“You’re still fighting a losing battle with gravity.”
“What makes you think that?” Her voice shook like an unbalanced washing machine.
“I’m still holding you up.”
The too-familiar deep, rich tone of his voice made her want to jump into the nearest bed and drag him with her. Fortunately, his voice was edged with pity and regret, which poured water on her fire.
She backed up and stumbled. He saved her again, this time around her waist. His big hands steadied her before he let go. Standing upright, Rachel smoothed down her skirt and patted at the wrinkles in her suit.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he held back a grin. “You’re a danger to yourself. How you’ve survived this long, I’ll never know.”
“I’m nursing a bum ankle.”
“Bullshit.” He squinted into the sun at her.
Leave it to Derek to call it as he saw it. “Gravity is not my friend.” She didn’t need him to point out her lack of coordination. It’d been the butt of her family’s jokes for as long as she could remember.
“Gravity is your nemesis.” As he kept battling that smile, his gaze traveled the length of her body and lit up with appreciation.
Rachel took a step back, but a few feet couldn’t squelch the sexual chemistry crackling between them. “Thank you.” Let him think she always dressed like this.
“You don’t look like you.”
“Actually, I do. I’ve outgrown my college image.” A bald-faced lie, but what did he know? He hadn’t seen her in five years. Although she felt like an imposter, her power suit acted like Kevlar body armor, effectively disguising the chickenshit female underneath.
“I always liked the way you looked. Natural. No pretenses. Real.” His voice came out soft and low.
Rachel had always liked how he looked too—and still did. She stood up straighter and faked a confidence she didn’t feel, thanks to the suit. “It’s been a long time.”
He stared at the ground and kicked at a small rock with the toe of his shoe. His head lifted, and he met her gaze. “Lots of changes. I suppose you know I haven’t taken professional football by storm.”
“I know.” She’d heard plenty, such as washed-up, a disappointment, lost his nerve, finished. The list went on and on. Sympathy for his situation warred with cynicism regarding his character.
He shrugged, looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t. An awkward silence followed.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said lamely.
“Likewise.” She took a step toward the door. “I need to get inside.”
“See you tomorrow.”
She waved at him breezily as the door shut behind her. Once inside, she hurried to the nearest bathroom and leaned her forehead against the cool tile wall. Closing her eyes, she waited until her heart stopped racing and her nerves had calmed.
She’d been fooling herself. Seeing Derek again had been tougher than she’d imagined and only the beginning. She had an entire season to get through.
Chapter 2—The Runback
A lump of guilt rose in Derek’s throat like bile, acidic and rank. He groaned and buried his head in his hands. Fisting his hands in frustration, he leaned back in his teak lawn chair and stared down the hill and across the field that separated his house from the barn where he kept a couple of horses.
Upon seeing Rachel, the regret and longing had slammed into him, like being blindsided by a linebacker with a grudge. Yet the stranger inhabiting her body hadn’t seemed the least bit enamored of him.
Derek’s future rode on his performance over the next four months. He had a career to resurrect and didn’t need distractions. Rachel working for the Steelheads would definitely distract him. It’d be bad enough if she was in a front-office job, but she was going to be on the field every single day.
“Hey, you need to get more beer.”
Derek jumped, startled. The front legs of his chair slammed onto the deck. Tyler peeked around the frame of the open French doors.
“I’m out?” Derek glared at him.
Tyler shrugged as he dropped into a lawn chair next to his. “Almost. You should pay more attention to important details like how much beer is in your fridge.”
“I’ll make of note of it,” Derek said wryly. “So, the rumor isn’t a rumor.”
“Yeah, I know. Cass told me. How’d you find out?” Tyler’s girlfriend, Cass, had been Rachel’s BFF in college.
“Ran into Rachel as I was leaving the practice facility.”
Tyler snagged Derek’s half-empty beer off the end table. “You did? How’d that go?” With a cocky grin, he propped his feet on the opposite chair. The man loved a good gossip session. He was nosy as hell, even though he denied it.
