It's Only Love
Page 31
“Five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a four car garage. This listing won’t last long at this price.”
Trent wandered out onto the patio. Would he have time to enjoy this place? The commute would be a bitch.
It was a great house. Not a bit of pink anywhere.
“This one,” he said, swallowing the taste of regret.
Chapter 30
Someone pounded on Trent’s hotel room door at dawn on the day of the Flash’s first pre-season game. He stumbled out of bed in his boxers and nearly let the door slam in his father’s beaming face.
Jesus. “Mary Sue Ellen, what a surprise. Come in.” He ran back to his bedroom for a T-shirt, tugging on a pair of jeans for good measure.
When he returned to the living room, the happy couple was snuggled on the couch. Trent fumbled with the coffeemaker. “Are your parents here?”
“No. Mary Sue Ellen just arrived on the red eye.” Archie gushed, “Isn’t she beautiful?”
The petite blonde was her same perky self, and about five months pregnant with barely a baby bump showing. “We wanted you to be the first to know that we’re getting married.” She squealed the M-word.
“I knew that already.” Trent scratched at his beard stubble.
“No, son. We’re getting married today.” Archie rubbed her protruding belly. “I can’t wait to be the husband and father you’ve always dreamed of.”
“It’s gonna be perfect. I can squeeze into my weddin’ dress, but I just need someone to stand there with me.” She batted her baby blues at Trent. “I don’t suppose I could borrow you’re girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” The pronouncement felt as cold as his bare feet on the tile. “And I don’t have time to attend a wedding today.”
She gave a little gasp, and cocked her head to one side. “But Archie said – ”
“Darlin’, could you find your way back to our room? I want to talk to Trent alone.” Archie handed Mary Sue Ellen a key, and walked her to the door.
Trent turned to the coffeemaker as if its gurgling meant the machine needed his attention. The percolating sounds didn’t cover the smooching behind him.
Finally, the door closed.
“Son, hard as it is for you to grasp, that young woman and I are in love.” He came up behind Trent and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s important that you be there. I may not have always done right, but I have a chance to start over with you as my best man. Mary Sue Ellen doesn’t mind my jaded past as long as I promise to love her to the end of my days.”
Trent hung his head. His father had found happiness and was trying to build a stable home for his family. “I’m not going to provide Mary Sue Ellen with her maid of honor.”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
Trent was afraid he knew who his father was going to call. He couldn’t tell him not to. Truth be told, he wanted to see Cora. If only to reassure himself that she was all right.
A few hours later, Trent realized Cora was fine without him. How could he have thought any differently?
She stood next to the glowing little bride, holding a small bouquet of violets Archie had selected. Her smile showed no strain, no hint of heartbreak. Her dress was royal purple and clung to her slender curves. He couldn’t help but imagine what Cora would look like in a wedding dress. It’d be statement-making – low cut, plunging in back, curve hugging, sexy as hell. The kind of dress a groom couldn’t wait to get her out of.
And then the words his father was saying sunk in. They weren’t rehearsed or read for him to parrot back. They came from the heart. “I never thought I’d find someone again who understood me, but I have. People may look at us and see our differences – our age, our upbringing, my fading looks and your shiny beauty. But your soul and mine were destined to be together. Those that we love will understand, see past the differences, and share in our happiness.”
And then Mary Sue Ellen said, “From the moment I saw you, I was drawn to you. I rejected the attraction. You rejected me. But our hearts called out to each other in a way that couldn’t be ignored. You made me see myself differently and view the world differently. I couldn’t be who I am today without you, my love.”
Trent exchanged a brief glance with Cora, suddenly wishing that he was speaking similar words to her – promising to love, honor, and cherish, despite differences and pasts and his selfish need to control everything around him to the point where he’d become an isolated lonely man.
Holy shit. He loved Cora.
She was a compelling combination of smarts and compassion. She saw through people, recognizing what motivated them. Sure, she was strong-willed, but so was he.
Hot damn. He loved Cora.
It wasn’t the quiet love he’d shared with Rachel in the early years of their marriage. It was a loud, larger-than-life kind of feeling that made him want to let everyone know that this was his woman and he was her man.
He was so lost in the wonder of the newly discovered emotion, that they had to ask him twice to hand over the rings. The happy couple was pronounced man and wife. Trent and Cora were asked to witness the license, then she turned to go.
“Wait…uh…sugar.” Trent tripped over his own tongue. “Our first game is tonight.”
“I know,” she said without turning. “Good luck.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
But she was already weaving her way through the crowded hallway.
“A woman like that needs chasing after,” Mary Sue Ellen said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Or she’ll get away for good.”
But Trent didn’t follow Cora. If it was love, he needed to choose the right time, the right place, and the right words of apology.
~*~
What did you pack when you were moving to Paris?
Shoes. Cora tucked Brutus in the crook of her arm and looked at her shoes. Trent had claimed to be fascinated with her shoes. He’d enjoyed slipping them off her feet and giving her a foot rub.
All her shoes were at least six months old. She couldn’t show up for an internship in Paris with old shoes. Shoes were out.
