by Mary Manners
“He was mad at Aunt Lexi because she caught him sneaking a smoke behind the center and took his cigarettes away. We got into it the next day at school when he called her a—”
“Whoa.” Cooper held up a hand. “You don’t have to repeat it. I get the picture.”
“Anyway, I got in-school suspension for three days, but he did, too. And I gave him a sweet-looking shiner. So it was worth it.”
“What did Lexi have to say about that?”
“Aunt Lexi?” A frown covered his face. “Oh, she told me to keep my eyes in my textbooks and my mouth closed and to let her fight her own battles. She gave me a big lecture about staying out of trouble—for the millionth time. She’s really good at that kind of thing. My ears rang by the time she finished, and I just wanted the ground to swallow me up.”
“She’s pretty tough, huh?”
“I’ll say. I got grounded, like, forever. I couldn’t play basketball here for a whole week, and I had to clean the bathrooms instead. It was beyond disgusting.”
“I’ll bet.” He hauled out a bag of mulch, tossed it toward the flower bed, and reached for another. “Where are your parents?”
Andy paused, shrugged. His eyes narrowed and darkened. “I dunno where my dad is. He and my mom never got married, and he took off when I was three. I barely remember him, but I don’t care.”
Oh, man. Tender subject.
“My mom’s gone kind of...I don’t know.” He raised an index finger to make a circular motion beside his ear as he gnawed his lower lip. “She’s in New York designing weird-looking clothes for anorexic runway models.”
“Sounds...interesting.”
He shrugged again then took his frustration out on a bag of mulch. “I guess...if you like that kind of stuff. Me—I like football.”
“I’m with you there.”
“How old were you when you started playing?”
“Six. My dad took me out to the peewee league in West Knoxville.”
“Oh.” He ran a hand through sweaty caramel hair, left a streak of dirt across his forehead. “I’m almost thirteen and I haven’t gotten to play much. My mom...uh...” He lifted another bag, tossed it as if it didn’t weigh nearly half of what he did. “Aunt Lexi said she’d get me to all the practices and the coach wants me, so...”
“Don’t sweat it...Andy, right?”
He beamed. “Yeah.”
“You look like you’re a quick learner. Let’s get this job done, and we’ll toss the ball around, see what you’ve got.”
“Cool.”
Cooper dangled the truck keys. “I think we’ve dumped enough mulch at this bed. How about you drive what’s left of the load to that one over there?” He motioned a hundred yards away, across the grass to the far side of the building.
The kid’s eyes lit up. “You mean it?”
“Sure. It’s a straight shot, and this isn’t exactly I-40 at rush hour.” In fact, his was the only truck in sight and the rest of the kids were busy working around the back of the building with Lexi.
“Aunt Lexi will pitch a fit. She thinks I’m too young to drive.”
“I’d agree, if we were on the street. But we’re not, and I’ll ride shotgun just in case a semi happens to ride up on the lawn and try to take us out.”
“If you say so.” Andy grabbed the keys and jumped into the driver’s seat before Cooper had a chance to change his mind. “But you don’t know Aunt Lexi.”
Oh, I know her all right.
****
“Andrew James Turner!” Lexi’s shriek pierced the air. “Stop that truck right now!”
Andy hit the brakes, nearly pitching Cooper through the windshield. He bit back an oath as his sore knee slammed into the dashboard.
“We’re toast now.” Andy had the sense to put the car into park before he hunkered down in the seat like a two-year-old playing hide-and-seek. “Look at her face. She’s gonna blow a gasket.”
“Let me take care of this.” Cooper reached over the gear shift, switched off the engine.
“Good luck. She’s no fun when she’s this mad.”
“Tell me about it.” He’d been on the receiving end of that wrath a time or two over the years...once when he’d dump-trucked her into the cold river rapids while they were tubing their junior year of high school. She’d come up swinging—all one hundred and twenty pounds of her, soaking wet.
She strode across the grass, face flaming, Cooper slid from the truck and planted himself in her path.
