My shoulders tighten. But Mama's on a roll. There's no stopping her now.
"Did you know Terry held on to the reports from all of your failed drug tests over the years? He was the one who kept them from reaching the commissioner's office. Diane Heimlich and the Kings may be choosing to remain silent about your little addiction problem, but who's to say Terry will? He's not with the Kings anymore. And when I call and tell him that you want out, he's not going to like it. Who knows what he'll do to you."
My mind is rapidly calculating through all the implications. The cover-up, the lies, the cocaine use—if it all comes out, it'll ruin me. I won't be a first-time offender anymore. I'll have a proven history of drug abuse, dating all the way back to the draft.
And the kicker is that Terry will probably walk away scot-free. He'll claim that the Kings were hiding my addiction problem for years, forcing him to keep quiet about it until Diane fired him. His PED-smuggling ring will never come to light because of the number of active-roster Kings he can name as his clients. If Diane tries to take Terry down, she'll be taking the whole team, not to mention all of Major League Baseball, down with her.
Terry's corrupting influence extends to every team in the game. He's too involved for the commissioner to ever fully clean house. Some deal will have to be struck whereby his PED trade is eliminated, and he gets compensated accordingly for keeping his mouth shut. Knowing Terry, he only stands to gain from all of this, whether I continue to push his product for him or not.
"I don't know about all this, Mama," Dwight says, idly examining the dirt beneath his fingernails while Eva struggles against him.
Mama turns her death glare on him now. "Are you questioning my authority, Dwight Isaiah Schultz? Because you know what happens to those who question my authority."
He moves closer to Eva, making her flinch when he guides the dull end of the blade down her cheek. "No, ma'am. I'm not. But some things are just too darn pretty to mess with."
My hackles rise from seeing her tremble in fear.
"Mama, you don't want to go leaving a trail that can be traced back to us. Do you?" Dwight asks, leading Eva across the room with his arm draped around her shoulders.
I hold back, and Dwight exchanges a meaningful look with me.
"I may be a hardened thug, but I'm not that hard," he says, tapping the end of the knife to the scar above his right eyebrow. "I'd never hurt a woman, not after watching how my daddy'd rough up my mama."
He hands Eva over to me, and I cradle her shaking body in my arms.
I hold her close, rubbing her back, as I remember how Dwight would always defend the girls at school from the creeps who tried to prey on them—the assholes who'd brag at bonfire parties about getting girls drunk enough to lure them into the back of their trucks, the ones who'd jerk a girl down the hall by her elbow or slam her up against a locker. Sometimes, Dwight came out the worse for wear after those fights, but he'd step in each and every time just the same.
He took his father on at ten years old, leaving him with the scar to prove it.
So I shouldn't be surprised that he's taking Mama on now.
"You're going to pay for your insolence," Mama whispers.
"I'm sure I will." Dwight shrugs. "As soon as Jerry Lee remembers where his nut sack's supposed to be."
Jerry Lee makes a move, coming up behind him, but Dwight whirls around just in time, kneeing him sharply in the groin. Jerry Lee collapses to the ground, moaning in agony.
"For old time's sake, oh long-lost cousin of mine," Dwight deadpans, giving me a wink.
Then, without so much as a backward glance, he walks out the front door, the sound of his boots clattering down the gangplank and echoing through the house.
"Are you okay?" I whisper by Eva's ear.
She's still shaking, so I run my hand across her cheek and down her neck, doing anything I can to reassure her that it's okay, that I'm going to get her out of here.
She nods, and I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her against me, letting her warmth fill me up, because she's the only thing in the world that makes sense right now.
To Mama, I'll always be a kid from the sticks. Someone she's been able to take advantage of from day one.
But there's a big difference now.
I don't see myself that way anymore.
Why?
Because I'm clean and thinking clearly for the first time in years.
But not only that—I'm finally ready to come clean about my past.
I take Eva's hand in mine. "I don't care who knows about me now, Mama. Keep your distance or I swear I won't hesitate to turn you in, even if I wind up going down with you." I stride forward, staring her down as I go. "Because I'm sick of hiding in the shadows with you. I'm ready to follow this beautiful girl into the light."
Mama doesn't even respond. She just glares at me. I'm not surprised. Her first concern is, was, and always will be about saving her own precious skin.
I feel Eva grip my arm when we step out onto the porch, and I steal a glance at her.
"Eva, I just want you to know…that no matter what happens…" I pause, my throat tightening with emotion. "We're…we're going to be all right."
"I know we are." She smiles up at me, tears shining in her eyes, giving me that look that makes me believe that anything is possible.
From now on, there aren't going to be any more lies holding me down, because the truth's going to be lifting me up.
Goodbye, Kentucky. Hello, freedom.
Even if freedom means facing locked bars and a prison cell. But that's okay, Mama and Terry. You just bring it on. Because I'm done running, especially from myself.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eva
The sky changes color as the road flies beneath us.
