“Do you truly believe he left his cell phone at home?” Mrs. McGovern puffed out a disbelieving breath at that. “Nobody leaves home without their cell phone these days. Even old farts like me.”
She hoped, at least, Trey had gotten her message she’d texted as she’d bolted out of the house. Cassie would know if he’d taken it with him. “Maybe not, but he’s not going to be reachable anyway. From what he said, the schedule is pretty packed.” Which was good, because the less time they had to be free, the less time he had to sit around and contemplate drinking when a teammate or two rolled a keg into the service elevator . . . a story he’d told her from years past.
“Apologize. It’s all you can do. When he comes home, simply apologize. Oh, write him a letter,” Mrs. M said, perking up. “Tell him everything you need to tell him, so you remember. Men think letters are romantic.”
Stephen probably didn’t . . . not after the note she’d left him before. But writing down her feelings so she was prepared wasn’t a terrible idea. She took a sip of coffee and thought about it a moment. “Thanks, Mrs. M. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anytime, sweetie. And the apartment is still empty if you need it. I won’t beg you to come back, but it’s not going anywhere if you need a safe place to fall.”
Why couldn’t all grandmas be as awesome as this? Resting her head momentarily on the woman’s small shoulder, Mags took a bite of bagel and swore to herself it would be okay.
***
“You’re in a mood.” Trey and Josiah sat on Stephen’s bed in his small dorm room while he journaled at the desk. The journal was an assignment from his sponsor, since AA meetings during training camp weren’t possible. He had a few prompts, but mostly, it was a place for him to write and redirect himself instead of wanting to drink to cope with stress.
“I’m writing,” he said, gritting his teeth, flipping the page in his journal. “What do you need?”
Josiah laced his hands behind his head, leaning back against the headboard. His ball cap, which usually held his hair out of his eyes, sat in his lap. Now, the shaggy blond strands crisscrossed over his forehead, making him look more like a surf bum and less like an all-star running back. “Maybe we wanna hang out with your dumb ass. Ever thought of that?”
“No.”
Trey snorted, then yelled, “Come in!” when there was a knock.
Stephen sighed and tossed the pen down, closing the notebook over it. “Guess it doesn’t matter that this is actually my room, huh?”
“Apparently not,” Killian said as he entered and closed the door behind him. “What’s everyone up to tonight?”
“Trying to figure out what bug crawled up his ass,” Josiah said, pointing at Stephen. “Talk to us, buddy. We can’t help if we don’t know what the problem is.”
“It’s . . .” He side-eyed Killian, who was now relaxed on the floor, his back to the dresser.
“Oh, just tell him.” Trey shrugged when Stephen glared. “He shared his secret with us last year. His son, the one nobody knew he had? So he can keep yours.”
Killian rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his hair. “Thanks,” he said dryly.
“I’m not actually dating Mags.” There. He’d said it. Except he hated it. When Killian didn’t budge, he added, “And you absolutely cannot tell Aileen about this, because it’s way too much for her to keep quiet, and I don’t want the conflict for her job.”
“Freckles can keep a secret. But fine,” he added when Stephen started to stand. He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. When she finds out I held out on her, though, I’m tossing you under the bus. So the girlfriend talk was, what, a distraction from coming back? An ego thing?”
“It was keeping me from having to deal with a life coach picked out by the front office. I don’t want some stranger mucking around in my life, telling me what to do. I have enough of that from the coaches. I want privacy.”
“So you invited Margaret to be your girlfriend instead.” Killian nodded. “Makes sense.” He paused. “No, still doesn’t make sense. Why?”
“Because I panicked when they were talking about the life coach, and if I’d had a girlfriend or family nearby they’d worry less, and I just blurted out that I had one.” He ran a hand down his face and leaned against the desk. Days like today were why he’d started drinking. Okay, not really, but days like today reminded him why he’d had to stop. “The why doesn’t really matter anymore. It’s done. The How I get out of this? is the problem to beat now.”
