The first tinges of morning light were beginning to creep into the room. He’d told Hara he wanted her to be happy, but the truth was he needed her to be happy with him. He needed to know that the kind, beautiful, intelligent woman he’d stumbled into didn’t find him boring, or worthy only because of status or money. He wanted Hara to like him.
It was crazy.
The girl next to him emitted a kittenish noise. His heart expanded; he pictured the Grinch’s heart, as affection and sex made Derek’s heart grow three sizes.
Why this girl? Why was she so special?
The heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose. But she was worth it. Hara was something special, and there was no need to define it.
Derek was surprised at the depth of his response to Hara, a girl he barely knew, and a reporter. He’d known so many users, so many weak-willed leeches. So many rich weasels and abusers. So many adulators, cheaters, and hard-hearted scam artists. Hara claimed to have been innocent of her father’s mischief, unaware of the rigged contest, and he believed her. Or, he wanted to believe her. She came off as honest and down to earth, but so did most people, until they didn’t. He had a hard time believing in people in general.
Hara wasn’t just words—that was one thing. She’d saved him from the road sign, and kept Naomi from drowning in floodwater. Then, she’d been willing to sleep at the hospital, to be with the girl until her family got there. So, she could be brave and giving. He’d seen it.
I don’t know why I’m winding myself up here. He’d just given her a place to sleep for the night, not a commitment ring.
He’d also believed that Charles was brave, if not giving. Now it seemed his best friend—only real friend—was as hinky as the rest of humanity. How could Charles have let his mom take that money and then never say anything? If he’d just been honest early on, it could have all been fixed and Charles’s career wouldn’t be in jeopardy. Now … if it got out, it would hurt Charles’s mom, and Charles. And the team.
It was breaking the rules, and it felt so wrong to Derek to take advantage of a system put in place to protect people. He’d like to think the people in charge were upholding those rules, but, no. O’Donnell was just like Derek’s father, paying attention only to the laws that fed his greed.
Why was he thinking about this right now?
Hara made that same, small kittenish noise again, wriggling against him. He spooned up against her, glad for the warmth. He grew hard, pressed to her rounded bottom, his chest against her lean back, his hand lightly on her breast, but he didn’t want to wake her just yet. She needed rest, after a stressful evening and then a long night of athletic wear and tear.
The cell on the bedside table chirped, making him jump, but Hara’s breath remained slow and sweet.
Derek patted around in the gloom until he found the phone and silenced it. He squinted through heavy eyes at the screen: O’Donnell. Just then a text came through, O’Donnell telling him to come to the residence as soon as possible—they needed to talk. He put the phone back down, sighing. As soon as possible? It was only six in the morning. This can definitely wait until later.
Hara flopped onto him, one arm draped across his stomach, her face on his chest. “Mmmm.” She was sleeping, he was pretty sure.
Her warmth erased any thought of O’Donnell.
Smiling, he stayed still, absorbing the peace and quiet happiness of this moment. He hadn’t had a woman in his bed for a long, long time. Despite the perception that athletes were dogs, he was not much of a one-night-stand guy. Thinking back, he realized his last long-term relationship had ended almost two years ago, when he was still at Pepperdine. He didn’t like entanglements or drama. He didn’t like most people.
He drowsed off, dreams flitting on the edge of consciousness.
Then the phone rang again. It could have been five minutes, or five hours.
Groping for the cell, he silenced the chirp, and cursed under his breath. It was Charles calling this time. What could he possibly want this early? But then Derek felt a rush of cold prickles. What if something had gone wrong with Naomi? Maybe they needed him.
Derek sat up, pushing off the bed quietly. He glanced down at Hara to make sure she was still asleep; the contented half smile on her face, her hand curled under her cheek—she was out. The basketball player picked up his briefs and tugged them on in the hallway, as he answered the phone. “Charles? You okay? Everything all right?”
“No, man. Shit is comin’ apart. Can you come over here?”
Derek could hear ESPN in the background. “Where’s ‘here’? Is this about Naomi?”
“O’Donnell found out she’s pregnant. He said he’s sending someone to take care of it. What does that mean?”
“Jesus, you’re gettin’ too wound up. He’s not the Mafia. He’s not sending someone in for a hit.”
“You don’t know him, Derek. I’m worried about her.”
“So worried that you’re with Naomi right now?”
“Well, no. No, I didn’t—Tina be stickin’ to me like glue! This is different, man. I don’t want this to blow up into a big deal.”
“Sounds like O’Donnell feels the same way. What, you think he’s going to pay her off somehow? Why even bother?”
“I don’t know what he’ll do. But he doesn’t want my name in the papers at all, not if he isn’t controlling it. He doesn’t want reporters checking up on me.”
“You gotta do something about this bribe money with your mom, Charles! If you don’t, O’Donnell will always have a hold on you. This kind of shit will always be happening. Well, not this exactly—hopefully you’re going to get a damn vasectomy.”
“Enough lecture,” Charles hissed in his ear. “Can you just swing by the hospital, check on Naomi? Tell her to be careful of O’Donnell. I feel like shit, man.”
