“She’s in the Caribbean with her flavor of the month.”
“Nothing you can do, then. See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She took a deep breath and got behind the wheel. The moving truck was parked at the curb, awaiting her departure so that it could take over the driveway. She grabbed one last look at the house and spied Bob carrying luggage. She sighed as a shudder passed through her. Her eyes watered. What am I getting sentimental for? I can’t wait to be rid of that bastard.
For a split second, the image of what might have been in this wonderful old house danced before her eyes. Her vision, her dream of a loving husband and two kids, vanished like mist under a hot sun. A quick shake of her head returned her to reality. Can’t change the past. Lose the dream and move on. Dad needs you.
Lauren put the car in gear and headed toward the highway that would take her to Providence and the bedside of her ailing father.
* * * *
Griff Montgomery stopped on Elm Street in front of The Savage Beast. The sign said “Open.” Creaky hinges announced his arrival as he entered his favorite watering hole. Carla was behind the bar, setting up.
“Not open yet,” she called out.
“Sign says you are.”
“Griff?” She looked up. “Come on in.” She beamed a thousand watt smile at him.
He looked her over with appreciation. Carla’s got it all. Amazing body. Great personality. Her long, black hair swung down to cover her ample cleavage. She tossed it back with a snap of her head. His gaze rested on her breasts as the memory of their last tryst in her apartment upstairs lingered in his mind.
“You’re early.”
He preferred not to explain that he had no reason to be at home. “Got anything special today?”
“Yeah, Roddy’s new drink, the Savage Sunrise.”
Griff lifted an eyebrow. “What’s in it?”
“Same as a Tequila Sunrise, only papaya juice instead of orange. He says it’s healthier. I think it’s bullshit.”
Griff laughed. “Now I have to try it. Bring it on.”
She peeked at him as she mixed the drink. “Got a lot of free time nowadays?”
“You might say that,” he replied, avoiding the question, staring at the suggestive painting behind the bar.
She placed the glass in front of him. “When are you gonna fix me up with one of your hot teammates?”
“What’s wrong with me?” He took a sip and gave her a thumbs up.
“We’ve been bed buddies long enough to know it’s not happening beyond that.”
He seated his tall, rangy body on a stool. “Don’t know ’till you try.”
She wiped her hands on a towel and fixed him with a stare. “You gonna stop running around, whoring across the country and back, just for little ole me?”
“Whoring? Wait a minute…”
“That’s what I thought.” She turned her attention to a dozen wet wine glasses.
“Give me a chance, Carla.”
“To break my heart? No way. Besides, I’d hate to ruin a good friendship.” She dried some of the stemware.
He shot her a one-sided grin. “I knew you were gonna say that.”
“Burger tonight?” She raised an eyebrow.
“With blue cheese, please.”
“I know. Well done. Coming up.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Griff looked around. He was usually at the bar after dark, when the kids were in bed or at least busy with homework. During the day, it looked different. The soft lights at night gave the wood a rich patina that faded under the harsh, afternoon sunlight. The floor looked like it needed refinishing. The barstools needed repainting. But at night, everything looked better, finer, and the atmosphere was warm and friendly.
Carla brought out his burger and poured herself a Coke. “Family took off for the West Coast?”
“They did.” He took a big bite. No one makes a blue cheese burger like Carla. “This is great, as always.”
She smiled at him. “So, now you’re looking to settle down?”
“I guess.”
“I don’t want a traveling man.”
“One big injury and my career’s over, Carla. Time to put down roots.”
“Yeah? Tell me you don’t have a girl in every port, sailor.” She chuckled.
Griff blushed. Might have to get rid of them if I’m gonna do this.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, wiping the bar down with a wet rag.
“What about my teammates? They’re no different.”
“Oh? You telling me they’re all man-whores like you?”
“Maybe not all, but most.”
“Damn. Then bring in the few who aren’t. Let me look them over.”
