Any Way You Want It

by Farrah Rochon

  Chapter Eight

  Dale stood with his arms crossed, his feet braced apart, a whistle perched on the edge of his lips. His head moved from left to right and back again as he watched Kendrick run 4 x 4 sprints across the trampled grass.

  “You look like a football coach.”

  Dale’s head whipped around. Ian stood just a few yards behind him. He’d been thinking so much about the dilemma he faced with Kendrick’s cheating that he hadn’t even heard his friend walk up.

  Dale noticed the tension around Ian’s mouth, and didn’t have to ask what brought him here.

  He did anyway.

  “Charlie?”

  Ian nodded. “The director at the hospice facility called them about an hour ago.”

  Dale dropped his head. “Shit,” he whispered. “Give me a minute to wrap up.”

  “No.” Ian shook his head. “Sam asked us not to come.”

  “And we’re going to listen to him?” Dale asked.

  “I think he’s good,” Ian said. “His mom is there, and his sister is on her way down from Atlanta.”

  “I guess they’re honoring Charlie’s wish and not holding a funeral?” Dale asked.

  “Yeah. No funeral, no memorial.” Ian hunched his shoulders. “It’s what he wanted.” Ian gestured his chin toward Kendrick. “How are things going here?”

  “Don’t ask,” Dale said.

  “From the looks of it he seems fast, especially for a guy his size.” A smile hitched up the corner of his mouth. “Reminds me of you during your time on the field.”

  “Yeah, he reminds me of me, too,” Dale said. “In more ways than one.”

  “I need to get going. I have to swing by Kiera’s Catering. Sonny had the crew over there whip up some dinner for Sam’s family.”

  “That girlfriend—I’m sorry, that wife—of yours is something special, man.”

  “She’s cute, too,” Ian said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Dale figured his friend was struggling to hold it together in the same way that he was with the news of Charlie passing.

  “I’ll shoot Sam a text in a little bit, just to make sure he’s doing okay,” Dale said. He put a hand out for Ian. “Thanks for coming over to tell me.”

  Ian caught his hand and pulled him in for a one-arm hug. He gestured to the whistle hanging from a string around Dale’s neck.

  “Put a Maplesville Mustang ball cap on your head and you’re one of the coaches,” Ian said. He squeezed his hand. “You can do this, Dale. You’re practically doing it right now.”

  Once Ian left, Dale turned back to Kendrick, who’d finished his sprints and was now running through a four-corners drill, shuffling from one orange cone to another. Dale showed him how to keep his form, even when bending to touch the top of the cones, then instructed him to start again from the beginning.

  When he caught Lowell Robertson’s espresso-brown Mercedes out of the corner of his eye, Dale’s stomach began to churn. He peered slightly over his shoulder, watching the car pull up to the edge of the open field where they were practicing.

  His eyes fell shut as his thoughts went back and forth, toiling over just what he should do about Kendrick’s cheating. He mentally cursed the kid for allowing him to find out. Dale would have been better off never knowing.

  But Kendrick wouldn’t be better off. That was the issue.

  And now that Dale knew about it, he had to speak up. He couldn’t allow what had happened to him to happen to this kid.

  “How’s it going out here?” Lowell greeted, clamping his palm on Dale’s shoulder.

  “He’s looking good. We just ran through conditioning drills, and his reaction time has improved by point eight seconds.”

  Kendrick ran over to them. “My 40-yard dash was 4.89,” he said. “That’s better than that guy from Southern Cal did at the NFL combine.”

  A huge smile spread across Lowell Robertson’s face. “Speaking of Southern Cal,” he said. “I just got off the phone with the defensive coordinator there. He’s coming down to interview for a job with Mississippi State, and he wants to meet with you.”

  Dale’s head jerked back. “It’s a little early for him to talk to recruiters, isn’t it?”

  “Not in my book,” Lowell said.

  “What about his college entrance exams? He’ll need to get those behind him before he can start talking to recruiters.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Lowell said. “I’ve got that covered.” He pointed at Kendrick. “Remind me to get the photo from that kid so I can upload it to the testing center’s site.” He huffed out a laugh, returning his attention to Dale. “They’re getting pretty strict with this test security.”

  Dale just stood there, dumbfounded. Dumbfounded and disgusted.

  “So you know about his cheating,” he said to Kendrick’s father.

  Kendrick let out a sigh. “Man, would you get off of this? I told you not to worry about it.”

  “My son is right,” Lowell said, his earlier smile nowhere to be seen. “It’s none of your business. I hired you to train him on the football field. That’s it.”

  Dale shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Back when he was getting everything handed to him in high school and college, his biggest fear was having his parents or Vanessa find out about it. Even now, years later, he was ashamed to admit to both his family and his friends that he’d allowed others to cheat for him in school.

  Not only did Lowell Robertson know about it, but he was aiding in his own son’s cheating.

  Dale turned to Kendrick.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Dale cautioned. “Don’t let people use you, because that’s what this is, Kendrick. They’re using you on the football field, but they don’t give a shit about you.”

  “That’s enough!” Lowell said.

