by Mel Curtis
“Your fan club is here.” Evan came around the bench to talk to Randy before the game, pointing out the wedding party streaming into front row seats.
In the past when Gemma came to games with Mimi, she’d straightened her hair and wore low-cut blouses and sexy heels. This time, she showed up in a black Flash T-shirt, a short jeans skirt, and green polka dot flip-flops. Cora and Mimi, in their low-cut blouses and high heels, couldn’t hold a candle to Gemma. They sat next to Cy, who represented Mimi, and who sent a lot of business Cora’s way.
Randy nodded at Gemma. He’d kill it on the court today so she wouldn’t go back to thinking of herself as a millstone about his neck.
His family was seated a few rows up from her. Every time Randy glanced their direction, his father’s frowning face stared back at him, as good as proclaiming his usual refrain: This is a waste of time. He’d prove to Matt that he belonged here, not on the old homestead.
The frumpy blogger, Harry something, stopped by the bench. “Coach Parker, any comment on the nepotism claims regarding Randy Farrell?”
Trent cast Harry a dismissive glance and signaled to security. Almost immediately, Harry was hustled off.
“Prove you deserve to be here,” Trent said sharply to Randy.
“Yeah.” Evan slapped Randy on the back. “This is where you show me that you’ve got what it takes. Ignore your personal drama and bring the beast.”
Gemma, Dad, Trent, Evan. They all wanted him to perform. He needed to bring his A-game.
Randy reached for the intensity that had driven his game to new heights the past few weeks…and came up empty. Trepidation danced like stinging raindrops across his skin.
Get out there and kick butt, Gemma’s voice.
Prepare to fail, his father’s voice.
And fail he did. Randy couldn’t put the ball in the basket from two feet away.
Five minutes into the game, Trent subbed him out and walked with him to a seat. “It’s just not your day, Randy. You do remember that everyone has an off game occasionally?”
“Sure.” Just not Randy. He didn’t choke under pressure. Gemma, Dad, Trent, Evan. They needed to see him perform. “Sub me back in after a few, would you?” He tried not to sound desperate, but he was afraid he did. His sub-par performance affected everyone on the team and everyone in his personal life. Hell, his personal life hinged on him playing strong.
Looking across the court at Gemma, he managed a smile. She was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. What was he waiting for? He could shop for a ring tonight, propose, celebrate with his family.
But Gemma didn’t smile back. In fact, she looked pale, as if she was the reason for his sucky performance.
In seats a few rows up, his father had his arms crossed over his chest and stared at the scoreboard. Lindsey was taking a selfie. His mother scanned the crowd, either for celebrities or Glitterfrost Gem, who she’d only seen in pictures on Twitter. Gemma looked nothing like Glitterfrost Gem today.
So he hadn’t found his rhythm. So he had an off game. It wasn’t the end of his career.
Was it?
His career was over.
The Flash won the game by two points. Randy had sat the bench the majority of the time. Cy and Evan were berating him for his loss of focus.
In the hallway outside the locker room, Evan shook his head. “My wife would want me to side with Gemma and true love, but I’m more selfish than that. The Flash needs a player like you. Take tonight to think about what you really want and then bring the beast tomorrow. Last chance, Farrell.”
“Don’t blame Gemma. It’s all on me,” Randy said.
“True love?” Cy scoffed. “Is that what’s going on? You’d toss away a once-in-a-lifetime chance at NBA greatness for a woman?” The guard Randy was fighting with for a spot on the team walked by. Cy dropped Randy quicker than a crow dropped a twig he’d thought was a fat worm. “Hey, Yardley. Is anyone representing you?”
“Too bad, kid. You had a shot,” Evan said. “That is, until you and Gemma got back together.”
Someone gasped behind Randy. He turned to see Gemma running down the hall, flip-flops snapping on the linoleum.
She’d heard.
Randy’s heart twisted and wrung. He had to convince her that she wasn’t the reason he’d tanked today. Now. Before she had the chance to embrace the idea. Again.
