“So,” Pete says while he distributes our chips, “we’ll allow players to buy back in, but not more than once. We want everyone to get in on the action, but the pot can’t be dictated by someone who buys back until he runs into Lady Luck. Do we all agree?”
We all nod.
Jimmy mixes the deck with expert hands. “Do any of you know of a good football coach looking for a new job starting from next year?”
“Why? Considering buying a team to go with your jazz club?” Pete teases him.
Jimmy chuckles. “I wish I had that kind of money. I adore football. But no, it’s about Ariana’s nephew.”
“Ariana is his wife,” Devon explains to Joe and me.
“She is. For forty-five years now. That’s a genuine commitment, my friends.” Jimmy pats his chest. “Anyway, back to the boy. Our Richie plays for Valley High School as the Cougars’ safety.”
I plaster on an interested expression, even if my thoughts are circling around what Ellie might be wearing for her date.
My act must satisfy Jimmy because he smiles at me and continues, “My wife just learned that the head coach is retiring after this coming season. Ever since Richie got on the team, Ariana views herself as the team’s unofficial PR manager, and it bothers her that the guy hasn’t started recruiting for his replacement yet.”
Devo chuckles. “That’s typical Ariana. I bet she asked you to use your chance of meeting two experts,” he grins at Joe and me, “and throw in this question.”
Jimmy laughs. “You know my wife well. “
“A year is long. The coach has enough time to find someone worthy,” I say. “The Cougars are solid; their top players are often picked by the Wildcats. They’ll surely find a great coach willing to work them.”
“Ah, I hope so,” Jimmy exclaims. “Above all, for my peace of mind. Ariana can be quite the challenge when she’s chewing on something. Well, if you hear of anyone, let me know, ’kay?”
Joe and I both assure him we will.
Jimmy distributes our cards, and I’m about to lift mine when my phone chimes.
Let’s hope it’s not Dad. I sent him my first and last text yesterday, and I was glad when he didn’t react. I made it crystal clear that he should never ever contact Mom or me again. I wanted to call him, but I realized it might be better to secure written proof that I’ve warned him if I need to file a restraining order.
I let the phone ring three times before I pull it out.
When I see Ellie’s name flashing at me, I freeze.
What shall I do? I can’t answer her with everybody around. Still, I itch to know what she wants. Until now, she’s only ever called me to arrange our therapy sessions.
Isn’t she supposed to be enjoying her dinner with the doctor?
Ellie’s call ends before I can decide what to do about it.
“Everything okay?” Devon asks, leaning toward me.
Luckily, the table Pete bought is so large that my friend can’t peek at my screen.
I fold my phone into my palm. “All is good. It’s Liam, my agent, but I need to call him back. It could be important.”
Joe’s eyes dart to me, and his lips bend into a mocking grimace. He knows Liam and his habit of never interrupting a player’s weekend unless it’s a “life or death” situation.
I straighten from my chair.
Pete points at a door on the other side of the corridor. “You can go into the bedroom if you need some privacy.”
“Thanks.” I head away from the group and force myself to walk instead of sprinting. I might have said that it’s a potentially crucial call, but actually running would surely awaken some questions.
Once I’m inside Pete’s bedroom, I turn on the lights. I hop down on an armchair that sits in front of the king-sized bed with a tufted headboard and glossy silk comforter.
I stare at my phone, conscious of the beating in my neck.
Why am I nervous about calling Ellie back?
Without pondering the implications of my quickened breathing and irregular pulse, I tap on her name and wait for the ringtone.
“Wyatt?” Ellie’s surprised soprano squeaks in my ear, and as if by magic, my shoulders relax.
“Yes, it’s me. I saw you tried to call, but I couldn’t pick up. I was playing poker.”
“Are you at Pete’s?”
“Yep. Dev and Jimmy are here, too. And Joe, my teammate.”
“I see. Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you this late.” Her voice is so flustered, I can immediately picture her cheeks covered in a sweet pink blush.
