False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1)

by Marianne Rice

  Before she could make a fool of herself anymore, he grabbed her arm and hauled her up the stairs and out onto the front porch. Her loud, hostile breathing and thunderous stomp of her sneakers down the front steps should have signaled the warning bells, but he didn’t even see it coming. Meg jerked her right arm back and sucker punched him in his jaw. Not a feminine slap, that he could handle, but a strong right hook to his face.

  “What the f—”

  “Oh, don’t even start with me, Connor McKay. Just be thankful I didn’t put you in a headlock, kick your balls so high you’d be tasting them with your Wheaties tomorrow morning, and then run your good leg over with my car.”

  “You’re crazy! Be thankful you’re a woman or…” he stopped himself before he said something he’d regret. “And what the hell was that all about?”

  “Are you kidding me? You stroll into Martha’s yesterday and suck face with your ex-wife and ask me what the hell this is about? The bimbo you sang me a sob story about because she couldn’t be faithful and used you for your money? What were you using her for? A sick obsession of playing with Barbies?”

  “You’re totally screwed up, Babe. If you want to see a hypocrite, look in the mirror.” He stood toe to toe with her and couldn’t help but feel the heat radiating off her body. He was sick, he knew it, but he wanted her. Bad. They had their fair share of face-offs over the months, but none were ever this passionate. When Meg was pissed her cheeks turned bright pink, her dark eyes grew large and penetrating, seductive. He imagined them doing the same in the throes of passion. She pierced him and skewered him with her chocolate daggers, but he couldn’t blame her. He wanted to kill himself for going anywhere near Amy. But that was beside the point. “You told me you were afraid of intimacy, but the second I turn my back you have a parade of naked men running through your house?”

  “I…I am no hypocrite. I don’t draw conclusions, I communicate.”

  “Oh,” he laughed. “Is that what this is?”

  “Yeah. I’m communicating. I’m telling you you’re a bastard.”

  “Okay, I’ll communicate with you. You’re a liar. And a cheater.”

  Meg relaxed, stepped back, the snow crunching under her sneakers, and crossed her arms under her chest. She smiled coyly at him. “Why, Connor, please tell me why you think so.”

  “Last weekend? Ring a bell?” He jabbed his finger into her jacket. “You told me your girlfriend Tracy was coming up to spend the weekend with you.” He smiled smugly. “And you got busted.”

  “First, I never said my girlfriend, was coming up—”

  “There! You can’t tell the truth for a second! Is your memory so far—”

  “Let me finish! I told you Tracy, my best and dearest friend was coming up. You have assumed all along Tracy was a she.”

  “Oh, please,” he choked. “This is classic. Even Amy never came up with such a pathetic lie.”

  “It’s like you and your family said months ago, you’re all from a small town and assumed I knew you and Annie were brother and sister. Assumed I knew Betsy was your mom. Assumed I knew you had a professional football career. We all make assumptions. I never realized I hadn’t mentioned Tracy’s gender. I guess it never came up. Do you say, ‘Hey, meet my friend Kent. He’s a guy.’ I never thought about it, and it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

  “Of course it’s a big deal. You’re spending the weekend with a guy in your house. You’ve spent the past fifteen, sixteen years with this guy, and you’re telling me he’s never tried to get you into bed? What is he—ˮ The light bulb flashed so brightly over his head he had to shut his eyes.

  “Wow. You’re a quick one, coach. Yeah, Tracy is gay. Does that make you feel better? Your ego in check now? You’ve proven over and over again how much of a man you are. Thank God I found out before it was too late.” She turned and stomped to her car and muttered quietly, but he easily understood. Go to hell.

  She needn’t worry. He was already there.

  * * * *

  Signs of spring popped up along the roadside. Melting snow banks made large puddles and streams down the road. Potholes so large, cars looked like balls in a pinball machine, dodging them left and right and practically driving into the slushy roadside to avoid a bottomless gouge that could easily rip out a muffler or blow a tire. It didn’t make for excellent running either. Emma figured she ran an extra half-mile today by zigzagging across the road.