“About like you’d expect. And take your dirty feet off that chair.”
“I bet you were panting after her like a dog because in the dark recesses of your fucked-up brain, you want her here.” Tyler dropped his big feet on the floor with a clunk. “It’s been years. Both of you are adults. Fucking deal with it.” He sucked down the remainder of Derek’s beer, making a face at how warm it was.
“Easy for you to say.”
“It should be easy for you to say.” Tyler rose to his feet, disappeared inside, and returned with two beers—an expensive microbrew for himself and a can of the cheap crap for his best buddy.
Derek took the beer offered to him and noted the label. “You’re really getting on my nerves.”
“Like I give a shit?”
“You should.”
“Whatever. You still have a thing for her.”
“Fuck you. I never had a thing for her. We were buddies. That’s it.”
A shrewd smile crept across Tyler’s face. Derek’s rat-bastard cousin smelled blood and moved in for the kill. “Then what are you so damn upset about?”
“I’m not. Anyway, it’s not me I’m worried about.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I treated Rachel like crap, and I feel like an ass about it.”
“You were an ass. You should feel like one.”
“This coming from the king of asses?”
Tyler didn’t have the decency to look hurt. “All in a day’s work. You, my friend, are an idiot. I’m just an ass. You turned a lifelong friendship into a weekend of sex and fucked up the whole thing.”
“I thought she was okay with therapy sex. How the hell was I to know she’d do something stupid like fall in love with me?”
“Get over it. It seems she has.”
Derek conceded that point. “I can’t read her anymore. She’s changed.”
“Yeah, so? We all have.”
“Ty, she doesn’t even look like Rachel. You should’ve seen her in her business suit, all cold and professional.”
“No way.”
Derek nodded, distracted by the label on his can of cheap beer. “You brought this crap last time you were here.” Resigned, he popped open the top and took a long swallow. At least it was cold.
Tyler raised the bottle of good stuff to his mouth. He took a long pull and licked his lips in satisfaction.
“That stuff with her dad, too. I’d say she hasn’t forgiven me for that.”
“Either of us, most likely, but what the fuck did she expect?”
“She doesn’t know the whole story, and I’m not telling her.”
“What’s the point? She wouldn’t believe us anyway. Nasty stuff.” Tyler shrugged. He hadn’t told her what they knew about her father, either, so they were on the same page there.
“I wonder what she’s been up to.”
“Ah, my man, I have the scoop on that. Cass said the university let her go after that shit with her dad went down.”
“Guilt by association,” Derek noted.
“Yeah, then she was working for a small Oregon college, and the coach credited her with turning the team around. That’s where HughJack got wind of her, and Hughjack’s a risk-taker and unconventional. Not too many women are hire
d by professional teams to work with the players in a coaching capacity.” HughJack was Hubert Jackson, the Steelheads’ fiery and innovative new coach, known for his risk-taking.
“She deserves it. She’s good. Really good. Always has had an eye for technique and unearthing little details a player needs to change.” Rachel had been hired last minute and one week into training camp after Coach Wright had resigned for personal reasons. Derek wondered if she would have been given the chance if the team hadn’t been desperate.
“I know, and now you’ll be working closely with her.” The ass grinned, obviously enjoying his cousin’s dilemma. “How you gonna handle that?”
“Professionally, of course.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Nice Guy.” Tyler prided himself on being anything but and lived to needle Derek about his squeaky-clean image.
“Being rude, obnoxious, and dumb isn’t in my nature like it is yours.”
“No need to get insulting. You’re no different than me.”
“No different than you?” That almost made him laugh. “I don’t party all night long—well, not anymore. I don’t date random females with a bust size bigger than their IQ or switch girlfriends faster than channels on a remote. I don’t feel entitled just because I have more athletic ability in my little finger than most men have in their entire bodies.”
