One Good Play

by Meredith St. James

  "I'm sorry if I've upset you. I was just hoping maybe seeing that would help you with whatever it is you've been working through since you got here."

  "It has," I said. "Thank you. This means everything to me."

  Iris changed the subject gently, "I'm fixing pot roast for dinner. Do you think you'll be up for joining me?"

  "Of course." I stood up and placed the card gently on the table between us. "I think I'll go rest for a while until then."

  "Enjoy it, dear. Real life will be back to claim you soon enough." I was sure she hadn't meant the words to be as ominous as they'd sounded. She resumed her knitting, easily falling back into her routine.

  I envied the simple life that Iris enjoyed. Everything outside the walls of her bed and breakfast felt so complicated, but inside it was almost possible to forget that world even existed. I might have stayed forever if I could. As I climbed the stairs to my temporary sanctuary, I knew it wasn't possible. Even from beyond the grave, Henry was good at reminding me that my life didn't stop with him.

  Back in the room, the same one where I'd once consummated my time-sensitive marriage, I climbed between the sheets of the bed. My hand ran over the familiar pattern of the sunflower bedspread. The room was like a time capsule. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up an image of Henry in the room with me, but it wasn't Henry I ended up picturing.

  My imagination—or maybe my heart—got wrapped up in a different image. Carter's messy brown hair. The skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled. The way a t-shirt gripped his expansive chest. I wanted so badly to picture Henry staring me down in disappointment, but that image wouldn't come. It was too unrealistic. Carter was exactly what Henry had wanted for me.

  I'd returned to the bed and breakfast because I'd hoped it would bring some clarity. Obviously, Henry had suspected I would do exactly that. If ever I was looking for a sign, that letter to Iris was it.

  I've always believed that a person needs an open heart for a clear soul.

  They were the perfect words for an imperfect situation. I hadn't meant to fall in love with Carter, but somewhere along the way, I'd done just that.

  I'd promised myself never to fall in love again because I hadn't wanted to lose the space in my heart I'd dedicated to Henry. The thing was, falling in love with Carter hadn't actually done anything to erase the love I still had for Henry. Which meant that I might have greatly misjudged what it meant to fall in love after losing someone. I'd never understood how Henry could be so easygoing about whoever would be coming into my life after him. Suddenly, that concept no longer seemed so foreign. He'd just wanted what he'd always wanted—for me to be happy and cared for.

  I rolled over on the bed to reach for my cell phone on the nightstand. I had turned it off on Tuesday when everyone kept trying to call me. I'd sent a couple of text messages to ensure there would be no rescue parties sent out, but other than that I'd let myself fall off the grid.

  My natural instinct was still to leave in the midst of emotional turmoil. If I was serious about going back to Kelley—and that was the way I was leaning—then I would have to stop doing that. There were too many people there hurting over my disappearing act. I felt particularly bad for my dad, who seemed to think he was responsible for it all. No amount of explaining could get it through his thick skull that the only one at fault was me.

  I powered the phone back on, recoiling when I realized just how many calls and messages I'd missed since I'd turned it off. The calls from Carter were the ones that made my heart sink. They were all from Tuesday, so he must have started calling right around the time I'd shut it off. Guilt gnawed at me.

  A text message from late the night before caught my eye. There'd been days of silence from Carter after his phone calls went unanswered, but in the middle of the night, he'd apparently decided to send a single message.

  Please come home.

  I wasn't sure what had prompted him to send it from out of the blue, but I climbed out from the comfort of the bed after reading it. Before I could think too hard about what I was doing, I started throwing clothes back into my suitcase.

  No more running away.

  27

  Carter

  I was having a major case of deja-vu as I sat across from Wallace at the same breakfast spot where I'd first officially met the man. He looked completely at ease as we waited. It was the exact opposite of how I felt.

  "Stop checking your watch," he commanded.

  I let my wrist fall back to the table. "Are you sure he's coming?"

  "Of course he's coming."

  My knee started to shake under the table. I forced myself to plant my foot. I wasn't looking forward to what was to come, but at least I wasn't doing it alone. It turned out, it wasn't so bad letting someone else be in my corner. I had Wren to thank for teaching me that.

  "Here he comes." Wallace leaned further back in his seat. I recognized it for what it was, a power move. I forced myself to mimic his relaxed posture.

  Coach Mack didn't look remotely pleased to be there. Even less so when he saw me sitting there. He stood behind the one empty chair.

  "You know, Wallace, if you're gonna keep hosting these morning breakfast meetings, you could at least make sure the table's big enough for three."

  A grin spread across Wallace's face. "Don't worry, Marty. This'll be the last one."

  "What do you say we get down to it, then. What's the problem this time?"

  Wallace took his time opening the folder he'd brought with him. Coach was anxiously watching him, and I was anxiously watching Coach. I already knew what was in the folder. After what felt like forever, Wallace handed a packet of papers over.

  "What the hell is this?"

  Coach Mack skimmed the front page, then tore it open to the back. He turned to look at me. When he saw that I wasn't the least bit upset, he put two-and-two together.

