She didn’t want to be without him, though. They could get through the scandal together.
She would stand by her man.
Except, had he stood by her? She’d texted him eight times throughout the day, not to give her information, but to see how he was. To get her head out of the gutter of Parker’s drug life and back to something that made sense. Not once had Jonas texted her back. If she hadn’t called him, would he have made contact with her?
Brooks drove for a long time, going over the past few weeks with Jonas. Every conversation. He told her he loved her, but did a man who loved a woman ignore her repeated attempts to contact him? He’d shut her out of his life before he knew her. She’d worked her way in while the scandal surrounding him had died down.
She turned into the lane leading to the farmhouse.
Now there was a new scandal, and once more he was nowhere to be found.
For a long time Brooks sat in her car, staring at the white house and watching the porch swing rock in the gentle breeze.
His truck sat under the branches of a huge oak tree. Lights were off inside, but the sun wasn’t down just yet. She could turn around. Leave. She would still have her job and football. She would still have him.
Jonas stepped out onto the porch, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t coming.”
Brooks got out of the car. “I can’t stay,” she said when she met him on the porch. Jonas put his arms around her, and he felt so good she wanted to do nothing other than melt into him. Take all the strength she felt in his arms and flip the outside world a great, big bird. Because they hadn’t done anything wrong.
They’d done everything right. She didn’t use him as a source. She reported on the facts, both on his injury and Parker’s meltdown. The people who mattered knew that she’d shown ethical competence. Only those who didn’t matter, like that anchor from the rival station, cared about the scandalous undertones.
Brooks Smith Didn’t Report Her Boyfriend’s Injury Soon Enough.
Brooks Smith Seen at Same Bar Where Football Player Melted Down.
Brooks Smith Dated a Steroid Supplier.
She didn’t want that to be her headline. She wanted a different headline.
Brooks Smith, First Female Analyst for Football Network.
That would be a good headline. A trailblazing headline. Women reported on sports all the time. Women loved football. None of them had made it into the broadcast booth for in-game analysis, though.
She could be the first.
Brooks shrugged out of Jonas’s embrace and walked to the porch railing. Leaned her hands against it and turned her back on the man she loved. Because she couldn’t do this if she had to look at him. He would be understanding. He wouldn’t make accusations.
Jonas knew what it was like to be on the cusp of losing professional integrity. He’d stood there less than a year ago. Those big, brown eyes would tell her he loved her while his deep, sexy, Texas drawl told her to focus on her career. He wouldn’t fight her. Hell, hadn’t they had the “we have to be secret lovers” conversations last month when the story about his injury broke? Only this wasn’t about keeping their relationship secret for a while.
This was about blowing up her personal life so that her professional life still had a chance.
Jonas put his hand on her shoulder, and once more she shrugged him off. No touching. She couldn’t do this with touching.
“I just got off the phone with my boss at the network,” she said, talking fast because if she didn’t talk fast she might not say what she needed to say at all. Jonas stood beside her; his arm brushed against hers. “I’m filling in at the booth on Sunday. Ferguson came down with a case of the mumps.”
“You don’t have to do this.” His voice was flat. The sun sank farther toward the horizon, turning the sky a bleeding orangey-red.
“Do what?”
“Step away from me when I come within an inch of you.” He leaned his elbows on the rail for a moment and then pushed off, took a few steps away from her. “We had this conversation a few weeks ago—”
“No, we didn’t,” she interrupted him. “And, yeah, I do. This job is important to me, not just the sideline gig, but the opportunity in the booth. I know it’s only one game right now, but it’s something I want. Women have been part of broadcast teams for years, but none of them have analyzed in the booth during a game.”
“And you want to do it. I get it.”
“I can’t do it if I’m distracted, and right now I’m distracted.” Her voice wavered a bit on that last word. Brooks swallowed and straightened her shoulders, willed her voice to be strong.
“Exactly what I tried to—”
“Our personal relationship is beginning to bleed into this Parker thing. Someone snapped a couple of frames of us at the bar earlier this summer. Now there was the incident with Parker at the same bar.” She took a breath. “I know there is nothing untoward about our relationship and my reporting. You know that. I think my bosses even know that, but a scandal like this has killed a lot more careers than it has left alone. It’s better this way, anyway. You need to focus on football. You’ve got the play-offs to reach, remember?”
Walking away was the right thing to do. With training camp over the hard part would begin. There would be film to watch and opponents to prepare for and injuries to overcome throughout the season. He didn’t need the distraction of her.
He didn’t need to have his name continually drawn into the Parker mess, and if they continued seeing each other, if the other media outlets kept bringing it up, he would be drawn in report after report. The story would go from Parker in rehab to Jonas Nash’s past, and his womanizing of a reporter.
She turned to look at him, ordering herself to be stronger. Jonas crossed his arms over his chest. “So you choose work over us.” He shook his head. “You know, until I heard your car, I was going to choose work over us, too.”
