She crossed her arms.
“Irene?” a young voice behind the gatekeeper called. “Who are you talking to?”
Irene. One mystery solved, at least.
“Just some douchebag,” she said acidly, still shooting eye-daggers at him.
Hey, now. “Look, I’m Trey Owens. I’m one of—”
“I know who you are. I buzzed you in.”
“. . . your dad’s players.” Okay then. “I need to talk to your dad immediately.”
“Shouldn’t you be asking about Cassie?” A second girl—younger, shorter, a little fuller in the face—appeared next to her sister. Mellie, obviously. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Stop her from what?” He gripped the back of his skull with one hand. If his head exploded from confusion before he got to talk to Cassie again, he was holding every member of the Jordan family personally responsible.
“From leaving,” they said in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise. Clearly, that didn’t happen often.
“Leaving . . . what? The Nerd Herd? I know, I need to talk to her.”
Mellie looked at him with something like pity . . . which, coming from a teenager, was more than a little embarrassing. Irene just looked like she wanted to grab something heavy and hit him with it.
“Irene,” Mellie whispered.
“Boys suck, you know,” Irene said caustically. “They’re worthless.”
“We can be,” he agreed. “I screwed up, so I can’t really argue that right now.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re at an emergency meeting for Eyes on the Family. He won’t be home until after that. Probably late afternoon.”
Too damn late. Where else would Cassie have disappeared to? If he had to wait that long to talk to her father, he could use the next few hours driving to places she might have hidden. The parking garage, maybe that deli he’d taken her to. A movie? Where could she go to be anonymous in a town that was paying too much attention?
“Irene,” Mellie said more harshly. “He doesn’t know.”
“That’s his problem.” Irene started to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the way. Something in Mellie’s tone made him think twice before leaving.
“Don’t know what?”
The sisters looked at each other, silently conferencing.
“Don’t. Know. What,” he said again, his voice hoarse. He was a man on the edge.
“Cassie left,” Mellie said. Irene glanced to the side. “Like, left left.”
It took a full five seconds before the words soaked in. “Left left. Gone.” The sisters nodded, Irene still not making eye contact. “As in . . . back to Atlanta?” Another twin nod. “For a visit?”
He couldn’t blame her. The lack of support had been hard. A week with her mom, away from the town would—
“Forever,” they said together.
Crushing his hopes of a simple week-long break.
“She packed up and drove out yesterday.” Irene, ever the hardass it seemed, added, “You didn’t give her a reason to stay, I guess.”
Ouch. Truth hurt. “Don’t spare my feelings or anything.”
“’Kay.” With that, she shut the door in his face.
Ruthless little thing. Under different circumstances, he’d have adored her. Right now, she was just one more pain in his ass keeping him from Cassie.
He started for his car, unsure of the next step until the coach was available later to talk. He couldn’t just up and fly out to Atlanta. He had practice, a game on Sunday. A commitment to the team he couldn’t abandon, as much as his heart wanted to be on the first flight out to the East Coast. Not to mention, he had no clue where she lived in Atlanta.
“Trey?”
He turned, saw Mellie standing in the door, her face unsure.
“Yeah?”
She hesitated, then took a single step out on the front porch. She was barefoot, only adding to the innocence of her trust
“Are you going after her?”
He smiled a little. “Soon as I can.”
“Are you going to make it better?”
“I’m going to try my damnedest.” It occurred to him maybe he shouldn’t curse in front of her. But really, if the kid hadn’t heard “damn” by now . . .
“Dad’s at a luncheon downtown.” She named the restaurant, then added, “He’s with Mom. So, you know . . . watch out.”
And with that little bit of faith, she earned his undying gratitude. He walked the few steps back to hug her. “Thanks.”
“Bring her back, please?” Her voice was small. “I miss her.”
“Me, too.”
* * *
Trey didn’t bother waiting for a break in the conversation. The moment he spotted Coach Jordan, he approached his table and laid a hand on his shoulder.
Coach glanced up at him, brow furrowing, eyes narrowed. “Owens, what are you doing here?”
His wife looked over, one hand draped over her chest. “Ken, this is an invitation-only event. Please . . .”
Trey didn’t move, just motioned with his head toward the hallway. When Tabitha protested, Ken waved her off, then stood and followed Trey out of the room.
“Brass balls,” Coach Jordan muttered as they turned a corner and found a private room not in use. “You’ve got ’em, coming to me like this. Especially after what you put my daughter through.”
“Oh, now she’s your daughter?” Trey bit out. He mentally winced at the accusation, and what it meant to speak to his coach with such disrespect. But there are things more important than impressing his coach. “You’ve ignored her since she got here. You’ve let your wife bully her and treat her like a second-class citizen. You put restrictions and rules on her like a child instead of trusting her like the adult she is. And you want to talk to me about what Cassie’s been put through?”
“Those are private family matters—” Ken started, but Trey interrupted him.
“Consider me family, pal, because I’m going there.” When the older man’s eyes widened in surprise, he barreled on. “I love your daughter, so I’m included from here on out. Yeah,” he added when the coach started to speak. “I fucked up. I should have manned up and came to you from the start. But I didn’t, at Cassie’s request, because she was terrified she would lose her chance to know her sisters. And you.”
