by Anna DePalo
Cole’s frown faded, and then his eyes narrowed.
“I was backed into a corner. I had no Plan B. I needed that scholarship money, or there would be no happy ending for me. At least not one involving college in the fall.”
Cole’s lips thinned. “It’s unconscionable that the bastard would have twisted the arm of an eighteen-year-old student.”
“I was on scholarship at Pershing. I was there on condition of good grades and better behavior. Unlike some people, I didn’t have the luxury of being a prankster.”
Cole swore.
“So you were right all along. I did sell you out, and I’m sorry.” She felt the wind leave her, her words slowing after spilling in a mad rush. “If it helps, I was ostracized. People saw me go in and out of Mr. Hayes’s office, so they guessed who ratted you out. After all, you got confronted by Mr. Hayes right after I was interrogated, so the rumors started immediately. My only defense was that if I hadn’t kept my scholarship, I’d probably have struggled to make ends meet like my mother. I knew college was my ticket out.”
She ought to stop talking but she couldn’t help herself. The words had come out in a torrent and were now down to a trickle, but she couldn’t seem to turn off the flow completely.
“Why didn’t you tell me back then about Hayes blackmailing you into a confession?” Cole demanded. “He let slip your name when he confronted me, but he never got into details.”
“Would you have been ready to listen?” she replied. “All you cared about was the Independent School League championship. My reasons didn’t make a difference. You still wouldn’t have been able to play the end of the season.”
The old hurts from high school came back vividly, and she felt a throbbing pain in the region of her heart. She’d stayed home on the night of the prom. She and Serafina had watched Molly Ringwald flicks from the ’80s. The high school angst on the television screen had fit Marisa’s mood—because she’d been into self-flagellation. She’d discovered that Cole—his suspension ended—was going to the prom with Kendra Vance, a cheerleader. She’d cried herself to sleep long after Sera’s head had hit the pillow, hiding her grief because she didn’t want to invite questions from her cousin.
Marisa sucked in a trembling breath while Cole stared at her, his expression inscrutable. She realized she’d hurt him, and now he was still wary. But there was no way to change the past.
“How are we getting out of here?” she asked, reverting to her earlier panic—because, strangely, it seemed safer territory than the one she’d ventured into with Cole.
Flustered, she gestured randomly until Cole captured her hands. He gave her a look of such intensity, it stole her breath.
“Now would be the time to scream, I think,” he said.
“Because we’re out of options?”
“No. Because if I haven’t made you crazy already, this will.”
Then he bent his head and captured her mouth, swallowing her gasp.
Cole folded her into his arms. He kissed her with a self-assurance that sent chills of awareness chasing through her. She felt his hard muscles pressed against her soft curves. Her breasts tingled. Everything tingled.
He savored her mouth, stroking her lips until they were wet and plump and prickling with need. His tongue darted to the seam of her lips, and she opened for him. He moved his hands up to cup her head and thread his fingers in her hair. Then he stroked inside her mouth, deepening the kiss, and she met him instinctively. She sighed, and he made a sound of satisfaction.
She wanted him. She’d developed a crush on him in high school, and she still felt an attraction for him that would not be denied. Longing, nervousness and defenselessness mixed in a heady concoction.
Slowly, Cole eased back and then broke off the kiss.
Marisa opened her eyes and met Cole’s glittering look.
“That did it.”
“Wh-what?” she responded, her voice husky.
“You forgot about being panicked.”
He was only partly right. She’d forgotten about the small space they were stuck in, all right. But she’d replaced that anxiety with a sexual awareness of him.
She took a small step back and felt the cabinets press up against her. Frowning, and seeking composure, she asked, “How can you kiss a woman you don’t even like?”
“You needed a kiss right then.”
She flushed. “What I need is to get out of here.”
He moved past her and she tensed. One little push and she’d be back in his arms.
She turned and watched him grasp the door handle and turn it hard. At the same time, he shoved his shoulder against the door—once, twice... The door swung open.
Turning back, he smiled faintly. “After you.”
She stepped into the hallway with no small relief. Still, she found herself tossing him an accusatory look. “You knew all along that it would open, didn’t you?”
“I knew there was nothing stopping it, except maybe a little stickiness from age. Simple deductive logic. It would have occurred to you, too, if you hadn’t been panicked and babbling.”
“When I think I’m about to suffocate to death, the words flow.” Now the only threat to her life was death by embarrassment. What had she confessed? And she’d melted into his arms... “I’ve got to go. I—I’m sorry. We’ll need to reschedule.”
“Marisa...”
She backed up a few steps and then turned and walked rapidly down the hall, not waiting for him to lock the storage room. She stopped only to grab her jacket and handbag from Cole’s office as she made her way out the building and to her car.
She’d already consoled herself with chocolate cake—what was left?
Five
Cole perused the job site from where he was standing on a muddy rise. His mind was only half on the discussion that he needed to have with his foreman. The other half was on what he had to do about Marisa.