“Move.” She pulled up in front of him and tried to zigzag her way around to Andy. She was quick, but he was quicker—years of dodging monster-sized linebackers gave him a healthy edge.
“Say please.”
“I’m not joking here, Cooper.” Panting, she blew a stray strand of damp hair from her forehead and planted a hand on each hip to glare at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” The scent of vanilla on her skin distracted him. He gave her a lazy grin. “Hauling mulch, just like you asked.”
Her sigh spoke volumes. “Andy, get out of the truck and come over here.”
The boy slunk from the seat, chin up. His too-long hair slid over eyes that smoldered.
“What?” His voice had a biting edge, and Cooper cringed as he waited for the fireworks to start.
“Cut the tone.” Lexi crossed her arms and stood her ground. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you driving—or not driving, I should say.”
“You had a conversation. I just sat there and listened. Blah blah blah.”
Flames danced in her eyes. “You’re only twelve, Andy. What do you think would happen next if you ran into something out here while you’re messing around...a car—the building—maybe another kid?”
“I’m not messing around, and I’m not going to run into anything. There’s nothing to run into. Besides, I told you, Mom lets me drive all the time.”
“Well, your mom’s not here. I am. And I said no driving—period.”
“Man, what’s the big deal? I’m not even in the road. And besides, Cooper asked me to move the truck.”
Her gaze left Andy long enough to bore daggers into Cooper. “Nice going.”
Andy rushed to Cooper’s side. He crossed his arms and bowed up to his full height. “Hey, don’t get mad at him.”
“I’ll get mad if I want to.” She folded her arms in return, gave him attitude right back. Cooper had to hand it to her. She still had the explosive spark of a firecracker. “You disobeyed me, Andy.”
“I’m not sorry I did. You treat me like a two-year-old sometimes.”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe and out of trouble. You’re too young to understand bad things can happen when you break the rules...things that can’t be undone—ever.”
“Yeah, right.” He dug the toe of his sneaker into the dirt and huffed. “Just because of what happened to Grandma in that car accident, you think everyone’s gonna get hurt behind the wheel. Well, I’m not. And I wish you’d quit bossing me around so much. It’s really getting old.”
“Enough.” Cooper’s gut twisted when tears filled Lexi’s eyes. “I was wrong to encourage you to break a rule, Andy. I wasn’t thinking, and I made a mistake. Now, you’re making a mistake, talking to Lexi like that. It’s disrespectful.”
“But—”
“No excuses. When you’re wrong, you should admit it.”
Andy scowled and shook his head so a drape of hair fell over his forehead, hiding eyes that were dark with temper. Cooper thought the kid looked a lot like he had at twelve, when anger had nearly consumed him—anger over his move to a new school, the loss of his friends and football buddies. He’d still been smoldering over his mom’s death from a long and ruthless battle with breast cancer. It was tough, he knew all too well.
Andy huffed and his shoulders slumped like a balloon deflating. “OK. I broke a rule.” He cleared his throat, sounded for the world like he was choking. “I-I’m sorry, Aunt Lexi.”
She swiped an eye, sniffled. “I should ground you.”<
br />
“No!” His eyes widened, and he dropped the attitude like a newspaper on fire. “I mean, please don’t. I’m sorry, really I am. I’ll never drive again, not ’til I get my permit, at least. And then only when you say it’s OK. I promise.” He crossed his heart with a muddied index finger for emphasis. “Don’t make me clean the bathrooms again. I’ll blow chunks if I do. Besides, Cooper said he’d toss a football with me when we’re done here. He’s gonna show me some moves. So, can we just get back to work?”
“Yeah.” Cooper watched the firm line of Lexi’s mouth soften, heard her resigned intake of breath. He pushed a little harder. “Let’s say we get back to work and get this job done. The day’s not getting any younger.”
Behind them, a mutter of voices grew. Kids had wandered from the back of the building to watch the show. In an attempt to avoid a full-blown scene, Cooper urged, “Come on, Lex, just drop it.”