  The fresh air felt good on her skin and in her lungs. Listening to Maroon 5 in her iPod, she slowed down as she neared the last curve before her house. She didn’t want her run to end. It felt good to get out of her house, escape the sadness that haloed her mother.

  When they first started dating, before they admitted it was dating, she envisioned the handsome Connor McKay as her mom’s husband. As her new dad. She’d never met her dad; her mother wouldn’t talk about him. She never missed having a dad before, but ever since the image had been planted in her mind—her mom, a dad, and her sitting down to a family meal—well, she wanted it more than ever. But mostly, she wanted her mom back. She was so sad lately it broke Emma’s heart.

  The house felt empty now. When Connor came into the picture, he added an air of hopefulness, love, and anticipation into her mom’s life. She’d never witnessed the love between her mom and the coach; they kept their dating quiet and behind closed doors, but it was impossible not to feel the excitement in her mom’s voice and pick up on the perky moods. Until last week.

  Angry, sure. Depressed, sometimes. Happy, occasionally. But sad, never. Emma had never known her mother to look so hurt, and she was furious at Connor for turning her strong, powerful mother into a zombie. She wouldn’t confide in Emma after she returned from coach’s house, but Emma knew the lashing must have been intense. She’d been on the other end of her mother’s temper many times before, and it was a scary place to be. Her mother was not a person people messed with, but when she returned from his house she quietly dropped her keys into the dish by the front door and crawled back in bed.

  Sunday morning was the same as the day before. No family breakfast. Emma could fend for herself, but she liked making breakfast with her mom on the weekends. It was their tradition. Cereal, bagels, and frozen waffles on work days, but on weekends, breakfast was always a feast. This morning, she poured herself a bowl of Shredded Wheat and listened for sounds of movement upstairs, but all was quiet.

  Around noon, Emma knocked on her mother’s door and reminded her of the self-defense class she taught at the Y. Her mother reluctantly got out of bed, dressed, and went to her class. The house was too quiet and lonely, so Emma went for a run and brainstormed ways to help her mother.

  The first idea that popped into her head was to slash McKay’s tires. Maybe key his fancy car, but the thrill would only last a minute and her politically correct mother probably wouldn’t appreciate her good intentions. Egging his house popped in her head as a possibility, but again her mother wouldn’t approve. She needed to come up with a game plan. Checking her pulse and slowing down as she neared her driveway, she looked up and recognized a familiar truck.

  Connor sat on the front stairs resting his head on his knees, his Red Sox hat shielding his facial expression. He didn’t hear her approach until she was a few yards away from him.

  “Hey, Emma. I was…uh, hoping your mom would be home soon.”

  He looked pathetic. He hadn’t shaved, his jeans and sweatshirt appeared to be slept in, and his eyes lacked the mischievous smile that invaded so many teenagers’ dreams at night. She took the iPod buds out of her ears.

  “She’s at the Y. Teaching a self-defense class. She’s pretty good. Could probably knock you on your ass.” Emma folded her arms across her chest and stood strong as her mother’s protector.

  “Yeah, I know. Look uh, do you know when she’ll be back?”

  He stood and shifted from foot to foot making it clear he didn’t want to be standing outside talking with her, but she didn’t care about his comfort level. T
his was her mother he hurt.

  “I should probably stay out of this—”

  “Yes, you should,” he growled.

  “But I won’t sit by and watch you rip my mother’s heart out and shove it down the garbage disposal.” Okay, not so elegantly put, but she wouldn’t stop there. “I don’t know exactly what happened between you and my mom, but whatever you did, you need to fix it. A few weeks ago my mother was full of life, happy, singing, singing throughout the house. My mother doesn’t sing. I know it’s because of you. Then something happened, and it’s probably your fault. My mom is the nicest, kindest person in the world, and she would never hurt anyone. So you either fix it or leave her alone.”

  “Like mother, like daughter,” he mumbled.

  “So, coach, before I go any further I want you to tell me your intentions.”

  The grin left as quickly as it came. “You sound like your great grandmother. I want to talk with your mom. Then we’ll figure out if our relationship can be fixed or should be left alone. When will she be back?”