When he said nothing, Trey continued, “We met the night before she met you. It was a fluke. Luck. Chance. But it turned out to be the best accident of my life and I can’t just walk away from her.”
Ken ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the neatly combed strands. “Shit,” he muttered.
Trey huffed out a laugh at that. Hearing his straight-laced coach swear was as rare as a unicorn sighting. “Ditto.”
“I believe in discipline,” Ken began. When Trey wanted to argue, he held up a hand.
Old habits, and ingrained respect for his coach, stopped him from interrupting.
“I believe in discipline, both in my family and with my team. She’s an adult, but she’s my daughter. I missed the formative years. I missed watching her grow into the woman she is.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead and walked in a tight circle, as if unable to stand still. “You get a call when you’re in your fifties you’ve got a nearly thirty-year-old kid out there. You don’t know what they’re like, or if they’ve got your eyes, or if they’re athletic or smart . . . You don’t know.” He shook his head. “I panicked. I lumped her in with my daughters. My teenage daughters,” he amended. “I didn’t have a hand in raising her. I didn’t know how else to protect the two kids I’ve still got a responsibility to.”
Then, almost as if remembering, he scowled at Trey. “You aren’t blameless, you know.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. “I’m making it right, though. If that means you have to have me traded to save face or for the good of the organization, fine. Talk to the owners and do it. But I’m not letting the weak excuse of not wanting to be watched like a hawk on my personal time keep me from being wit
h her. I love her. So . . .” He took a breath, let it out slowly. “That’s it.”
“That’s it,” Coach echoed. He snorted. “I’d rather have her back myself. But I’m thinking some changes will have to happen in our family dynamic to make that work.”
“Starting with your wife?” Trey asked mildly. It was dancing on the razor-thin edge, but he was already in for a penny. Might as well go for the pound.
Ken ran a hand down his face again and looked at a painting of some flowers in a field. “Tabitha’s going to be adjusting her expectations for how things are run, yes. As will I.” He glared. “And you’re not going to be sneaking around like a couple of teenagers. If you want to date my daughter, you’re doing it with respect.”
Trey grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, then.” He smiled back. It was faint, but encouraging. “I’ve got some calls to make.”
Chapter Twenty-four
It was a little disconcerting, how easy it was to fall back into her old routine. Work, hang out with Mom, hang out with Anya, sleep. Had this been the sum total of her life before Santa Fe? Before the Nerd Herd?
Before Trey?
Granted, she was still keeping a low profile, as previous experiences had scarred her from the media. She stayed to her apartment, work, and either Anya’s or her mother’s homes. But much as she’d hoped, the world of sports was rocked by a new scandal barely a week after she’d been home. A basketball player with a drunken disorderly—his third—became the more pressing story. At least at a national level, anyway. She had a feeling the more local Bobcats bloggers would consider her “love triangle” to be hot news. But in Atlanta, it was nice to be able to watch the nightly news once more without worrying her face would flash up there.
The Bobcats organization had come straight out to refute the claims. They hadn’t acknowledged her and Trey’s relationship, but they’d denied claims the fight was over her. They also made a public statement, quoting Stephen, saying he was sorry for his actions and any embarrassment he’d caused the franchise. That he was using the rest of the season to clean up his act, with the support of the team.
She was proud of him. And proud of Trey for loving his friend enough to be unpopular and push.
Cassie pulled up to her mother’s home. The little cottage-style house had been her own home for eighteen years. Enough room for just the two of them, her mother had said.
But today, there was a car she didn’t recognize in the driveway. Cassie frowned as she studied the vehicle. Mid-sized beige sedan. Totally non-descript. She glanced in the tinted window as she walked by, but there was nothing she could see besides a to-go cup of coffee in the center console cup holder.
Had a reporter shown up to harass her mother? Or was this one of her mother’s friends over for a visit? She knocked briefly on the front door then walked in, calling out, “Mom, I’m here.”
Sandra Wainwright walked in from the kitchen, wearing a sweater, jeans, and slippers. Her light hair fluttered around her ears in a short, stylish shag cut. Since the chemo, and resulting hair loss, she’d joked she wasn’t sure she remembered how to manage long hair anymore and kept it shorter since.
“Hey, sweetie.” Her mother hugged her briefly, then took the brownie pan out of her hands. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” She studied her mother’s too-cheerful smile. It wasn’t natural, the way it tightened around her eyes. “Mom? Is something wrong? Whose car was that outside?”
She paused briefly. “Let’s go talk in the living room.”
Fear slid through Cassie’s gut like an icy wave. “Mom? You’re scaring me.” She gripped her mother’s forearm gently. “Is it the cancer? Have you seen Dr. Jackovich recently?”
Her mother smiled more broadly. “No, no, nothing like that. Just go have a seat in the living room. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Not reassuring,” Cassie murmured, but did as she was asked . . . sort of. She paced around the small room, doing laps around the coffee table. At the sound of footsteps behind, she whirled around, prepared to demand answers from her mother.