  I shrugged. "Sorry." I actually wasn't, but I figured it was nice of me to say it anyway.

  "You can't just walk away from a commitment."

  "Actually," Wallace interjected, "He can. That paperwork proves it."

  "Has the Athletic Director seen this?" Coach demanded.

  "He signed off on it. As you can see there." Wallace's face was smug as he pointed to the final signature on the paperwork Coach was still holding. "Any more unnecessary questions?"

  "You do realize this is it? This ends your football career." Coach stared at me like he could somehow will me into making it all disappear.

  "I'm aware."

  I'd known exactly what I was doing when I'd called Dr. Wallace in the wee hours of the morning. Well, sort of. I'd still been a little drunk. But mostly, I'd known exactly what I was doing.

  The paperwork Coach was holding officially disqualified me from participating in any further college athletics. My football career was over.

  "Your parents are gonna be so disappointed." The idea that Coach Mack had any idea how my parents felt was laughable. He'd never had more than a passing conversation with my family.

  "I've already spoken with them."

  My mom had cried tears of relief. Apparently, my decision meant she'd earned a point versus my dad. Yet another inappropriate bet my parents had made.

  "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he growled out. "You can't go pro after this kind of scandal."

  I looked him straight in the eyes when I said, "That's kind of the point."

  I'd finally worked up the courage to stand up for myself. With a little help, of course.

  Coach Mack threw the papers down and stood. "You're an ungrateful little shit. The second-string quarterback is better than you, anyway."

  "No doubt," I agreed readily.

  I was more than happy to hear him say that about Travis. I sincerely hoped that Travis would prove to be a better player than I ever was. He needed it far more than I did.

  Marty Mack's face turned a shade of red I'd never seen before.

  "That'll be all, Marty." Wallace didn't even bother saying
goodbye. He just looked down at his menu, dismissing the furious football coach.

  There wasn't anything else the coach could say. He turned on his heel and left. I let out a sigh of relief. I'd honestly expected it to go worse.

  "I don't know about you, but that was pretty fun for me." There was a glint of amusement in Wallace's eye as he turned his attention to me.

  "Honestly? For me, too."

  "Well, as promised." Wallace pulled a new packet out of his folder and handed it across the table.

  It outlined all the details of my new scholarship. An academic scholarship. I clutched the papers as tight as I could. Wallace had promised he could make it happen, but I hadn't been completely sure until I'd seen the words for myself.

  I'd formulated the plan overnight. My athletic scholarship didn't leave any room for me to leave the football program without also losing my place at Kelley. I'd decided to call Wallace.

  After a major apology for the way I'd interrupted dinner and scared off his daughter, I explained my dilemma. He'd been more than willing to help me brainstorm alternatives. That was when I'd remembered the agent that had approached me earlier in the season. I hadn't actually been in contact with the guy, but the coaches had no way of knowing that.

  In an early morning meeting, Travis had explained to the Athletic Director all about how he'd heard me agreeing to accept gifts from the agent. Wallace, Travis, and I all knew the story was a lie, but the athletic director didn't. He'd had no choice but to suspend my scholarship and remove me from the team.

  Somehow, Wallace had managed to pull the new scholarship from out of nowhere.

  "A perk of dating my daughter," he'd joked. Though, I had a feeling it wasn't too much of a joke.

  Wallace was obviously desperate to keep his daughter around if at all possible. He seemed pretty certain that we could plan on her coming back. I hoped he was right.

  "This has been a long morning. What do you say we have some breakfast?"

  "I'd like that, sir," I answered. And much to my relief, we shared a very, very quiet breakfast.

  28

  Carter

  The only time I'd lived in a dorm room was my semester of freshman year. By the second semester, a room had opened up in the football house. I'd been living there ever since. I'd forgotten all the sounds that came with living in the dorms.

  After spending hours refusing to leave Wren's dorm, I'd become intimately familiar with a number of strange sounds. The open and closing of a nearby door no longer bothered me, and neither did the footsteps that accompanied it.

  I was content just to stay in Wren's bed, breathing in the scent of her that was still lingering on her pillows. All day I'd fought my guilt about invading her space. After the mini-showdown with Coach Mack, all I'd wanted was the comfort of being near Wren. Since I couldn't have that, I'd settled for the comfort of being near her stuff. I'd spent the day snooping through everything she had. The rest of her scrapbook collection had been particularly enlightening.

  For the first time, I felt like I'd really gotten to know her. It had only made me fall more in love with her.

  The sound of the bedroom door opening surprised me. The footsteps apparently hadn't been from a different room, after all. I held my breath. The dorm lights were all off, but my eyes were well adjusted to the small stream of moonlight streaming in through the open window blinds. I could make out Wren's outline as she lugged a suitcase into the room. It didn't seem like she'd noticed me yet.

  She seemed sluggish, not much of a surprise considering it was the middle of the night. I could only imagine how far she'd had to travel to come home.

  "Wren," I called out to her tentatively.

  Startled, she went flying back against the far wall. I sat up on the side of the bed as she stumbled towards the light switch. I blinked against the harsh brightness as the overhead lights sprang to life.