Pain stabbed at her heart, and it intensified when he nodded. “I was going to tell you that being around me would bring you down, and if that didn’t work I was going to tell you that I needed to focus on football.”
“Then you understand.”
He sighed. “I get it. I had it all worked out. And then I heard your car, and none of that mattered. I love you. I love football. The rest of the world can screw off. I don’t care about the innuendo. I know what happened that night at the bar. You know what happened. Nothing else matters.”
She wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to believe him. But she had seen scandals knock down bigger stars than Jonas. She wanted him to be able to change his legacy. More than that, she wanted to leave a legacy behind, too.
“I think it matters. Not just for me.” She ran her fingers over her ribs, over her tattoo. She’d always seen herself as a strong woman, and maybe there were women who would fight harder for a man like Jonas. But she’d been fighting for this job longer than she had been fighting for him. “For all the girls who love football, who can contribute to the sport. I can be their voice.”
“Then be it. Stand up and take what you want.”
She wanted him. God, did she want him. Brooks fought the urge to cross the porch and sink into his embrace for a long moment.
“I am. I’m taking the job,” she said and stepped off the porch. “I’ll see you at the field on Sunday.”
He didn’t say anything, but the expression in his eyes was bleak. Brooks wanted to reach up, to run her hands over his face one more time. To tell him this was just for a little while. Until things calmed down. She’d thought she could protect him from the media. She’d thought loving him would be enough.
He didn’t need her protection, though, and loving him wasn’t enough to give up her career for.
Brooks didn’t run back to her ca
r, she couldn’t. Her legs were stiff, her hips, knees and ankles not communicating with one another. Blindly she got behind the wheel, cranked the ignition and backed out of the lane. She swiped at her face, surprised to find her cheeks completely dry when she could barely see through the waterworks filling up her eyes. She blinked and a few tears spilled over.
She’d done the right thing. Made the right choice, for her career. She was fighting for women in professional football, and she was winning.
So why did it feel as if she had already lost?
* * *
JONAS WATCHED BROOKS’S car fly down his driveway feeling as if he’d been ripped in two.
On the one side was Professional Jonas. The man who knew football needed people with integrity, people like Brooks. Her love for the game shone through every time she talked stats or strategy or told that ridiculous story about being named for a running back who dragged a defender with him into the end zone. More than that, he understood what it felt like to want to leave a legacy behind. If she did this well it would open even more doors for women in football.
On the other side was the man who loved her. Who wanted to be with her as she soared professionally. The man who wanted to run with her in the mornings, get lost with her on a sultry, summer afternoon. That man wanted to know that when he came home at night a sexy woman wearing capris and flip-flops would greet him at the door. She’d wear little makeup and her hair would be in a ponytail, and everything would be all right because they would be together.
He sat down heavily on the porch swing. It wasn’t an ultimatum. He didn’t mean she had to take him or take work. He meant to take all of it. To work as hard at having a personal life as she worked to have a professional one. As he was doing.
Before Brooks barged into his life, he’d been content to work the shoulder rehab program, and to focus on the upcoming season. After she skewered him in the locker room he wanted more. He wanted to laugh with her over breakfast, wanted to talk football with her on the sidelines. He wasn’t ready to give up playing, but he’d found he liked working with the kids at the camps. Their love for the game was infectious and had given him a glimpse into what life after football might be like.
That glimpse included Brooks.
Until tonight.
He hadn’t lied. After she’d hung up earlier, he had prepared himself for another “we need to back off” talk. As much as she wanted to protect him, he was in the clear this time. It was Brooks who needed the protection. He’d been prepared to walk away from her, to give her that protection, right up until he heard her car in the drive.
It was as if a switch had turned then. He went from wanting to protect her by getting her away from him to wanting to be by her side to shield her from the media dross. He wanted to fight for her. He wanted her to fight for him.
He’d never imagined that telling her to take what she wanted would leave him alone on this porch.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SUNDAY MORNING JONAS walked into the Kentuckians’ locker room and looked around. Fresh paint on the walls, jerseys hung on pegs and pads settled on the floor of the lockers. He dropped his bag, glad to have a few minutes alone. The way he’d been alone since Brooks walked out of his life a few days before. It really shouldn’t have been this hard not to think about her. He’d gone thirty years without knowing her, had dated her for less than a season. He couldn’t get her out of his head, though.
He put on the lower half of his uniform, laced up his cleats and pulled a T-shirt over his head before trotting out onto the field. A few workers milled around, and the support staff were checking electronics gear that would connect the sidelines with the coordinators in the booths. Kent, Brooks’s cameraman, was setting up at the network’s sideline position. Jonas waved and Kent nodded.
“Who’s your sideliner today?” Jonas asked, crossing to him.
Kent named a guy who had been a stand-out running back in college, but had blown out his knee a couple of years before.
