To Win Her Heart (Players)

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Yes, it was. Caught up in the country music rat race, she’d missed a lot of the simple pleasures others enjoyed. She’d forgotten what it was like to have the time to pursue activities that didn’t have anything to do with her career.

  As if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, Max tucked a knuckle beneath her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Is it all worth it?”

  Immediately defensive, though she wasn’t sure why, she played dumb. “What do you mean?”

  “The schedule. The headaches. The insomnia.”

  She tensed as he ticked off the negative points she couldn’t argue. After days of nothing but pillow talk and laughter, the harsh reminder of reality stung. Pasting a teasing smile on her lips, she fluttered her lashes and attempted to head off the unpleasant direction the conversation had taken. “We’ve cured the insomnia, remember?”

  He didn’t smile as she’d hoped. “What about the headaches?”

  “Those, too.” With the way he seemed to spot whenever a migraine came on, he had to have noticed she’d been headache free since they’d been in the woods. Only time would tell if they would return once she was back onstage, but the tone of his questions made her nervous. “Where’s this going, Max?”

  He shifted to his side so she came to rest on her back, her head cradled on his forearm. None of the easy laughter of the last few days shown in his somber eyes. “I’m curious. That first night at my condo, you spoke about your mother’s death and of owing your father for helping you attain her dream of seeing you on stage, but you said nothing about the dream being yours.”

  Nerves skidded into unease and her stomach plummeted. With less than twelve hours left before they had to leave, she could think of a thousand things she’d rather do than discuss her career or her meltdown last week. Obviously, Max was of a different opinion.

  “What kind of question is that?” Try as she might, some of her tension leaked out, making her answer curt. “I’ve worked damned hard to make it to where I am.”

  He leaned over her, his gaze steady as it held hers. “I’m not questioning your talent or your drive. You have more of both than anyone I’ve ever met. You shine when you stand before an audience, Jess. I’ve never seen anyone own the stage the way you do, but I’ve also seen the fear in your eyes before each performance.”

  She shrugged a shoulder as if the gut-wrenching terror gripping her each time she stepped on the stage was no big deal. “Lots of performers suffer from stage fright. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there.” The claim sounded defensive even to her.

  He nodded, as if he agreed, but didn’t back down from his line of questioning. “And afterward? The headaches and insomnia? Where do those come from? Because there hasn’t been a stage in sight for five days and suddenly they’re gone.”

  Damn it. Did he think she hadn’t noticed? Didn’t wish there was a viable solution to make the stress and unhappiness go away? Angry tears of desperation threatened, and she avoided his gaze by rolling her head to the side. The best defense was a good offense. Several deep breaths helped her gain control and she went on attack. “Why all the questions? Is this another of your attempts to prepare me for when you’re gone?”

  The question had been a red herring, designed to knock him off track, but the flash of guilt in his eyes told her she’d hit the bull’s-eye.

  He sighed. “In a way, I guess it is, but you came to me for help. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “How? By pissing me off?” She attempted to roll away from him. He threw a thigh over both of hers and held her where she was.

  “By asking the questions you should be asking yourself.” He swept his thumb over her cheek in a gentle caress. “You claim you’re losing yourself. How can you find your way to where you want to be without looking at where you’ve been?”

  Her attempt at diversion had only added hurt to an already uncomfortable conversation. Maybe sarcasm was the answer. “Geez, who are you, Dr. Phil?”

  He didn’t bite. Saying nothing, he continued to hold her pinned beneath him.

  Damn it, why couldn’t he just drop it? What was the point? Every dream came with sacrifices and hardships. The important ones anyway. Her mother hadn’t survived to see hers realized. That made her dream more important than most.

  Jessi slid her eyelids shut against his intent gaze. “I have to sing, Max. If I couldn’t, my soul would shrivel up and die.” She opened her eyes. “Are you suggesting I give it up?”