“You never disturb. What’s up?”
“I’ve got an idea for our therapy, and I wanted to run it by you,” she says, switching to that soothing, professional tone she uses in our morning sessions.
I shift the phone closer to my ear. “Aren’t you on a date?”
There’s silence, then Ellie clears her throat. “I’m back already.”
I glance at my watch. It’s only ten-thirty. An unexpected joy shimmies through me. If it were an unforgettable night, they surely wouldn’t have cut it this short, right?
“That’s splendid news!” I exclaim.
“What is?”
“That you’re home. I mean—” Why did I have to sound like my team just made it through the Conference Championships? “It’s good to know you’re safe. And at home.” I end my phrase with a quick chuckle.
“Ah, okay.” Ellie answers, but some puzzlement remains in her voice.
“So that idea of yours…” I say, to steer us away from my gaffe.
“When was the last time you spoke to your mom about your dad?”
“You mean besides the other day when I rebuked her for speaking to him on the phone?”
“I mean a real heart-to-heart about your father?”
“Never. First, I’m not a heart-to-heart guy, as you know. Second, since that son of a gun left, we mention him as little as possible,” I answer.
“I see. But…”
“But what, Ellie?” My hand squeezes the armrests of the chair. I’m not sure I like where she’s going with this.
“Given the bitter feelings you recently realized you still harbor about your dad…” Ellie pauses as if waiting for some interruption. When I don’t chime in, she continues, “I think it’d be useful to talk with your mother openly about your childhood.”
“It caused her so much pain when Dad walked out, I don’t want to revive any of that,” I say, but inside, I know it’s an excuse.
Whenever we meet, Mom brings up Dad, but I always kill the topic with some icy remark. Maybe because I know she’ll try to persuade me to pity my dad for his addiction issues and exercise forgiveness for him.
As if Ellie can read my thoughts, she says, “Perhaps it’s you who would mind talking about the past and not her.”
“And even if it’s so? Isn’t it enough for my therapy to unearth that I’m angry at my dad, and that’s why I punched Rodriguez?” I rake my fingers through my hair.
“You need to let go of your resentment to heal fully,” Ellie says. “I believe hearing your mother’s side of the story could do exactly that. Also, perhaps there are things your mom has kept from you. Ideas that could help you release your hurt.”
I give out a snort. “Not likely.”
Ellie sighs. “You know, I also thought I wouldn’t want to speak about our breakup ever again, but your revelation in the park did me good.”
My jaw slacks and my heart jumps into my throat. “It did?”
“Yes. It helped me turn the page,” Ellie mumbles, then draws in a sharp breath. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me now. I just made this point to show you how a conversation you don’t desire can actually be of benefit to your soul.”
I’m still contemplating her expression, “turn the page.” Does this mean she’s over me for good, or could it imply that she’s ready for a fresh start with me? And what would I want that to entail? Only friendship?
Ellie must assume I’m p
ondering her proposal because she adds, “Listen, if you’re open with your mom, she’ll understand better where you’re coming from when you refuse to speak to your dad. And maybe, just maybe, help you see why she’d be ready to let him make amends.”
Ellie has a point. I don’t want Mom to think I’m unreasonable for not giving Dad a second chance. And if speaking to her about Dad can help with my therapy, then perhaps I should try it.
“Okay, I could broach the subject with her next weekend when I go to Kingman.”
“Can’t you go earlier? I’d love for us to have enough time to untangle anything that might come up from your talk,” Ellie says. “And as you know, we only have two weeks to complete your treatment.”
There seems to be a sort of sorrow in her voice when she speaks about our collaboration’s end.
Maybe it’s that nostalgic edge that prompts me to say, “Fine, I’ll go earlier, if you come with me.”
“Me?” she shrieks.
