Just Chance

by Dillon Hunter

  “Save it, kid.” Corbin barked out a short, harsh laugh. “God, you really are naive, aren’t you? You think a man like Hawk—a world-famous athlete—really wants to spend his downtime like that? Think again.”

  “No.” Frankie’s voice was flat, but firm. He was pretty much over this conversation, and just wanted to be off the phone. Not, however, before he set Corbin straight. He wasn’t going to listen to the man talk down to him anymore. “No, it’s not like that,” he stated firmly, the memory of Hawk’s smile—just for him—giving him confidence that he was right. “It’s not me being naive.”

  “Well, whatever it is, Hawk isn’t going to be there,” Corbin said brusquely, sounding like he cared precisely not-at-all about what Frankie was trying to tell him. “He’s busy here, Mr. Moretti. Taking care of business. Which, you may recall, is what his arrangement with you is about.”

  “But—” Frankie started to say, wanting Corbin to understand that things had changed.

  “There is no but,” Corbin cut him off coldly. “If Hawk chose to entertain himself with you while he was stuck in that little shit-hole town of yours, that’s his business, but don’t ever doubt that any fun the two of you may have had together was purely temporary. My job is to make sure his career is on track, and I’ve worked with Hawk Hawkins long enough to know that his career is and always will be his number one priority.”

  Frankie shook his head, wanting to deny what Corbin was saying. He did know that Hawk’s career was important to him. Really important, since Hawk both loved what he did and had explained to Frankie that it meant the difference between taking care of his family and seeing them suffer the fate of so many other small-town ranchers in their area. But Corbin was still wrong. Sure, Hawk had said they’d have fun together, but at some point, it had become more than that… hadn’t it?

  “So far, you’ve held up your end of the bargain, and it’s worked,” Corbin was saying. “I’ve set up a meeting with Hawk and the team owners tomorrow, and it’s one he can’t afford to miss, even if he’d wanted to. But if he does bother to head back down to your crappy little town at some point, you’re going to need to remember to stay in your lane and hold up your end of the deal. We’ve talked about this already, young man. You signed a contract, and don’t for a minute think I won’t come after you with everything I’ve got if you fail to uphold it. Your job is done, and you’re no longer essential to his career. This meeting, on the other hand, is.”

  Frankie could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he quickly dashed them away and took a long, deep breath to steady his voice. He’d never meant to interfere with Hawk’s career—he loved him—but he wasn’t going to give Corbin the satisfaction of knowing his words had affected Frankie like that.

  “I told you,” Frankie said, remembering to speak slowly so his voice didn’t shake. Remembering to breathe. “It’s not like that. This isn’t about the contract. Hawk said he’d be here tomorrow. He already promised me.”

  And maybe it was naive to think that Hawk might ever love him back, but he did care about Frankie. He did.

  “It’s all about the contract.”

  Frankie could hear the disdain in Corbin’s voice, and an icy chill went through him. Was he just being naive? Yes, Hawk was from Bridgewater, but Bridgewater wasn’t his world anymore. Multi-million dollar sports contracts and the kind of attention that Frankie had seen Hawk get first-hand was normal for Hawk. And Corbin… Corbin was part of that world. He knew it in a way that Frankie never could, and what if… as much as it hurt, what if Corbin was right?

  “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from Hawk soon,” Corbin said, his voice moving beyond the dismissive tone he’d been using and no longer holding any pretense of being polite or professional. It almost felt like he was trying to hurt Frankie’s feelings when he added, “He’ll probably call sometime to try and let you down gently, but the fact is that he’s going to stay here tomorrow and take care of business. That’s what matters to him, and that’s the reality of the situation.”

  “I don’t believe you…” Frankie said, but even he could hear that his voice had lost the conviction he’d had earlier. He didn’t want to believe Corbin, but when it came down to it, Frankie had known Hawk for… what? A couple of months? Corbin had been doing business with Hawk for years. Which one of them was likely to have more say in what Hawk was going to do?