“Break up with her.” Killian shrugged. “You’ve been clean for a few months now, including rehab. Or not including rehab.” He checked his watch. “Wow, time flies. Okay, so you’ve got a few months of sobriety under your belt. Maybe if you promised to do regular check-ins with the team psych, they’d consider your life back on track, officially. You can ‘break up’ with Mags and let her go on her way.”
“No.” The single word came out harsher than he’d meant, a weapon in the silence. “I’m not breaking up with her.”
“Technically,” Josiah said, “no, because you aren’t actually dating her at all.”
“I’m not breaking up with her. I want her to stay.”
Trey sighed. “You can’t keep her in the fake relationship and start a real relationship. It’s one or the other. The real one cancels out the fake one, and vice versa. So if you release her from the fake relationship, you have the chance to start over with a real one.”
Stephen’s brain hurt. He let his forehead drop to the desk. “Damn my life.”
“Yeah, that’s sort of what I was thinking.” Killian made an oof sound that Stephen could only assume meant one of their teammates had kicked him or something. “What?”
“Not helping, bro. So you’ve given her space. You’ve got three weeks to make sure your head is on straight and the coaches see you’re back at the top of your game. Then you go home and start fresh.”
“Good plan,” Trey contributed.
“Sounds logical” was Killian’s addition.
“I slept with her last night,” Stephen muttered.
“Jesus Christ,” all three muttered as one.
“Horrible plan,” Trey contributed.
“Sounds stupid” was Killian’s addition.
“I get it.”
All three—Stephen included—turned to stare at Josiah.
“Seriously?” Trey shook his head. “We just got done telling him no more than five days ago to give her space and come to camp ready for a head-clearing three weeks. And you think it’s okay?”
“I said I get it, not that it’s okay. But like the doofus said earlier, why doesn’t matter anymore. It’s How do I fix this? that does. So it’s done. He wants her; he’s had her. I assume he still wants her after that.”
Stephen graced his friend with the glare he gave opposing linemen when setting up for a down. The kind that caused a lesser man to piss his pants and run for mama. Josiah simply rolled his eyes.
“That’s a yes. So, change of plays. If you ignore her, she’ll think you hated it. If you bug her, she’ll think you’re needy.” He paused. “How was she this morning when you left?”
“She disappeared. Sometime this morning, she ran off and left a note.”
Two of his friends looked horrified. But Josiah’s grin merely grew. “Excellent.”
Stephen didn’t consider waking up in an empty bed without the woman he’d expected to see there excellent. He crossed his arms, waiting.
“It means she’s invested. If she didn’t care, she’d have woken up, gotten you ready to go, thanked you for a good night or some other BS brush-off, then acted like nothing happened. If she’d hated it, she’d have simply gone back to her own room. But she ran.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep the night before, or the fact that he was too close to the situation, but he wasn’t seeing how “she ran” solved anything. “Start making sense, or I’ll toss you out the window.”
“I see where he’s going.” Killian sat up str
aighter. “It scared her. It’s not like she was up that early picking up dry cleaning. She left because she couldn’t face you this morning. So it was heavy enough to her to spook her. It’s good.”
Trey shrugged. “Cassie didn’t make it easy for me, either. Not that it was exactly her fault. That was yours,” he said pointedly. “I’d have snagged her number, but I had to go pick your ass up.”
“My bad.” Not feeling all that sorry, he settled back in his chair. “So I can’t call her daily, but I can’t ignore her. What’s my option, then?”
“You do one thing that’s bound to kick her in the pants. Something that will make her blink back tears but not get all hysterical. You need to think about that one thing that’s bound to tell her you’re thinking about her, she’s on your mind, but won’t send her running.”
“What would send her running?” Killian wanted to know.
“I don’t know . . . like, doing one of those weird things where you take your photo and her photo and mix them together and find out what your kids would look like.” Josiah shuddered.