“You ready for the hoopla of the first game?”
“Always,” Jonas returned. Maybe the noise from the crowd would drown out the Hank Williams sing-along that had been playing in his head since Friday. He picked up a ball and began to loosen up.
A few more players came out onto the field. Jonas stretched with Ramos, chatted with Earl about the game plan and the entire time he scanned the field. Looking for Brooks. The other booth analysts walked the field, chatting with players. A few of the them, ex-players, pretended to run plays on the field. Brooks was nowhere to be found.
The stadium announcer’s voice came over the loud speaker, letting the growing crowd know about some kids’ activities just outside the stadium bowl. Thirty minutes until game time.
Earl’s pre-game inspiration speech was a cacophony of “blah blah football” and “rah rah teamwork” phrases. Jonas tried to concentrate on what the coach was saying, but his mind kept drifting back to that night with Brooks on his porch.
He did the right thing in telling her to go. She deserved more than him; better than him. She deserved the world, and all he could give her was a past swimming in poor decisions. It didn’t matter that he was no longer the same man he had been. What mattered was what people thought, and he hadn’t had enough time to change their minds. To show them he was more. Brooks being with him now would only hurt her in the long run.
God, he missed her, though.
When everyone else stood, Jonas stood. When his teammates raised their fists, Jonas raised his fist. And then they were running out on the field, the crowd was screaming and cheerleaders were shaking their pom-poms. This was familiar. This was what he wanted.
Everything went silent for a moment as Jonas focused, really focused, on the field activities. Ramos and the other defensive guys were jumping all over one another, the wide receivers were sprinting around, coaches running side by side.
So why did he feel as if the shine of the spectacle was dimmer than it had ever been before?
The officials set the clock and the other team kicked off. One of the Kentuckians’ special teams guys caught the ball in the end zone and smartly took a knee, giving Jonas and the offense their first chance at glory. Jonas called the play in the huddle and dropped back when the ball was placed in his hands. He scanned the field for an open receiver, but the coverage was too heavy.
He didn’t see the defender coming up from behind. Didn’t hear the pounding of rushing feet. He only felt that painful instant when the breath was knocked out of his body. Facedown on the turf, Jonas tried to breathe. Ordered his lungs to work. It seemed like an eternity before his lungs kicked back into action and he dragged sweet Kentucky air into his lungs.
Okay, so he wasn’t ready for that.
Earl signaled in a play from the sidelines and Jonas reset the offense. He dropped back, looking for an open man. Finally, he saw a bright red jersey break free from a pack of black-shirted defenders, cocked his arm and let the ball fly. Jonas grunted when the ball left his hand and watched as it sailed down the field. Five yards. Ten. Twenty. A set of hands reached into the sky and grabbed the football out of the air.
* * *
BROOKS HELD HER breath as both players went down, rolled and then the Kentuckians player popped up with the ball still in his hands.
Brooks pumped her fist, her attention on Jonas. He raised his arms as if he’d just thrown a touchdown pass, and hurried his players down the field. They were past the fifty now, flirting with the red zone in two plays.
“What the what just happened there, Brooks?” Stan Cummings, her booth mate, asked, his voice filled with wonder. “I think we just saw the reason Jonas Nash was cleared to return to football!”
Brooks couldn’t stop the smile on her face. “This is the Jonas we all remember, Stan. Confident in the pocket, strong throwing arm. I’d say he’s answered
a lot of questions in just two plays.”
“After that first sack, I wasn’t sure what we were in for,” Stan continued talking about not only the play on the field, but the reputation of both teams. The Kentuckians were known for botched passes, their opponents for running up the score whenever possible. Brooks said all the right things, but her attention was only partially on her booth mate. Mostly, it was focused on Jonas.
He ran his team down the field in six plays, passing for most of the yards. He handed off to the running back twice, and both times she knew that a season before he’d have kept the ball to himself. The Kentuckians scored, and their defense took the field. A few plays later, with their opponents still behind the fifty, Ramos sacked the other quarterback on a blitz, causing a fumble. Two more scores for the Kentuckians and a field goal for their opponents, and it was halftime.
A local college marching band performed on the field as Brooks and Stan went over the first half highlights.
“What do you think, Brooks? Is this a signal that the combination of Earl Highland and Jonas Nash is what the Kentuckians have been missing the past few years?”
“It’s maybe a little early to start making those Super Bowl T-shirts just yet,” Brooks said, tilting her head as she looked at Stan. “But it’s a good beginning. You know, the team played loose all through the pre-season, and it seems as if they’ve gelled after the loss of Jamieson last week.”
“Can they continue, though?” Stan smiled a brilliantly white smile toward the cameras. “That’s the question we’ll answer in the second half, but whatever happens this half of football has been a spectacle of touchdown passes. Nash has returned from injury and seems to be telling us all that he’s not through with football just yet.”
Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set Page 100