Unlike the construction project in Springfield where Marisa had waylaid him, this one was already at the stage where drywall and electrical had gone in. But he needed to get updates from his crew and hammer out remaining issues so they could come in under budget and on time. The five-story office complex outside Northampton was another one of their big projects.
“Sam is coming down now!” one of his construction crew called.
Cole gave him a brief nod before his thoughts were set adrift again.
He’d put in a call to Pershing’s principal soon after Marisa had fled his offices several days ago. He’d covered for her by taking the heat for their meeting falling through. Hell, it was the least he could do after finding out the truth about fifteen years ago. And, he was willing to humor Pershing’s principal to get the job done. Never mind that he thought reviewing the plans for prior construction jobs was a waste of time. Every job was unique; everybody knew as much.
Still, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Marisa. All these years he’d hated her. No, that wasn’t right. He’d built up a wall and sealed her off from the rest of his life.
Now he understood the choice that Marisa had faced in the principal’s office. And yeah, she’d been right on target about the way he’d been in high school. He wouldn’t have wanted to hear her confession. Because he’d been a callow eighteen-year-old to whom a high school championship had meant more than it should.
In contrast, Marisa had been an insightful teen. She’d shown that understanding when it had come to Mr. Hayes, and Cole had spurned her for it. But the truth was, Cole had fallen for her back then precisely because she’d seemed self-possessed and different. She’d stood outside the usual shallow preoccupations of their classmates. The truth was she’d been more mature—no doubt because she’d had to grow up fast.
Cole cursed silently.
Marisa had been wrong about one thing, though. All you cared about was the hockey championship. He’d cared about her, too...until he’d felt betrayed.
In the storage room, she’d looked at him with her limpid big br
own eyes, and he’d stopped himself from touching her face to reassure her. He was sure that if he’d reached for her pulse right then, it would have jumped under his touch.
Then she’d rocked him with her explanation about being called to the mat by Mr. Hayes, and he’d kissed her. The lip-lock had been as good as he’d fantasized, and even better than his memory of high school. She had a way of slipping under his skin and making him hunger...
His pulse started to hum at the thought...and at the anticipation of seeing her again. He just needed to make it happen.
He took out his phone and started typing a text message. She’d called from her cell phone when she’d needed to set up the meeting at Serenghetti’s offices to review construction plans, and he’d made note of the number.
Told Dobson our meeting cut short b/c I had other business. Let’s reschedule. Dinner Friday @6. LMK.
As soon as he hit Send, he felt his spirits lift.
Spotting his foreman coming toward him, he slipped the phone into the back pocket of his jeans and adjusted his hard hat. There was unfinished business today, and there would be unfinished business on Friday. But first he had a meeting today that was a long time coming.
As soon as his consultation with the foreman was over, Cole drove to his parents’ house. He made his way to the back garden, where he knew he’d find his parents, based on what his mother had told him during his call to her earlier.
Serg was ensconced in a wrought-iron chair. Bundled in a jacket and blanket against the nippy air, he looked as if he was dressed for an Alaskan sledding event. Because if there was one thing that Camilla Serenghetti feared, it was someone dear to her catching a chilly, as she liked to say. It came second only to the fear that her husband or one of her kids might go hungry. She hovered near a small round patio table littered with a display of fruit, bread, water and tea.
Cole took a seat and began with easy chitchat. Fortunately, the stroke had not affected his father’s speech. The conversation touched on Serg’s health before veering toward other mundane topics. All the while, however, his father appeared grumpy and tense—as if he sensed there was another purpose to this visit.
Holding back a grimace, Cole took his chance when the talk reached a lull. “I’m looking for buyers for the business.”
Serg hit the table with his fist. “Over my dead body.”
Cole resisted the urge to point out that it might well come to that—another stroke and Serg was finished. “We’re a midsize construction company. Our best bet is a buyout by one of the big players.”
Then Cole could get on with his life. Nothing had panned out yet, but there were coaching positions available, and he wanted to grow the business investment portfolio he’d begun to put together thanks to his NHL earnings.
“Never.”
“It’s not good for you to get upset in your condition, Dad.” He’d thought he could have a rational discussion with his father about the future of Serenghetti Construction, because Serg was never going to make a one-hundred-percent recovery. So unless Serenghetti Construction was sold, Cole wouldn’t just be a temporary caretaker of the company, but a permanent fixture.
“You know what’s not good for me? My son talking about selling the company that I broke my back to build.”
Camilla rushed forward. “Lie back against the pillows. Don’t upset yourself.”
“Dad, be reasonable.” Cole fought to keep his frustration at bay. He’d waited months to have this conversation with his father. But now everyone had to face reality. Serg was not going to show more significant improvement. Maybe he could enjoy a productive retirement, but the chances that he’d be fit to head a demanding business again were slim. The discussion about the future had to start now.
“What’s wrong with the company that you want to sell it?”
“It needs to grow or die.”
“And you’re not interested in growing it?”
Cole let silence be his answer.
“I heard you outmaneuvered JM to get the contract to build a new gym at the Pershing School.”
