Now, as the team celebrated yet another victory—all the papers called the Peregrines unstoppable—Kristin felt thrilled to be included. Tonight, the Peregrines had really outdone themselves. They were a shoo-in for the playoffs, and Derrick was on the verge of beating Randy Wolfe's record. In two more games Wolfe and Derrick would be pitted against each other for the second time in their careers, and Derrick was certain it would be the game where he set a new world record for rushing yards.
"Celebration tonight!" Tate shouted. The players cheered and Kristin felt the cold rush of champagne spill over her head. She spun around just in time to see Tate run off, leaving her covered in sparkling alcohol, Derrick grinning like an idiot.
"Guess you're one of the guys now."
"So, do you want to tell your parents first, or should I tell mine?" Derrick asked the next day when they were alone. He was teasing—sort of. They were having a late lunch at Luigi's and Kristin's spaghetti was growing cold as she and Derrick argued once again about when, exactly, they should say something to their families. He knew perfectly well that she didn't want to tell her parents anything.
"They're gonna freak out."
"So?" he asked. "Let them." She shook her head, tired of this revolving conversation. She knew she couldn't keep their relationship a secret forever, and she didn't want to—she was crazy in love and wanted to shout it from the rooftops—but she also knew this was going to be more than just a little problem for her family.
The back booth at Luigi's was dark and quiet, and Kristin leaned across the table and kissed Derrick, grabbing his hand and rubbing it against her chin. Sparks raced up his spine and he felt the familiar tingle in his stomach as butterflies swarmed. She was trying to distract him, and it was working.
"Nice try," he said. "But you're going first."
"What?" she squealed. "Why should I go first?"
"Because this is all your fault. I got traded to Washington. You chose to be here. I had no control. You did. Hence, you go first."
He smiled and stuffed a forkful of steak into his mouth. Kristin found him infuriating, yet too adorable to stay mad at. “Skewed logic, Derrick.” She ripped a piece of garlic bread off her plate and stuffed it into her mouth.
"There's nothing sexier than angry chewing," Derrick said, and Kristin stuck her tongue out. No matter how stressed she was, he was always able to make her laugh.
A photographer who happened to be dining at Luigi's tonight too spotted them in their corner. A picture of Derrick Wellborn with a cute girl could be worth a lot—the public had an insatiable appetite when it came to Wellborn—but it was worth a lot more if the girl in question was famous.
The photographer studied their table for a minute before concluding that this girl was no actress or model. But after closer examination he thought she might be worth more than any of those dime-a-dozen floozies Wellborn was so fond of. The papers had scores of photos of Wellborn and some star or starlet. This wasn't just another two-bit extra the guy was out with. Wellborn was in love. It was written all over his face. The goofy grin... the love-sick glow. He had the look of someone who's girl could do no wrong. The photographer pulled his "off the clock" camera from his pocket and snapped a picture.
7
What were you thinking?" Kristin's mom shouted. Her voice rang in Kristin's ear like a fire alarm, piercing her eardrum.
"Mom, I'm not a child anymore. I date men. I date Derrick. Deal with it."
She heard her father in the background. His voice, usually soft and teacher-like, roared like a bulldozer, "You tell her she is FORBIDDEN to see that boy again. I want her home NOW."
Kristin held the phone away from her ear. Are they crazy? Home now? Like she was still a teenager and they could ground her and lock her in her room?
She wished now that she'd listened to Derrick and told her parents before that stupid picture of them had gotten into the papers. They were going to find out eventually, she'd only prolonged the execution. And not even for very long. Kristin decided to try a new approach.
"Listen. I know about Derrick." There was silence from her parents, and for a second she wondered whether they'd heard her. "I mean... you know... his shifter stuff."
She felt like she was talking to them about sex. It was a strange conversation to be having.
Her parents were silent. "Are you guys there?"
Then her mother started screeching. "What happened? Did he attack you? Did he—did he bite you?"
Kristin laughed. She couldn't help it. She wished Derrick would bite her. Well, maybe not bite, but something. The kissing was great. The touching was great. But it was all very PG rated. Derrick, like most athletes, wouldn't even think of having sex before a big game, let alone during any kind of winning streak. They'd kissed a few times, but mostly just held hands a lot.
"No Mom, he didn't do anything. He just told me the truth, that's all. He had to. He loves me." She paused, waiting for her words to sink in before dropping the big bomb. "And I love him."
She thought she heard her mom start to cry on the other end and considered pointing out that if her parents were really psychic, as they claimed, none of this should come as a surprise. But her mom's wails were too much and Kristin let it drop. Her mom's words came out broken and breathy, "This is exactly what we were always afraid would happen."
Her father grabbed the phone from her mom. "We're flying up."
Kristin heard her parents struggle for the phone and then her mom shouted, "There's no time. We have to tell her now before he kills her."
Kills me? They really were nuts. That didn't stop the hair on her arms from standing up.
"Mom, I'm not going to die," Kristin said, trying to calm them down, but some of her confidence had drained. Derrick would never hurt her. Not in a million years. Still, an image from Old Yeller flashed through her mind...
