by Bella Andre
Bobby waved away her offer. "A lovely offer, but unnecessary. Why don't you both sit down."
Julie was amazed by how quickly Bobby took control of everyone around him. She felt like an intruder in her own house, like she should see herself out when he was done reading her the riot act.
She sat down on the hardest chair in her living room and primly crossed her legs, keeping her expression warm but closed. She wasn't stupid enough to frame herself for high crimes and mis-demeanors. Ty, of course, flopped down on her sofa and kicked his legs up.
Not a care in the world, that was always his game.
Bobby looked utterly at ease. "It's come to my attention," he said, "that you are no longer a man about town, Ty."
Ty grinned. "Julie's making an honest man out of me."
Julie bit down on the inside of her lip. Anything she'd say now would only make it worse. Maybe if she just sat here and smiled, everything would play out fine between Ty and his boss.
And maybe cows would start flying soon.
"Hard to believe a smart gal like you would fall for a pro ballplayer," he said to her. "Especially my number one boy over here."
"You must not know Ty very well," she retorted, unable to toe the party line for the first time in her career. "He's more than just a ballplayer. More than just a commodity."
Bobby looked back and forth between the two of them and smiled widely.
"True love is a blessed thing."
Julie glanced at Ty, shocked to find him nodding, even though he'd sworn his love to her just twelve hours ago.
"Sure is," he said and Julie forced herself to smile.
Bobby stood up. "I feel much better about everything now that I've confirmed the rumors about the two of you."
Julie stood and smoothed her skirt, more than happy to see Bobby to the door. That hadn't been bad at all. He hadn't yelled at her or fired her.
He stepped out into the hallway, then turned to face her with one final thought.
"But I hired you to clean up my boy's reputation, not to use him as your personal boy toy. Couldn't be better timing, making an honest man out of him before the season starts. I'll expect to see the announcement of your engagement ASAP."
Julie watched him walk away, trying to catch her breath.
In one short week, her entire world had imploded. Then again, she'd never been in such an intense relationship, one that overshadowed everything else.
The last thing she expected to see upon returning inside was Ty on her living room carpet doing an impossibly fast set of push-ups. She'd watched him work out in the gym for a week now, but he'd never moved with such intensity and speed.
He was panting loudly and his shirt was soaked with sweat, but he didn't let up, didn't stop moving even though his lungs and muscles had to be on fire.
Sweet Lord, he was the sexiest thing to ever drip on her carpet.
Ty glanced up at her. "Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred." He rolled over onto his back and curled his legs into his chest as he sucked in air. "I'm afraid the push-ups didn't work. I'm still going to have to kill the bastard."
Julie had to ask, even though she didn't really want to know the answer. "Why?"
Ty rolled out of the fetal position and grabbed her hand, pulling her down on the rug with him.
"I don't give a shit if he treats me like a two-year-old. But like hell if he's going to ever disrespect you again."
Julie shook her head. "It doesn't bother me," she lied. "Sometimes clients like to feel like they're smarter than you, like they have the upper hand. It's no big deal."
But it was. Julie never would have put up with this kind of treatment from anyone else. The worst part was, deep down she knew exactly why she was letting herself play doormat: because the only other choice--resigning from the account with her pride intact--wasn't a choice at all.
Not if it meant sending Ty back to his old life and returning to hers.
"We're not going to get married because some power-hungry ass wipe told us to," he said.
Julie tilted her head down, stared at a piece of lint and worked like hell to fight back the sudden tears pooling behind her eyes.
"Of course we're not. He's just talking crazy."
They weren't going to get married. Not this week or next year. She knew that, had always known it. So why was she getting so upset about it?
Ty ripped off his damp shirt, balled it up, and threw it on the coffee table.
"I'm saying this all wrong, Julie."
Desperate to lighten the tension in the room, she said, "You did the right thing, not killing him. I don't know how much football they let you play in prison."
He grinned, but it was gone in a flash. "I don't give a crap about football right now. We need to talk about us. About getting married."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"When I ask you to marry me, it sure as hell isn't gong to be because my boss made me."
When I ask you to marry me? Thank God she was sitting down.
"You and 1 need to settle this, figure out what we're doing," Ty continued. "Bobby's right about one thing: We need a game plan."
He was right. They needed a game plan not only for their private relationship, but their public one as well.
She needed to start working things out on paper. Which media outlets to call, which writer to give an exclusive to, an emergency meeting with her staff to fill them in and let them know the official comment.
She jumped up. "Before you or I talk to anyone else, I need to draft a press release and get it out."
Ty smiled. "Looks like the image consultant I love has found her way back into the building."
"I'll be in my office." How could she have forgotten for one second that she had the skills to turn things around? "Be sure to make a list of everyone who leaves you a phone message this morning."
Ty grabbed an OJ out of the fridge, his cell phone up to his ear as he checked his voice mails. "Strange days when people go crazy about me dating a nice girl," he said.