Cole figured Serg had been informed about the gym contract on one of his occasional phone calls to Serenghetti Construction’s head offices. His father liked to speak to senior employees and stay clued in on what was going on beyond what Cole had time to tell him. Cole had told no one at the office about his bargain with Marisa beyond the fact that Serenghetti Construction had managed to stay a step ahead of its competitor JM Construction.
“Grow or die!” Serg gestured as if there was an audience aside from Camilla. “This company paid for your college degree and your hockey training. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Serenghetti Construction is not the little train that could, Dad.” The company needed fresh blood at the helm in order to steer it into the future. Serg, like many founders, had taken it as far as he could. And if Cole wasn’t careful, he himself would be captaining the ship for decades ahead.
“So what are you going to do instead that’s more important?” Serg groused, shifting in his chair and nearly knocking over his cane. “Go be a hockey coach?”
Cole wasn’t surprised his father guessed the direction of his thoughts. He’d interviewed for a coaching job with the Madison Rockets last fall, but having heard nothing further, he’d kept the news to himself. If a position materialized, there was no question that his time at the helm of Serenghetti Construction would need to come to an end because he couldn’t keep jobs in different states—not to mention the travel involved in a coaching position.
Serg snapped his brows together. “Coaching is a hard lifestyle if you have a family and a couple of kids.” He glowered. “Or is that something else you’re planning to do differently from the old man? Another part of your heritage that you’re planning to reject?”
“Getting married and having kids is hardly part of my heritage, Dad.” More like a lifestyle choice, but Serg had jumped ahead several steps.
“Well, we damn sure don’t speak the same language anymore! How’s that for losing your heritage?”
“Serg, calm down,” Camilla said, looking worried. “You know what the dottore said.”
Camilla had always been the one to run interference between her husband and children. Cole also had a hunch that his mother had more empathy than his father about lifelong dreams and their postponement. His mother had her own second career as a television chef.
“The blood thinners will take care of me—” Serg harrumphed before shooting Cole a pointed look “—even if my children won’t.”
“I’ll take care of you,” Camilla said firmly.
Cole looked at his parents. “Well, this is a turnaround.”
Serg frowned. “What? Stop speaking in riddles.”
Cole wasn’t sure his pronouncement would be welcome. “Suddenly Mom is the one with a career, and she’s promising to support you.”
“You always were a smart aleck,” his father grumbled. “Maybe even a bigger one than your brother.”
“Which one?” Cole quipped—because both Jordan and Rick qualified—and then stood up. “I’m going to let you continue to rest. I have a couple of calls to return for work.”
“Rest! That’s all anyone wants me to do around here.”
Cole figured if he could rest, he’d be ahead of the game right now. But he had demands on his time, not the least of which was a certain wild-tressed schoolteacher who’d come crashing back into his life...
* * *
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey!” Donna Casale rushed forward, delight stamped on her face as she left her front door wide open behind her.
For Marisa, it was like looking at an older version of herself. Fortunately, the future in that regard didn’t look too shabby. Her mother appeared younger than fifty-four. Donna Casale had maintained the shapely figure that had attracted male interest all her life—leaving her alone and pregnant at twenty-three, but also permitting her to attract a second admiring glance even after age fifty. And
years in the retail trade meant she always looked polished and presentable: hair colored, makeup on and smile beaming. Of course, marriage might also have something to do with it these days. Her mother seemed happy.
Marisa felt a pang at the contrast to her own circumstances as she let herself be enveloped in a hug. Her mother and Ted had bought a tidy three-bedroom wood-frame house at the time of their wedding. Marisa and Sal had begun talking about buying a home themselves during their brief engagement, but those plans had gone nowhere.
When her mother pulled back from their embrace, she said, “Come on in. You’re early, but I couldn’t be happier to see you. You’re so busy these days!”
Marisa tried to keep occupied. She’d plunged back into work after her breakup with Sal, taking on additional roles at Pershing in order to advance her career and keep her mind off depressing thoughts.
Donna closed the front door, and Marisa followed her toward the back of the house.
“I’m so glad you’re staying for dinner,” Donna said over her shoulder, leading the way down the hall.
“It’s a welcome break, Mom, and you spoil me.” Still, Marisa wanted to give her mother and Ted their space so they could enjoy their relatively new married life.
“Well, you’re just in time to help me assemble the lasagna,” her mother said with a laugh, “so you’ll be working for your supper. Ted will be home soon.”
When they reached a small but recently remodeled kitchen, Marisa draped her things on a chair, and her mother went to the counter crowded with ingredients and bowls.
Marisa’s gaze settled on a framed photo of Donna and Ted on their low-key wedding day. Donna and Ted were all smiles in the picture, her mother clutching a small sprig of flowers that complemented a cream satin tea-length dress. Marisa had been their sole attendant, and one of their witnesses, because Ted had been childless before his marriage.
Marisa bit back a wistful sigh. She and her mother had always been each other’s confidantes—the two of them against the world—but now her mom had someone else. Marisa couldn’t have been happier for her.