He laughed. “Kinda like a cattle call?”
“More like a…a…beauty pageant.”
Conversation slowed down and ended completely in an hour when a crowd began to form. The Friday after-work folks stopping for a quick cold one before home blended with the single people who came by for a drink, dinner, and some companionship. Some made connections for the night, some only came to eat, drink, and sing.
Griff knew the regulars. He’d hung out here when Kathy and the kids had lived with him because he didn’t feel right bringing women back to the house. It was a comfortable place where he was accepted and not bothered too much for being well known. Tonight, though, it took on a different feel. No matter what happened at The Savage Beast, he wouldn’t be going home to his family.
Carla was right. They couldn’t turn a casual sexual relationship into a marriage. Still, Griff remembered the soft feel of her flesh and the raucous laughter they’d shared. But he wouldn’t want his wife working in a bar, and Carla wouldn’t want him telling her what to do.
And he wanted someone who wanted kids. Had to have kids. They were an absolute, non-negotiable part of the equation. He’d had so much practice that being a dad for real should be a piece of cake.
He chuckled to himself, knowing fatherhood was never simple, even with practice. Then, he remembered Carla making a face whenever he’d mentioned his niece and nephew. “Spoil this body to produce another fucked up human being? No way.” Nope, Carla was not in the running.
After two more Savage Sunrises, Griff left her a generous tip, slipped off the stool, and drove home, alone, for an evening of unbearable quiet and inane television.
* * * *
Griff rose with the sun, even on Sunday. He had coffee and read the paper on the back deck, overlooking his tranquil swimming pool. He wore a wife-beater tank top and shorts, as he was planning to run a couple of miles then work out in the gym at the stadium. He needed to keep in shape, and the exercise helped ease his loneliness.
In the past, these few weeks after school ended and before training camp began at the end of July had been golden. Griff and Kathy had shared family vacations. Griff had taken his sister and her kids to Disney, of course, but then on more sophisticated trips. One year they had gone to the Galapagos, another to the Baseball Hall of Fame, and then the Maine coast. This year, now that the children were older, he had planned to take them to London, Paris, and Rome. But the plans had gone up in smoke when Kathy had announced her move to San Francisco.
He was restless with too much time on his hands. So, he arrived at the stadium by eight o’clock. Pete Sebastian, or Coach Bass, as he was known to the team, was already in his office. Griff chuckled to himself and waved as he passed the glass wall. Since the Coach’s kids had gone off to college, he rattled around his big, empty house, too. Griff expected him to show up at The Savage Beast any Saturday night now.
He met up with his best friend, Elroy “Buddy” Carruthers, in the gym. Fast and smart, Buddy was Griff’s wide receiver. Shorter than Griff by a couple of inches, Buddy was lean and hard. He was on the treadmill and gave Griff a wave.
Griff went to the small weights and began pumping iron to strengthen his arms. Buddy was drenched in sweat, indicat
ing he’d been on the machine for a while. After fifteen minutes, both men took a break.
Unmarried, Buddy tied for the worst reputation as a man-whore with Devon Drake, a cornerback. The two men were always on the lookout for new women, often taking single rookies along on their quests. Buddy swore he’d never take a married player out to get laid on the road. Griff had laughed when his friend had made that pronouncement and called him “a man-whore with principles.”
Griff had brought Buddy home to dinner with his family often. They’d had touch football games in the backyard with the kids and their friends. He’d noticed how relaxed and comfortable his teammate was with Kathy and her children and wondered why Buddy wasn’t married. But Griff never pushed. Buddy didn’t talk much about his past, college days, or anything personal. Griff wondered if his friend had been such a big seducer back then, too.
Whenever he asked, Buddy would make a joke and avoid the question. Finally, Griff took the hint and stopped asking.
At one point, he’d thought Buddy might be interested in Kathy. Griff had made it clear that he was not an acceptable date for her. Buddy had backed off, saying, “Hey, if I had a sister, I wouldn’t want her dating a guy like me, either.”