Dresses. Cora slid several hangers with dresses across the closet pole. Old. Old. Old. She stopped on a vintage dress that she’d worn to visit Trent one night. They’d sat out by the pool. The air was chilly and he’d draped that hideous sports jacket of his over her shoulders.
Nope. No dresses.
On to sweaters. It was almost September. She’d need sweaters in Paris. Except none were in this year’s colors. They were all last year’s bold reds and blacks. Flash colors.
Sweaters were out.
Jeans. They’d work. T-shirts. A scarf.
Cora stared at her near-empty suitcase. How was she going to design clothes when she’d lost her passion for wearing them?
Cora managed to fill a carry-on bag.
The doorbell rang. It was probably the car to take her to the airport.
She set Brutus down. He took the stairs one at a time. She followed with her suitcase.
It wasn’t the limo driver. It was her siblings.
“Stay,” Blue said.
“Please,” Amber added.
“I can’t. You’ll have to find some other way to locate the rest of the Rules.” Damn Daddy. Cora picked Brutus up, stroking his soft fur and trying not to think about what life would be like without him.
“We’ve already found one sibling. The private investigator produced a name this morning.” Blue looked Cora squarely in the eye. “Gemma.”
Cora felt sucker-punched. “What did she say when you told her?” She’d bet there’d been sarcasm and swearing involved.
“We didn’t tell her. You two have grown so close, we thought you should do it.” Blue went to the front door and opened it.
Gemma crossed into the foyer, a disdainful expression on her face. “I didn’t think you were throwing me a surprise birthday party, but if you were planning on firing me, I’d prefer you did it at the office.”
At l
east now Cora knew her bitchiness hadn’t come entirely from her mother. She studied Gemma’s face, searching for a physical resemblance to their father. It was there in Gemma’s wild, curly hair and the curve of her cheek.
What if Gemma was the little girl who hadn’t received Bridal Barbie for Christmas one year? She’d have every reason to hate Cora.
“That face,” Amber whispered. She was staring at Cora, not Gemma. “Why the face?”
“I don’t make a face.” Cora looked at Gemma again. Gemma? Her sister? She didn’t think she’d be delivering happy news. She cleared her throat. “Gemma, did you ever receive Bridal Barbie for Christmas?”
“That’s a stupid question.” Gemma scowled, so typically clueless to the subtext of the situation that Cora wanted to hug her. “I told you about the pink wall veto. My mom would never have allowed a toy with gender bias in my hands.”
Daddy most likely didn’t call Gemma his little princess.
Cora’s breath hitched. He should have.
“Cora…” Amber prompted.
Instead of breaking the news, Cora pressed a gentle kiss on the top of Brutus’ head and handed him to Gemma. “Take good care of him.”
~*~
Trent glanced around the arena, but Cora wasn’t watching his back or the team’s. He would’ve felt better if she was present. Guys didn’t win the Final Four one season and coach against the Lakers the next. Doubt plagued him. Cora was good at assuaging doubt.
And it would be easier to break the news that he loved her if she returned to her role as the team’s life coach. In preparation for making that declaration, he’d bought her a gift this morning. A gift that said they were made for each other.
It was the first game of the pre-season. They were playing at the Staples Center. Fans for the Lakers were fast filling the stadium. His team was warming up. The referees had introduced themselves. The only thing missing was Cora.
He perused the lower seats behind the bench once more.
“Looking for Cora?” Viv approached him. She wore a black skirt and blouse, as if attending a funeral. “That Rule is history.”
Trent forced his attention back to the court. Archie and the young assistant coaches walked a perimeter around the team – talking, joking, reminding players of their role, trying to keep their minds off the legendary team they were about to play.
“I have to hand it to you.” Viv mirrored his position, arms crossed. “You cut bait with Cora long before I ever did with Jack. Winning is everything to him, just like sex is everything to her.”
He caught himself before he told Viv to shut up. “She’s not that one-dimensional. Cora cared about everyone, even someone as selfish as you.”
“Don’t kid yourself. She put Jack in hospice and strapped him to the bed.”
“Don’t accuse her of something the doctor did for his safety.” Evan had told him that much. About other things – like how Cora was doing – his star player had been mum.
Viv waved away his argument. “You were lucky. Love isn’t worth the grief.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
It came to him then, the heartbreak he’d held at bay. He loved basketball and wanted to win, but he also loved Cora and wanted her by his side. He missed her headstrong attitude and her meddlesome ways. He missed her kindness and her strength. For a moment, he seemed suspended between the two loves.
Then basketball was hip-checked aside. He loved Cora. He’d still love Cora long after his time in basketball was over.
“I’ve got to be strong,” he muttered, thinking ahead to the next time he’d see Cora – what he’d say, how he’d approach her skittish, standoffish manner toward relationships, how he’d apologize (over and over) for not realizing she was who she was and he loved her for it.