He shoved his bag toward Evan, intending to sprint after her.
His bag dropped to the floor. Evan’s hand tugged on Randy’s arm instead. “This is one of those moments where you need to think about your future.”
“Gemma is my future.” Randy took two steps after her and nearly ran over Lindsey darting out of the crowd to greet him.
“Dad says this is a waste of his time. He wants to take the next flight back.”
Randy bit back a curse.
“Is this your family?” Evan asked, greeting them with a smooth smile.
“Oh. My. God.” Lindsey pointed at Evan. “You’re that guy from all the commercials.” She looked at their father and said reverently, “Dad, you use his deodorant.”
“A real star,” his mother breathed, eyes wide in wonder.
Even Randy’s dad seemed impressed. His arms weren’t as tightly crossed. His frown lines weren’t as deeply pronounced.
At any moment, Randy expected his sister to rush Evan and smell his pits.
Their backwoods reaction to Evan probably cost Randy the man’s endorsement with Trent. Without it, Randy stood little chance to make the final roster.
The realization should have been freeing. He and Gemma could move on without conditions on their future. No pressure to perform. No excited pulse in his veins before a game. No feeling of power and achievement when he dunked over a defender.
He’d find that thrill elsewhere. Playing video games. Sitting in traffic on the 405. Visiting the dentist.
Double hell. He didn’t want this ride to be over. He wanted it all. Superstardom and the girl.
Evan stared at Randy’s father thoughtfully. “Mr. Farrell, you must be proud of your son.”
Matt’s chin jutted out, but he remained silent.
That silence burrowed beneath Randy’s skin like an angry tick.
“We’re so very proud.” Tessa stopped staring at Evan long enough to turn and beam at her son. She’d always tried to balance Dad’s half-empty outlook with her half-full one.
“I believe I read in Randy’s press release that he grew up on a farm.” Evan had class. Randy gave him points for not snubbing his family.
“We have one hundred and fifty acres.” Again, his mother. Again, that star-struck glaze to her eyes. “It’s been in Matt’s family for six generations.”
“And Randy would be the seventh? If he goes back to the farm, that is,” Evan murmured, causing Matt’s frown to deepen. Evan turned to Randy. “Can I talk to you a minute? Alone?”
Randy shrugged, still smarting from his father’s snub and the realization that his love of basketball was stronger than he’d suspected. Hell of a time to figure that out.
“I was wrong,” Evan said once they were farther down the hallway. “Gemma isn’t your problem. It’s your dad. He’s sucked all the bad-ass ju-ju from your game. Send him back to whatever flyover state he came from.”
“Evan—”
“I’m serious. My dad…” Evan seemed upset. Angry even. “I’m not going there. Let’s just say that if you’re trying to make your father proud, if you need to hear him say the words, it’s a lost cause. You have to play the game for yourself. You have to love the game so much, you’d die without it.” Evan spun away.
Leaving Randy jostled in the hallway, bereft of his two loves—basketball and Gemma.
Chapter Six
“Just tell me you hate the tux,” Cora goaded Trent at the dark and swanky ho
tel bar.
“Cora, the wedding is tomorrow.” Trent sounded like a man with a loosening grip on patience. “After that, we’ll never have to talk about the clothes we were married in again.”
Cora gasped. “You don’t like my dress either.”
“I didn’t say that.” Trent turned to Gemma. “Did I say that?”
Gemma, who’d ruined Randy’s career despite her efforts to the contrary, had enough of the tuxedo controversy. “That’s it.” She tossed back the last of her martini and slid off the bar stool. “You two come with me.”
“Where?” Cora stayed in her seat.
She shook her finger at them. “Would you rather bicker about what you’re wearing until you say your vows? Or solve this now?”
Cora and Trent exchanged looks, then simultaneous shrugs. They stood and followed Gemma downstairs to the bridal shop. They were lucky. There were no other clients.