In any other case, Julie would have agreed. But she was no ordinary nice girl, just like he was no regular bad boy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ty punched in his voice mail access code. He hadn't recognized the number on the screen, but he wouldn't put it past most of the journalists he knew to call for a firsthand scoop on his new relationship.
The canned voice said, "You have three messages," and he took a long swig of juice. He was looking for a pen to start making Julie a list when he realized a kid was talking, not an adult.
"Urn, hi, this is a message for Ty. He said I could call him if I needed to. This is Jack, from camp. I really need to talk to him."
Message two: "Urn, I really need to talk to Ty. Bad. This is Jack from camp. I'm in big trouble."
Message three was mostly sniffles along with, "This is Jack again and I'm at the hospital in Palo Alto and I really need Ty. They told me I can't call him again."
Ty scrolled through his cell phone's menu to access the number Jake had called him from, but it was listed as "Withheld."
He grabbed a clean shirt and jammed it into his jeans, then stepped into Julie's office.
"I gotta go."
She barely looked up from her computer.
"You can't. Not until I send this out and we go over our official press statement."
"That kid from camp, Jack, is in the hospital in Palo Alto. I told him to call me if he needed help. He called. I'll bet they can't find his drunk-ass dad."
Julie stood up. "I'm coming with you."
"I don't need a babysitter. I'm not going to do anything that'll get more bad press."
"I know you don't need a babysitter," she said in such a gentle voice that Ty felt like a jerk. "I was thinking you might need a girlfriend instead."
He pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't." She pressed a kiss onto his lips. "Let's go."
The thirty-minute drive felt mo
re like three days, and Ty got some insight into what it must be like to be a parent. He hoped like hell that Jack was okay and that his father hadn't already shown up to make things worse.
Inside the hospital, Julie scanned the map on the wall. "Let's check pediatrics first."
He followed Julie onto the elevator, keeping his head down. No eye contact with strangers was crucial; he didn't have time to sign autographs and bullshit about football.
Jack was sitting in a blue chair in the corner of the pediatric waiting room, his head hung so low his chest was crammed up against his chest.
"Hey, buddy."
Jack looked up at the sound of his voice, then he wiped away a tear running down his cheek. "You came."
"I'm always around to help out a friend." He let go of Julie's hand and took the too-small seat next to Jack. "What's up?"
"Nothing, I guess. I was playing with some guys in the neighborhood and sprained my wrist. The doctor said I could go home." His head fell back to his chest. "I thought I broke it, but I guess the sound I heard was just the other guy's helmet hitting mine."
Inwardly, Ty winced. "Hurts like hell, huh?"
He knew the drill with sprains. Lots of pain, no sympathy, and you were expected to get right back out there on the field.
Jack shrugged, playing tough guy.
"They said I should take these every four hours." He held up a sample bottle of children's Motrin.
Ty leaned forward on his knees. "You hungry?" Jack nodded. "Starved."
"I know a place that makes great burgers. Used to go there after games."
For the first time since they'd walked into the waiting room, Jack's eyes lit up.
"You're not taking me straight home?"
Ty looked the kid in the eye. "You haven't told your dad yet?"
Jack shook his head. "He's going to be really mad."
Jack's dad was going to shit a brick at the thought of his little prizewinner's future possibly getting screwed up. Ty was pretty sure Jack's days of neighborhood pickup games were over.
"First we'll eat lunch. Then we'll tell him. Together."
Julie stood up. "I'll let the nurse know we're heading out."
The first sign that Jack was feeling better was the endless chatter that filled first the waiting room, then the car, and then their booth in the back of The Boardwalk, a burger and pizza dive that had survived the endless Silicon Valley boom.
But rather than feeling better about everything now that Jack clearly was on the mend, what had happened with Jack hit too close to home. Way too close.
All week at football camp, Ty'd had the uncomfortable sensation that he'd been stepping into his past. He could guess what Jack's life was like: teachers pushing him into the next grade whether he'd earned it or not, never having to be accountable for screwing up on or off the field simply because everyone--coaches, his drunk-ass dad, girlfriends, even his buddies--wanted a piece of his success.
Ty could see into Jack's future. He'd go to college for the exposure, not an education, and he'd quit the minute a seven-figure deal landed in his lap.
From that point forward, he'd live in fear of getting hurt. Later, when he had more money than he knew what to do with, he might break down and hire some secret tutors to teach him all the things he'd missed along the way, like reading and science and an appreciation for something other than football.
Was he just as bad as everyone else in Jack's life? After all, wasn't he on the verge of sending Jack back home after making some excuses to his father about how accidents happened, and not to worry? Ty had never thought of himself as a chicken shit. Until now.
Turning to Julie, he said, "Jack and I need to talk outside for a few minutes, man to man. You don't mind, do you?"
She smiled at them both. "Take as long as you need. I'll just sit here and work on my French fries."
Jack followed him out of the restaurant and they sat down on a bench just outside the window. Julie munched on fries and pretended not to look at them.
He'd never known a woman could be like her. Soft and warm, yet hard when she needed to be. A dozen times smarter than anyone he knew, and at the same time sexier than hell.