"Honey, honey," her mom said, finally winning the struggle for the phone. "You don't understand. He's using you. Panther shifters look for mates to reproduce with, then either leave them or kill them when their job is done. They're heartless."
"No," Kristin said, her confidence returning now. "Derrick wouldn't do that. Besides, I'm his life-mate." Both her parents laughed, the kind of laugh that insinuated the ones laughing knew something you didn't.
Her mom must've finally hit speakerphone, because both her parents' voices rang out clear now. "There's no such thing," her father said. "That's nothing more than a legend. A story panther shifters tell their kids at night. It's not true."
"How do you know?" she asked.
"We've been hunting them for years," her mother said. "It's our job to know."
"Hunting?" Kristin thought she'd misunderstood for a second. "You don't mean... like hunting? With bows and arrows and guns and stuff?"
"Well, not exactly bows and arrows. And we use special bullets, plus a few other shifter-specific things, but essentially... yes." Kristin paused. It was her turn to let their words sink in. "Didn't you ever wonder?" her mom asked.
"Wonder about what?" Kristin felt like her brain was melting. Everything she thought she'd known was wrong somehow. Ghosts and ghouls did exist. Boogeymen were real. The fairytales got it right.
"About any of it?" her mom asked in disbelief. "The books, the stakes, the psychic awareness classes... Didn't you ever wonder why we did it all?"
"Be-because you saw that documentary," she mumbled.
"Oh honey."
"We never should have told her that," her father said.
"But you... you don't really kill people. Do you?"
"Not people," her father said. "Shifters."
Kristin's stomach churned. "You know what, I think I need to go."
"You can't trust him," her father said.
"He doesn't care about you," added her mother.
Kristin pleaded with them, "But I love him."
"At least he's not a wolf," her father mumbled.
Randy Wolfe logged onto his tablet to send an email and was bl
asted with the news—yet again— that his record was about to get beaten. His lips curled back. A low snarl rose in his throat. He didn't know why everyone was jumping to that conclusion. There was no way he was going to let that hustler Derrick Wellborn beat him.
His hands shook as he tried to check his email. His fingers were thick and he kept hitting the wrong buttons. "Damn it!" he howled. His second in command ran into the room.
"Alright?" he asked.
Randy glared at him. "If I need you I'll summon you," he yelled. Tom backed out of the room, head lowered. Sometimes Randy hated having a pack to deal with.
He didn't know how just yet, he only knew that it was his new mission in life to stop that poser boy Derrick Wellborn from damaging his record. Another shot of Wellborn scrolled across the screen. A picture of a pretty, curvaceous girl sat next to him. Wellborn was staring deep into her eyes like some stereotypic love-sick puppy. It made Randy sick. He read the caption that went with the picture:
Is football's most eligible bachelor off the market. Doctor Kristin Walker is the new envy of women everywhere as she dines with Derrick Wellborn, who looks smitten.
Randy closed his eyes and took a breath, an idea forming. It wasn't exactly what he had wanted, but it was always good to have a backup plan.
8
The locker room was moving. It was always moving before a game. Derrick was the only one who was still. He sat on a bench and reread the email his father had sent.
They're hunters. Stay away from her.
Kristin walked into the locker room and Tate whipped a towel at her. "Sorry," he said, when it snapped in her face, stinging her eyes.
"Tate!" Coach screamed. "You're staying after the game and helping the janitors!" Tate shrugged his shoulders and ran off.
"And what's with you?" Coach yelled at Derrick? "Get it outta your head whatever it is and get in the game!"
Coach walked away shaking his head and mumbling something to himself about wishing he had a cookie.
Kristin went to Derrick, who looked up and smiled automatically. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Later," he said, then stood up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before trotting out to the field.
The game didn't go well. The first quarter was rough. The Peregrines got clobbered. The second quarter was worse. Tate got injured and Kristin had to pop his dislocated shoulder back into place. It wasn't easy, especially with Tate thrashing around trying to get back out on the field. He would be out the rest of the season.
The third quarter picked up a lot. The team was really feeling the loss of Tate, who, despite his goofball antics in the locker room, was an excellent center and amazing for morale. Seeing him in the locker room at half time with his shoulder bandaged up in a sling, sitting in the corner with his head down like a two-year-old on a time out, the team rallied.
They decided to win one for Tate. Tate looked up and smiled, said "Great," then drooped his head back to the floor. Kristin tried repeatedly to get him to go to the hospital, but he refused to budge.
"What for?" he asked. "You've already done everything." Kristin couldn't argue with that. His shoulder was back in place. His arm was in a sling. She had pain killers if he wanted any.
Fourth quarter they pulled ahead, then fell behind again when Bolero fumbled the ball. He was harder on himself for that than the rest of the team could ever have been. It was Derrick who scored the winning touchdown with only two minutes left in the game. The crowd went wild. It was the closest the Peregrines had come to losing all season, which meant that it was also the sweetest victory.
The team celebrated their near loss in the locker room. "Don't know what you got to be celebrating," Coach shouted. "You guys looked pretty sorry out there tonight if you ask me." But they were too busy popping champagne and planning their victory celebration.
