by Mj Fields
“Is that what you’re calling me in here for, to put me on notice?” he asks with humor in his eyes. He thinks I’m a joke. He’ll see I’m not.
“You already were on notice. Next time you disrespect me, you’re out.”
He laughs out loud then leans forward. “And what the hell will you do? Have Langley step in?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“You know I’m contracted.”
“Doesn’t matter. I have one hell of a lawyer and plenty of witnesses to you creating a hostile workplace for me.” I look at my watch. He’s already taking up too much of my time.
“I see you want me to walk; find me useless. And you think those men will come to your rescue?”
I stand up and walk toward the door. “I want respect. I own this team. You work for me, not the other way around. And I don’t need anyone to rescue me.”
“That’s not how your dad ran this place. He trusted me.”
“I’m sure he had reason to. I’m sure the team will say that you respected him. They know damn well you don’t respect me. So, Coach D”—I look at my watch again—“one more incident, and you’ll be replaced.”
“Half this team will follow me anywhere I go, Courtney,” he says as he stands up.
“Good.” I laugh. “Oh, and that half sits the first two quarters of the exhibition game.”
He stops dead in his tracks. “Then why bother even making them go?”
“It’s in their contracts.”
As he stalks out the door, I hear him mumble, “Fucking Rhodes.”
Pissed that he’s blaming him, I snap, “What’s your problem with him?”
He stops, but it takes him a minute to turn around.
“I warned your father that he would ruin this team, but he didn’t listen to me. Now we have a team divided, and a woman who's gonna bring it all down.”
I step toward him, showing him I’m not afraid, as I snap, “He saw something in Rhodes.”
“He thinks he’s better than the rest of the team.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He nods. I can tell he disagrees. “Anything else?”
“Yes, Christa has new uniforms for the team. I want them to wear them tomorrow.”
He shakes his head as he walks out the door.
Once he and Christa, who is all too happy to go with him to deliver the uniforms, is gone, I lean up against my desk and look at the picture of me and Dad. Then I sit at my desk and look through all the job applications on my computer.
It’s hell trying to build a staff without letting those backstabbing fuckers know you are replacing them. Nevertheless, I will not have people working with me who can’t wait to see me fall.
When Christa comes back, we try to narrow down, not just the applicants, but also how many positions truly need to be filled.
After a few hours and a conference call with Mom and Ronald, I sit back in Dad’s chair and stretch, feeling like my damn eyes are crossing.
Then I smile at Christa and say, “Let’s get the hell out of here and buy you some new panties.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Shhh
TRAE
WHEN I GET BACK TO the house, the lights are off.
I glance inside through the french doors as I head to my apartment and see Courtney and Christa cozied up on the couch, watching the big screen and eating popcorn. I’m tempted to rap on the door, but I don’t. Instead, I head up the stairs and pull my phone out of my bag to make my nightly call.
I set the phone up on the counter and hit Facetime before punching in my mom’s number.
“Trae,” she answers with a smile as I see her walk down the hall toward Callie’s room.
“How is she today?”
“She’s having a good day,” she says, opening the door, then whispering, “Callie, the phone’s for you.”
When Mom flips the screen, I see Callie sitting on the blue mat—her favorite—holding her brown teddy bear in one hand and the hem of her shirt in the other.
“Hey, baby girl,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. When she looks up at the phone, I smile. “You wanna talk to me today?”
She reaches up and grabs the phone before placing it on the floor in front of her. Then she waves, and I wave back.
“We’re having a good day, aren’t we, Callie?” Mom squats down next to her, briefly looking at me out of the corner of her eye and nodding. Then she looks back at the tiny little dolls Callie has laid out in a line.
“Callie,” I say softly. “I miss you, and I will see you soon.”
She briefly looks at the phone screen then away.
I look at Mom and nod, letting her know I’m done seeing her for now. She’s busy playing with her dolls, content.
“I’m going to take the phone and go into the other room, Callie. I’ll be back.”
Once in the hallway, Mom smiles and sighs.
“Is this hard for her?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’d love to tell you yes, but she’s fine, Trae. She really is. She loves that room, and her therapist says it’s helping. It’ll just take time. She may never be like other kids her age, but she’s good. She really is.”
“She eating good?”
Mom smiles. “Of course she is. She wants for nothing, Trae. And if she does, she lets us know.”
“Right.” I sit on the edge of my bed.
“Stop beating yourself up.”
“She’s my responsibility. All mine. Her mom signed off.”
“And you’re a good man, Trae. You’re just taking care of your responsibilities farther away. We’re good,” she assures. “Really good.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Thank you, Trae. Now, tell me how it’s going in Seattle.”
“It’s interesting.”
“How is your knee?” Being a mom, of course, she would ask that question.
“Better than ever. Honestly doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Are you taking it easy?”
I nod and smile.
She laughs. “That means no.”
“I signed on for a year, and I’ll give it all I can; you know that.”
“I more than know that. I raised that.”
“Have I ever told you what an amazing job you did?” I grin at her.
“I know that, too.”