Jack kicked a rock off the sidewalk. "You wanna go over what we're going to tell my dad, so he doesn't get too pissed?"
Ty focused on Jack's expensive sneakers. Nothing but the best equipment for this kid, whether he deserved it or not. Unfortunately, if he didn't lay down some hard truths and set Jack straight, no one ever would. Everyone else had too much to gain from Jack's eventual success.
"I was a lot like you when I was a kid."
"Really? Cool."
"My dad was pretty messed up a lot of the time. Still is, actually."
"Did he freak when you got hurt?"
"Sure did. All he cared about was whether I could play in the next game, or if the injury would affect my future. I acted like I wasn't in pain, even when I was." He paused. "Is your arm still throbbing?"
Jack nodded. "A little." He swallowed. "A lot, actually. But I don't want my dad to know."
Ty had a feeling he was screwing this up. Big-time. "You got any hobbies? Something besides football?"
"You mean like my Xbox 360?"
Ty grinned. "Not exactly. I was just wondering if you like to read or build things."
"My dad says I'm supposed to focus on football. He says it's going to make us rich."
It was going to take every ounce of Ty's self-control to keep from rearranging Jack's father's face.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Getting rich in football depends on a lot of things."
Jack frowned, probably because it was the first time anyone had ever told him fame and fortune wasn't a sure thing. "Like what? I've got the skills."
"You do. But things happen. You could get drafted onto a Super Bowl-winning team."
Jack smirked like he already knew that was going to happen.
"Or you could get hurt, like some of the super-talented guys I knew in high school and college, and your career could end." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."
Jack thrust his chin out. "That didn't happen to you. You're a huge star."
"I'm one of the lucky ones," Ty said, even as he wondered if he really was. "And I worry about getting hurt, about being taken out on a stretcher, every single game."
When he was younger and felt completely invincible, he'd never worried about the end of his career. But now, guys he'd played with since his rookie days were starting to retire. The ones with a plan for retirement did fine. But the guys who didn't have a single dream other than football just plain fell apart.
"Don't you have enough money to do whatever you want?"
"Sure," Ty conceded. "But money isn't everything."
Until Julie had come back into his life, Ty couldn't see the point in anything but football. Now he had new ideas. He'd just started thinking maybe one day he could open his own summer camp in Grass Valley, maybe for kids like him who didn't have money for fancy shoes and trust funds. They'd play football, but they'd learn other stuff too. Like fishing and how to start a campfire. Ty wanted to run the idea by Julie, see what she thought.
"Your life has to be about more than football, kid," Ty said, deciding it was time to get straight to the point. "It doesn't matter if everyone else treats you like a god. One day someone is going to come along who shows you what a screwup you really are. And you're not going to be able to fix it, because the only thing you'll know how to do is play football."
Jack didn't say anything and he wasn't making eye contact anymore.
"I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Ty said. "And I'll still talk to your dad. I just want you to think about what I'm saying."
Jack jumped off the bench. "I'm going to be the greatest football player in history! I'm going to leave you in the dust. You don't know anything!"
Julie ran outside. "What's happening? Is your arm hurting, Jack? Do you need to see the doctor again?"
Ty had never seen such a hard
face on a little kid. Except maybe his own in the mirror.
"I want to go home," Jack whined.
Julie nodded and gave him her keys. "Go ahead and wait in the car. I need to talk to Ty for a sec."
She turned on him. "What did you say to him? He looked like he was about to cry."
Ty willed her to understand. "Trust me, it was stuff he needed to hear."
"He's just a little boy, Ty. You hurt his feelings."
"I had my reasons for what I said to the kid."
"Go ahead," she said, her eyes challenging him. "Tell me your reasons. I'm dying to hear them."
But everything was hitting too close to home. He didn't want to talk about it right now, didn't want to bare his soul in front of a restaurant with Jack waiting in the parking lot.
"Don't push me," he growled. Julie needed to back off long enough for him to get a grip.
Her expression went from concerned to confused to cold in a millisecond. "You know what? I can't think of one single reason you could have for making a sweet little boy cry."
"Not even one, huh?"
Everything in him wanted to get down on his knees and explain the truth to her, that things weren't how she thought they were. But he'd done that before and it hadn't made a lick of difference. Julie had her mind made up. He was guilty as charged.
She moved toward him, her cheeks red, her blue eyes full of anger. "I was so stupid I actually thought you'd changed. That you could be a man for once, instead of the self-absorbed little boy you always were."
A slow anger began to burn inside of Ty, a fire stoked by every person who had ever doubted he could be more than a football player, by everyone who'd thought they could take advantage of a poor dumb kid like him.
"You want to know why your dates aren't interested in you, babe?" He watched the word babe hit her across the face like a hard slap, along with more he didn't mean, but somehow couldn't stop from saying. "Because guys don't like the third degree. You can't run a relationship like a business. And it's time to get it into your pretty little head that what went down between me and Jack is none of your damn business."