Gemma explained the situation to the pair of sales clerks, a man and a woman. “These two are getting married tomorrow night. They aren’t happy with their choice of attire. Put them each in a dressing room and bring them some options.”
Cora and Trent both said, “But—”
“But nothing,” Gemma snapped. “You two love each other and it’s not as if your love gets in the way of each other’s work performance.” Her voice suddenly lost its gusto. “You’re getting married. People get married in bathing suits, ski pants, and—” Her gaze fell on a white bejeweled jump suit on a mannequin. “—Elvis costumes. You shouldn’t worry about what you’re wearing. If I knew I was right for Randy, I’d marry him in a Tinkerbell dress and army boots.” She swallowed and allowed her frustration with her failed relationship to cut into her voice, slicing her words into sharp, heart-achy pieces. “Now, try something else on or I will call this wedding off!”
The bride and groom were silent for about five seconds.
And then Cora said in a small voice, “Okay.” She followed the female clerk into a dressing room.
After a moment, Trent trailed after the male clerk into the other dressing room.
Gemma sat in a chair in the corner, cradling her head in her hands. One night. She’d backslid one night and Randy’s promising career was at risk.
Her phone beeped with a new message. She knew it was from Randy. He’d been calling and texting since she’d overheard Evan and his agent accusing her of negatively impacting Randy’s game. She’d been avoiding him for hours. Why prolong the end?
She texted him: We gave it our best shot.
He replied back almost immediately: You haven’t seen my best shot. What are you doing? Can we talk?
Gemma sighed, watching the clerks choose clothing that neither bride nor groom would ever agree to. Her only hope was that Trent and Cora would come to their senses in a forced cool-down period.
She responded: I’m helping the bride and groom pick out new clothes.
Her gaze returned to the Elvis costume and the dress on the mannequin next to it, which looked like a white version of the black dress made famous by Morticia from the Adams Family. It was a form-fitting gown with a simple, short train; white fabric falling from snug sleeves.
She sat bolt upright, consumed by a very brave, ornery, Dooley Rule-like idea. Her father had been unorthodox in his methods— stranding spoiled stars on deserted islands before Survivor became popular, setting fire to wealthy housewives’ material possessions, commanding actors who’d lost their confidence to strip in bus stations and recite their lines. But every exercise and every firm word had been administered out of caring for his clients. His brand of tough love worked.
Cora and Trent were two of her favorite people on the planet and they needed a kick in the ass.
But this…
Gemma’s gaze drifted back to the Elvis costume.
Cora would be ticked off. Trent would be livid.
But ultimately, they’d have to realize they were meant for each other no matter what clothes they were married in.
She called the clerks over, told them what to do, and gave them each a hundred dollar bill—all the gambling money she’d brought. They undressed the mannequins, picked out more traditional back-up options, and went to their designated dressing rooms.
They returned a short time later with Trent and Cora’s clothes, and Cora’s purse, hidden beneath the rejected bridal attire. They held out the bundles for Gemma to take.
She hesitated.
Her chest felt like a Sumo wrestler was using it as a flotation device, forcing her under choppy waters. Cora would kill her for doing this. They’d become close this past year. Gemma treasured their relationship. This gambit could be the last straw for her at the Foundation—pelting her client with Ho-Hos, hosing down another. And now she was stranding her half-sister and her fiancé in Morticia and Elvis costumes.
She’d definitely be fired for this.
But it’d be worth it if they realized how stupid their arguments over clothing were.
Drawing a deep breath, Gemma took the bride and groom’s clothes, their wallets and cell phones, and left.
“I was hoping to find you here.” Being taller than most people in the lobby of the Aria hotel, Randy had spotted Gemma leaving the bridal shop with an armful of clothes.
“You’re here?” Gemma blinked up at him and shifted the pile of clothing in her arms. “Wait a minute. Why aren’t you at some gym shooting? Tomorrow’s the last game of summer league. You need to go out strong.”