  His gaze softened, and he shook his head. “Not at all. If singing is what you need, then do it. All I’m suggesting is you take a good hard look at your life and consider your options. Figure out what’s holding you back from being happy. Find out what it is you want and then make it happen.”

  The earnest concern in his eyes warmed her heart. She lifted her hand to cup his bristled cheek. “Haven’t I made it perfectly clear what I want?”

  “Jessi.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her hand away from his face before letting go.

  “Max.” She held his gaze until he dropped his chin to his chest and sighed.

  The marked pain on his face slashed at her like knives. After the emotional jarring he’d just given her, evidence the past two days hadn’t made a bit of difference in his plans really did piss her off.

  Sliding his arm from beneath her head, he flopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

  She rolled her head and stared at his profile. “At least I’m honest about what I want.”

  “Are you? When you’re afraid to even look at a reality that’s making you ill?”

  Her slow, indrawn breath didn’t fully deflect the hurt. She rose on her elbow and leaned over him. “What about you, hopping from woman to woman while getting your family fix through my family’s gatherings.”

  His gaze sliced to her, full of heat at her cruel words.

  Too hurt and angry to care, she pressed on before he could reply. “What kind of existence is that? Don’t you want more than a borrowed family? Don’t you want one you can call your own?”

  He bared his teeth in a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “I’ll stick with borrowed. I’ve had some experience with real family.” He pushed up to sit on the edge of the bed. The muscles of his back bunched as he leaned forward. “In my experience, they’re not worth the effort.”

  Sarcasm aside, the underlying anger in his words cooled hers. She curled her fingers around his arm before he could stand. “I’m sorry, Max. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Her fingers slid away as he bent to pick up his briefs and stood.

  “Your family’s friendship means a lot to me. I’ve never hidden that fact, but they aren’t a stand-in for a family of my own.” He stepped into his briefs, tugged them up his legs, and over his hips. “Not everyone is cut out for picket fences and kids, Squirt. In fact, in most cases, the world is better off when bad blood isn’t passed on.” He headed for the door. “Get some sleep. We have an early flight in the morning.”

  She stared at his back as he disappeared down the stairs. Bad blood? What the hell?

  * * * *

  At the staccato knock on the door, Jessi turned from the view of the city streets ten floors below their Memphis hotel suite. Max tossed aside the magazine he’d been thumbing through and rose from the couch to answer the summons without a word.

  Her heart thumped in an unhappy cadence as her gaze followed him across the suite. After their argument, he’d said nothing about leaving, but he’d been unusually quiet since they’d left New Hampshire. Last night’s migraine only made matters worse. Heading for the airport in Tampa after she and Spence had run through their Super Bowl performance, she’d dug for her pills as Max watched her with hooded eyes.

  He hadn’t said a word, but then, he didn’t need to. The physical manifestation of the stress and unhappiness dogging her this past year jabbed at her like an accusing finger. His probing questions and her cru
el response hung between them like an out of key song, and she hated the subtle distance that had sprung up between them.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to bridge the gap she’d opened with her hateful words.

  Briefcase in hand, Tim rushed inside the moment Max opened the door, and crossed the room to snatch up the TV remote.

  Max arched a questioning eyebrow her way. She shook her head and stalked toward her cousin. “Nice of you to show up. I thought we were going to discuss a press strategy before we left for the stadium.”

  Tim pointed the remote at the blackened screen of the TV. “Apparently, Sports Extra picked up the Country Times story, and Elizabeth Krandall decided a preemptive strike was in order. She’s holding a press conference.”

  Instant adrenaline spiked in Jessi’s veins as her gaze whipped to Max. Face devoid of emotion, he stopped beside the couch. Tim scanned the channels and Elizabeth Krandall’s face filled the screen. Behind a podium emblazoned with the Hurricane’s emblem, Elliot Sprig, her nephew and the team’s flamboyant owner, stood at her side.

