One Night with a Quarterback

by Jeanette Murray

  * * *

  Cassie slid the last box that would fit safely into her car. The rest, she would leave with the housekeeper to mail home. She closed her trunk and leaned against it.

  So this was the end of the line. Fallen, by a man, a teenager, and two drunk assholes.

  No, she corrected. Not entirely fair. She’d known her father’s rule against men during their trial period. She really had nobody to blame but herself.

  Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t try anyway. Denial was good for the soul, sometimes.

  She went back inside the pool house for one more sweep, this time checking under furniture to make sure nothing slid behind or under anything.

  “Cassie?”

  Her head jerked up and she cursed as it bashed the underside of her desk. “Ow.” She sat back, rubbing the top of her head. “Mellie?”

  Her youngest sister poked her head in, looked around, then down at Cassie on the floor. “What are you doing?”

  “Debating whether to take a quick under-the-desk nap before I leave.”

  “Oh.” Clearly, the girl was in no mood for jokes. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and her nose looked a little raw, as if she’d been wiping it too much. “Do you have to . . . ?”

  “Yeah. I have to.” She sighed and rocked to her feet, taking the girl in her arms. “I screwed up.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Mellie’s fierce voice, so righteous and young, made Cassie smile a little. “Irene screwed up.”

  “Irene’s a kid. I’m the adult. And my mistakes came way before last night.” At least, some of them. “I can’t fix everything, but I can take responsibility for my part in it. I made some choices and it led to where we are now.” She leaned back and smoothed a hand over her youngest sister’s hair. “I hope you don’t get any serious drama about this at school.”

  At that, Mellie gave a watery laugh. “Yeah, right. Football’s boring. This is the good stuff. I’ll be the cool kid for a week because I know all the details.”

  She smiled and shook her head, then walked her sister to the front door. She was surprised to find Irene sitting on the couch. Not with her prim, “I don’t want to touch the seat more than necessary” posture, but slouched down, as if trying to look small.

  Mellie growled a little kitten-esque growl and stuck her tongue out at her sister before giving Cassie one more hug. “When I’m eighteen, I’m friending you on Facebook.”

  “Deal.” Cassie couldn’t even laugh. It hurt too much to lose this. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Then, as if it was too painful to stay, Mellie bolted out the door and toward the main house.

  Cassie watched her leave, long blonde hair streaming behind her in wild ribbons, then turned to Irene. “So.”

  Her sister shrank even more into the cushion, if that was possible.

  Cassie held back a sigh. Clearly, her sister was waiting for a lecture, or a yelling match, or something. Anything. Instead, she sat down next to her and waited.

  In a small voice, Irene asked, “If I tell Mom and Dad the truth, will they let you stay?”

  “Oh, Irene.” Cassie draped an arm around her and pulled her in. Without protest, her sister accepted the hug. “That’s not it. It has nothing to do with last night. Last night was just . . . I don’t know. The magnifying glass to a whole petri dish of problems. I made mistakes, and now I’m taking the consequences.”

  “But it’s my fault you were out there.”

  “Maybe. But the rest is all mine. I have to face up. I screwed up, and that’s that.” She let her sister sniffle on her shoulder for a moment, thinking about what she’d said. “If you want to tell them the truth, do so on your own terms. Not because of me.”

  Did she really believe she screwed up? Yeah. She had. She hadn’t stood up to her father and Tabitha’s rules to begin with. Hadn’t sat down and explained the situation from the get go. Let her fear of losing this chance to connect with her sisters, her father, even her stepmother rule her choices.

  And look what happened when fear ruled the day.

  “I can’t even text you. Mom took our phones and changed our numbers. She’ll be watching our messages like a hawk.”

  “You’re not even going to try,” Cassie said firmly. “You’ve got two more years and then you’re an adult. You can make the decision after that. I’m not going to disappear. I’m just in Atlanta. And we can talk.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer,” Irene whispered.

  Cassie just hugged her tighter. “That’s what bratty younger sisters are for, right?”

  She gargled out a laugh, then stood. “I have to go or Mom will freak out and send the Marines for me.”

  “Go, I don’t want you in trouble.”

  Irene nodded and wiped under her eyes with her wrists. For once, she looked years younger than her age, instead of years more mature. She wanted to stay so badly. Shield her sisters from the ugly sides of life. But it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  “Have a good drive back.”

  Cassie grimaced and walked her out the front door, closing it behind her. “Not going to be fun, that’s for sure. Lots of nothing to look at.”

  “Okay. Well . . .” Irene hovered a moment longer, then lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave. “Bye.”

  “Bye.” She waited for Irene to disappear fully into the main house’s back door before pulling her cell phone from her pocket. She had one text.

  Thank you God. She’d been texting Trey to catch him, explain she was leaving. Maybe to run over and spend the night before starting her drive tomorrow. But he’d been completely radio silent. And her stomach had started to cramp at the possible reasons.

  But here was the text she’d been waiting for. She smiled as she opened the message.

  And then frowned.

  I just need a break.

  A break? She read it again, hoping the words were different this time around.