The two men prowled bars together on the road. Tempting young women were never in short supply. Occasionally, they would zero in on the same girl. Then they would make a silent bet as to who would win her. From time to time, their target would leave the bar by herself and the men would shrug, laugh and go to bed early, alone. Buddy never drank nectar from the same flower twice and appeared content with his life choices.
When Griff hit bumpy roads with his niece and nephew, he’d go to Coach Bass for advice. Coach always made time for his star quarterback. Times like those, the team became extended family for Griff.
His life had been perfect. Now, it was shattered like a glass breaking into smithereens after landing on a stone floor. What’s more, he wasn’t sure where to go to patch it back together.
Coach suggested renovating his house. With the family gone, Griff bounced around like the last pea in a pod. He hired an architect, who made drawings and suggestions, like a gigantic bedroom suite for him with a new, lavish bathroom. She recommended tearing down walls and redesigning everything—including a complete renovation of the kitchen. The house wasn’t old and wasn’t new. It was nondescript, but functional. Her ideas enticed him.
The entire project would cost about two hundred grand. But when he was done, it would be a palace. He signed the papers, made the first payment, and looked for a place to live until the place was ready.
Chapter Two
Griff pulled up and parked his car on the street next to the small, Victorian house. Kids were playing kickball in a yard next door. He could hear them yelling and the sound of the soft ball being whacked. He’d played kickball with Kathy’s kids a thousand times when they were growing up. It was the easiest sport to use to get them started. They’d loved it and so had he.
His mind flew back to the day Kathy, Wes, and the kids had left. He didn’t want to remember, but the memories came nonetheless.
“It has to last you a long time, young lady,” Griff said, giving his niece a hug.
“Aren’t you coming to visit soon, like you promised?”
“We’ll see.”
She made a pouty face. “You always say that when you mean ‘no’.” She stamped her foot, crossed her arms, and glared at him.
“Missy Marie Thomas, have you walked Pookie and given your suitcase to Wes?” Kathy shooed the thirteen-year-old outside.
“Where’s Joey?” Griff glanced around the living room. Quite a few pieces of furniture were on their way to San Francisco, making the room feel naked. Kathy’s new husband, Wes Emerson, had taken a position with Global Tech and was taking his new family with him.
“It’s Joe, now, Uncle Griff.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, sorry. I forgot.” He ruffled the fifteen-year-old’s hair. At six four, Griff stood almost a whole head taller than the teen. He pulled the boy to him for a quick squeeze. Tears stung at the back of his eyes.
“Please check on your sister. She’s supposed to be walking Pookie.”
Joe nodded, waved to his uncle, and left.
“Now, you, mister.” His sister rested her hands on her hips.
“I’ll be fine, Kathy.”
“I want you to have your own life, for a change. Get married. Have kids.”
“Wave your magic wand and make Miss Perfect appear.” He chuckled.
“Mom! Come on. We’re ready,” Joe called.
Blinking rapidly, Kathy embraced her brother. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t cover it, Griff. I…I…”
“I know,” he said, patting her on the back.
In an instant, she was down the stairs, tucked safely in the front seat while Wes maneuvered the overloaded car out of the driveway. Griff stood at the window. He raised his hand and rested it on the glass. A pain shot through his chest. His breathing became shallow as a lump in his throat cut off his air. Silence overwhelmed him.
The same pain returned as he watched the children play. As if it were yesterday, not a month ago. How long before I get past it? Maybe never.
“You must be that new fella looking to rent my place.” A small, slightly round woman with short, brown hair stood on the lawn, wiping her hands on an apron.
“Yep. That’s me. This your place?” He turned his gaze to the neat, quaint house, painted dark teal blue with cream trim. The small porch had a rocking chair, and the pointed roof added charm.