“You should. You definitely should.” He hung up on Charles.
Derek had wanted this season to be a fresh start. It appeared now that plan was all going to hell. Who would he be without Charles there to back him up? Nobody. He’d be back on the bench.
Within seconds, a text came through: I know you are pissed, but someone need to make sure she okay. I can’t.
Derek snorted and replied, You can’t because your girlfriend will find out about your pregnant mistress. Classy AF.
“Derek?”
The sleepy voice came from his bedroom. “Right here.” He went back in the room, hoping to slide back under the sheets and press against her naked body.
Instead, Hara stood next to the bed, pulling on a T-shirt over her lacy pink panties.
He immediately reacted to her and there was no hiding it. “Come back to bed, baby. It’s still early.”
“I heard you talking about Naomi. She okay?” Hara held onto the hem of the white T-shirt, her black hair cascading around her, her blue eyes vivid even in the dim light.
Derek shut his eyes for a moment, tried to sear this image into his brain. An image to come back to later and think about when he was alone. She wasn’t getting back into bed; he sensed the good times were over. “I’m not sure.”
“Okay. But what was that other stuff you were talking about? It was Charles, right? He hasn’t been to the hospital, has he?”
Suddenly, his hackles went up. Hara the reporter. Here she was, asking questions.
Hara must have noticed his expression. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But you were only a few feet away.” She tilted her head to the side and tucked long strands behind her ears, her expression sad. “My impression of Charles is a cocky, womanizing athlete with a good heart. I usually stand by my first opinions. I think I’m a pretty good judge of character. Am I wrong, though, Derek? Am I wrong about Charles?”
“Let’s make some coffee.” Derek tossed her a robe and put on one himself, not answering her question. He didn’t know the answer, not anymore.
Following him into the hall, she kept going, the sleep now gone from her voice. “You were talking to him about mon
ey—”
“Hara!” he said sharply over his shoulder. “You are talking about things you know nothing about.”
“You’re right. I know he’s your friend. But if you’re covering something up for him, then you…”
Derek was glad she didn’t finish her sentence. He wasn’t covering. He’d just found out, for God’s sake. He would do the right thing; he just didn’t know what that was yet.
“Ballplayers.” She sat on the same stool as the night before and sighed heavily. “They’re paid millions of dollars and the one thing that is asked of them is that they spend their time playing a game, and then, in their off time, that they be role models for the young people who idolize them. You’re given fame and glory and riches. Why take more?”
Derek bristled. Who was she to question him or his boy? “In this instance, you have it wrong,” he said stiffly. “This is off the record, but I want to make sure you have all the facts, that you do not blow this into something bigger than it is. Charles grew up poor, and when he was still in high school, living in a run-down house with his single mother, she took money from a college recruiter, not knowing that broke association rules, and not telling Charles. She did not break any law—she thought she was doing what everyone else did, and didn’t consider it a bribe since Charles already had decided to go to school there.”
“Do you believe that? That Charles didn’t know? How is that even possible? And you really believe this woman was so naive that she thought people were dropping free money at her feet? That college just bought her kid.”
“Ms. Butler is a good woman. She and Charles have been my family.” Derek felt his heart crack. Hara was the exact wrong person to share all this with, but he had no one else. Something was breaking inside of him. “I have never trusted anyone else. This whole shady deal bothers the shit out of me. I want to believe in them. I actually do think his ma just wanted to provide for her son. Charles … I don’t know. Two days ago, I would have said, Oh hell, no, that boy wouldn’t let that pass. But now … now.”
“I saw him block you in the locker room interview, and then, in the last game, he pushed you away. Maybe he’s not one hundred.”
“I don’t know why he did that. I tried to find him, to talk to him after the game, but I never saw him. I was also looking for O’Donnell, though, since he wanted to see me. God knows why. But then crazy town happened and here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“Hara, I wish to hell you hadn’t heard me say anything.” Derek wanted to kick himself unconscious. How could he have been so stupid? “I know this is a story for you. An up-and-coming reporter, you could make your name on this. But can you just wait?”
“I like Charles. He’s been good to me. I am well aware I do not have the full picture. On the other hand, this is so much bigger than Charles. Bribery is national news, and bribing college athletes’ families has national impact. We need to trust that coaches are doing what’s best for student athletes, not buying them off and then using them like poker chips, controlling their career choices because they feel like they own them.” She blew out her breath angrily. “Besides, someone else is bound to find out. Like I said, I like Charles, I want to hear his side, but some other reporter is going to find out and bring a whole different spin and repercussions. Better to be in front of it than behind it.”
“That’s what I told him. But I’m hoping you’ll hold off. Let Charles do the right thing. Let him come forward. It’s what’s best for everybody.”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you give him a few days, at least?” Derek pleaded, hating himself for it. “Let me talk to him.”
They both backed down, quietly drank their coffee. The space between them felt gray and dirty and infinite. He wanted to pick her up and carry her back to the bedroom, to make her forget everything she’d heard. Her smell and her touch could take him away, too, make him forget everything. Derek started to stretch out his hand to her, to bridge the space, but she pushed back from the table, unaware or uninterested.