  “You don’t have to believe me,” Corbin said coldly. “The facts speak for themselves. And the fact is that Hawk is here, not there. Not with you. Between a small-town fling and starting for the Falcons, there’s just no contest, Mr. Moretti.”

  The tears that Frankie had brushed away earlier were back with a vengeance, spilling over his cheeks and running down his face, despite Frankie’s best efforts to hold them back. He hung up the phone without another word. It hadn’t done any good to dispute what Corbin had said, and it wouldn’t have done any good to stay on the phone any longer.

  They’d both said plenty.

  Frankie was numb as he sat there with the phone in his hand and his heart on his sleeve. He couldn’t bring himself to believe all of the things Corbin had said, but no matter how much he told himself that, it didn’t stop him from feeling frozen… or from crying.

  Hawk had shown himself to be a good man, a kind man—a man who had never failed to take Frankie’s thoughts and feelings into consideration from the first day they’d met. Even if he did have a big important meeting coming up—one which he hadn’t breathed a word of during the conversation they’d just had—why should it be any different now?

  Frankie took a deep breath, remembering how Hawk had sounded on the phone. Frankie couldn’t be wrong about him, not when Hawk had never once failed to make him feel like the center of his world. That wasn’t part of the contract, and it didn’t matter that the things Corbin had said sort of made sense. It didn’t matter that Corbin had known Hawk longer. Frankie felt like he knew Hawk better.

  With a ragged sigh, he brushed away the tears again and squared his shoulders. He did know Hawk, and all he had to do was to call Hawk and straighten this out. If there really was a big make-or-break-Hawk’s-career meeting the next day that somehow Hawk had forgotten about, Frankie would understand. He’d be disappointed, for sure, but he’d understand. There was no way, though, that he believed Hawk would just give him the brush-off, the way Corbin had said.

  He looked at the phone in his hand, the blank screen staring back at him as all the insidious doubts Corbin had planted wormed there way into his heart. He needed to just… dial. And ask. But… what if Hawk was planning on calling to let him down gently? Did Frankie really want to call first? Did he want to do anything at all to speed up the end, if that’s where this was heading instead of where he’d sort of started to let himself think it might be?

  He took a shuddering breath, letting it out slowly as he faced the fact that the future might not look at all like what he’d been thinking. But still… yes, he really did want to call. There was no way he’d make it if he had to sit around and wait with all this ugliness in his heart. He had to know.

  And… he needed to hear Hawk’s voice; needed to hear him say that Corbin was a nasty old liar. Needed to hear him say that he wanted to spend time with Frankie, in spite of the fact that there wouldn’t be cameras around, in spite of what was written in that stupid contract, in spite of how unessential Frankie might be to Hawk’s career.

  He wanted to hear Hawk say—but no, he wasn’t going to be greedy. Just hearing that Corbin was wrong would be enough.

  Without letting himself think about it anymore, he flipped through his contacts and dialed Hawk’s number, holding his breath as the phone rang.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  When it finally went to voicemail, Frankie hung up. If he tried to leave a message, his voice might crack. Besides, leaving Hawk a message wouldn’t have done any good. It wouldn’t have given him the answers to all the questions and doubts that Corbin had stirred up.r />
  Was Hawk avoiding him?

  Was Corbin right, after all?

  When was Hawk planning on calling and “letting Frankie down gently?”

  Hawk had said he was going to bed earlier, that he was tired. He’d sounded happy, though. Had sounded like Hawk… like Frankie’s Hawk. He sure hadn’t given any hints that something was wrong between them… unless Frankie had just been too blinded by his own happiness to notice?

  But no. Hawk had promised to be at the Flower Face-off tomorrow. Had teased Frankie about what they’d do after. And even though he hadn't said anything about feelings, he’d still—as always—made Frankie feel like he was special to him. So, okay. No matter how upset and confused Corbin’s call had made him, Frankie wasn’t going to jump to conclusions just because his man hadn’t picked up the phone. In fact, the way Hawk always seemed to know exactly what Frankie needed—seemed to be there, whenever Frankie needed him—he might call any minute and set his mind at ease. Explain all the nasty things Corbin had said. Tell Frankie Corbin had it wrong.