“Yeah. A trip to Kingman is a whole-day endeavor. This means that if I travel before the weekend, we’ll miss a session. You don’t want that, do you? Also, as my therapist, wouldn’t it be good if you take part in our chat?”
I know I’m using our contract’s terms to extort an agreement from Ellie, but I can’t help it. The temptation to stretch our three-hour session into an entire day is just too much.
Also, if I need to speak about my father with Mom, I’d like to have Ellie by my side. She keeps me centered and calm, and I might need that.
After a brief silence, Ellie clears her throat. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right. Perhaps I should guide your talk, so you can get the most healing out of it.”
“Indeed,” I agree eagerly.
I hope she can’t recognize that my enthusiasm doesn’t come from her promise to help but her presence on this road trip.
“But wait,” she says, “how are we supposed to keep our relationship a secret if we drive there together?”
I know that she used the term “relationship” to describe our professional bond, but it creates a warm sizzle in my chest all the same.
“We’ll drive to my mom’s directly and then head back. Nobody will see us, besides her. As you know, my mother is extremely good at keeping secrets, so she won’t blabber it to anyone if we ask her not to.”
“Okay, well, this can work.” I hear a shuffling noise as if Ellie is paging through something. Maybe her calendar? “What about Monday for our trip?”
“Tomorrow? I’m not sure that’s good. Mom’s got a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon for her ankle.”
“We’d leave early morning and catch her before she leaves?” Ellie proposes. “Your chat doesn’t need to be long, but it should be as close as possible to your cathartic discovery about your father’s role in your anger issues. Plus, the only day when my afternoon is free this week is Monday. So, what do you say?”
“Okay, let’s drive to Kingman tomorrow,” I say because I don’t want Ellie to back out from our journey.
“Great. I’ll come over to your place at eight. It’ll give us enough time to speak with your Mom and be back in Phoenix by the evening.”
“Eight it is,” I agree.
Just as Ellie and I hang up, there’s a knock on the door.
Devon’s head pops in. “Pete wanted me to check whether you’ll sit out the next round too. You finished?”
“Yeah, I’m done,” I say, putting away my phone.
I straighten from the armchair and march to Devon. As I switch off the bedroom light, a voice purrs, “Good night, Loverboy!” in a falsetto.
Devon and I look at each other and erupt in guffaws.
“Yeah, our good ol’ Pete certainly has character,” I murmur between cackles.
We rejoin the others at the poker table.
While I settle beside Jimmy, a sweet melody hums in my chest at the thought of tomorrow.
I know it won’t be all fun and games because I’ll have to recall events I’d rather forget. But the anticipation of enjoying Ellie’s company all day cancels out everything else.
Chapter 24
(Ellie)
At seven in the morning on Monday, I am ready to exit our apartment.
Cora left early for her gallery to set up their new exhibition, and Hope is still snoring as I pass by her room. She’s unlikely to wake up soon—based on the legal contracts scattered on our kitchen table, she must have pulled an all-nighter—so I don’t even have to tiptoe.
This is good because my calf muscles still hurt from yoga.
A flash of annoyance runs through me as I recall Hope’s disappointed face from last evening.
If I ever meet Mitch again, I’ll surely make some comment on his dubiously frequent trips and the training that never seems to lead to actual employment; and see how he reacts.
I softly close the entrance door and stride to the elevator.
While I wait for it to arrive, I check the contents of my bag: napkins, pen, notepad, phone, hand sanitizer, small emergency kit, sewing kit, and my favorite mints. Okay, everything is here.
I pat the outer pocket to ensure that I didn’t forget my parents’ housekeys. They’re visiting friends at Cape Cod, and though Mom has surely asked a neighbor to water her orchids, I’d still like to stop by and check how her plants are doing. Mom treats those tropical flowers like they’re her children—or perhaps grandchildren, as Dad likes to joke.
The elevator chimes, and I dart forward without looking up.
I bump into Cora.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, jerking back and lifting my bag so that it covers my unusually steep neckline.