“You can be humble and boring if you want. I’d rather be an obnoxious braggart.”
“Yeah, well, remember this, Ty: any day it could be over. And any second our charmed lives, which are already damn tarnished, could come crashing down around us.”
“Then let’s party while we can.”
“You know what? I like myself most of the time. Can you say that?”
“I love myself, and I love being an asshole. But you, my cuz, are in deep shit. Being a nice guy with a guilty conscience only digs you in deeper.”
“No shit.”
“If I was in your shoes, I’d capitalize on Rachel’s uncanny ability to analyze your game performance. After which I’d never think another thing about it. We don’t owe her an explanation. What her father did all those years ago is best left buried. No good comes from dredging up the past now. He’s already paying a big enough price. But you, my dumb-shit friend, will carry the guilt forever—”
“I know.” Derek sighed. “I’m screwed.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Rachel had been well aware Derek and his cousin played for the Steelheads, but she couldn’t pass on this offer. Women didn’t get too many opportunities in the coaching area when it came to a male-dominated sport like football. Not that she was exactly coaching, she was advising and evaluating, but if she did well this year, HughJack alluded to her position possibly becoming permanent. Her father would be so proud if his little girl became a pro coach. Maybe he’d even drag himself out of his funk and make some changes. She could only wish.
She loved evaluating talent, dissecting a player’s technique, and suggesting little changes that made a big difference. The actual coaching part she wasn’t so sure of. To date, she’d been more of an observer and consultant than an actual coach who shouted orders and blew a whistle. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about the added responsibilities, but for now, her position was still at the observing and suggesting stage.
Being a female wasn’t her biggest hurdle, being around Derek was. Seeing that man daily would be a challenge, to say the least. Her emotions where he was concerned were mixed and vacillated between raw attraction, melancholy memories, and anger at his betrayal of her father.
Derek and his cousin had played a part in ruining her dad, but she had integrity. Getting even wasn’t in her vocabulary, but keeping her distance by not discounting the past was. She could admire his exceptional athlete’s body from afar, sympathize with his unexceptional performance on the field, and do what she could to help him achieve his potential. That’s what was she was all about, after all, and why HughJack had given her a chance after the high praise given by her former employer in Oregon. Everything had worked out. Well, almost everything.
Being around Derek had brought about a niggling of doubt. She’d briefly wondered if maybe things weren’t as they seemed, maybe there was more to the story. Shame settled in her gut, and she shook off such disloyal thoughts about her father. Her convictions needed reaffirming, and she didn’t officially start with the team until tomorrow morning, so she had the rest of the day off.
Rachel drove the few hours to her father’s mobile home in a tract development on the Olympic Peninsula.
Two years ago, Dave McCormick had lost his big house, along with his coaching job, his selfish young wife, and his zeal for life. She pulled into her dad’s driveway and cut the engine. Dandelions flourished in the front yard and crowded out the brown grass. An old car on blocks crouched next to the house. Paint peeled off the siding, and one gutter hung askew over the front porch.
She sat in her truck and gathered her thoughts. Through the living room window, light flickered from the TV. Her once meticulous father had been reduced to a shell of a man. The state of his environment reflected the state of his mind. No other sign of life greeted her as she stepped out of her truck. Weary, she rubbed grit from her eyes and sighed.
Picking her way past garbage littering the sidewalk, Rachel slipped on a TV dinner carton and almost fell. Regaining her tenuous balance, she ducked under the twisted metal storm gutter hanging off the eaves and stepped onto the rickety porch. She knocked on the door; no one answered. She tried the doorknob. It turned, and she let herself inside.
Rachel’s heart thumped, and she feared the worst. She should’ve been a better daughter, visited more often, not been so wrapped up in her own life.
“Dad?” The gloomy interior engulfed her, smothered her. The stench of cigarette smoke floated in the air, thick and oppressive. Newspapers and magazines littered the worn carpet. The kitchen counter overflowed with dirty dishes. A man’s snoring rattled the small room, and relief flooded through her.
