by Regina Hart
“But you won’t take me back.”
God, she wanted to. “I can’t.”
“I’m in love with you, Andy.” He still wasn’t playing fair. His husky whisper stole into her heart.
“There can’t be love without trust. And this lack of trust isn’t between you and me. It’s between you and your ex-wife.”
Troy felt as though Andrea had knocked him on his butt. “What are you talking about?”
“You have an overdeveloped need to protect the team because no one protected you from your ex-wife’s lies.”
Was she serious? Troy searched her face. She looked serious. “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t even seen her in fifteen years.”
“And you’ve never forgiven her. Until you let go of your past, everything you do will be affected by it.”
Troy shook his head in disbelief. “That sounds like bad pop psychology.”
Andrea shrugged, but she still seemed tense. “I had a lot of counseling and read a lot of self-help books to deal with my alcoholism.”
Troy turned to pace the length of the narrow, crowded conference room. How could he make her understand? “I don’t have feelings for my ex-wife anymore.”
“Yes, you do.” Andrea sounded certain. “They’re negative feelings, but they’re very strong.”
Troy turned to study Andrea’s expression, trying to read her thoughts. “Are you jealous?”
“Of a woman you hate?” She actually laughed. “It bothers me that you won’t trust me because of something she did.”
Frustration whirled inside him. “I do trust you.”
“You trust me today. What happens the next time I want to write an in-depth article on the Monarchs?”
“Now who doesn’t trust who? I admitted I was wrong. I told you I was sorry.”
“I want to write a story on the original Monarchs’ owners and the end of their partnership.”
Troy’s head spun at her apparent change of topic. “Is this a test?”
“Is that a wide-eyed look of hope or horror?” Her tone was wry.
Troy spread his arms. “Why do you want to write that story?”
“Are you afraid I’d play up the sensationalism, the greed, and jealousy that spanned generations?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and forced a casual shrug. “It would sell a lot of papers.”
“And look good in my portfolio. I’d raise my profile and get ahead by hurting other people. Isn’t that what your ex-wife tried to do to you?”
Troy’s skin grew cold. “Isn’t that what you tried to do with Jackie?”
Andrea stiffened, but she didn’t look away. “Is that the reason you don’t trust me?”
Troy resumed his pacing. He kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck, but the tension wouldn’t ease. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“No, it wasn’t. It’s the truth. I wrote a damaging article about Jackie. It was full of lies that I created from petty jealousy. Is that the reason you don’t trust me?”
Troy exhaled an impatient breath. The room was hot and stuffy. “I do trust you. You’re not the same person you were four years ago.” How many times would he have to repeat himself before she’d believe him?
“Maybe that’s why your ex-wife and I are connected in your mind.”
Troy turned and paced back toward the front of the room. He took off his suit jacket and hooked it on the back of a chair. “You two couldn’t be more different.”
Andrea sank into one of the chairs crowded between the storage boxes and the conference table. “Jackie was able to forgive me. I’m not saying I deserved it. But her generosity helped me to be a better person, and I think it helped her to move forward after what I did.”
Troy loosened his tie. Anger heated his skin and caused his heart to race. “My ex-wife cost me my basketball scholarship, my parents’ respect, and my chance at the NBA. You expect me to forgive her?”
Andrea spread her hands. “I’m sorry for everything she cost you. But you earned your degree. You have a job you love working for a well-respected organization. And I’m certain your parents are proud of you. How does it benefit you to hold onto your resentment?”
Troy hooked his hands on his hips. “Why do I have to forgive her?”
Andrea stood. She pressed her palms against her thighs. “Jackie not only forgave me, but she helped me restart my career. She saved my life.”
Troy’s temper cooled as he gave silent thanks to Jaclyn’s huge heart. “I know.”
“If you had been in her place, would you have been able to forgive me?” Her voice was breathless.
Her question rocked him back on his heels. She stood as still as a statue. Troy sensed her trying to read his mind.
Troy lowered his arms. What could he say to keep her with him? “You’re talking in hypotheticals. You’ve never written anything about me.”
“Humor me. Would you have been able to forgive me?” She was relentless.
Troy’s chest hurt. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t think I could have.”
“Not even for your own sake?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Andrea nodded. “Neither do I.” Her voice was low.
Troy tried a last-minute rally. “Why is this important? It’s all make-believe.”
Andrea lowered her eyes. “It means you wouldn’t have given me a chance to change. I’m not saying I deserved a second chance, but I’m glad I got one.”
“So am I.” Troy fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. Would she want his touch? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t bear for her to flinch from him.
Andrea looked up to meet his gaze. “By holding on to the past, you aren’t allowing yourself a chance to change, either.”
His irritation stirred. “I wasn’t the one who needed to change. She was.”
“It’s not too late to give her that chance.”
Did she know what she was asking of him? How could he forgive someone who had taken so much from him?
“I don’t know whether I can change that much, not even for you.” Troy collected his jacket. Leaving Andrea was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
“Nice shot, Trademark.” Warrick added applause to his praise.
