“I know,” he retorts. But it doesn’t sound like he really does.
“You’re both adults,” I try again. “You make your decisions, he makes his. You both live with the consequences. Hell, Mason, you’ve already had to live with the consequences of his decisions, even though you had nothing to do with them. I think you’ve paid enough.”
“Maybe,” he concedes grudgingly. He turns to face me, but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “But it was only for a year. I’m back on my feet now.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Derek’s still fucked. His life is still fucked.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you drove him to drink, Mason. It’s not your fault he’s a drunk.”
He looks at me sharply, and I realize my blunt words have upset him. I resist the urge to apologize.
“He thinks it is,” he bites out. “And hell, in a way, maybe he has a point. Growing up, I was always the golden child in the household. I showed a lot of athletic ability from an early age, so my parents were always encouraging that. Signing me up for football camps and driving me around to stuff. Going to my games when I was playing in the youth leagues. I think Derek felt like he got kind of left in the dust.”
Mason runs a hand tiredly through his hair and looks at me. “Derek never really found his thing in school, you know? He was kind of a slacker academically. He liked sports well enough, but he didn’t make any teams. Didn’t do band, or theater, or any shit like that.” He shrugs. “He’s three years older than me, but in school, instead of people asking me if I was Derek’s brother, they used to ask him if he was mine. Used to piss him the fuck off. Derek used to beat me up for that. Until I got big enough that he couldn’t anymore. When I was in tenth grade, he tried it for the last time, and I pounded the shit out of him instead.” Mason laughs then, but it’s completely without humor. “He didn’t even tell my parents I was the one who did it to him. He was too embarrassed that his little brother could beat him up. He told them he got in a fight with another senior.”
Mason puts both hands on the counter and leans against it. “After that, things just kind of started going downhill for him. He was drinking like a fish, not caring whether my parents even knew it or not. Once he graduated high school, he just kept drinking. No attempt to find a job or move on with his life. Eventually, my parents decided they had to kick him out of the house. Hoping he’d clean up his act, I guess.” Mason snorts. “Yeah, that went well.”
“Wow.” This is rough stuff. But still, none of it is Mason’s fault. I mean, I’m sure at the time it must have sucked for Derek to be overshadowed like that by his little brother. But Derek is three years older than Mason, which means he’s thirty-one years old. Surely by now Derek must realize Mason isn’t the cause of all his problems?
“I think he kind of liked it when I got cut from the Rockets last year.” Mason says acidly. He’s staring into space, almost as though he’s talking to himself. “Like I was the one who finally got the shit end of the stick, for once.”
“Even though it was for something you didn’t even do?” Any sympathy I was starting to develop for Mason’s brother instantly evaporates into anger. “That’s horrible!”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But, hell. Maybe if I was Derek, I’d feel the same way. Who knows?”
“It’s incredibly unfair!” I cry. “And now everyone thinks you’re an alcoholic, because you were being a decent brother and going to visit him in rehab!” Then suddenly, my mind starts to form an idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.
“You know, Mason,” I say slowly, “you don’t have to live with the stain of this mistake anymore. You’re back in the spotlight now. And I’m in a position to help.”
“What do you mean?” he frowns.
“We could break the real story. You and me, together. We could get the records from the clinic. Interview the doctors there. Have them show that it was all a mistake. You could clear your name, Mason!” I’m getting excited now. “This could totally work! I bet you I could convince my boss to run the story! We can make it airtight, so it’s absolutely clear it was your brother there, and not you! This could totally restore your reputation!”
But instead of liking the idea, Mason just rolls his eyes at me. “You’re naive,” he laughs bitterly. “Besides, even if it did work — which I don’t think it would — I don’t want Derek’s name dragged through the mud. Which it would have to be, wouldn’t it? In order to tell people that I wasn’t in rehab, we’d have to tell them who was. And then he’d be in the spotlight. And believe me, he’s in no shape to have that kind of media scrutiny focused on him.”
“But Mason,” I protest in dismay. “Don’t you want to clear your name?”
“Anna, will you stop trying to fix my shit for me?” he explodes. “I didn’t ask you to. Just butt the fuck out of my business, okay?”
I’m stung. And more than that, I’m incredulous. His words are so ridiculous that I can’t help but burst into laughter.
“You didn’t ask me to fix your shit for you?” I repeat in amazement. “Are you kidding me, Mason? The whole reason I’m here in your house right now is that you asked me to fix your shit for you! Are you forgetting that?”
“You’re getting paid,” he snarls, rounding on me. “Besides, you’re getting something out of it, too.”
“Yes, I’m getting paid!” I shout. I’m so angry now my voice is starting to shake. “But I don’t need this, Mason, and I don’t need you. Sure, my career is going a little slower than I’d like. But don’t even pretend it’s the same thing! Without me, you wouldn’t even be on the Rockets right now! And I get that you don’t want me in your business, but you know what? It’s a little hard to know where to draw the line, when out in public I’m pretending to be your fiancée all day long, and in private, we’re doing… whatever the fuck this is!”