“I’d rather have my husband than be strong,” Viv said bitterly. “Listen, we both made mistakes where our hearts are concerned. Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight?” He could tell by the wavering note in her voice that Viv didn’t really want him to accept.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” The game played out in his head like a series of chess moves. They could win! “As soon as this game’s over, I’m going to find Cora and tell her I love her.” It didn’t matter how many men or which ones she’d slept with. Those experiences had made her the person she was today. He didn’t want some virgin with virginal sensibilities. He wanted Cora. By his side. In his life. Forever.
Viv tried to laugh and choked. “By the time this game’s over, she’ll be on a plane to Paris.”
Trent’s heart splatted on the court at his feet.
“Didn’t she tell you? Lucky bitch. She’s pursuing her dream in Paris.” Viv’s gaze grew distant. “Men know how to treat a woman in Paris.”
Without realizing it, Trent started moving toward the exit.
“Where are you going?” Randy caught up to him in the tunnel to the locker rooms.
Trent turned around, each breath a struggle. The NBA was his dream. A once in a lifetime shot. But so was a chance at true love. He glanced toward the exit, and then back to the court, and said simply, “It’s Cora.”
Archie stepped into the tunnel. Their gazes connected. As if reading his mind, his father nodded.
Trent made to leave, but paused. “Randy, when you’re 100%, I want you to try out for a spot on the team.”
Randy’s mouth worked into a smile. He’d grown to appreciate coaching, but he wouldn’t be happy without a shot at his dream. If he had the skills, Trent owed him a chance.
“If you leave…” Vivian stood at the tunnel entrance, looking lost. “If you go after Cora Rule, you’re fired!”
“Can’t you see the man has the flu?” Archie dragged Viv with him toward the court. “Have you met my wife? I think you’ll like her.”
Trent turned his back and ran.
~*~
Where was the damn limo?
If it didn’t get here soon, she’d miss her flight.
Cora’s condo was quiet. No siblings. No Brutus. She opened the bedroom window facing the street, welcoming the noise of passing cars. She turned on the television. Of course, the Flash was playing.
Cora sank onto the bed. She hadn’t said goodbye to the team. She hadn’t reinforced their belief in themselves – Ren’s wondrous three-pointer, Jablone’s dunk, Antoine’s jumper. She wouldn’t be there to support them if their confidence stumbled, if they fell prey to the hype that was the Lakers. All because she’d decided to hide in her pink room, and then in Paris.
“The Flash is looking good, Pablo. This is a team out to prove they’re a contender.”
Someone knocked on the door. Finally, the limo had arrived.
“Come in,” she called. She couldn’t see the screen past her tears. “My bag’s in the hallway.”
“Amazingly, Brock, they look good even without head coach Trent Parker.”
Cora’s head came up. “Impossible.”
The camera panned the bench. Sure enough. No Trent.
“I thought I told you impossible is nothing.” It took a moment to register the male voice at the top of the stairs wasn’t that of a limo driver. “You’re leaving me?”
She turned, her heart thudding with hope and consternation. She wasn’t dreaming. It was Trent, looking classically handsome in the suit and tie she’d helped him pick out. “Are you crazy? You should be coaching right now.”
Whistles blew. Bodies crowded beneath the Flash basket.
“Deshawn Higby just swept the legs out from under Evan Oliver,” the announcer said. “He looks shaken up.”
The Flash players and coaching staff stormed the court, ready to defend their captain.
“Do you see?” Cora turned to Trent, jabbing her finger at the screen. “Technical fouls for emptying the bench. They’ve just blown your lead.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her. “A good fight shakes off preseason tension.”
He was nuts. She returned her attention to the screen.
“Nothing has ever been easy for me.” She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t acknowledge his heart or his heat or his strength. To do so would weaken her. She stared at the screen, willing Evan to get up. “And because I’m a – ”
“Don’t say it. Don’t ever call yourself that again.”
Somewhere deep in her chest, a knot loosened. “What about whore?”
Ren helped Evan to his feet. Her brother-in-law limped off the court.
“That doesn’t describe you either.” Trent draped his arm over her shoulders and sighed, tucking her close to him. She didn’t resist because this might be the last few minutes she spent in his arms. “I’m a Southern ass, too proud by half and too busy looking to the future, instead of enjoying what’s standing next to me. I guess I have more in common with Jack than I thought.”
Cora wouldn’t admit it later, but she wiped her eyes on his shirt. “You’re ruining your career.”
“I know, baby.”
“I’m leaving for Paris.”
“To make sexy clothes for Aloysha?”
She nodded.
“I know it’s a dream of yours, sugar, but I don’t think Paris is where you’re meant to be.”
“You son-of-a-bitch.” She tried to push out of his arms.
“Listen up.” He held on tight, despite her weak efforts to free herself. “Everyone should have more than one dream. Growing up, I wanted to play in the NBA, in the NFL, and be an astronaut. Just because I haven’t been called upon to fly into space doesn’t mean I won’t someday. Now’s the time for me and the NBA.”
She stilled. Two dreams. One of fashion, made in her childhood. Another of life coaching, made as an adult.
“I was thinking,” he continued quietly. “That the world would be a better place with you as one of its life coaches. Or maybe the Flash’s sports psychologist.”