“I promise, Derek, I won’t do anything rash, or without talking to you.” Standing, she put down her coffee cup. “First things first. I’m going to head over to the hospital and check on Naomi. Do you want to come with me?”
“No, O’Donnell’s been trying to get ahold of me. He wants me to go over to his house to talk to him. I better figure out what is up with him.”
“But we’re okay, right?”
“Everything’s fine, Hara. You’re just doing what you think you need to do. So am I.” But I can’t say I trust you. I don’t trust anybody.
* * *
Hara pulled her hood up and sprinted to the Uber waiting for her on the corner, the rain only a light drizzle and bearable without the howling winds from last night. Her suitcase banged against her leg; she’d brought it and her satchel, not sure where she was going to end up that night.
Was she going to fly home? Get a hotel? Sneak back into Derek’s bed?
Clicking on her seat belt, she stared at her hands, disoriented. Unsure. A kaleidoscope of images cascaded through her mind as the Boston streets, covered in storm debris and standing puddles, flashed in front of her eyes. Her body was heading toward the hospital but her mind was jumping around through space and time, from being on top of Derek, filled with his heat and desire, to standing outside O’Donnell’s kitchen as the old bastard talked about her father, her insides empty and cold.
How was this fair? Life had taken a major turn for the mind-blowing great, but there always had to be a freaking complication.
She could ignore the story. Hara could pretend she didn’t know anything and see where this thing with Derek might go. She could leave for home on a good note and maybe see him again, maybe not, but they’d part on decent, if not affectionate, terms. Friends with possible benefits.
Maintain a relationship that wasn’t a relationship and had no guarantee or likeliness of being a relationship.
Or, Hara could be a journalist and report what she knew. It wouldn’t hurt to wait a few days, not just because she hoped Charles would do the right thing, but also because she needed time to corroborate and research before she committed anything to print. She couldn’t just write something this big based on an overhead conversation and hearsay. She had to research the hell out of this before she made any decisions.
And what about Derek? She’d think about that later.
The automatic doors of Massachusetts General Hospital rolled open with a whoosh of air, blowing her hair across her face and filling her nostrils with the tingle of astringent. This time, she noticed the fall decorations, the wreaths and garlands of twigs and orange and green leaves hung with gold ribbon. She imagined they were there to soften the impact of standing in a building filled with tragedy and pain. The decorations were actually very pretty.
She felt bad that Naomi lay in a bed upstairs, suffering with fear over the future, while Charles was probably at some spa, getting a massage and a happy ending.
Whoa there, Hara Isari. Take a step back. She was just pissed because she might have been wrong about him. She needed to keep an open mind, to find out what was true or not, and why he’d done the things he’d done. Hara had to remove herself from the story. That’s what good journalists did.
Hara stopped at the information desk, festooned with more fall foliage and manned by two old women who had withered down to the same height and had their perms done by the same beautician.
“Hi, can you please tell me what room Naomi … Naomi. Oh, geez. I forget her last name.”
“I won’t bother asking if you’re family, then,” said one of the women, not unkindly. “I can’t find who you are looking for with only a first name. But here”—she pushed a ceramic pumpkin bowl across the counter—“take a piece of candy.”
Hara took a cellophane-wrapped hard candy—the same butterscotch candies her grandma kept in the pocket of her housecoat—and thanked the woman. She found a seat in the corner, needing a
place to sit while she came up with a plan. How could it be that she still didn’t have anyone’s cell number? Except Naomi’s, and she wasn’t answering. Then brilliance struck. Sucking on her candy, she called Naomi’s number again and listened more closely to the message.
“Hello, dahlings! You’ve reached Naomi Martin’s voicemail because she’s too lazy to answer. Leave a message, or don’t, it’s up to you.”
Boom. Naomi Martin. One problem down, about twenty more to go.
A voice from behind her made Hara freeze.
“It’s done. She gets it. We don’t have to worry about Naomi.”
The recognizable voice was close, but on the other side of a potted plant. Peeking around the dusty fake ficus tree, Hara saw Madeline Bingley blaze past the little old ladies’ information desk, her resting bitch face on full wattage as she spoke into a cell phone.
Hara waited a few minutes in the lobby chairs, making sure the coast was clear. After getting Naomi’s room number, she hurried to the elevator, her suitcase bumping along behind. As she entered the small, sparse room, the young woman in the bed fluttered her eyes and then opened them.
“’Sup, Hara.” Naomi’s voice was weak, scratchy, her face a deep ash, her corkscrew spirals creating a wide halo against her pillow. Without makeup, and a hospital gown in place of sophisticated clothing, her youth was apparent. So was her weary sadness.
“I’m sorry to see you this way.” Hara went to her and lightly put a hand on Naomi’s arm, avoiding the IV. “I won’t ask how you feel. But can I bring you anything?”
“No, my dad is coming back later.” She cleared her throat. “They’re keeping me another night; they can’t seem to get the fluid out of my lungs.”
“I have a weird question to ask, but was O’Donnell’s assistant just here?”
The Wrong Mr. Darcy Page 18