Rachel navigated the obstacles and found her dad passed out in an expensive leather recliner—a remnant of his previous life. Beer and whiskey bottles were scattered around the chair like fallen timber in a clear-cut.
Her once proud, handsome father looked like hell. His short hair stuck up in spikes, much grayer than a few months ago. His stubbled jaw hadn’t seen a razor in a few days, and he’d slept in his T-shirt one too many times. She wrinkled her nose. From the smell of him, a shower was long overdue.
“Dad?” Rachel shook his shoulder. He grumbled several unintelligible words, barely able to string two syllables together. She shook him harder. Her dad squinted at her through bloodshot eyes.
“Rae? Honey, whatcha doin’ here?” He struggled to sit upright in the recliner, which took three attempts.
“Just checking on you.” Rachel debated between scolding him and coddling him. Neither had proved effective in the past.
He shook his head as if to clear it and leaned forward, head in his hands, and groaned.
“You need a shower. Take one while I clean up. Can you manage that?”
“I’m not an invalid, Rachel,” her father said with annoyance. But he avoided her gaze, at least having the presence of mind to be embarrassed. He heaved himself to his feet and staggered into the small bathroom down the hall. She listened until she heard the sound of water running in the shower.
As a little girl, Rachel had always crawled onto his lap during Monday Night Football. With the patience of a doting father, he’d explain plays, discuss strategy, and expound on what made a good player a great player.
She’d soaked it all in, hanging on his every word, until her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep during the fourth quarter. He’d carry her to bed, tuck her in, and kiss her good-night.
She’d snuggle under the covers, confident her daddy would keep her safe no matter what. Superman didn’t have anything on her dad.
With a sigh, Rachel glanced around the room, wondering where to start. S
he’d washed the dishes, cleaned the countertops, and prepared a decent meal by the time her father emerged from the bathroom, looking more like her dad and less like a drunk.
“What’s new in your life?” He sat at a barstool at the kitchen counter and actually appeared interested in something other than the bottle.
“I start with the Steelheads tomorrow.” Rachel bent down and scooped up an armload of bottles and deposited them in the garbage can outside the door. She’d told him about the job but wasn’t sure he’d remember. He’d been pretty drunk that night.
“They’re lucky to have you.” He beamed at her, pride reflected in his bloodshot eyes.
“It’s temporary for now, somewhat of a trainee position, but it could become more.”
He actually grinned. “My baby girl an NFL coach. It’d be a dream come true. I’ll never make it up that mountain, but seeing you reach the pinnacle of coaching success makes up for it.”
“I haven’t made it yet, Dad. I’m going to do my best to be invaluable to them.”
“You will be. You know your stuff.”
“Thanks to you.” Rachel met his gaze pointedly. “Dad, you still have a lot to offer as a coach. You could fight this. Prove you’re innocent.”
“I was never proven guilty except in the press and online. Not that it matters.” Her dad shook his head. “Enough damage has been done, and I’ll never get another job coaching football. There’s this cloud of suspicion hanging over me.”
“Mitch thinks if Derek and Tyler vouched for you, you could land another job.” She wasn’t sure if her brother was right, but his theory seemed likely.
“Mitch can think what he wants. None of it matters anymore.”
“It does matter. You’re innocent.”
“I am.” He avoided her gaze and studied the counter as if there were some secret message buried in the Formica.
“All they have to do is speak up, and your name would be cleared. They carry enough clout as NFL players, someone would give you a chance.”
“Not worth dredging up at this point.”
“Why not? Their silence condemned you. They could make it right.” Saying the words sickened her. To think Derek had been her best buddy, her confidant, and even her lover and had never given a thought to what he’d done. Everything she’d believed about him dissolved into a big pile of bullshit. He’d refused to come to her father’s defense, even after she’d begged him.
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