“Personal experience?” Trey asked dryly.
“Maybe. Point is, it’s gotta be specific to her. So we really can’t help you.”
“Super. You’re all jackasses. Get out.” Stephen gave the order with no heat, but they all stood and walked to the door. Trey paused as the other two left.
“She’s thinking of you, too.” He dug his cell out of his pocket, hit a few buttons, then tossed it to Stephen. The device landed in the middle of Stephen’s large hand. He glanced at the screen.
Please keep an eye on Stephen. I need him to come back safe and sound.
Underneath that text was another.
Oh, sorry, this is Margaret. Cassie gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.
The two messages made him smile. He threw the phone back, Trey catching it easily with his magical touch.
“It’ll work out. Just keep your head in practices, follow the rules like a good boy, and we’ll be out of here in a few weeks.” Trey closed the door behind him.
As if he had another choice. Stephen turned around, flipped in his journal to the last page, and started listing ideas of things to send to Mags that would say, without words, I’m thinking about you, too.
***
“This is my place . . . for a few more weeks, I guess.” Cassie walked into the pool house, and Margaret trailed behind her. “Once they’re back from training camp I’ll start moving my things over to Trey’s place.”
“Why not now? You have a key, I assume.” Mags tried hard not to look around in awe like some rube, but she couldn’t help it. The “pool house,” as Cassie had called it, was nicer than any apartment she’d ever stayed in. Mrs. M’s above-garage studio was nice, but this was . . . something else entirely. The phrase pool house put in images of a simple shed where you stored pool equipment, and maybe a place to wash up or something. But Cassie’s place housed a kitchenette—albeit a small one—a bathroom, a bedroom, and a decent-sized living room. “Dang. Nice place.”
“Better than a hotel. Sometimes,” she muttered as she glanced out the window. “I’m sorry in advance.”
“Sorry for what?” Mags was glancing at the photos Cassie had framed above the couch when the door opened again.
“Cassandra. Have you seen the girls?”
Margaret turned and found a woman, maybe in her midforties, standing at the front door. She wore a slim-fitting gray skirt, a sleeveless button-down blouse, and reasonable heels. Her hair was brushed away from her face and held back by two clips. This was, Mags knew, the head coach’s wife. Or, rather, soon-to-be ex. Cassie’s stepmother, in essence. And the frosty way the woman regarded Cassie, Mags had no trouble understanding there was no love lost between them.
“Hello, Tabitha. No, I just got back. I haven’t seen anyone.” She paused, then said, “Margaret, I’d like you to meet Tabitha Jordan. She’s Ken’s . . .” Her voice trailed off, and an awkward silence hung over the three of them like a wet blanket. “She’s my sisters’ mother.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Mags started to step forward, hand extended, when Tabitha’s gaze raked her over. If Tabitha had been capable of it, Margaret had no doubt she’d have been frozen into a solid block of ice from that glare alone. She stopped and dropped the hand. The older woman never moved.
“Cassandra, if you see them, please inform them I need them at the main house. They have packing to do.” She began to turn, then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “You haven’t been letting them borrow your clothing again, have you?”
“No. I haven’t given them anything.”
“Hmm. Have you begun packing?”
“I was about to start organizing for that, myself.”
“I’ll have the housekeeper inventory the pool house once you’ve vacated. Please don’t take anything that was here when you arrived. Those are items that belong to the estate.” With a sniff, she walked away, her small heels clicking on the cobblestone that lined the outside of the pool.
Cassie shut the door as the woman walked away, propping her back against it. “I cannot get out of here soon enough.”
“That woman was horrible.” Mags sat on the couch, eyes wide. “You’ve lived with her for a year?”