  “Even your own damn father doesn’t give a shit about you,” Dale continued. “Paying someone to take a test for you isn’t looking out for you, and it’s not love. It’s using you to get what he wants.”

  “Get the hell away from my son,” Robertson said, stepping in front of Kendrick. “And you can forget about me investing in your contractor business.”

  Dale folded his arms over his chest. “If that means your son will actually get an education instead of spending the next four years being someone’s workhorse on the football field, then it’s worth it.”

  Hell, he wasn’t going to take Robertson’s money anyway. Dale had already decided that starting his own general contractor business wasn’t part of the future he saw for himself.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lowell said. He pointed at Dale. “If you say anything about this test, we’re going to deny it, and we’re going to make sure you don’t get near a football field again.”

  “You can take your threat and shove it up your ass,” Dale said.

  The look on Lowell’s face could freeze boiling water, but Dale didn’t give a shit. He couldn’t believe he’d been worried about whether he should tell the man about his son’s cheating. Not only did Robertson know about it, he’d sanctioned it.

  Dale ran both hands down his face, pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly. He stood there for a full ten minutes after Kendrick and Lowell left, contemplating what his next step should be. The odds that the coaching staff at Magnolia Bend High School knew nothing about Kendrick’s cheating were slim. He wouldn’t be surprised if the coaches and Lowell were working together.

  “Damn, this day sucks,” he whispered.

  Between learning of Charlie’s passing and Lowell Robertson’s complicity in his own son’s cheating, Dale didn’t know whether he wanted to punch a wall or drink an entire bottle of whiskey.

  No, what he really wanted to do was drive to Lakeshore Refinery, bust through the doors of the lab department, toss Nyree over his shoulder caveman style and carry her off to bed. If anything could get his mind off his troubles, it was being with Nyree. Over the past two weeks, when he wasn’t worki
ng at the Whitmer House, he was with her in bed. Or in the shower. Or on her massage table.

  But it was about more than the sex. So much more. Just holding her hand while they watched television was enough to put his mind at ease and warm him from the inside out.

  Dale smiled to himself.

  It didn’t take a college degree to figure out that he was in love with her. He never thought he could fall for someone so damn fast, but there was no denying it. He’d fallen hard.

  He’d fallen so hard that he was ready to do whatever he had to do to convince her that he was worthy of her.

  He sobered as he accepted another truth. The truth that he was also prepared to lose her. Because the one thing that meant even more to him than having Nyree for himself was making sure she got to see her dream come true. And in order to make that happen, he would have to do the one thing she’d told him she didn’t want to do.

  Cursing under his breath, he picked up the orange cones and tossed them in the bed of his truck. Then he slid behind the wheel, turned over the ignition and headed west toward St. Pierre.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nyree trudged up the stairs to her apartment, cursing her supervisors for asking her to cover yet another shift at the last minute. What was the point of saving up so many of her vacation days if the lab could call her in at the drop of a hat?

  “They’d better not call again,” Nyree said as she opened her door and walked into her bare apartment. Most of her things had been moved into the Whitmer House, but Nyree knew better than to go there right now. She wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, not with the way Dale had been working around the clock to get the house ready.

  She felt guilty not being there right alongside him, but it couldn’t be helped. She wasn’t in a position to ignore the lab when they called. She needed her day job to help pay the mortgage on the Whitmer House until her product line started turning a profit. Reesa, Cheyenne and Amara were all paying her rent, but she’d charged them the bare minimum. After all, her friends didn’t have a second income. She did.

  And as much as she bellyached about the lab, Nyree recognized how blessed she was to have her job and to be on the verge of opening her own business.

  Still, right then, she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep. She’d have to settle for two. She’d promised Dale she would be at the house no later than 9:00 a.m. They had less than a week to go before Any Way You Want It’s grand opening.

  “Stop fooling yourself,” Nyree said as she pulled on an oversized t-shirt and curled up on her sofa. She tugged the afghan her grandmother had crocheted for her years ago up to her chin and fought back her disappointment over the reality she’d been forced to accept.

  The house wouldn’t be ready by this coming Saturday.

  They’d been lucky to discover that they wouldn’t have to change out all of the plumbing. One of Dale’s coworkers from Harding Construction came over a couple of days earlier to run a test, and was able to pinpoint the weak spot. It had only taken them one day to fix it and repair the wall. But it was a day they didn’t have to spare.

  While she lay in bed with Dale the morning before, he’d given her his honest take. They would need a miracle in order to finish the house on time. She’d prayed for one, but Nyree wasn’t expecting any miracles.

  And she only had herself to blame.

  If she had swallowed her pride and gone to Desmond and Lance, there would have been a chance that they could complete the renovations in time for the grand opening she’d planned, but Nyree refused to give Desmond the pleasure of saying ‘I told you so’ or looking at her with that smug smile.

  “This stubborn pride will be the death of you,” Nyree whispered.

  Thankfully, according to Dale, the house should be completed by next Tuesday, a week from today. That would give them time to have everything in place for the wedding party Amara had booked, so at least her friends’ businesses wouldn’t suffer because of Nyree’s hardheadedness.

