shake out my limbs and blink back the fuzziness. Somewhere in the stands someone yells, “Come on, Saddler!” Heat spikes and races up my spine.

  Holly claps and I see the ball flying our way. It grazes the net and falls on our side.

  The next few minutes seem to play on repeat and I’m in a haze. Maybe I’m on autopilot at this point.

  Serve.

  Bump.

  Block.

  Set.

  Spike.

  Fear claws at my stomach, and the warm night air grows thick and heavy. It’s choking me. Or maybe I’m having a panic attack?

  A flash of yellow spins in the air, and then I’m in the air, chest heaving and gulping for oxygen.

  “Another beautiful block by Saddler!”

  Holly fist bumps me, and I barely register what’s happening around us. I exhale rapidly and wait for the whistle.

  Serve.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Spike.

  Claps and cheers filter around the stadium.

  “Let’s hear it for the Americans.”

  Holly’s yelling something at me. I hardly hear the words coming at me. I turn to face my partner.

  “You ready, girl?”

  I nod. “I’m ready.”

  To my surprise, the words come out strong and confident.

  “Let’s bring home the gold, Lark.”

  Not in my wildest dreams did I think we’d win the first set in under sixteen minutes. I didn’t think I’d have ten blocks. I didn’t think the lead would change five times.

  We’re up by five in the second set. It’s twenty to fifteen. The whistle blows, my heart hammers in my chest. I miss the block and the ball lands right inside the line.