  A reporter spoke off camera. “Mrs. Krandall, it’s a well-known fact you were left to choose the new team owner when your husband passed so suddenly. According to records, Max Grayson is your closest living relative. Was he in the running when you went through the process of picking a successor for your husband?”

  The Krandall matriarch dipped her head forward. “Anyone who follows the world of professional football knows my nephew was quite close to my husband when he was alive.”

  “The Hurricanes have been in the hands of a direct Krandall descendant since the team’s inception,” the same reporter pressed. “Why the break from tradition?”

  She hesitated, and Elliot opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but his aunt held up a hand. “I’m confident my husband would have approved of my choice.”

  Tim grunted and sat on the coffee table. “Classic spin. Notice how she avoids answering the question but still makes her point.”

  “Shhh….” Jessi stepped to Max’s side and wrapped her fingers around the tensed muscles of his arm.

  “What about Mr. Grayson? Were he and your husband close?”

  Shifting her gaze to the new speaker, Elizabeth’s lips drew into a grim line and her shoulders sagged. Suddenly, the powerful matriarch looked more like a frail seventy year-old as she gripped the edge of the podium with one hand. “This isn’t a comfortable thing for a grandmother to admit but I’m afraid by the time we gained access to our grandson, it was too late. We couldn’t reach him.”

  A humorless laugh rumbled in Max’s chest. Jessi glanced at him. He stared at the TV as if turned to stone.

  “Too late, how?”

  Jessi looked back at the TV. Max’s grandmother covered her mouth with a fluttering hand. As if shielding her from an unseen enemy, Elliot slid his arm around her shoulders and leaned toward the microphone. “According to my uncle, my cousin’s juvenile police record read like a blue-print for a thug destined for a life of crime.”

  Tim glanced over his shoulder at Max, but the Hurricanes owner wasn’t finished.

  “Apparently, Max Grayson spent a good portion of his childhood running wild on the streets. When my aunt and uncle tried to step in, he wasn’t interested in giving up the lifestyle.”

  Jessi gasped. “That’s a lie.”

  Several voices spoke simultaneously before one stood out. “Max Grayson is your only daughter’s son, correct? Why would she let her son run on the streets? Why would you and your husband?”

  Elizabeth miraculously found her voice. “You have to understand, my daughter was….” She hesitated and like an expert playing the crowd, the woman who had been at the helm of one of the most successful financial empires for more than four decades blinked and tears flooded her eyes. “My daughter was different.”

  “Different how?”

  Elizabeth’s hand shook as she dabbed a linen handkerchief at the corner of her eye. “In the past, emotional disabilities weren’t always recognized.”

  The tendons in Max’s arm bunched as he fisted his hands at his side. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw, but he didn’t say a word. He stared at the screen with blazing eyes.

  “My daughter didn’t see the world as you or I do.” Elizabeth shook her head slightly as if the memory saddened her. “She was sweet, and innocent, and…easily swayed. When she graduated from college, she met my grandson’s father. Charmed by the smile of a man who saw her as a means to an end, she married against our wishes. While it broke our hearts to watch her be used so cruelly, she was legally an adult. When we made it clear not a penny of her inheritance would be his,” her voice broke and she appeared to wilt, “her new husband forced her to cut all ties with the family.”

  She sagged, and Elliot enfolded her in his arms. “I’m sorry, folks. As you can see, this has been difficult for my aunt.”

  The press conference ended with a flurry of unanswered questions as Elliot led Elizabeth away.

  Tim cued the remote and the TV went blank. Max jolted as if waking from a nightmare.

  He turned his head, and Jessi flinched at the fury in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him. Bile rose in her throat as renewed anger on his behalf surged through her veins. His grandmother was an evil woman, besmirching her own daughter’s emotional state in an effort to cover her selfishness, and she deserved to pay for her cruelty.

  Jessi stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m sorry, Max.” She gripped him tighter as his arms gathered her close.

  Tim spoke behind her. “How much of what was said is true?”

