"Nothing. I just realized the time, and I need to get home. It's important."
"I get that, but are you sure there isn't more going on? Like maybe you don't want to ride the roller coaster?"
"I will ride it, just not today." She'd force herself on there, but when she did, she didn't intend to have Michael as an audience. "You should go back and get in line," she said, walking again.
"I'll wait and do it with you—maybe tomorrow."
"Sure," she said.
"So your whole family is getting together this afternoon?" he asked, falling into step with her.
"Yes, my brothers and their wives and kids."
"Sounds like fun."
A sudden thought occurred to her. There wasn't much she could do to make her dad's life easier, but maybe there was one thing… "What are you doing this afternoon?" she asked impulsively, hardly believing the words as they left her mind.
He seemed as surprised as she was. "What did you have in mind?"
"Do you want to come with me?"
"Really? What's the catch?"
"No catch," she said. "I can't guarantee it will be exciting in any way, but my mom is making roast beef for dinner."
"I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a while," he said slowly. "But you made it pretty clear you don't like me much. So why the sudden invitation?"
"I don't know. It's not a big deal. You don't have to come. You probably shouldn't come. I'll be taking you away from work."
"Maybe that's your motive."
She sighed. "Forget I asked."
"No, I'm coming."
"Great," she said. She'd tell him about her father's football fanaticism when they got there.
* * *
Michael still wasn't sure why Liz had decided to invite him to Sunday dinner at her parents' house. But he was happy to take a break from Playworld and get to know Liz outside of the competition.
Ever since she'd come back into his life, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. She was different than most of the women he'd spent time with in recent years. She had goals and drive, stubborn determination, and a hunger to win. But she was also very attractive with beautiful hair, big brown eyes, and a great body. She'd definitely blossomed after high school. Not that she'd appreciate him telling her so.
She didn't care much for compliments, or at least his compliments. For some reason she didn't trust him. Did that mistrust all stem from that one attempt at a kiss in high school? He really hadn't been setting her up for some humiliating fall, but he could see in retrospect that he might have put her in a bad position. But that was a long time ago.
He needed to show her that she could trust him.
Frowning, he wondered why he needed to show her anything. It shouldn't matter what she thought of him. After this promotional competition ended, would they even see each other again?
He found himself wanting the answer to that question to be yes.
"You can get off at the next exit," Liz said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Right. It's been a long time since I've been in Palo Alto."
"You've never come back to the old neighborhood?"
"I thought about it, especially after I moved to Berkeley, but I never got around to it."
"Did you like Arizona?"
"It was hot."
She laughed. "The desert can certainly be hot."
"And so much of the landscape was the same. It wasn't me. I liked playing for the Blackhawks, but I wouldn't have minded getting traded to San Francisco. Unfortunately, that didn't happen."
"You're here now."
"Yeah," he said, a sigh following his words.
Liz gave him a look. "Are you thinking about the call you got last night?"
"Yes, and the one I got this morning. Hank is persistent. The Blackhawks are playing San Francisco tomorrow—Monday night football. He wants me to meet him and hear his offer in person."
"Are you going to go?"
"Probably not."
"I don't get why you're so adamant about it. You love the game. If you can't play, why not coach?"
"Because I can't be that close to something I can't have anymore. It would be too hard. All I ever wanted to be from the time I was a little kid was a football player." He paused, thinking back to all the years he'd spent playing the game. "You know that my dad used to travel a lot?"
"Yes."
"So he wasn't a big part of my life. When he was home, I wanted his attention. I didn't really get it until I started to play football. He'd been a football player in college, and he loved that I was following in his footsteps. It was something we had in common. He'd come home from his trips, and we'd head straight to the park to throw the football around." He glanced at Liz. "Those were the best days."
"It's nice that you both shared a love of football." She gave him a thoughtful look. "When is the last time you spoke to your dad?"
"A week after my surgery. So I guess it was last year."
"He hasn't been in touch since then?" she asked in surprise.
"We lost the last link between us."
"If you coach, you might get that link back."
"I don't want it back anymore, not if that's all there is."
"Maybe with time your feelings would change."
"I doubt it. I haven't even been able to watch a football game since I left the Blackhawks. I got caught in a bar once when the channel changed, and when I saw the familiar uniforms, I couldn't get out of there fast enough."
"Oh."
There was an odd note in her voice. "What?" he asked suspiciously.
"This trip might not have been a good idea, Michael."
"Why is that?"
"My dad is a huge football fan. He spends all day Saturday watching the college games and all day Sunday watching the pros. When we get together on Sunday afternoons, we watch the games together. And during halftime, my brothers usually play catch with their kids in the park across the street."
His gut tightened at that piece of information. "You could have told me that sooner."
"I know," she admitted, a guilty look in her eyes. "But I was afraid you wouldn't come."
"And why would that matter? You've been trying to keep your distance from me. Why change that now?"