I hear a door slam, and Mom looks away from the phone. “Our little blessing needs me. Talk tomorrow, son.”
“Tomorrow is Vegas. How about you and Callie watch me? It’s gonna be busy.”
“We’ll try.”
“Volume all the way down; she’ll like it.”
“Of course.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too.” Then she hangs up.
I lie in bed, holding a picture of the beautiful little girl who became mine three years ago, when she was a year old. A little girl who will never be anyone’s idea of normal, and who will never live a life that most kids in the world do, but who is now protected because of an opportunity handed to me in what I am now sure was an offensive play by Charlie Cohen to keep his daughter safe from heartache.
I am attached to that little girl forever, and now I can monetarily give her everything she needs to help her overcome some of the many issues she faces. Money might mean shit to people who have it and don’t need it, but to me, for Callie, it means more than anyone will ever know. Therefore, Charlie Cohen means something to me, dead or alive. I just wish I wasn’t such a dick when we talked. I wanted nothing to do with this team. But then, the money certainly did a lot for my family.
I look back at the picture. She’s too young to be diagnosed fully, but she wears the signs of fetal alcohol syndrome in her facial features and in her behaviors. Some specialists say they believe she has signs of autism, but we don’t know yet what behaviors or issues are from the fetal alcohol syndrome or the possibility of autism. Hell, we may never, but now we have enough money to make sure she has a safe place and
is happy, and getting happier every day.
Taking her on full-time was never part of the plan. She was a year old before her mom contacted me. Then seeing her and how malnutrition she was and hearing what that bitch did, leaving her for two days alone, I took her full time and paid the bitch what was left of my sponsorship money to make sure she’d never come back again. I knew damn well she wouldn’t.
When we brought her home, it felt like we were two steps away from hell. She cried unless Mom held her. It took weeks before I could hold her; took weeks for her to get used to it. Then my mom could finally leave our little house to get some fresh air.
My brothers didn’t understand why the hell we were moving, not until the money came in from Charlie Cohen. Then we all moved to a different town in the middle of nowhere, and Mom had a room designed for Callie to help her cope.
When Callie is having a good day, it’s better than Christmas. When she’s not, it’s me and Mom who suffer. My brothers are chicken shit, taking off so they don’t have to hear her tantrums and the nonstop crying. It doesn’t bother me anymore; just makes it easier for her and everyone around her to have less people trying to comfort her.
I hate placing the burden solely on Mom, but she does have two therapists who come and hang out with Callie five days a week, and an aid who comes in on the two days they aren’t there. Mom says she has no issues at all in taking care of Callie, as long as she can get out to the horses a couple times a day. Plus, Callie is starting to enjoy the garden and outside. She hated living in the city. It overstimulated her. She’s a different kid now.
Callie is special, and I will make sure she never thinks “special” or “different” means she is lesser than. She’s not. She’s mine.
Before coming to Seattle, I went away a few days a week to let her adjust to me not being there. I stayed at resorts all over the country and busted my ass getting back into shape. When I wasn’t in the gym, I was working out in other ways, mainly between the sheets. It made it easier being away from Mom and Callie.
Callie is my daughter, and Courtney is Charlie’s. I am not here to piss off Brock anymore. I’m here to make sure the gift Charlie gave me is paid forward, and that is through his daughter. I’m here to make sure she is afforded the opportunity she deserves—the opportunity to succeed—regardless of the obstacles she is facing.
I want her. I want her badly. However, I need to make sure she knows she gets my friendship, my help, and my support for only a season. Then I am back home with my family.
After my shower, I stand at the window, looking down toward the warm light shining out from her bedroom window. The drapes are open, and I see her standing in a robe, looking out at the water with her arms wrapped around her waist.
Her chest heaves in what I assume is a sigh, and then she unties her robe, shrugs it off, and I watch as it cascades down her body.
Standing in a thin, nearly sheer, white nightgown, she leans her head forward and pulls her hair all up in a knot before tying it above her head. Then she looks up, and I know she sees me because she startles slightly.
I walk closer to the window, and she steps forward, looking down before she raises her head. Then she licks her lips, opens the door, and steps out onto her semi-private patio.
I open the door to my own balcony and walk out. Then I lean over and place my forearms on the concrete railing.
“You look beautiful, Courtney.”
“Do I?” she asks with a slight shrug.
“Always.”
She nods and sits on the stone wall that acts as a partition. “Better than last night, I suppose.”
“You were drunk,” I tell her as I sit on the ledge.
“Be careful.”
I grin. “You worried about me?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I chuckle, turning so my legs hang over the edge.
“Trae, don’t be stupid,” she says, standing.
“Protecting your investment?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” she says with a bit of a frown.
“Any other reason, Courtney?”
“I’m not setting myself up for failure again, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
I immediately know that I was right about offending her last night by doing the right damn thing.
“I was being a gentleman last night.”
She shrugs. “Interesting.”
“I’m here for a season, sweet thing, nothing more.”
She sits back down. “Well, play it safe, baller, and get back on solid ground.”