  Emma puffed out her cheeks. “Here’s the deal. Give her some time to get back on her feet, and then I’ll let you talk with her. She doesn’t want to talk to anybody right now, much less you. No offense. Well, actually, you should take offense since you’re the one who…” the look in his eyes told her she had crossed the line. “Okay, never mind. Just give her some time, okay? She’s pretty shaken up right now.”

  Connor pulled down on the brim of his hat and sighed. “Okay, kid. I’ll back off, but not for too long.” He walked toward his truck but turned around before he got in. “Does she like flowers?”

  “Lilies. She likes lilies.” Emma unlocked the front door and gently closed it behind her. She hoped she did the right thing. Connor appeared so beat up, so terrible. Which made her smile.

  Chapter 14

  Someone let out a long whistle. “Oh my, I’ll sign for those.” She heard Barbara gladly exclaim out in the main office. Moments later her petite frame entered, hidden behind an elaborate bouquet of flowers. Lilies. Meg actually smiled, her first in over a week. “Someone must love you a lot.”

  “Oh, gosh. These are for me? They must be from Tracy.” Meg thanked Barbara, smelled the fragrant flowers, and picked up the small card hidden in the middle of the arrangement. It was just like Tracy to make such an elaborate gesture, but flowers were so unlike him. She carefully opened the envelope and slid out the card.

  Forgive me.

  She turned the card over, but the back side was blank. Odd. Tracy wasn’t a man of few words, and she had already told him she wasn’t mad at him. Still, it heartened her that he could be so thoughtful. Not one to make personal calls during work hours, she waited until the end of the school day to call and to thank him.

  “Sweetie, how I’d love to take credit for flowers—actually I wouldn’t. They’re not very practical. They wilt and turn brown and ugly in a week while a pair of Jimmy Choos or a nice Kate Spade bag can last a lifetime.”

  So the flowers weren’t from him. Which left one other possibility, but she couldn’t imagine Connor sending her flowers with the way she left him. Unless he felt guilty. Guilty about cheating on her and flashing his affair in her face. Good. She hoped the guilt ate him from the insides out, destroying that perfect body, killer smile, and talented hands.

  Tuesday evening, a gorgeous bouquet of colorful tulips were delivered to her house with a card that read I miss you. On Wednesday, yellow roses appeared on her office desk. The message I’m an idiot accompanied them. Thursday’s fresh daisy delivery interrupted her dinner, and her belly felt a light flutter of butterflies when she read I need you. The flowers had to stop; although, if she was honest with herself she would have to admit that each delivery brought a new feeling of rejuvenation, of hope, of despair. She couldn’t go on giving Connor the silent treatment forever.

  Feeling confident in her slimming, yet intimidating, pinstripe pencil skirt suit and sling-back heels, Meg marched into Connor’s classroom after the dismissal bell rang signaling the end of the school day and the start of the weekend, kept herself poised and her expression one a poker opponent wouldn’t be able to read and said, “I’ll be home around five o’clock. If you want to talk.” And then she marched briskly away before any further conversation could take place.

  The hair, the clothes, the shoes, heck, even her scent were all supposed to exude confidence, one of the splendid tricks Tracy taught her years ago, and disguise all signs of insecurity. Even her undergarments screamed powerful woman! No one knew she had lacy, satin bras and panties on, but that was beside the point. Feeling them against her skin was like indulging in decadent chocolate and no one finding out.

  Nervously pacing the kitchen for almost an hour, Meg finally decided to take off her high power duds. He wasn’t coming. Screw it. She changed into comfortable yoga pants and an oversized Brandeis sweatshirt; she finger combed her hair into a messy bun and tackled the kitchen floor. Nothing like getting out your frustration by picking at petrified food, spilled juice, and tracked in mud.

  The floor wasn’t a biohazard, but when a woman got stood up by an ex-boyfriend, a cheating ex-boyfriend for whom she had taken great care to look her best, there was no stopping her cleaning rampage. Being on her hands and knees, the tiny specks of dirt magnified into the germ-catching, disease-infested grime that they were. All her focus and intensity focused on a stubborn stain on the tile floor, most likely left from the previous tenants and had no hope of being removed. She didn’t hear the doorbell ring. Or the door open. Or the footsteps that led to her sweaty, dingy body, face inches from the floor.