With my helmet pressed against Drake's back, I watch the sun start its descent behind the most breathtaking mountains I've ever seen. I close my eyes and let the light wash over me. After the day we've had, it's reminding me that, no matter how dark life may seem at times, it can't be all bad if sights like this still exist.
The tires rumble into what appears to be a campground, and I lift my head to take a look around. It's rustic. We're in the middle of some kind of national forest area. The light's still on in the window of the park ranger's office, and Drake stretches his legs over the bike, ready to investigate.
He taps the tip of my nose with his finger. "Sit tight."
And this time, that pervasive feeling of dread I've been carrying around with me for weeks isn't there. Not like it was when we pulled into that motel on the outskirts of Appalachia. There's something in Drake's eyes that's different now.
I listen to his boots clomp wearily into the wooden cabin, but the set of his shoulders isn't defeated. His head is held high, a quiet sort of confidence radiating from his posture that warms my heart to see.
He returns, shoving a credit card receipt into his wallet before consulting the park map he has stuck under his arm.
"It's looks like they put us somewhere over there." He points at a thatch of trees about half a mile down the trail.
"I don't see any other cabins." I peer into the distance, straining my eyes to find any kind of habitation.
"That's because there aren't any." My horrified gaze snaps to him just as the corner of his mouth turns up. "Don't worry. I rented a pop-up tent down at the campsite. It'll only take me a few minutes to set up, but we'd better get moving before it gets really dark. I don't want to have to depend on the headlight on the bike to see what I'm doing."
He straddles the seat, guiding the Harley into a more secluded area of the park. It's a weeknight at the tail end of June, so the campground isn't bustling with weekend hikers and RV'ers. He managed to secure this little nook all to ourselves without any other campers around us.
"Do you need any help?" I ask when he parks us under a giant spruce, the welcoming scent of pine rustling through the branches.
He gives me a teasing smile. "I don't know h
ow much a city girl like you'd be able to do, but I think this country boy can handle it."
I look at him carefully. "You know you don't have to keep apologizing for where you come from with me."
He stops with the tent half out of its canvas storage bag. "Are you sure about that? After you just saw the full extent of my white trash roots?"
I shrug, slowly lowering my sore muscles off the bike. "When I look at you, I only see the good part of your heritage—your independence, your survival skills. You're your own man when you get in these woods, Drake. You're not trying to be someone you're not."
He starts pounding one of the stakes into the ground with a rock. "So you're saying I'm just fooling myself? I could never cut it as a New Yorker… I'm not like you."
I grab one of the lines, pulling it taut. "And why should you be? You can stop being some kind of chameleon who morphs into his surroundings. You don't have to hide who you are anymore. Your identity is no longer linked to your past. You're free now."
He gets up from the ground, wiping his brow. His eyes catch the sunlight that's slowly fading into the horizon, and I feel the look he's giving me all through my body.
There are only five days left until his suspension is over, but I can't do the final steps in his recovery for him. However, I can give him what he needs as a man by letting him know how much I've come to admire the real him.
"Come on," he says, tossing the rock aside and grabbing my hand.
He pulls me toward a dimly lit space between the trees, twilight falling all around us. The thick canopy above our heads is blocking out much of the light, but he seems to know where he's going.
"Careful," he whispers, steadying me when I nearly trip over a tree root.
I follow behind him, his hand large and sure in mine. The crickets chirping and the hoot of a nearby owl are the only sounds I hear. My legs should be tired after riding all day, but somehow, I feel exhilarated, enjoying this little adventure he's taking me on.
He pauses, holding back some of the overhang up ahead. "Come take a look at this."
He releases my hand, beckoning me to slide underneath his outstretched arm. I bend down, and when I stand up, the view before my eyes takes my breath away.
The last rays of the sun are shining across the water of a tiny mountain lake. My heart starts to throb at the sheer amount of beauty in front of me. I can hardly believe that it's real.
I turn around and meet Drake's eyes. He's smiling at me, pleased by how much I like his surprise. I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him in for a hug.
"This is what I mean," I whisper against his chest. "This is who you are."
He rests his chin on top of my head, issuing a shuddering sigh, and in that sigh, I feel the weight of the world slipping off his shoulders. He's free to start again, free to be the person he wants to be.
I pull away and stare up into his eyes. He nods, and I step through the trees as we make our way down to the lake. When we get to the shore, I sit on an overturned log and start taking my shoes off. He hovers, watching me. I roll up the cuffs of my jeans and take a tentative step forward. After the dirt and grime of the day's ride, it's going to feel so refreshing to dip a toe in that crystal-clear water.
"Ooo, that's cold!" I giggle, quickly lifting my foot out of the water.
He smiles as he takes my place on the log and slowly removes his boots. By the time he joins me, I'm already in up to my ankles, letting the cool water work its magic on my aching feet. He inhales sharply when he first wades in, making me laugh.
"I guess there won't be any skinny-dipping tonight." He winces beside me.
"So, that's why you brought me down here?" I tease him.
He shrugs. "A guy has to try."
I splash him, kicking my foot out, but he's too fast for me, grabbing it in midair.