“Not exactly. I can go a week or more without seeing her, since I’m in here. Especially since I’m over at Trey’s more than usual. At first, I saw her more. But she put on a good front for my dad. Now she’s not even bothering with the front. It’s all ice queen, all the time.” Cassie flopped down into a chair and propped her feet up. “I feel horrible for my sisters, because they’ve got to put up with it daily. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably have moved out sooner. But they won’t be here much longer, anyway. They’ve got a place, I guess, a few neighborhoods over. I’m not sure Dad will keep this place or move. It’s a lot of house for a single guy whose kids don’t live here full-time.”
“She doesn’t like you much.”
“I’m sure she blames me completely for their marriage breaking up. Maybe I was the catalyst.” Seemingly unfazed by that thought, Cassie shrugged. “I could beat myself up over it, but I won’t. I don’t think they’re happy, and they weren’t before I came on the scene. If my showing up broke them up, then there were already enough problems swirling under the ice.”
That was a sentiment Mags could agree with. “How about your sisters? They taking it as well as you are?”
“Mellie is. She’s hilarious, you’ll love her.” Cassie’s eyes grew hooded. “Irene’s taking it harder. She’s the older of the two, more reserved. You’d think . . . Come in!” she called at the knock on the door.
Two teenage girls scurried in and quickly shut the door behind them. One wore flip-flops, capris, and a shirt that was a little big on her, hiding her body. The other wore chunky black shoes with buckles, knee-high socks, a plaid skirt, and a short-sleeved polo with a crest stitched on the left breast, which was clearly a school uniform. Odd, since it was summer.
“Hey, girls, speak of the devil.” Cassie grinned and pointed at Mags. “This is my friend Margaret. She’s dating Stephen.”
The one in typical summer clothes came and sat on the couch beside her. “Hey, I’m Mellie. You’re dating Stephen? How is he? Was rehab awful? Was it like prison? Did he meet anyone famous in there?” She paused, then grinned. “I mean more famous than him.”
“Shut up,” the other one said, taking the last seat, another armchair opposite Cassie. She dropped a book bag on the floor with a heavy thump. “Summer school blows.”
That explained the uniform. “What class are you taking?”
“Government. I didn’t fail it,” she added defensively, though Mags hadn’t been about to ask. “I’m taking it now to get it out of the way so I don’t have to in the fall.”
“Mom made her,” Mellie whispered loudly. “I couldn’t take anything because no courses are available to upcoming sophomores unless you failed them. But you can take go
vernment in the summer before your senior year.”
“Reasonable,” Mags concluded. “You just didn’t want to take it?” she asked Irene, who clearly looked annoyed with summer school.
“Mom thought we should stay busy, because of all the changes. Because apparently, we’re babies and can’t handle the fact that Mom and Dad are splitting up like adults.” Mellie rolled her eyes. “I was already in tennis camp, but she added water polo and Spanish courses. I don’t even like swimming. The chlorine makes me gag.”
“And I’m taking a creative writing course and being tutored in German in addition to government,” Irene added.
“How’s that going?” Cassie asked.
“Deutsch saugt,” Irene said succinctly. When everyone else blinked, she added, “German sucks.”
Okay, then.
“Your mom was looking for you girls about ten minutes ago.” Cassie rolled her lips in, as if fighting a smile. “Should I call and say you’ll be right over?”
“No!” they both yelled. “Please,” Irene added, looking a little scared.
“Irene . . .” Cassie’s voice was warning. “Did you ‘borrow’ some of my clothes again?”
“You weren’t wearing them.” Defensive, Irene stood, kicking her book bag out of the way. “What’s the point of having a sister if you can’t steal her clothes?”
Mellie rolled her eyes again and reached for a mint from the bowl on the coffee table. “You never borrow my clothes.”
“Because they match mine!” Irene’s breathing sped up, and she started to pace. “What’s the difference in our clothes, Mellie? What am I going to do, trade one school uniform for another? Stupid.”
“Okay.” Standing, Cassie gripped Irene’s shoulders and shook the younger girl a little. “Time to calm down. Deep breaths.”
Her sister jerked in the hold but didn’t step away. “Leave me alone.”
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