"Because my dad doesn't have a lot to be excited or happy about lately. He's holding his own with the chemo, but he's had a bad year. There are so few things I can do for him that make any difference in his life, but I know he'd be really excited to talk to you. He's followed your career ever since you got drafted out of high school."
"So you're using me."
She frowned at his suggestion. "I didn't really think of it that way. I just thought he'd love to meet you. You're a hometown hero in Palo Alto. Whenever your name is spoken, it's usually with great reverence."
"Okay, now you're pushing it," he said dryly.
"I'm really not. You know you're a celebrity."
"I was a celebrity."
"With sports heroes, you rarely lose the glow of glory, at least with sports fans. Don't be surprised if my dad remembers every big play you ever made, and that would include your college days in Michigan."
"Did I ever meet your dad back when we were in school?"
"I don't think so. He wasn't traveling, but he did work a lot, so he didn't come to many school events. He usually left that to my mom."
"I do remember your mother. She always made those caramel apples for Halloween."
"She still does—every year. She's a great cook. At least you'll have a good dinner tonight."
"That's something." As he stopped at a light, he glanced around the familiar intersection, which was just a few blocks from the high school. He would have turned right to go to his old house. On impulse, he did just that.
"This isn't the way," Liz said.
"Do you mind? I want to see my old house."
He drove down the quiet suburban streets with big, shady oak trees and bits of his past flashed through his mind. He'd only li
ved in Palo Alto for four years, but they'd been happy years. He'd actually been able to start and finish high school at the same school. And his family had been happy then, at least until graduation.
He pulled over in front of his former house, a two-story three-bedroom home. The yard looked the same. He could still remember popping his skateboard down the three steps off the front porch.
"That's it," he said.
"I know," Liz replied.
"Did you ever come over?" he asked quizzically.
"Of course not. I was not invited to your parties."
"I don't think anyone was invited," he said with a laugh. "People just showed up."
"The cool kids."
He tipped his head. "Probably true. So how did you know where I live?"
"My friends and I threw toilet paper at your house one night."
"That happened about a hundred times," he said with a laugh. "You'll have to be more specific."
"I think it was after one of the dances. In fact, I think there might have already been toilet paper in the trees when we arrived. You were very popular."
"It wasn't fun. I had to clean it up."
"The price you had to pay for being so loved."
"You really hated me, didn't you?"
"I don't know about hate. You just irritated me—a lot."
"I know it looked like I had everything in high school. But that was part of my act. I changed schools a lot and I learned quickly how to make friends and blend in. By the time I got to high school, I was a pro. But it was harder than it looked to come into a new school." He paused. "I used to think the only person who had any idea there was more to me than met the eye was you."
"Me?" She looked at him searchingly. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you didn't look up to me the way the other kids did, and when I ran against you for president of the science club you actually asked me about my views on evolution." He smiled at the memory. "Nobody else thought I could even spell the word, much less explain it. But you actually spoke to me like I had a brain in my head."
"I probably wanted to make sure you were qualified," she replied, offering him a rueful grin. "Or I just asked you that to try and show you up."
"But it didn't work."
"No, it didn't," she agreed. "You actually came up with a credible answer, and I thought good-looking and smart, too. It just wasn't fair."
"So you thought I was good-looking?"
"Fishing for compliments, Michael? That's beneath you. You have a mirror. You know what you look like."
He laughed at her bluntness. "You are one of a kind, Lizzie."
"Because I don't pander to your ego?"
"Because you actually use words like pander," he retorted. "Your intelligence is a little intimidating."
"Good. I need every advantage I can get."
Her words reminded him they were in a competition, and he was taking quite a detour into the past, but as he gazed back at the house, he could still see himself walking through those doors, yelling out he was home, flopping on the couch next to his mom while she watched whatever murder mystery movie was on the television.
"Things were good here," he muttered. "I felt close to my parents in this house. My sister was already in college the last three years, so a lot of times it was just the three of us or just my mom and me. After graduation, everything went to hell. I found out that my parents had wanted a divorce for a while, but they'd waited until I graduated from high school before dropping that bomb."
"I'm sorry, Michael," Liz said, compassion in her eyes.
"Luckily, I had college waiting and football, of course. I should probably be thankful my parents waited until I was leaving the house. I know that they both deserved to be happy, so if being together wasn't going to make them happy, then they made the right decision."
She nodded. "That's a good way to look at it."
He took one last look at the house, then pulled away from the curb. "Let's go see your family."
"I should have told you that I was inviting you to basically a football viewing party," she said. "If you want to drop me off, I can find another way back to Sacramento."
"It's a long drive," he reminded her.
"I can always rent a car."
"No, you're not going to do that. I'm fine. Just tell me there will be snacks."
"More than you could imagine."