Lexi threw up her hands. “Fine. Both of you grab a rake and start spreading.”
****
Lexi’s belly did the mamba as she watched Cooper launch a bullet spiral to Andy. He’d stripped down to a pair of athletic shorts and a faded T-shirt with the sleeves torn out. Honed muscles rippled beneath a healthy sheen of sweat at each crisp release of the ball. She tried not to remember how those powerful arms had once drawn her in and wrapped her in a loving embrace.
“You’ve got good hands,” he called to Andy. “This time keep your eyes on the ball and get under it. Anticipate.”
“Like this?” Andy made a neat catch and cradled the ball like a baby tucked beneath one arm. He sprinted across the grass to an end-zone Cooper had marked with two spare bags of mulch.
“Yeah, you’re a natural, kid.”
The smile that flashed across Andy’s face made his dark eyes glow and Lexi’s heart throb like a drum. The sulky smirk had left him, and he looked like a carefree twelve-year-old.
Now, if we can just do something with that hair.
“Here, let me show you something.” Cooper loped over, his limp a bit more pronounced than it had been at the start of the day. Hauling and spreading a hundred bags of mulch had obviously taken their toll.
“You should rest your leg,” Lexi called.
“In a minute.” He placed a firm hand on each of Andy’s shoulders and turned him this way, then that, guiding his stance.
“You know, you’d be able to see what you’re doing better if you lost some of this hair.”
“You think so?”
“Sure.” Cooper gathered the caramel waves into strong hands, freeing Andy’s view. “See what I mean?”
Luke would be turning six.
The thought popped into Lexi’s head and her breath caught. What would it have been like to have a son—raise a son—with Cooper? What if he hadn’t been drafted? He’d earned a degree in business and marketing between Saturday games and grueling daily practices. What would life have been like without the glitter and notoriety of pro football—without the distraction of hours and hours of workouts and an unforgiving travel schedule?
Lexi forced the thought away. She’d never know, and it didn’t matter now, anyway.
Life would go on. And it would go on without Cooper Jackson. She’d paid her date—her part of the agreement for the online auction—by coming here today with him. They’d negotiated the details and the deal was sealed, the money safely deposited in the Thursday’s Child account at the local bank.
And now it was time to leave. “Andy, we need to go.”
He caught the clean spiral Cooper tossed, ran with it. He had some serious speed. “In a minute.”
She sighed and propped a hand on one hip. “Now. You’ve got homework, remember?”
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “How could I forget?”
Cooper hop-limped to Andy’s side and nudged him before leaning over to whisper, “’Yes, ma’am’ goes a long way.”
“Huh?” Andy pushed sweaty hair from his eyes and cradled the football as if he’d never let go.
“The r-word—respect—goes a long way.”
“Oh, yeah.” Reluctantly, he tossed the ball to Cooper. “I guess I’d better go. Thanks for throwing with me. It was awesome.”
“My pleasure.” Cooper tossed the ball back. “You can keep it. We’ll run a few plays again soon.”
“You mean it?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He flashed a smile and wiped sweat from his face with the hem of his soiled T-shirt. “Just get the homework done and stay ungrounded. Remember...respect.”
“Got it.” Andy lobbed the ball in the air, caught it neatly as he turned to Lexi. “Yes, ma’am. I’m coming. Do we have time to go for a haircut?”
A battle waged in the pit of Lexi’s belly. Time with Cooper, his attention and help, was just what Andy needed.
And exactly what I don’t.
5
Cooper grimaced as he plopped the bag of frozen peas over his swollen knee. He’d made it through a full workout with a local trainer this morning—no painkillers, either—and that showed some progress, at least. But he was paying for it now. His knee throbbed like a knife jabbed into the tender flesh.
I won’t down a painkiller...I won’t.
He propped his sandwich in his lap and grabbed the can of soda off the coffee table. Reaching for the remote on the couch next to him, he punched in the channel number to ESPN, and went stone cold. That dark-haired kid from the University of Florida—the one touted by every analyst across the country as the next big thing—gripped a microphone and fielded questions as though he were already a seasoned pro.