  Frankie set his phone down carefully, determined not to look at it again unless it rang. Because that’s… probably what would happen, right? Hawk had never once let him down, and even if he didn’t call back tonight, he’d still show up tomorrow, just like he’d promised, and they’d sort it all out then.

  … right?

  Chapter 25

  Hawk

  It had been a long, sleepless night for Hawk, followed by an even more frustrating morning as he’d worked to unravel all the schedule changes Corbin had caused and been thwarted at every turn in his attempts to get in touch with Frankie for damage control.

  Fucking Corbin.

  Even if he’d been able to get over the feelings of anger and betrayal he’d had for his agent—and he most definitely hadn’t gotten over them—Hawk still had plenty of anger and angst to go around.

  He was pissed at himself for letting his temper get the best of him and smashing his phone. He was pissed at the airline for not being able to get him on a flight back to Virginia until eleven o’clock that morning. Which, assuming that the flight departed and landed on time and that Hawk would be able to get his rental car immediately, would still put him at the nursing home in Bridgewater a half-hour after the Flower Face-off was scheduled to start.

  Still better than giving in to Corbin’s pressure and missing out on the event completely, but Hawk was going to move heaven and earth to make sure that it was the last damn time he broke a promise to Frankie.

  And this time? Well, he’d just have to do a really good job of making it up to the man he loved after the fact.

  Hawk scrubbed a hand over his face, trying and failing to unclench his jaw as he stared out the cab’s window at the passing streets. He finally managed it when he started picturing all the ways he could imagine rearranging Corbin’s face, a grim smile stretching across his face.

  The chance to confront Corbin face-to-face? Yeah, that was really the only silver lining to the whole fiasco. Hawk being stuck in New York until later that morning had meant that he had plenty of time to get across town to Corbin’s hotel and still make his flight.

  He tossed some money at the cab driver as soon as it stopped, making sure the bills were enough to cover both the short drive and his shitty mood, then headed into the lobby of the hotel where Corbin was staying—a hell of a lot nicer hotel than the one he’d put Hawk up in, he noted.

  His stomach was churning with all of the emotions and adrenaline that had been coursing through him since the night before, and the feeling only intensified during the elevator ride up to Corbin’s room. Hawk had spent far more time in his life laughing than he had filled with rage, but years of putting up with Corbin’s bullshit—of telling himself Corbin knew best, even when it went against his gut—had come to a head.

  Disrespecting Frankie was the last straw.

  By the time he finally knocked on the door to Corbin’s room, his stomach was so riled up that he wasn’t entirely sure that he was going to make it inside without throwing up. And that thought made him smile, just a little.

  Man, he’d love to see Corbin’s face if Hawk greeted him by vomiting all over one of those expensive suits that had been paid for on the back of Hawk’s career. The thought was fleeting, though. As soon as Corbin opened the door, all traces of humor evaporated, leaving only the hot anger that had been brewing all night.

  If Corbin was surprised to see Hawk, he hid it well—his face showing only his signature smirk as he greeted Hawk with a calculating stare.

  “Hawk, you’re early.” He glanced down at his Rolex. “Our lunch appointment isn’t until—”

  Hawk hadn’t come with a specific game plan other than giving Corbin a piece of his mind, but the smug tone in the mans’ voice pushed him over the edge. He clenched his fists to keep from playing out any of his cab-ride fantasies and muscled his way into the hotel room, sending the door crashing into the wall as he knocked it wide open and grinning with a cold satisfaction when the move sent Corbin reeling backwards against the wall.

  “Don’t say another fucking word,” Hawk ground out, his teeth clenched as he stared down the man who was at the root of all Hawk’s current problems. “I don’t want to hear your fake-ass bullshit anymore.”

  Corbin squared his shoulders, straightening up and moving toward Hawk. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spat out, pulling out an offense play. “You think you can just barge into my room and talk to me like that?”