  But she wouldn’t be able to honor her Aunt Hazel on her birthday.

  The realization gutted her. Without the money her aunt had left her, Nyree wouldn’t have been able to afford the down payment on the Whitmer House and there would be no Any Way You Want It Salon and Spa.

  “Maybe there’s still a chance,” Nyree said.

  Ignoring the bitter taste that instantly formed on her tongue at the thought of what she was about to do, Nyree jumped up from the sofa and raced over to the counter where she’d left her phone to charge. She brought up Desmond’s number, but hesitated before pressing the touchscreen.

  Nyree slumped against the kitchen counter.

  “What’s the point? It’s too late now.”

  And it wasn’t as if she expected them to walk off in the middle of a job anyway. It was different a couple of months ago, when she’d told Desmond about needing to push up the timetable for the work on the Whitmer House. He and Lance had just finished a job and hadn’t yet started on the next one.

  Nyree thought about Lance’s visit a few weeks earlier. If she hadn’t been so damn stubborn.

  “You made your own bed with this one,” she said.

  Her phone chimed with an incoming text. She looked at the message from Dale and laughed.

  You’d better be sleeping. Meet me at the house when you wake up.

  Just as she set the phone down, another text message came through.

  Don’t hate me for being the bad guy. I did what I had to do.

  “What?” Nyree said. What in the heck was he talking about?

  She called him, but the phone went straight to voicemail.

  Well, she could forget sleep, not with the dozen questions swirling around her head after that text message.

  Nyree changed into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and in less than five minutes, was on her way to Maplesville. When she turned onto Silver Oak Drive, she slowly let her foot off the gas pedal as she drew nearer to Whitmer House.

  “What the hell?” Nyree murmured.

  The place was abuzz with activity. Cheyenne and Amara were in the front yard, planting flower bulbs along the brick-laid walkway leading to the front door. A guy Nyree didn’t recognize stood on the colonnade with a pressure washer, cleaning the black and green mold from one of the columns. She could see the stark difference between those he’d cleaned already and those still left to be pressure washed.

  Nyree stomped on the brakes when she caught sight of Desmond and Lance carrying her Aunt Hazel’s salon chair from the back of a trailer.

  “What in the hell?”

  She parked on the curb behind a shiny black-and-chrome motorcycle.

  “Hey,” Cheyenne said as Nyree climbed out of her SUV. “Didn’t you just get off work? You should be sleeping.”

  “What are you guys doing here?” Nyree asked.

  “What does it look like?” Lance called as he and Desmond passed by with the chair.

  Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “Your brother is an ass.”

  “Yet you’re seeing him, aren’t you?” Nyree asked.

  Cheyenne shrugged. “He’s a good lay. But he’s still an ass.”

  Nyree cupped her palms over her ears. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Oh, grow up,” Cheyenne said.

  Nyree ignored her. She turned to Amara. “What are you all doing here?” she asked again.

  Amara stood and dusted the dirt off her hands. “This is our business too,” her friend said. “We never should have let you take on all of this by yourself.”

  “You just make it so damn easy to leave it up to you,” Cheyenne said. “Because you always handle everything.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to,” Amara said. “Reesa had a couple of early clients, but she’ll be here by the afternoon. We’re going to get this house ready to open by this weekend, and it’s going to be as amazing as we all envisioned when we used to sit around Hazel’s shop all those years ago.”

  Nyree was in danger of choking
on the emotion welling up in her throat.

  “I would hug you two right now if you both weren’t so filthy,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  “You’d better get down here in the dirt with us,” Cheyenne said. “You don’t want the wrath of Dale the Cute Ass Construction Worker coming down on your head.”

  “Is that my official title?”

  Nyree turned at the sound of the deep voice just behind her.

  “You did this?” she asked him.

  Dale nodded. He tipped his head, motioning for her to follow him. They walked over to the huge oak tree that shaded the right side of the front lawn.

  Nyree folded her arms across her chest. “So, you went behind my back and got my brothers to help out?”

  “Don’t ask me to apologize for it, because I won’t,” he said, matching her pose.

  He looked a lot more intimidating than she probably did, so she straightened her shoulders. “Even after I specifically told you that I didn’t want them involved?” she asked.

  “You also told me that you wanted this house done by the fourth. You couldn’t have it both ways.”

  “So you took it upon yourself to choose for me? Is that it?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re the one who said that being the bad guy is sometimes a good thing. Well, I decided this was one of those times.” His voice was heavy with resolve. “Even if it means losing you.”

  Tension thickened the air as they stood there staring at each other.

  It finally broke when Nyree threw her arms around him and said, “Just shut up and kiss me.”

  She brought her hands up to his face and tugged his head down to meet her lips. Dale caressed her back before bringing his palms to rest on her hips.

  “I just couldn’t bare the thought of you not opening on your aunt’s birthday,” he whispered against her lips. “I know how much it means to you.”

  “Thank you for refusing to allow my stubbornness to get in the way of it happening. And for going behind my back. Just try not to make a habit of it.”

  “These were desperate times,” he said. “I had to do what I had to do.”

  Nyree tipped her head toward the house. “How did you convince those two to help?”