And he wore a Jaguars jersey and a ball cap tugged low over smiling eyes. What was up with that? He—Cooper Jackson—was the Jag’s star quarterback. Had been for going on seven years running. Sure, this knee injury had set him back—knocked him out of some spring practice and the first few games of the upcoming season, maybe—but he’d get his game back...eventually.
He’d dedicated his entire pro career to the Jags, given them two-hundred percent. Now this new kid, young and fresh and glowing with the prospect of playing in the NFL—on his Jags team, no less—drew the crowd’s undivided attention.
Cooper’s cell phone rang. He reached for it, glanced at the caller ID, and immediately jabbed the talk button.
“Stan, what’s going on here?” He fought to keep his voice level as he spoke with his agent. “I have a little knee surgery, miss a few spring practices, and you let the team call in a new recruit?”
“Now, look, Coop.” Stan’s voice was thick with false bravado. “Calm down. We’re just in the planning stages here. The coach said he’ll give the kid a year, see what happens. No one’s trying to force you out.”
“So that’s the way it goes, huh? I give my blood, sweat and tears for six years, Stan. Six years. Then one little injury and the coach turns tail on me and recruits some—some hotshot kid. He can’t be a day over twenty-two.”
“You were barely a day over twenty-two when you signed on to play, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” The day was burned into his memory—the celebration when his name was called during the ESPN draft coverage and when he’d donned an official Jag’s jersey and ball cap. But even then, something had been missing...
Lexi, back in Knoxville.
Her absence had left a gaping hole no amount of excitement could fill.
“The doc said—”
“I don’t care what the doc said. My knee’s getting better. You know me, Stan. I’m no quitter. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to playing one-hundred percent.”
“I know, Coop. But this comes from the top.” He paused, cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was low, hushed, as if he didn’t want others nearby to hear. Cooper could picture the manager, the owner maybe, just outside the office door, ears trained on the conversation. “Football is about money, Cooper. People don’t want to pay big bucks for a product that can’t deliver. And, after it’s all sa
id and done, that’s what it boils down to, Coop—you’re a product. But we’ll find a way around this, even if you do have to ride the bench for a while. Your endorsements are strong. As a matter of fact—”
“Hold up a minute.” Cooper crushed the soda can. Dark, syrupy liquid splattered the coffee table. “What did you say? I’m a what?”
“You heard me. That’s the reality of it. I’m sorry, Coop, but this kid’s the real deal. Through his college career he’s built a fan base that’s unbelievable, and we all know what that means.”
“Yeah, I know—cold, hard cash for the team’s coffers. Well, I have a fan base, too. At least, I thought I had a fan base. And I’ve made more than my fair share of money for you, too. Have you forgotten that so quickly, Stan? Have you forgotten I led the team to the playoffs just a few months ago, and that lined your pockets with a healthy wad of green, too?”
“Nobody’s forgotten anything.” Another pause followed a heavy, dramatic sigh which signaled that, like it or not, the conversation was coming to an end. “Look, Coop, this call’s as hard for me as it is for you—”
Yeah, right.
“—Just continue to do what the doc says, and don’t sweat it too much. Work out like it’s a matter of life or death, get the strength back. Then we’ll see how things go...OK?”
“Sure, Stan...then we’ll see.”
He punched the end button, tossed the phone onto the polished wood floor and felt like stomping it into a million pieces. Instead, he reached for the familiar amber bottle of painkillers. His hands shook as he popped the lid and tossed one of the colorful capsules into his mouth. Before he could swallow, though, bitterness soured his tongue and he spit out the capsule. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The whole world seemed to go black.
Apparently, he was washed up at the ripe old age of twenty-nine—at least with the team he thought would stand by him. No way he’d ride the bench, play second fiddle to some kid green out of college. He hung his head, thought he might hyperventilate right there in the living room in front of the flat-screen TV with a turkey-on-wheat sandwich propped in his lap and a bag of frozen vegetables slung cold across one knee.