  Hell, yes, Hawk could, just had, and was fully justified in doing. This was his play.

  “Take another step and I’ll knock you flat on your ass, Corbin, I swear to God,” he gritted out, half-hoping Corbin would give him an excuse to follow through. He clenched his fists—ready, willing, and able—but held his ground when Corbin froze, wide-eyed.

  “You’re fucking threatening me? Are you serious?” Corbin hissed, drawing himself up as tall as he could—still a full head shorter than Hawk. Corbin narrowed his eyes, but not before Hawk noticed a tremor go through the man’s hands. “I’ll have you arrested, Hawk.”

  “Sure,” Hawk scoffed, stepping into the man’s personal space and staring down at him. “You do that, Corbin, and see how many of your clients stick with you after.”

  Corbin’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't dispute it. An athlete had to trust their agent to have their best interest in mind—something Hawk no longer did, in this case, and would be more than happy to get vocal about if Corbin tried to pull that kind of bullshit on him.

  Corbin’s lips tightened, and Hawk laughed—a sound that didn’t keep his voice from coming out cold and hard when he said, "No, I don’t think you’ll be calling anyone, will you? What you’re gonna do is stand right here and listen to what I have to say, and then—”

  Corbin actually went pale, and Hawk’s lips stretched into something that might have passed for a smile if that rage hadn’t still been boiling inside him.

  “—and then, I’m going to leave. Do you understand, Corbin?” he pressed, leaning in and getting a primal satisfaction out of the way Corbin flinched. “You’re done calling the shots here.”

  Corbin worked his mouth open and closed as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t say a word. Hawk was glad for that, because even though he had zero problems with the thought of busting Corbin’s face open, he didn’t actually have time to deal with the police today.

  “I’m leaving town in a little while and going back to Bridgewater,” Hawk continued, needing to make sure Corbin understood before he found his voice again and said something else that would only serve to piss Hawk off even more. “Whatever you had planned for me to do today will have to wait.”

  Corbin started shaking his head, and Hawk felt the anger bubbling inside him go into the red zone.

  “You had no right to change my plans without running it by me first, Corbin,” Hawk hissed. “You work for me, and you’d do well to remember that.”

  “You seem
to have forgotten that,” Corbin burst out. “I’m the one trying to keep your career on track here, Hawk… while you, apparently, have gone crazy. Ready to throw it away for some small-town piece of ass?”

  He rolled his eyes, his face losing some of the fearing-for-his life look as he straightened up. Mistake. The disrespect to Frankie made Hawk want nothing more than to wipe the smug look on his face. Physically. Repeatedly. With his fists.

  Instead, he took a breath. And really, he had to hand it to the guy—even in the face of a potential and well-deserved ass-kicking, Corbin still somehow found the nerve to be an arrogant prick.

  “You might want to rephrase that,” Hawk warned him… a warning that Corbin disregarded.

  “Have you completely lost your mind?” Corbin ranted, his face starting to turn red. “Have you completely misplaced your priorities? Going home isn’t an option right now, Hawk. The owners are expecting to see you today. The press is expecting you. You have to do this. Skipping out would be a serious mistake. One that would—”

  “Mean you have to fix it,” Hawk interjected, suddenly feeling calmer. “You fucked it up, Corbin, and now it’s on you. You can tell the owners that, you can tell the press that, or you can make up an excuse and spin it into something that will work, the way you always do. Either way, you’ll need to reschedule. That’s your job. Do it.”

  “No," Corbin said, putting his hands up and shaking his head. “I refuse to let you get out of this. You’re not leaving today, Hawk. I’m not going to put up with—”

  Hawk took a step toward Corbin, and even though he caught himself, the implied threat was enough to shut Corbin up fast. But they were never going to be able to get past this, were they?

  He pinned Corbin with a hard look, pleased to see a little fear on the man’s face but finding no sign of any remorse. Corbin just couldn’t see that he was wrong; would never admit—would never believe—that he’d been way out of line.