“Play it safe?” I chuckle. “That’s no way to play. I’ve never played anything safe.”
“And I’ve spent my entire life playing that way.”
“Seasons change, Courtney.”
“And time can stop in the blink of an eye.”
I look down, knowing damn well what I am about to do is going to be a game changer. Problem is, I have no clue what the rules are to this game.
“Trae!” she yells as I grab ahold of the balcony railing and lower myself.
I look down at the ground, seeing I am less than two feet from the ground. No big thing.
I drop the last feet to the ground. Then, keeping my head down, I walk toward her, giving no shits that I’m in my boxers, or that I’m sporting wood.
When I climb over her little wall, I look at her, and my eyes immediately go to her tits. Her nipples are as hard as little pebbles, and I want them in my mouth.
I walk toward her, and she backs up until she’s against the pale green siding.
“I’m here now, so tell me what I can do to you without fucking shit up on the court?”
“I have no idea. Maybe this is a bad idea.”
I reach around and take the back of her neck, pulling her hard against me. She whimpers when our bodies connect.
“Trae,” she whispers, tensing up.
“What?”
“This would have been so much easier last night. Then we could have woken up and blamed it on the shots. But you said no.” She brings her hands up between us and pushes me back, but I resist, holding her to me.
“That was because you were drunk, and I don’t want a drunken, one-time fuck with you.”
“A season, though?”
She gasps when I pull her hair back until she’s looking up at me.
“If that’s what you want, then yeah.” I nod.
She closes her eyes and lifts her lips to mine.
“Can’t fuck you tonight.” Her eyes immediately open at my words. “A game I play with myself,” I explain.
“So, you’re going to play with yourself?”
I smirk, shaking my head. “I’m going to taste your lips, your skin, your pussy...if you’re a good girl.”
“A good girl?”
When she rolls her eyes, I can’t help laughing.
“You can be the boss anywhere you need to be, except when it’s you and me alone. And, Courtney, that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around all the time, or I will make you regret it in bed. You feel me?”
“So, I’m apparently under some verbal contract for the season that states I’m unable to feel you the night before a game?”
“It’s for your own protection,” I tell her as I lean in and run my lips down her jawline.
“W-w-why’s that?”
“Because I’ll be a little tired after the game, which will make things easier for you.” Implying that it would be in my best interest.
“I don’t want easy,” she says in a raspy moan as I lick down her neck then back up to her ear.
I nip her ear then tug it gently. “Taste good, Courtney.” I run my hands up the outside of her legs, slowly pushing up the hem of her nightgown. “Can’t wait to eat your pussy.”
“Wait. Just wait.” She pushes me back.
“I swear to fuck, Courtney, you can be all sorts of bossy, except when my hands are on you.” I growl. I can’t hold back much more.
She crosses her arms and lifts that n
ose of hers in the air.
“You do know I’m afraid you’re going to drown someday,” I remark.
“What?” she asks in a prissy, little tone.
“Your nose is gonna fill with water someday, and you’ll drown.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sigh, wanting to say, That you act like a little snot at times, and your nose in the air that high will be the death of you in a downpour.
“Not a damn thing,” I say instead. “Let’s get back to me telling you what my mouth is going to do to you, and you moaning.”
“How about a little less talk, and a lot more action?”
The way she says those words is comical. Seconds ago, she was telling me no, and now she is asking me to take action? She’s confused as hell.
Confidence is sexy in bed. Hell, a little crazy is, too. But confused cute? Not sexy
I test my theory. “Let’s get you in bed, on your back, legs spread wide, and me face down.”
She turns, walks to her door, and opens it. I am on cloud nine that she’s finally listening to me.
Then she shuts the door in my face.
I hold back a laugh because, what the hell else am I going to do in a situation like this?
When I see her peek out the curtain window next to the door, I cross my arms.
“Point made. Now let me in.”
“I’m thinking...no.”
“Okay, let’s add thinking to things you need not do when you and I are alone.”
She looks at her watch. “It’s past my bedtime. Goodnight, Trae.”
“Really? Now?”
“Really.” She walks over to the door, which I promptly open, knowing damn well she is going to lock it if I give her time.
“You, out,” she huffs.
I walk over to her bed and pull back the covers. “You, bed.”
“I really just wanted to see if you’d come down.” Her nose heads north again.
“You’re so full of shit, Cohen. You’re pissed I said no fucking.”
“I’m not a game! I’m not Plan B.”
“I never had a Plan B, you did,” I tell her as I climb into her bed, which is a hell of a lot more comfortable than mine.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking at me as if I have lost my mind.
“Well, I’m trying to figure out when you’re gonna give it up and accept that I walked last night because I was trying to do the right thing. Shit, I spent today trying to talk myself out of letting this happen, because first, I respect your old man; and second, because I’m not gonna be around and your uppity little ass sure as hell isn’t going to follow me back to home at the end of the season. Then I saw you, and I warned you about seasons, and you threw time at me. And if all I have is a season to get you out of my head, then why waste time? Now climb your ass in bed.”