I sweep my hands around the room, but I mean a hell of a lot more than this dinner. And he knows it.
Mason goes rigid, muscles tensing. “Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do, Anna,” he growls.
“Just because we’re…”
I’m absolutely speechless.
When I take enough deep breaths to compose myself, I realize I’m trembling with anger.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Mason,” I say, biting off every word. “And you know what? I think we’re done here.”
I reach over to grab my bag from the counter and sling it over my shoulder.
“Anna…” he begins, but I stop him.
“No!” I shake my head furiously, willing the tears not to come. “The photographers aren’t out there anymore, Mason,” I spit out, waving my hand toward the front of his house. “There’s absolutely no reason for me to be here. From now on, we’ll go strictly by the terms of the contract.” I force my voice to turn cold, professional. “That way, we’ll never have to have a misunderstanding like this again.”
I turn and practically run to the front door. Mason calls my name, but I ignore him, yanking at the knob and almost stumbling over the threshold in my haste to get outside. I fling myself into my car, jam my keys into the ignition, and drive three blocks before pulling over to the side of the road.
Where I promptly burst into angry, bitter tears.
23
Anna
Harriet’s at band practice when I get home. I’ve never been more thankful to be alone in my life. I run into my bedroom, throw myself down on my bed, and cry my heart out like I haven’t done since I was a little girl.
I only stop when I’m so exhausted that I just end up running out of steam. I roll over and lie on my back, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. I can’t ever remember crying like this over a boy before. Not even when I was sixteen and my first boyfriend, Bernie Bensen, broke my heart. What have I gotten myself into that I can be so upset Mason and I had a fight? You’d think we were actually engaged, and he’d told me the wedding was off.
Time passes, but I
don’t know how much. It starts to get dark. I keep staring at the ceiling. My stomach begins growling, and I remember I haven’t had any dinner. Dully, I sit up and look at the clock. It’s after nine.
I should really eat something, or hunger will wake me in the night.
I stand and trudge out to the kitchen to look for something that won’t take too much effort. While I’m rooting around in the fridge, the front door opens. Harriet’s home.
“Hey, roomie!” she calls out.
“In here,” I say, and then grimace, because I’m sure I must look like hell. There’s no way Harriet won’t notice I’ve been crying. When she comes into the kitchen, the look on her face tells me I look even worse than I thought.
“Holy shit, what’s wrong?” she exclaims. “Did someone die? Oh, my God, Anna, is it your dad?”
“What? No, no! Nothing like that.”
“Thank God,” she breathes. Harriet knows my dad, and she knows all about his ALS, and what his prognosis is. “What happened then? You look like you got run over by a truck.”
“I did,” I say miserably. “A truck named Mason Robichaud.”
“Is this the point where I get to say, ‘I told you so’?” Harriet asks.
We’re sitting on the couch, a bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of us. Each of us is holding a glass. I’m stuffing myself with potato chips, the dinner of champions.
“No,” I retort. “Besides, when did you ever predict this was going to happen?”
“At the beginning. Remember, I told you not to be alone with him.”
“That wasn’t practical,” I protest, even though that’s exactly what I told Mason I was going to do from now on, starting tonight.
“Wasn’t practical?” Harriet says knowingly. “Or you just didn’t want to do it?”
I heave a deep sigh. “I don’t even know anymore,” I admit.
“So, you haven’t exactly told me this in so many words,” she begins. “But you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
I don’t say anything, but I don’t have to.
“I mean, I get it,” she continues. “He’s hot. But Anna, he’s a slut. Like probably all pro football players are.”
“He’s not!” I protest. “He isn’t sleeping with anyone else. He told me so.”
“And you believe him?” Harriet’s looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
Harriet’s met Mason a few times now, when he’s come to pick me up for one of our high-profile dates. Judging by the way she ignores him, I don’t think she’s changed her opinion of him much since the first time.
“Yes. I do believe him,” I say firmly. Maybe I am as crazy as Harriet seems to think I am, but I have no reason not to trust Mason on that front. “Besides, that’s not what we fought about anyway. We fought because he didn’t want me butting into his personal life.”
“And you’re upset because you forgot for a second that you’re not really his girlfriend,” Harriet finishes for me. “Don’t give me that look,” she says when I frown and start to shake my head. “You’ve been playing the part so well, you forgot to keep the boundaries clear.”
“That’s not what this is,” I say stubbornly.
“Well, then, why don’t you explain what it is?” she says, eyeing me. “Because that’s sure as hell what it looks like to me.”
I’m silent.
Because of course she’s right. Damn her.
“You know,” Harriet muses, “obviously, I don’t get the fascination with sports. But I can definitely understand being starstruck. Hell, every time I see some hot drummer, I get this shivery, yummy feeling and I fantasize about jumping his bones.” She takes a sip of wine. “So, you’re a sports junkie. Of course you’re gonna want to bone a hot linebacker.” She shrugs. “But you got too caught up in this little fantasy you signed on to. It sucks, but it is what it is.”