Troy grabbed his own rebound, then turned to face the Monarchs’ point guard on the court of the team’s practice facility.
He checked the clock on the facility’s far wall. It was after six-thirty on Wednesday evening. “What are you doing here so late?” Troy flung the ball toward Warrick.
Warrick caught the pass, considered the basket, hopped, then sunk a jumper from beyond the perimeter ring. “No one to rush home to. I thought I’d come here to work off some extra energy before I went home.”
Troy collected the basketball from the court as it bounced toward him. He wasn’t anxious to spend the rest of the evening in his own company, either. Like Warrick, he’d come to the practice facility to work out.
“When last did you hear from Mary?” If only he’d been able to stop the Monarchs Insider sooner.
“She finally answered my call this morning. She said she needed more time.” Warrick dragged his right hand over his clean-shaven head. “It’s been a month.”
It was closer to three weeks, but Troy knew how Warrick felt. He hadn’t spoken to Andrea in two days; it felt like a week. “More time for what?”
Warrick shrugged. “To think things through. How much time does she need?”
Troy knew the question wasn’t directed at him. “I’m sorry, man.” He plucked his silver Monarchs T-shirt, damp with perspiration, from his torso and rubbed his sweaty forearm across his brow. “I’m sorry about the loss last night, too.” Now the Monarchs were tied with the New York Knicks at two games a piece in the seven-game series.
Warrick turned. He wandered off the court to the bleachers. “Another reason I’m not eager to sit alone at home. As company, my own thoughts would suck.”
T
roy tossed the ball into a black wire cart filled with other basketballs before following his friend across the court. “The team is playing better since you’ve worked Jamal into the games.” Troy sat beside the other man. “You’re playing more like a team. Barron wouldn’t do that.”
Warrick shrugged. “Barron brought a different chemistry to the game.”
Troy studied the other man, puzzling his relationship with the rookie. “Jamal looks up to Barron, but you’re the one who’s helping him.”
Warrick frowned at a spot across the court. “Barron leads by example. Jamal needs more help finding his way.”
“But you’re helping him even though he talks trash about you in the media. And to your face. How can you overlook that?”
“Consider the source. Jamal’s insecure.” Warrick chuckled. “He’s also impatient. He thinks he can build his NBA legacy overnight.”
Troy stood to pace. “But he’s trying to build it by attacking yours. How can you forgive him?”
Warrick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. The intensity in his brown eyes made Troy pause. “Jamal isn’t in control of my game. I am. What matters to me at the end of my day are my stats. Am I winning or am I losing? Everything else is noise.”
Troy adjusted the waistband of his baggy black shorts before sitting back down. “Jamal’s lucky he chose to target you instead of Barron.”
Warrick laughed. “That’s true.”
Troy stared across the court, considering Warrick’s words. His body began to cool and his skin was starting to dry.
The point guard was right. Warrick was in control of his game. That’s why Jamal’s criticisms didn’t affect him. Just as Jaclyn was confident of her basketball skills, which is the reason she recovered from Andrea’s damaging article. Did Troy have the confidence to put the past and his ex-wife’s offenses behind him?
Warrick’s words interrupted Troy’s thoughts. “I liked the article Andrea wrote about Barron going into rehab. It was really good.”
“Yes, it was.” Troy sensed Warrick looking at him.
“That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. What’s wrong?”
Troy took a breath, drawing in the sharp scent of polished wood. “She broke up with me.”
“Over the story about Barron?”
Troy nodded. “I asked her not to write it. She said I should have trusted her.”
“She’s right.”
Troy glanced at Warrick, then away. “I know. I apologized, but she doesn’t believe I’ve learned my lesson. She thinks, in a similar situation, I still won’t trust her.”
Warrick shifted on the bleacher. “Would you?”
Troy hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Warrick grunted. “Then she’s right not to believe you.”
Troy dragged his right hand over his hair. “She said if I can’t trust her, then I don’t love her. Well, this sure feels like love to me.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” Did he sound insane?
Warrick patted Troy’s shoulder. “Do you want to know if you’re in love?”
Troy looked at the embattled husband. “Yeah.”
“Ask yourself if you’re better with her than you are without her. If the answer’s yes, then you’re in love.”
“Is that how you feel about Mary?” Troy saw the flash of pain in Warrick’s eyes.
“Yes.”
Troy sighed. “Then what do we do?”
Warrick hesitated. “We ask ourselves if they’re better with us than they are without us. If the answer’s yes, we have to find a way to convince them.”
Troy’s stomach muscles knotted. “What if the answer’s no?”
Warrick looked bleak. “Then we’re screwed.”
Were the odds in his favor? Andrea gave him confidence. She’d taught him patience. But what had she gotten from their relationship? Maybe she was better off without him.
But maybe he could change.
23
Andrea hustled to keep up with the New York Horn’s managing editor, Bruce Donnelly, as he led her through the newsroom to his office Thursday. His brown, cuffed pants were a little long for his short, stocky frame. His blue, white, and brown striped shirt was wrinkled and stained with newsprint—and it was only eight-thirty in the morning.