Kristin put her hand on Tate's arm. He brushed it off and sat with his back hunched. "It could be worse," she said. "I once treated a player who broke his femur in about a dozen places. He was a quarterback. Never played ball again. You'll heal. Next season, you'll be fine."
He looked at her with warm, wet eyes. "And what if this is my only chance at the Superbowl? We're going this year. Next year... who knows. I could get traded. I could get sick. This could've been it. And I blew it."
Kristin wished there was more she could do, but it was already December. A dislocated shoulder would need at least 2 weeks to heal, and at least 6 before he could throw again. "There's a slight chance you could be back in it towards the end," she said. It was true, but it was also a long shot.
He stared at his feet.
Derrick sat on the bench opposite them also staring at his feet. Kristin went up to him and smacked him on the back of his head. "What's wrong with you?" she asked. "Tate's in bad shape. Go over there and cheer him up."
He did as she told him, but it was all perfunctory. The two of them sat together, moping, while the rest of the team applauded themselves. They were already planning to meet at Palidio's.
"I'm passing tonight guys," Derrick told them.
"Me too," said Tate.
Kristin stared at the two of them. She knew why Tate was upset, but what was up with Derrick? She finally got him alone when he was leaving.
"Were you leaving without me?" she asked. They'd been inseparable since the merry-go-round.
"No. Just getting some air. Kristin, we need to talk."
Her heart seized. Derrick saw the panic on her face and dropped his duffel, pulling her into a hug. "Oh jeez. I'm sorry, I didn't mean, you know, that 'we need to talk.' I just meant... well, we do need to talk, but not in a bad way."
Her heart started beating again, for now.
"Don't scare me like that. What do we need to talk about?" She was still eyeing him suspiciously.
He didn't want the team overhearing. And reporters were swarming everywhere. "Let's talk back at my place. Cool?" Kristin nodded. She followed him in her car, a ritual they'd begun to establish, and when they got inside she sunk into his cozy couch cushions and almost passed out she was so exhausted.
The first time she'd seen his place, her eyes had popped out of her head. It was a penthouse suite in a fancy building with a French name, and a gorgeous view of the city from every window. She'd asked how he'd found such a fabulous place so fast, and he'd told her he'd had his assistant take care of it. She hadn't realized until then that he had an assistant.
"What did your family say?" he asked. She was instantly alert.
"That I should stay away from you."
He nodded. "Mine too. But mine also said..." He looked at her full pink lips, her round face and creamy skin against the dark brown of his couch. She looked like Snow White. He didn't care what her parents were, only what she is. "Your parents are hunters," he said. "They kill my kind."
Kristin's eyes flooded with angry tears. She hated her parents for putting her in this position "I'm sorry," she said, jumping off his couch and throwing her arms around him.
"For what?"
"They told me on the phone. I didn't want to believe it. I just... I just…it’s horrible. I wish everyone could be friends again. Like they used to be.”
He held her tight and smelled her skin. "Maybe they can be," he said.
She pulled back, watching to see if he was serious. His eyes sparkled. She wondered if she'd ever stop breaking out in goosebumps every time he touched her. She hoped not.
"Maybe we can throw a big party and invite them all."
Kristin laughed. "Derrick, I don't think there's any way our parents will agree to be in the same room together, unless they're trying to kill each other."
"They will if there's a big enough reason for them to come together."
Something about the look in his eyes made her suspicious. "Like what? You know my parents think they’re psychic, right?"
Derrick tilted his head. "Are they really?" he asked, curious. She shrugged.
>
"Let's find out," he said. "Tell them you're pregnant."
9
Kristin's parents cried. Derrick's parents cursed her.
"This is the stupidest, most idiotic plan ever," Kristin said. "I don't know how I ever let you talk me into this." Derrick shrugged. "They didn't seriously curse me, did they?" she asked Derrick, terrified.
"No, of course not," he said. "Just your family." He smiled to show he was joking, but Kristin didn't laugh.
The plan, despite Kristin's reservations, had worked. Dinner was planned for late tonight. They'd reserved a private dining room in a ritzy restaurant, hoping to entice their parents with good food and expensive wine. Mostly their parents had agreed to come so that they could talk some sense into the two of them.
Derrick had insisted she take his credit card and buy something special for the occasion. She'd bought a red dress from Dolce and Gabbana and matching Stella McCartney shoes. When she tried the dress on she felt like she was about to walk down a red carpet. It hugged every curve of her. Her waist and hips filled it out nicely, and her breasts formed a beautiful line of cleavage where most skinny women had a big gap. She wasn't exactly sure it was appropriate for the dinner they were planning, but she didn't care. She'd never owned a dress like that before.
Kristin got to the restaurant early, wanting to make sure everything was perfect. Derrick had said he'd meet her there. He was picking his parents up from the airport and heading straight to the restaurant. They refused to stay longer than was absolutely necessary.
Kristin's parent's felt much the same way. She'd tried to convince them to fly in for a few days, see her new place, sightsee, that sort of thing, but they'd only agreed to dinner. One evening, nothing more. They were planning on flying back to Los Angeles right afterwards. They simply didn't want anything to do with Washington. The idea of Derrick and his family had sullied the whole state for them forever.
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