Instead, she found herself face-to-face with her father.
Her dad, in her mom’s house. Hello, Twilight Zone.
“Hello, Cassie.” He stopped a few feet away, giving her space.
“Ken.” She blinked, making sure it wasn’t just a really weird dream. “You’re in Atlanta. On a Wednesday. Don’t you have practices or something?”
“I took a few days off. It’s our bye week. Practices were mostly walk-throughs anyway.”
Uh, okay. Whatever that meant.
He looked around, his size making the comfortable living room feel like a shrinking vault. “This is a nice house. Did you like growing up here?”
Cassie nodded.
He walked to one wall, where several pictures of Cassie and her mother were framed. From the time she started kindergarten to when she graduated college, her years were documented frame by frame. “I missed a lot of years.”
“Not your fault.”
“No.” He smiled sadly, then looked at her. “Not that part, anyway. I carry a lot of blame though. When you came to Santa Fe, I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing. Of alienating you, or my younger two daughters, or my wife.” His smile turned rueful. “I might have done all three, as it turns out.”
“Tabitha is on your side.” She said this through stiff lips. The pain was still fresh, their united front against her and her mistakes. Her father choosing his wife’s side, rather than showing mercy toward his daughter who had unintentionally chosen the wrong path.
“She was, until I shifted. Can we sit down?” He glanced around, evaluating the options. Every piece of furniture was feminine, airy. His frame might have cracked the more delicate pieces. “Never mind. I’ll stand.”
She muffled a laugh.
“Your mom did a good job,” he said finally. “I never doubted it, but seeing the house . . .” He shrugged. “I’m glad you had her.”
“Me, too.”
“Was it scary? Her diagnosis,” he clarified when Cassie raised a brow. “Knowing you might lose her like that.”
“It was. She’s all I had. And in my mind, you didn’t exist.” She didn’t bother adding no offense. “I guess it had been weighing on her for awhile, since I graduated high school.” Cassie trailed a fingertip down one flower petal from the vase on the coffee table. “After she won the fight, she said she couldn’t keep it any longer. She was scared to lose me by telling me about you, I guess, but ready to accept it.”
Ken nodded, but said nothing.
“Was there anything else?” Cassie was suddenly tired. So very tired. She just wanted a nap and some of her mother’s comfort food.
“I’m sorry.” He took one step toward her, then another. “I got it wrong. I imposed rules on you like a kid. But I was floundering, and I took the wrong direction. I was too heavy-handed, when I should have had grace.”
The words, so close to her own thoughts, struck something deep inside her, had her closing her eyes against the tears.
“Irene also confessed to the bar trip.” He closed his eyes a moment, clenched his fists. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Cassie shrugged and bit down on the urge to cry. “She was home safe. It seemed important for her to tell you on her own, when she was ready.” She feared asking, but had to know. “Is that why you came?”
Ken shook his head firmly. “She confessed last night, after explaining she thought you would have ratted her out. When you didn’t, she decided to do it herself.”
“Because she’s a good kid,” Cassie said quietly.
“So it seems. She also wanted me to give you this.” Her father reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her, and she opened to find Irene’s precise, no-nonsense handwriting.
I told them the truth. I’m still sorry about it, but it feels better after being honest. Come back. After I’m done being grounded (in ten or twelve ye
ars) we can hang out. Love, Irene
She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the choked sob.
“Irene and Mellie are pissed at me,” he said, his voice amused. “They want you to come back, but of course that’s your choice. I’m here to tell you you’re welcome to the pool house anytime. A visit, to move permanently, whatever you want. And if you stay here, I’ve given the girls the okay to friend you, follow you, do whatever social media works for you. Calls, texts. After Irene earns back her cell phone, that is.” He reached out and took one of her hands in his, warming her chilled skin. “I trust you with them. I know you’re a good influence. I don’t need a trial period. I shouldn’t have forced one on you to begin with, holding them as a reward, a dangling carrot.”
“You were protecting them,” she said hoarsely, swallowing to gain control of her voice again.
“I protected them, and left you vulnerable. You’re an adult, but you’re still my daughter.”
She sniffled a little, trying hard to fight back the stinging tears.
He smiled now, his tanned face spreading and creasing at the corners of his eyes. “Can I get a hug?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Sure, Dad.”
As he enveloped her in his arms, he whispered, “You called me Dad.”
“You are.”
He sighed and rested his cheek on her head for a moment. “Yeah. I am.”
* * *
Trey watched from the top of the stairs, hidden from view. He’d wanted to give Coach and Cassie their time together first. Of any relationship, theirs needed to be repaired first. But he wasn’t about to walk out without fixing whatever was broken between them.
Coach Jordan stood back, holding her at arm’s length. “You up for one more visitor?”
Cassie blinked back tears—God, he wanted to just hold her and make it all better—and shrugged. “Depends, I guess. Who is it?” She took a step back. “Tabitha? The girls?”
Ken shook his head. “No, Tabitha and I are . . . working on it,” he decided on. “Give her a little leeway, I’ll make sure she gives you the same. Change takes time, right?”
She smiled softly. “Yeah. Okay.”
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