"Careful," he drawls when I wave my arms, trying to keep my balance. "I wouldn't want you to fall in with all your clothes on."
I think for sure he's going to dunk me, but instead, he reaches out, righting me before I can topple over. Still panting, I glance up at him, and he releases my leg. Then we're so close that I can see the trail of tiny freckles leading down his neck and into his shirt.
"I want you, Eva. Oh God, how I want you," he murmurs, his eyes burning with need…and something else. What is it? Fear?
I feel nothing but the heat of his body, my refuge against the chilly night air.
But what he's asking for seems weightier than sex, like he's coming to me for something more, something infinitely deeper, hoping I can give it to him.
But still, I push him away.
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I don't blame you. If I were you, I wouldn't want to be with me either."
His confidence is eroding before my eyes, and it's killing me inside.
"Drake, it's not that. It's…" I watch his silky eyelashes brush his face when he lowers his eyes.
"It's okay. I'm bad news, Eva. You can't love someone who's pretty much unlovable."
My breath catches. Then I gently guide my hand along the curve of his jaw. "Don't say that. You're not unlovable."
He raises his pleading eyes to me. "How can you be so sure? No one in my life has ever loved me for me. Mama sold me out. Karolina used me to get ahead. And you're probably only hanging around because you get a kick out of helping me overcome my problems. But once the drugs, the money, and the problems are taken away, who's left? No one."
"I want you," I declare, letting my true feelings slip out. "I've always wanted you. I just can't have you."
He snorts at this as if it's some kind of joke.
"I saw who you are today, all of you, and I liked what I saw—the good and the bad. You wouldn't be the man you are today without having gone through everything you went through to get here. I admire you so much for never giving up, for continuing to hang on. Your heart is strong and powerful, and it knows how to love more deeply than any man I've ever met. You deserve to be loved like that in return. It's just that…"
He trembles, and I hold on to him. I realize that my support and guidance are no longer enough. He needs my heart more.
"You're going to have to make a very important choice, because I can't do this and still be your sober companion."
He jerks away from me at that, but I go on.
I glide my hands up his chest, running my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. "I'll always be there to help you. That isn't going to change."
He groans, and I dig my toes into the lake's rocky bottom.
"But I can't combine my professional life with my personal life. It wouldn't be fair to you. You still have a lot of steps to complete, and I'm going to find someone to help guide you through them. I promise. But now, I think you need something more from me—something I wasn't able to give you before."
I tilt my head, parting my lips for him. The last thing I see before I close my eyes is a hint of a smile appearing on his face. I kiss him softly, gently, and he cradles the back of my head with his large hands, playing with my curls. He moans as I run my tongue across his lips until he opens up for me.
And then I surrender to him.
He can't be my client anymore because he's outgrown the limits of what I'm able to give him. He needs me more for the woman I am rather than simply the therapist who was able to guide him to this point. He's been starving for that sense of connection to another human being for a long time, turning to the wrong means to ease his loneliness.
He instinctually craves love, even though, up until now, he's had no idea how to give or receive it. Probably because no one ever taught him how. I can no longer stand by and watch him grope in the darkness for what I'm so willing to give him. I want to be that person in his life. I want all of him, all the struggling, glorious parts of him.
He lifts my feet out of the water and carries me up the bank until I'm sitting back down on the log again. He kisses his way down my neck then along the entire length of my arm.
I giggle at how his beard tickles my skin. He hesitates, running the back of my hand against his cheek, clasping it like he never wants to let go. He presses his lips to my knuckles before backing away and heading toward a nook between two trees whose branches are so heavy that they're touching the ground. He removes the knife he has strapped to his belt and hacks off some additional limbs from higher up, building a little canopy of evergreen.
He straightens, the dying embers of the sun throwing him in stark silhouette. My breath catches when he starts unbuttoning his shirt. He takes it off, his naked back solid and firm, the breadth of his shoulders already returning to form. I watch him bend down and spread his shirt over the pine needles, patting them down with his hand.
When he turns around, I hope this is the right thing to do. I rise and slowly start to remove the shirt I'm wearing, one of his soft, cozy tees I borrowed from him this morning. I hold it my hands until I'm at his side. Then I place it on the boughs next to his. He watches me, his chest rising and falling when I unhook my bra and let it fall from my shoulders. Feeling the heat blaze up my cheeks, I shyly turn my back and lower my jeans, removing all the remaining clothing I have on my body. I step in front of him and gradually allow myself to sink onto the mattress of pine he created for us, waiting for him to join me.
He strokes his gaze up my body, and I feel like I'm on fire. But when he reaches my eyes, he stops, giving me a steady, heated look while shrugging out of his jeans. He pulls something out of the pocket before kicking them away. I lift my head, curious, when he turns away, ripping through something with his teeth. My pulse ignites when, from the shadow he's casting, I see that he's sheathing himself. I stare up into the crisscrossing branches above my head and close my eyes when the weight of his body blankets mine. I snuggle into the warm, hardness of his chest, feeling safe and secure in the shelter of his arms.
Inside Game Page 19