Chapter Six
Despite Michael's willingness to come to her house, Liz felt a little guilty about exposing him to the football fanatics in her family. It would be good for her dad, but having heard a little more of Michael's story, she wondered if it would be good for him. He obviously had an emotional attachment to the game, the dream career he'd worked so hard to get and the abrupt collapse of everything he'd ever wanted. She'd always thought of him as the Golden Boy, the one for whom everything always went right. But that had certainly ended last year.
Still, he had recovered. He was back on his feet, working for his sister, going after huge PR accounts as if he had all the experience in the world. She really didn't need to feel sorry for him.
Not that she did feel sorry for him. No, her feelings were far more complicated than that.
"Turn left at the next street," she said.
"I remember," he muttered.
Now it was her turn to ask, "How do you remember where I live?"
"I wanted to talk to you after you broke my nose, so I drove to your house."
"But we didn't talk," she said, meeting his gaze.
"No, I chickened out."
Silence followed his words. She knew she should leave it alone, but somehow she couldn't. "What were you going to say to me?"
"That you had it wrong," he said with a sigh. "But you wouldn't have believed me. And I couldn't risk taking another punch to the face. My parents were all over me about what had happened at the party."
"Did you tell them I hit you?"
"God, no! I couldn't tell my father that a girl broke my nose."
She smiled. "My older brothers taught me how to fight."
"They did a good job." He paused. "Did you ever tell your parents?"
She shook her head. "No, it was too embarrassing. I kept thinking I might have to. I waited for you or your parents to call them or to report me to the school. I don't think I slept very well for the next few weeks—if that's any consolation."
"Not really. My nose is still crooked."
"It gives you character. And you played football. I'm sure I wasn't the only one to take a shot at your face."
"I took some hits, but I usually had a helmet and face mask on. And you didn't only leave me with a physical scar, I was a little gun-shy when it came to kissing a girl for months after that."
"I'm sure you got over it."
He parked the car in front of her house, and as they got out, she saw her brothers and their kids at the grassy park across the street. Her oldest brother Tom waved to her, motioning her over. "It must be halftime," she said. "Come and meet my brothers."
Tom came over to give her a hug while Greg threw the football to four little boys who went racing to catch it.
"I wasn't sure you were going to make it," Tom said.
"I told you I'd make the time. This is Michael Stafford," she added as her brother's interested gaze moved to Michael.
Recognition flickered in Tom's eyes followed by excitement. "The football player?"
"Former football player," Michael replied.
"I saw that hit you took on your knee," Tom said. "That was painful to watch."
"Even worse to experience," Michael said lightly. "You look like you have some young football players here."
"Cameron and Doug love to play," Tom said. "Joey and Mark would probably rather be building something, but it's a Sunday afternoon tradition." Tom paused, giving Michael a quick look. "Hey, you wouldn't want to throw the kids a pass, would you?"
"Tom," she protested. "I didn't bring Michael here to play football."
"
I know I shouldn't ask, but Cameron is playing peewee football right now, and he hasn't been doing very well. It would really perk him up to meet a pro player."
Liz saw the strain behind Michael's smile and knew she'd put him in a bad position. "Maybe later," she said. "I want Michael to meet Dad."
"It's okay," Michael cut in. "I'd be happy to throw some passes to the kids."
"Great," Tom said, leading Michael over to meet Greg and the kids.
She watched as Michael immediately jumped into the game. He demonstrated the best way to throw the ball, then sent the kids a short distance away so they could practice their catches.
While Tom was helping the kids get into position, her brother Greg came over with a smile.
"Michael Stafford? Dad is going to love you," Greg said. "Does he know Michael is coming?"
"It's a surprise."
"I didn't know you and Stafford were friends."
"We were in the same grade but not friends. However, I ran into him a few days ago. He's actually competing for the same account. So we're rivals again."
Greg gave her a thoughtful look. "If you're opponents, why are you hanging out with him?"
That was a good question. "I thought Dad would love meeting him."
"Well, that's true. Dad is going to go nuts. He used to rave about Stafford when he was playing for the high school team. I think he wished Tom or I had been even half as good as Stafford, but we did not have the talent." Greg paused. "So now Stafford is in PR?"
"With his sister's firm. He can't play anymore because of his injury."
"That sucks. Good for him for moving on."
Michael was good at moving on, she thought. He was also good at hiding his feelings. She knew the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was playing football with her nephews, but once committed, he'd completely invested himself in the activity. And he was good with the kids, too. He was patient, lighthearted and encouraging. He would make a great coach. Maybe he should really reconsider his stance on the next stage of his career. Not that it was any of her business.
"Look at Cameron's face," Greg said. "He's over the moon."
She saw the adoration in her nephew's face as he looked up at Michael, and it reminded her of how often she'd seen people look at Michael that way. As teenagers, she hadn't been as impressed with him, but seeing him now putting himself out for her family, she had to admit she was starting to like him even more.
Steal My Heart (Bachelors & Bridesmaids) Page 5