  The dark gray L.L. Bean boots could have belonged to anyone, but only one person’s presence could turn up the heat in Meg’s internal thermostat this way. She wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead and glared up at the intruder.

  “Ever hear of knocking?”

  “Ever hear of answering your door? Here,” Connor held out his hand, but she refused help standing up. Her knees ached and her back ached, but she didn’t dare show any sign of weakness.

  Turning on the kitchen sink, she waited for the water to warm up and slowly washed her hands while glancing at the reflection in the window for a sneak peek at Connor. She wasn’t in the mood for a fight. She said her piece last week, and he apologized through flowers. Cowardly, but nice. If he wanted to grovel, she’d let him and then politely show him the door.

  Working with him every day had been difficult enough, so she might as well bury the hatchet and move on. Drying her hands on a towel, Meg slowly turned around and leaned against the counter, waiting for Connor to speak. He didn’t. He stood menacingly in her kitchen, overpowering it with his body, and stared at her. His facial expression was impossible to read. Not angry, not ashamed, not happy, not anything. Her poker face mirrored his. It turned into a stare down, and she had to bite her cheek to refrain from speaking first.

  Connor dragged his hands across his face and sighed. “I don’t know where to start.” He tilted his head like a guilty puppy, probably expecting her to help with the dialogue, but she didn’t so much as breathe. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “No, that sounds lame. But I am. Really.” He paced the small space of the kitchen trying to keep a rein on his impatience and then took three giant steps and invaded her personal space.

  “Meg.” He took her limp hands in his. “This all looks bad, but it really isn’t. When I came here a few weeks ago expecting to find you and your girlfriend having a pillow fight and saw a naked man instead I…well, I got jealous. And pissed. The pissed part I could relate to, but the jealous part was new to me and that really pissed me off.”

  His baby blues drooped and softened. “When I caught Amy cheating—”

  “I’m not Amy,” Meg quickly interrupted, stepping away from his hypnotic eyes and walking to the front door. Connor put his hand on hers and pulled her away from the door before she could open it.

  “No, thank God, you’re not Am
y. But when I believed you cheated on me it felt the same. Hell, no…shit. It didn’t feel the same. With her, I didn’t really care. It was a way out. I walked in on her and then packed my bags and left. I didn’t care about her but hated being made a fool of. I didn’t confront you because I was scared. I didn’t want to accept that you would betray me, and I was afraid I would care.”

  He led them to the couch and she willingly, weak from his touch, sat next to him. “I stewed for a few days, not knowing what to say to you. When Amy walked through the door of Martha’s the idea sort of smacked me in the head. I figured I’d get back at you by cozying up with Amy.”

  “That’s nice, Connor. I’m glad you can admit you’re an ass, but it doesn’t change the situation,” she huffed. The image of Amy in his arms, their naked bodies mingled together nearly made her gag.

  “Let me finish. The entire time I was talking with Amy, pretending to be turned on by her, I thought I was going to puke. I kept noticing you out of the corner of my eye laughing, smiling with our friends. I wanted to be with you. Touch you, listen to you, talk with you, kiss you, but I was so bent on payback.”

  “Again, Connor. Thanks for the story, but I was there. Reliving it isn’t making it any easier.”

  “Meg, babe, it’s not what you think. I jumped to conclusions about you and Tracy, don’t do the same with Amy. Nothing happened.” Meg opened her mouth to argue, but he quickly finished his sentence. “Besides, the disgusting kiss to make you jealous. We left and I told her to hit the high road in the parking lot. She was furious and slapped me. It didn’t compare to the right hook you gave me last week though. I haven’t crossed paths with her since and hope to God I never see her again. These past two weeks have been the worst in my life.” Connor stroked her cheek and tucked a loose strand of dark, silky hair behind her ear.

  “It sounds cliché, but I’ve fallen so desperately in love with you, and it hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced thinking I’ve lost you. Blowing out my knee and leaving the NFL hurt my body and my ego, but losing you, Meg, baby, has been eating me up inside. Please say you forgive me. That you believe me. I need you so much.” He stroked her hair and kissed her.