Cora brushes back her curls. “I left my wallet at home. Luckily, nobody stopped me on the way.” As expected, her glance zooms in on the thin strap on my shoulder. “And you, sugar? Aren’t you meeting your mystery client today?”
“I…uhm, yes.”
She shakes her head and the curl she’s just tucked behind her ear falls back over her face. The strawberry blond tip bounces in the air as she says, “Not in this dress, bless your heart, you’re not. Unless he’s taking you on a date.” She pauses and a glint of suspicion seeps into her features. “Or is he?”
“No, of course not. We…we’re just taking a field trip to his hometown. To untie some past issue.”
“I see. Are you going by car?”
My shoulders relax when she skips over any further comments on my spaghetti dress. “Yes, we are. He’s driving us, but I’ll be back later tonight.”
Cora purses her lips, which are enhanced by only a hint of peachy lip gloss. I’ve never seen my roomie with any lipstick on, even if she’s an expert on makeup and trendy hairstyles. “It figures. Kingman isn’t that far.”
The saliva I wanted to swallow gets stuck in my throat, and the elevator door closing bumps me forward, a deadly combination that throws me into a coughing fit.
Cora’s face drifts into a worried expression, and she pats my back until I recover. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t want to startle you. But it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
Cora puts up her hand on my shoulder and levels my gaze. “I know you’re under some kind of professional oath, so it’s okay if you don’t confirm this verbally. Just nod in response. Is Wyatt your new client?”
I gasp. “How did you figure it out?”
Cora shrugs. “It was something Laia mentioned before we started the yoga class. She said that she and Devon invited Wyatt for lunch several times during the week, and Wyatt could never make it because he was tied up until one-thirty. Which is exactly the time your therapy sessions end.”
It’s nearly impossible to lie to Cora. She pairs her street smarts with an incredible sophistication she gained through years spent blending in with her high-society clients.
Still, I can’t believe she exposed this.
“You’re good.” I say, bewilderment mixing with
admiration in my voice.
Cora smiles. “Thanks. When you told us you dated Wyatt, the way you spoke made me think that there was still something going on between you two. But since you agree with me”—she taps the tip of my nose—“that falling for an athlete is as dumb as falling for a bad boy, I knew it couldn’t be anything sentimental.”
My heart stutters.
Has Cora’s lie detector missed a crucial detail? Or is she testing me?
I force the corners of my mouth upward. “Indeed. I’m helping Wyatt because it’s the only way Stephanie will grant me the promotion. And he needs my services to continue with his career.”
She studies my face with squinted eyes, then smiles. “Great. Then there’s no need for me to share this information with anyone.”
“Yeah, no need,” I mumble.
Cora taps the call button of the elevator, and the doors reopen. She gives me a gentle nudge between the shoulder blades. “Then go, otherwise you’ll be late.”
I step inside and wave to her, smiling.
As the metal doors close between us, the asymmetrical smirk frozen on my lips, my throat closes up.
I told the truth to Cora. I know it’s a silly thing to fall for an athlete—especially one who has already broken my heart.
Then why do I feel guilty?
I swallow twice, and while exhaling, I quickly touch my thumb on the tip of my other fingers. Today is just a field trip needed for Wyatt’s therapy. It will go fine.
Hopefully. Maybe.
Chapter 25
(Wyatt)
“How are you feeling about this trip so far?” Ellie asks as I turn off from the highway toward Kingman.
“Good,” I say, forcing my mind to stay away from all the inappropriate thoughts her closeness awakens in me.
“Great. So we’ll drive straight to your mom’s, right?”
I hit the brake too harshly when the traffic light turns red, and we bounce forward from the sudden deceleration. “Sorry. Yes, that’s what we’ll do,” I murmur, switching the stick into the first gear.
Ellie follows my movements with furrowed brows. “Just like you, most of our patients with manual cars never use the neutral position for the gearstick at traffic lights. It’s a shame.”
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 19