  Max stiffened against her, and she turned to glare at her cousin.

  He held up a hand before she could blast him and offered Max an apologetic frown. “That’s not an accusation, my friend, but the press is going to ask. I can’t form an effective rebuttal if I don’t know the facts.”

  Max’s chest expanded on a cleansing breath. He nodded and loosened his arms. “As much as I’d enjoy calling her a fucking liar on national television, I’d prefer to stick to no comment.”

  “That’ll only make matters worse.” Tim opened his briefcase and retrieved a pad of paper and pen. “Sorry, Max, but we’re going to have to come up with some kind of reply. They practically called you a criminal, and while I don’t buy that claim, Jessi’s fans don’t know you from Jack.”

  Confusion made Jessi frown. She pushed free to look Max in the eye. “I don’t understand. Everything she said was the opposite of the truth.”

  “Not everything. I did run on the streets for a while, and my juvie record isn’t pretty.” He shifted his gaze to Tim. “Contrary to what you just heard, the Krandalls didn’t want anything to do with me from the beginning. Unfortunately, for my grandmother, the timeline disproves her claims.”

  “How so?”

  “When my mother died and I supposedly turned down the Krandalls’ offer, I didn’t have a record. It wasn’t until close to a year later that I had my first run-in with the police.”

  “What type of run-in?”

  “Tim!” She shot her cousin a glare.

  Max shook his head and stroked a hand down her arm. “It’s okay, Jess. He has a point. I won’t let the press smear you over my actions, and the family has a right to know the type of man they’ve welcomed into their home.” He lifted his gaze to Tim. “I didn’t do well in the first couple of foster homes I was placed in and took off the first chance I got. It wasn’t long before I started getting into the kind of trouble you’d expect from a hoodlum kid. Truancy, vagrancy, petty theft. I’d added a couple of assault charges and did a stint in juvie before I turned sixteen and cleaned up my act.”

  Jessi’s heart pulsed with each charge he ticked off so casually as if reciting the acts of a stranger. “What happened when you were sixteen?”

  He looked down at her. “I met Vern.”

  “Your g
ym manager?” Tim scribbled notes on the pad in his hand.

  Max’s face softened with the first genuine smile she’d seen since their argument two nights ago. He nodded, released her, and dropped to sit on the couch. “Turns out, the judge handling my case did a little amateur boxing when he was younger. Vern was a friend of his and managed a gym in one of the roughest neighborhoods in the city. As a requirement of my probation, I spent six months wiping up sweat and blood, and mucking out bathrooms.

  “Less than a week after I started, I got into a brawl with one of the punks who hung around out front. Vern must have seen us through the window because suddenly there he was. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me off the kid, but instead of turning me in for breaking the no fighting rule the judge had laid down, he marched me inside and shoved me into the ring with a dude twice my size.”

  Jessi lowered to the arm of the couch at his side. “He taught you to fight?”

  “I already knew how to fight. He taught me to fight smart.” One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “I didn’t know shit about boxing and got my ass kicked that first day, and for several more following, but I learned the basics. How to take a hit and not go down, and when to go on the offensive.

  “After the third time I threw a kick, Vern took pity and hooked me up with a mixed martial arts fighter. He said since I’d learned my fighting skills on the street, I might as well use them all.” He turned to Tim. “As an adult, my record is clean. My businesses are free and clear. If you want to give the press something, give them that.”

  Jessi turned to him and scowled. “You can’t let her get away with this, Max. She just told a whole pack of lies about you and your parents to millions of people.”

  A harsh smile slashed his lips. “I don’t intend to, but revenge will have to wait.”

  He arched a brow in silent communication and his reasoning became clear. Until he got his hands on Haven Place, he wasn’t going to do anything to make waves.

  “Oh.” Her confusion evaporated and she narrowed her eyes. “Okay, then. Just promise you’ll include me in the party when you expose her innocent act. I want to be right there to see her reaction up close.”