  "Carter?" You scared the hell out of me." She let her suitcase fall with a thud to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

  "Sorry," I said quietly, not bothering to answer her question.

  That didn't seem to matter though because almost instantly she started stripping. My jaw went slack as she yanked her sweatshirt off over her head. She had a tank top on underneath, but I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. Her jeans were next. I swallowed hard as she worked the material down and off her legs.

  Her panties were plaid. If I'd seen them sitting in a drawer I would never have called them sexy, but under those circumstances, I'd never seen anything sexier. My view was cut short when she flipped the light back off.

  "Scoot," she instructed me as she approached me and the bed.

  I moved all the way back against the wall. She pulled back the covers and slid in next to me in the twin sized bed. The limited space meant that her back ended up plastered against my front. I tried to will away my inevitable erection.

  "What's happening right now?" I choked out.

  She sighed but turned over so that we were facing. The weight of her breasts pressed against my chest. I sent up a silent thank you to the dorms for being so hot that I'd taken my shirt off when I'd decided to lay down earlier. She felt incredible pressed against me.

  "I'm really tired," she whispered. I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. I wondered if it meant she'd been having as hard of a time sleeping as I had been.

  "Do you want me to leave?" I asked uncertainly.

  "No." The one little word sounded so fierce as she curled her hands up between us. "Stay. Please. We can talk in the morning."

  I stretched my arm over her, tangling my fingers in the ends of her hair. It was almost too good to believe. Even with my hands on her, I worried that I'd wake up in the morning to discover she'd been an illusion. I lay there like that for a long time, trying to memorize the feel of her. Finally, long after her breaths had evened out, I let myself drift off to sleep, too.

  Hours later, the sound of pages turning woke me up. It took me a minute before I remembered where I was. I reached out for Wren, my fingers grazing the side of her leg. Prying my eyes open, I found her looking down at me. She was sitting up on the bed with her back against the headboard. The black scrapbook was in her lap. I could see her clearly thanks to the abundance of morning light streaming in through the window.

  "I looked at that," I admitted sheepishly.

  She offered a wry smile and looked pointedly in the direction of her bookcase. "I noticed, and it wasn't just this one you looked at, either."

  "You have quite the collection." I scrubbed my face with my hands so I could avoid looking at her. I hadn't really thought through what it would feel like when she confronted me about my snooping.

  Her fingers wrapped around one of my wrists and pried it away. I peeked at her with that one eye. "It's okay. I'm sure I would have done the same thing." She let go of my wrist and touched my stubbled cheek instead. "Do you have questions?" she asked softly.

  "How long were the two of you together?"

  Her eyes got a far off look. "I was seventeen when I met him. My mom was in the hospital waiting out what was essentially her death sentence, and Henry was another one of the patients on that floor. My mom thought it was the greatest thing in the world because I stopped hovering over her all day, every day. By the end of the summer, Mom was gone, and I'd just met my dad—"

  "Dr. Wallace?" I interrupted.

  "Yeah, but that's a story for another time. Anyway, Dad was still like a stranger to me, so we decided the best thing to do was for me to go to boarding school. Henry and I spent the whole year writing letters back and forth. I was just a kid, really, but I was so hopelessly in love with him. It drove my dad crazy, me loving someone who was dying. Except, Henry didn't die. Not right away."

  Wren took a deep, shuddering breath. "You can tell me the rest later," I offered.

  "I'd rather just get this over with if you don't mind." She grimaced, so I grabbed her hand in mine and squeezed it.

  "Whatever you want." I squeezed
again for good measure.

  "After I graduated, I had all this money that dad had given me. He wanted me to know that I could do anything. Obviously, his first choice for me was college, but I wasn't ready for that. I went back and spent a few weeks by Henry's side. He didn't like me being there to see him getting sicker."

  She paused. I'd expected her to cry why she told me all of it, but she'd remained impressively calm as she told me her story. It was like her week away had somehow helped her come to terms with it all.

  "So, we made an agreement. I would start traveling and see enough of the world for the both of us. I went back to him in between all my destinations, taking pictures and souvenirs to impress him with. Even though he couldn't go to those places with me, it still felt like something we were doing together."

  "You were traveling alone, but you weren't experiencing it alone," I realized.

  Her eyes softened on me. "Yeah. That's actually exactly how it was."

  She swiped at her eyes and turned a few pages of the scrapbook. I couldn't see the photo but I had a feeling I knew where she had turned. The image of her in a white dress was forever burned into my brain.

  "We got married last winter. We'd talked about waiting until summer, but his health..." She cleared her throat. "We got married outside. It wasn't anywhere near warm enough for it, but it didn't really matter, y'know?"

  Her finger traced the outline of the photo. "We found a bed and breakfast to go to that felt like it was in the middle of nowhere, even though it was still within a reasonable driving distance from the hospital. We'd planned a week there as our honeymoon, but we only got three days."

  She didn't have to tell the rest of the story. I didn't need the painful details for myself, and I had a feeling that Wren had been haunted by them long enough. I tried to pry the scrapbook out of her hands. I'd been trying to be gentle with it, so I was surprised when she tossed it unceremoniously off the side of the bed.