She dodged a couple of storage boxes and circled stacks of old newspapers as she examined her surroundings. The competition didn’t appear to believe in reinvesting in their product either. Computers and printers were outdated. Workspace was overcrowded. Office furniture was bruised and battered. The air stank of aging newsprint and burned coffee. If it weren’t for the unfamiliar cast of characters speed walking past her and shouting across the room, she’d think she was still at Sports.
Kirk West, the Horn’s basketball reporter, glared as she passed his desk. She wouldn’t receive a warm welcome there. Andrea nodded at the other reporter as she adjusted the strap of her brown purse on her shoulder. She inconspicuously wiped her sweating palms on the skirt of her light gray business suit. Why did this feel like a mistake?
She entered Bruce’s office. The older man shared the space with several boxes. Was he moving?
“Thanks for coming.” Bruce lowered himself into his seat behind his desk.
Andrea settled into the sole guest chair. It squeaked. “What made you change your mind about the interview? You rejected my initial application.”
“We’ve been following your work for a long time.” Bruce smoothed back what was left of his iron gray hair and leaned back in his chair. It wailed in protest. “You’re good.”
“Thank you.” Andrea waited for Bruce to continue. She gripped her purse in her lap.
“What do you know about hockey?” Bruce’s narrowed hazel eyes pinned her.
Andrea played along. “There are thirty teams, six divisions. The season starts in September. It runs through April, when the Stanley Cup play-offs begin.”
“Who won the 2010 cup?”
“The Chicago Blackhawks.” She hoped Bruce didn’t ask the team captain’s name. That she didn’t remember. “Why are you asking all of these questions?”
Bruce sat forward. He folded his hands on the flood of papers on his desk. “Our hockey reporter gave two weeks’ notice. That’s why I called you yesterday. The job is yours if you want it.”
Andrea blinked. This was a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree switch from her last job-hunting experience. “In two weeks.”
Bruce nodded. “That’s right. I hear Sports will fold in a month, give or take.”
The ticking time clock. Andrea was too aware of how long she had before she had to reach into her meager savings. It grew warmer in the room. She tugged a little at the high collar of her white polyester blouse.
Andrea looked at the stained and cluttered walls. She wasn’t a big hockey fan, but that would help her remain objective as she covered the season. She could learn the sport. Who was the New York Rangers team captain? She knew the New York Islanders hadn’t done well last season.
She returned her attention to Bruce. The editor’s sharp gaze seemed to sift through her thoughts. She wished she could do that to him.
“What’s the benefits package?” Not that she had much of a package with Sports.
“Medical. Dental. Five vacation and seven sick days after a year.”
That was identical to Sports’s benefits package. Five vacation days a year. That was disappointing. “And the salary?”
The starting salary Bruce named was exactly the same as she made now. Andrea swallowed a groan. “Is that negotiable?”
Bruce shook his head. “That salary is in line with what we pay all of our reporters with similar experience to yours.”
That was hard to believe. “What’s the salary range for those years of experience?”
“The salary we’re offering you is on the high side of that range.” Bruce’s eyes and expression gave nothing away. His chair whined as he sat back.
Andrea wished he’d sit still. “That salary is quite a bit less than I was hoping for.”
“I understand. But in a few weeks, you won’t have any income.”
The clock’s ticking grew louder. Andrea swallowed a sigh. “How soon do you need a response?”
“As soon as possible.”
Andrea’s brow furrowed. “But I thought your reporter gave two weeks’ notice yesterday? Why do you need a replacement so quickly?”
Bruce shrugged. “I want him to train you. Introduce you to his contacts. That kind of thing. It’s easier to do that if the two of you can work together for a few days.”
The pressure was building. She looked over her shoulder at the newsroom behind her. The newsroom that was interchangeable with the one in which she’d spent the past three years. She would argue that she’d grown during that time. The offer the New York Horn had made would be a step back. She was desperately in need of a step forward.
Bruce prompted her. “Isn’t something better than nothing?”
Andrea lifted her hand to rub the back of her neck. She paused midmotion. She’d picked up Troy’s mannerisms. His voice whispered in her ears. You’re a good reporter. Don’t settle.
She raised her head. “No, it’s not.”
Surprise flickered in his hazel eyes. “In this economy, you shouldn’t make rash decisions.”
“You’re right.” Andrea slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder and stood. “And taking this job would be a rash decision.”
Bruce rose as well. “Are you sure? Because there are other candidates I’m scheduled to see.”
Andrea recognized Bruce’s game. “You should hire one of them.” She offered him a smile and her hand. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
Bruce shook her hand. “Thanks for coming in. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Andrea walked out of his office and past Kirk West’s desk. The NBA reporter glared at her again. Andrea winked at him before continuing out of the newsroom.
She was nervous. Who wasn’t afraid of the unknown? But she’d finally stopped punishing herself. She deserved more. This time, she was leaving herself open to better opportunities. She hoped they wouldn’t take too long to come knocking.