Thankfully, Harriet doesn’t make me admit out loud that she’s nailed it.
“So, what do I do now?” I finally ask, a note of desperation creeping into my voice. “I mean, I still have like ten months left on this contract. How am I ever going to last that long?”
“It’s simple,” Harriet says flatly. “You’re gonna have to keep it totally, one-hundred percent professional from here on out. No meeting Mason except in public. Where there are always other people around. Do the absolute bare minimum to fulfill the terms of the contract, nothing more.” She gives me hard look. “And focus on taking advantage of what this can do for your career. Not his. I mean, that was the whole idea behind this, right? He uses you. You use him. Just don’t let yourself forget that anymore. You’re both only in it for yourselves.”
I nod along with her words, because they make sense. Even though it makes my stomach hurt to hear it laid out like that.
It’s true. That’s all it is. We’re just using each other. That was the deal from the beginning.
I should have known Mason wouldn’t have any trouble keeping business and pleasure separate. I was a fool to think I could do the same. I just let my feelings get in the way. It’s my own fault.
But that stops now.
A little later, while I’m getting ready for bed, I get a text from Mason.
Anna, I’m sorry. I overreacted. Can I see you? I’d like to talk about this.
For a second, I almost break down and agree to meet.
No. You already got hurt once. If you let it happen again, you’re even a bigger fool.
I stare down at the screen. Seconds pass. Then, a minute.
Finally, I type my response.
I’ll be in the stands Saturday at the game.
Good luck, Mason.
24
Mason
It’s been a few days since Anna and I had our argument and she stormed out of my place. I’m sitting on my couch in my living room, with the TV on, but I’m barely paying attention to it. Whatever is on is only background noise to my thoughts.
“Fuck, Anna,” I growl to myself, glaring down at my phone screen, which shows about a dozen texts from me with no reply from her. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”
I haven't seen her at all, and it’s starting to drive me goddamn crazy. I did manage to catch her on a phone call for a few seconds yesterday. But when I told her I was just calling to chat, she suddenly had something important to do and hung up.
I briefly consider going over to her house and waiting for her to show up. Or going to her job and camping out in the lobby.
But then I sigh and lean back against the back of the couch, dropping the phone next to me.
“I can't force her to see me,” I mutter to myself, then have to laugh at how pathetic it is that I’m talking to myself.
What’s happened to me? I haven’t even known Anna for two months. How can the idea of being without her for so long leave me this… undone? I got used to boredom and uncertainty in my time out of the pro circuit, but damn, this feels a million times worse.
Somehow, I make it to Saturday, and the first home game of the season. We’re playing against the Lions, and I’m more nervous than I’ve been for a game in a while. It’s not because of the football, though. It’s because Anna will be at the game today, and it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since our fight. She’ll be meeting my parents, too, who flew in for the weekend to see me play. I got them all seats together, so the public could see Mason Robichaud’s gorgeous new fiancée with his adoring parents. The all-American family.
What a joke.
My parents know about Anna. I couldn’t see not telling them that our relationship is fake. I explained to them that our agreement was part of the conditions of me getting signed to the Rockets. They’re grateful to her for agreeing to it. So, the meeting should go fine, and under other circumstances, I wouldn’t be sweating it. But since I probably won’t have a lot of time to talk to Anna and apologize before the game starts, I’m feeling antsy.
As it turns out, I don’t get time to talk to her alone at all. I do manage
to slip out and greet my parents before the game starts, but Anna doesn’t show up until just a few minutes before kickoff. I’m staring at their seats when she arrives, and it’s a surreal moment when I see her sit down next to my mom and smile her greetings at them. With just the barest flicker of her gaze, I can tell she’s thinking about the cameras that might be on her as she pretends they’ve met before and gives them each a hug instead of shaking their hands.
My heart is still pounding as I force myself to stop looking at them and concentrate on the game.
The Rockets end up beating the Lions twenty-eight to twenty-one. I play for about half the game, and our strong defense is a good part of the reason we end up winning. It’s one of the reasons the Rockets signed me on: I’ve got a well-earned reputation as a defensive lineman, and the coach puts that to good use against the Lions offense. In the last ten minutes of the game, we execute a zone blitz, which is a five-man defensive pressure maneuver that in this case manages to keep the Lions from scoring a final touchdown. When the buzzer sounds, I’m on the field, and my fellow defensive linesmen crowd around each other, yelling, high-fiving each other and doing chest bumps.
I’m fucking pumped as hell when we run off the field into the locker room. It’s a great beginning to the season, both for the team and for me.
After the spate of reporters come and go, getting interviews from the coach and a few high-profile members of the team, a couple of the guys announce a party at one of the team members’ houses tonight. There are lots of sly remarks about how off the chain it’ll be, before Coach Porter comes in and yells at us to remember we’ve got practice at six o’clock Monday morning.
“Any of you fuckers come to practice not ready to give a hundred percent, you’ll have me to answer to,” he bellows.
PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3) Page 47