“It is. Rent’s three thousand a month. Due on the first. You got kids?” She looked him up and down.
“Nope.”
“Good. The house is full of antiques. My husband and I collect. We have a shop, too. Wouldn’t want kids running around breaking stuff. Any pets?”
Griff shook his head.
“Perfect. Come on in.” He followed her inside. The little bell on the front door took his attention, but only for a second. The mouth-watering aroma of baking bread engulfed him. I’ll take it.
“What are you making?”
“Pullman loaf. My husband’s favorite.”
“You own this, but live somewhere else?”
“Yep. We have a bigger one with a shop on the ground floor. It’s nearer the turnpike. You’ve probably passed it. Amy’s Antiques?”
He nodded, not sure he remembered, but wanting to be polite. The small living room had a fireplace with a screen and andirons. The furniture was antique and delicate. His brow furrowed. Can I put my ass on that sofa without breaking it? He joined Amy in the kitchen, where the smell was so strong it made his stomach rumble. She took two pans out of the oven and placed them on a rack.
“Do you need a hand?” he asked.
“Nope. Got it. I’m used to it. Do it all the time.”
The bread had a beautiful, light brown crust on top. Amy gently turned the loaves out onto the counter. “They’ll need a bit to cool. Maybe after we look upstairs, they’ll be cool enough to give you a slice. Would you like that?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never had homemade bread before.”
She smiled at him. “That’s fine, then. You look awfully familiar. Should I know you?”
Griff cast his gaze to the floor. “I play pro football. Sometimes, I get in the local papers.”
“That’s it! Now, I recognize you. You’re the guy who wins all those games for the Kings.”
“I don’t win the games. It’s the team. I’m just the quarterback.”
“Crap, don’t be modest. Isn’t the team’s picture I see. It’s yours.” She narrowed her eyes for a long look at him. “And I can see why.”
That made Griff blush. “Maybe we should see upstairs?”
“Of course, of course.” She took off her apron and hung it on a hook then entered a tiny, winding stairway from the kitchen.
“Not sure I can fit in here,” he said, ducking his head.
“These are the bac
k stairs, used by the maid and butler. Yeah. They are kinda small, aren’t they?” She eyed his broad shoulders before she backed out and led him to the front staircase.
They walked through a formal dining room with dark, antique wood furnishings, including a highly polished, oval table and six chairs. Griff glanced at the delicate legs and decided they wouldn’t hold him. But the room had charm, like stepping back in time, and he approved.
The bedrooms upstairs were adequate, though he had serious concerns about the length of the bed in the master suite. It’s only for a few months. Lace curtains, rag rugs, wood floors shined to perfection, and unique, hand-made quilts added the flavor of the period the house was from. Griff thought of it as a giant dollhouse when he had to duck to get through the doorway of the maid’s room in the back.
In the kitchen, Amy sliced off two thick pieces of warm bread. She pulled European butter from the fridge and spread it liberally before offering the plate to Griff. He accepted gladly. He closed his eyes as the first bite melted in his mouth. Amy tore hers in half and took a delicate nibble.
“This is amazing,” he said.
“Thank you. What do you think of the house?”
“It’s beautiful. You’ve got every little detail. I’ll take it.”
She clapped her hands once and grinned. “Great! You’re our first renter. And no worries about you being able to afford the place.”
Griff plucked his checkbook from his back pocket.
“One month’s security and one month’s rent, please.”
He nodded and wrote the check.
“I hope you’ll be very happy here.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Amy took the money and handed him the keys. “You can move in on Monday. Good luck, and I hope you keep winning.”
“Thanks, Amy.” Griff shook her hand. When he got back to the car, he turned and stared at the house. The beauty of and meticulous care given to the little Victorian impressed him. He was looking forward to living in this small, museum-type place so different from his own. Only for a second did he doubt the plans he’d agreed to for a modern renovation.
Griff Montgomery, Quarterback Page 2