“I already made a statement.” He wanted to sweep her into his arms in a much-needed hug, but he was hyper-aware of his parents and sister trailing behind him, and the way Gemma had run away earlier. “I want you to meet my family.” He stepped to one side and introduced them.
Gemma cast a glance over her shoulder, back toward the bridal shop. She shifted the pile of clothing, offering a hand to shake. “When I imagined meeting you, I didn’t picture it being in the midst of a wedding crisis.” She complemented Lindsey on her hot pink, sparkly I ♥ Vegas T-shirt. “Can we continue this conversation in a restaurant? I’m starving.” There was a desperate note in her voice, accented by another furtive glance over her shoulder.
The cold breath of apprehension whispered across the back of his neck. “Gemma?”
“Excuse me, miss.” A security guard appeared at Gemma’s side. “Did you pay for those clothes?”
“These? These are…” She looked back into the bridal boutique, then blurted. “I need to tell you all about them over by the watch store. I may have inadvertently taken…” She grabbed the security guard by the arm and pulled him away from the bridal shop. Randy and his family followed in her wake.
The security guard studied her suspiciously. “You’re going to have to come with me, miss.” He gestured to a hallway on the other side of the lobby.
Surprisingly, Gemma hurried to follow him.
“She didn’t steal anything.” Randy recognized Trent’s polo shirt and the zebra print dress Cora had worn at the game earlier. “And look at those shoes. They’ve been worn.”
“Shut up,” Gemma said, pressing on. “None of these strangers were with me when all of this occurred. You know what? I think I might have a problem.” Her cell phone rang. She ignored it.
“Randy, what’s going on?” His mother, unused to the ways of the Rules, was concerned.
“Is this what your life has become? Dating shoplifters? Is that the reason for your poor performance at the game today?” The scorn in his father’s voice was palpable. “Your mother blamed me.”
Randy winced. “Not now, Dad.”
“If not now, when?” Matt grumbled. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s time to face reality and come home?”
“I think you’ve told him enough.” Gemma’s dark eyes blazed. “Rather than tell him he’s not good enough, maybe you should tell him—”<
br />
“Gemma, not now.” Randy appreciated her defense, but this was his fight.
“All of you will come with me.” The security guard keyed open a side door and gestured they proceed him.
Gemma hesitated, seeming to weigh the merits of defending Randy to his father against her desire to get away from the bridal shop. The need to escape won.
It took several minutes and a phone call to the bridal boutique to straighten things out. Upon hearing Gemma’s story, Matt’s disapproval became a tangible cloud over all their heads. Mindful of his temper, Lindsey and his mother applauded Gemma’s efforts in muted tones.
Randy wished Gemma would take a chance like that on him. Sans Elvis costume.
“I’m sure my sister and her fiancé have straightened things out,” Gemma said in her faux-bright voice, leading them back into the lobby. Randy could tell by the crease in her brow that Gemma wasn’t sure of anything. Her phone had stopped ringing after the third call.
“Just so we’re clear,” Randy’s dad said to Gemma. “I don’t approve of you.”
“Luckily, I don’t need your approval, Mr. Farrell.” Gemma faced Matt with a stubborn tilt to her chin. “But I’d hope you’d give your approval to your son, whether he continues his basketball career or not.”
Tessa wrung her hands. “Now Matt…”
Something inside Randy snapped. “Dad, Gemma doesn’t need your approval. And neither do I. I work hard at what I do, whether it’s playing or coaching. And yes, I meet several people who are unorthodox in their behavior, appearance, and lifestyle. But you taught me to judge people by what’s in their heart.” Randy tossed his hands. “When did you stop doing that?”
His mother blanched. His sister’s mouth hung open. His father crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.
“I’m going to rock my last NBA game and I’m going to marry Gemma. You might want to think about that before you aim all your negativity toward my dreams or her.” He drew a deep breath.
“Hold up.” Gemma’s cheeks rivaled the color of a tomato. “If that was a proposal…if you’re doing this to…” She hitched Cora and Trent’s clothing higher in her arms. “Why do you always leap ahead?”