  Nope. Still the same.

  There was a burning in her lungs, and she realized she’d forgotten to breathe. She let the air out slowly, then inhaled again with deliberate patience. In, out. Don’t stop.

  A break. She stuffed her phone in her pocket with enough anger to hear a stitch pop in the fabric. So, he needed a break. His precious career was too damaged to deal with her? With the fall out? Yeah, it was bad. There was a lot of untrue crap being spewed. But it couldn’t last forever. And his talent spoke for itself on the field. Why was he so freaked out about this?

  In, out.

  The out wobbled a little, and she gripped her forearms hard enough to turn her fingers white.

  A break.

  She was leaving his side of the country and he wouldn’t even call her. She closed her eyes and leaned against her car door. God. Couldn’t she, for once, have an easy time of it? Ever?

  When she had her body back under control enough she felt like she could drive, she opened the car door.

  From behind, she heard a cough. She looked up and found her father standing several feet away, watching her.

  She waited.

  He crossed his arms.

  She shut the door.

  He uncrossed his arms.

  “Oh, for the love,” she grumbled. “I’m going, I’m going. I just needed a minute.”

  “That’s not . . .” Her father rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I wasn’t coming out here to enforce anything. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  Now he wanted to talk. Nice timing. “I’m packed, the pool house is empty. I left the key with the housekeeper this morning.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Right. Okay.”

  “So . . . I’m gonna go now.” She pointed to her car.

  He said nothing, just watched her. Like a scientist staring at a bug under a microscope.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, because she hated the silence. And she needed to try once more. “I am so sorry about how it all happened.”

  “Are you sorry you
and Trey were together?”

  The question surprised her. And from the look on Ken’s face, it surprised him he’d asked.

  “No,” she said slowly, choosing to be honest. “I don’t regret meeting Trey or being . . . involved with him. He’s a good man, and I wish it would have worked out.” That part hurt. Hurt like hell, losing Trey on top of the girls. And the chance at having her father in her life. “I regret not being more up front with you about it. But I was just scared of losing you. Or the girls. Or Trey . . .” She closed her eyes and gave a small laugh. “Just scared. That’s all.”

  When she opened her eyes, her father was a few steps closer. Still quiet, still watching her. Maybe he was thinking it over. Maybe he was ready to talk it out instead. Invite her in for coffee to hash things out. Maybe . . .

  “You’re still here.”

  Cassie wanted to scream at the sound of Tabitha’s voice. “Not for long, Tabitha. Don’t worry. I packed my corruptive influences in the trunk.”

  Tabitha scowled, but said nothing.

  Her father stepped forward, but his wife took a trip on his arm and stepped up with him. Cassie waited, then when nobody said anything, opened her door to get in the car.

  “Call,” he said hoarsely. “Call when you get back. So we know you’re safe.”

  She nodded once. She’d call . . . and leave a message with the housekeeper. “Sure.”

  Then she closed her door and drove away from her one chance.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Trey gasped and sat straight up in bed, heart pounding. One hand gripped the edge of his mattress, the other arm wrapped around the pillow he’d been forced to stuff against his side to substitute—poorly—for Cassie’s presence. His breathing was too fast, too erratic. Forcing himself to slow down, he glanced at the clock.

  Not quite five in the morning. And the room was pitch black. What the hell woke him up?

  But he knew. It was that dream where your body felt like it was falling into a black hole and would keep falling forever. Only his black hole was more like a shallow puddle full of guilt and anger.

  He’d missed practice yesterday. An entire day of practice. He hadn’t missed a day of practice since his rookie year when he had H1N1. Aside from near-death experiences and/or a death in the family, players didn’t miss practice. Despite having received the OK from Coach Talbin, it felt wrong. So very, very wrong.

  But there was nothing he could do. Stephen needed the help more than he needed his career. What kind of a friend would he have been if he’d shifted the responsibility of getting his friend to rehab to some low-level intern? No. He’d done the right thing. Stephen would have done the same thing for him.

  Anger bubbled under the guilt, demanding his attention. Anger at the media, who took the word of a few idiotic bloggers and so-called fans rather than waiting for a statement from him or the team. Anger at the coach for putting Cassie in the position to sneak around, to choose her family or her relationship. For not being the father she needed him to be.

  Anger in himself, for letting it go on as long as it had.

  Christ, he needed his own intervention.

  He didn’t have to be on the practice field until ten. He should get another few hours of sleep, given how little he’d slept the night before taking Stephen to First Steps. But the need to see Cassie clawed at him. He’d been so curt with her the day before. But talk about bad timing. Texting him mid-wrestle with his friend in the parking lot of a rehab facility? He’d needed a break from it all. From everything. Breathing room.

  And now he’d have to pay the price. An apology—a damn good one—for starters. Flowers? He thought for a minute. Then, with a grin, reached for his phone. No, Cassie wasn’t the flowers type. Knowing her, she’d want some limited edition Star Trek something or a new battery for her laptop. Faster processor or . . . whatever.

  It was early, but he sent her a text. If he was up, she could get up, too. They needed to fix this.

  But his text went unanswered. He checked sporadically through the day, even keeping his phone in his bag on the sideline to check during practice. Something he normally mocked other players for doing, and something that was against Coach Jordan’s rules. But Coach Jordan was absent, anyway. Nothing. So, maybe she was caught up in something with the Nerd Herd. He tried again, sending a text asking if she wanted to come over for take out. They could work out a strategy of how to handle things.

  But by four in the afternoon, with no answer, he started worrying. He drove past the coach’s house, praying he wasn’t outside to catch him spying. But his bad luck held out. He’d missed practice, and he wasn’t at his house. Neither, however, was Cassie’s car. From the street he could barely see the pool house, and no car parked out front.

  He made a call to the main Bobcats offices, hoping to catch someone before the end of the workday.

  Kristen answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Kristen, it’s Trey. Has Cassie come in today?”

  There was a brief hesitation, then she answered slowly. “No, she hasn’t.”

  He almost thanked her and hung up, but something in her tone made him pause. “Kristen?”

  “Yes?” she asked warily.

  “You know something.”

  “Yes,” she echoed.

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  Trey barely managed the urge to shout. “Kristen, it’s me. I’m not the media and I’m not some random douchebag looking to hassle her. You know what’s been going on. Help me out here. When’s she coming back?”

  The line was so quiet he thought she’d hung up. Then Kristen let out a deep sigh. The sigh of someone about to do something they might regret. “I did not tell you this.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Cute. She gave Barry a call late yesterday saying she wouldn’t be coming in anymore.”

  He blinked. “Anymore this week?”

  “At all. He was pretty ticked, actually. Said she was, and I quote the man here,” she added dryly, “‘amazeballs.’ And he wanted to clone her before she left. He was pissed he didn’t have the chance.”

  No, that wasn’t right. Cassie loved the Nerd Herd. She wouldn’t do that. “Where’s Coach?”

  “That I won’t give up.”

  “Kristen,” he growled.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I have a mortgage to pay and a teenage son to feed. Having a job makes paying that mortgage and feeding that human garbage disposal so much easier.”

  He considered trying again, but knew a brick wall when he’d run into one. “Okay. Thanks.”

  She said, “Wait,” just before he’d pressed the button to end the call.

  “Yeah?”

  “Good luck.”

  His lips quirked. “Thanks. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  * * *

  Trey managed to race back to the Jordans’ home in record speed. Not caring any longer who saw him there, he pulled up to the security gate and buzzed the intercom.

  After a fifteen-second wait, a terse female voice asked, “Yes?”

  He leaned out his window, feeling vaguely like asking for a number two combo with large fries. “Trey Owens, for Coach Jordan.”

  “Mr. Jordan is not in residence at the moment. Thank you.”

  “Wait.” But he could tell from the lack of static, she’d already shut him out. Mr. Jordan . . . Coach’s wife wouldn’t have called him that. Which likely meant it was an employee. Maid or something. Trey hit the buzzer again. And bit back a smile when the same woman’s voice came back more agitated than before.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d really like to talk to Cassie Wainwright.”

  After a brief pause, the woman said, “Ms. Wainwright is not in residence. Have a good day, sir.”

  The somewhere else was implied heavily.

  “Can you tell me—”

  But she was gone again.

  Trey beat his head against the steering wheel. Rich people and their ga
tes. He could scale it, no problem. But just his luck, he’d break a leg hopping down and then be up shit creek. Maybe if he called Coach Talbin, he could call Coach Jordan and—

  The sissy iron gates swung open without warning, surprising him. He checked behind to see if someone else had opened them, but nobody was there. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, he gunned it through the gates, which closed behind him. So apparently she’d changed her mind about letting him in.

  As he parked, he wondered if “not in residence” was some code for “They’re here and don’t want to talk to you.” It was entirely possible. Trey strode up to the front door, pep-talking himself along the way.

  After this, he might not have a job. He could get traded. He could be blackballed from the league. He could be scrambling to get a job coaching grade school flag football.

  For Cassie, it was worth it.

  He pounded on the door, then waited. After a moment, a thin woman with a graying bun and a dark dress opened. He had no clue who she was, but he could assume she worked there. “I need to see Coach Jordan.”

  Her eyes were frigid chips of ice in the glacier of her personality. “Young man, I do not know how you got in here, but I suggest you exit the same way before I call the police for trespassing. Mr. and Mrs. Jordan are not in residence currently.” She gave him a look that said People like you are the problem with America and shut the door firmly.

  What the ever-loving hell? She’d let him in.

  Ignoring the rules of polite society, he pounded again, then jerked back when the door opened once more. Only this time, one of the daughters stood there. He wasn’t sure which one she was, but she glared at him long enough he was pretty sure she knew who he was.

  “Hey . . . you,” he said slowly. Shit crap damn. Irene or Mellie, Irene or Mellie . . . “Where’s your dad?”

  She raised a brow in a look so completely like her mom, he actually took a step back.

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because he’s my boss?” he tried.