“That asshole Carruthers get under your skin?”
“None of your business.”
“You sure gave him up quick. Now, you’re ready to go back?”
“He loves me. Really loves me.”
Stash made a derisive noise. “Sure. Keep believin’ that. He just wants to bang a big star. He’s fucked everything else.”
Emmy reached over and slapped him across the face. He caught her wrist and squeeze hard until she screamed.
“Don’t ever do that again.” He released her.
Emmy rubbed her skin, tears pricking at her eyes. “Don’t say stuff like that about Buddy.”
“Now you’re defending him? Seems to me you slapped him, too, tonight.”
“Your fault.”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s my fault. Blame the manager. Wake up, Emerald. You’re nothing without me.”
“Who’s got the talent?”
He snorted. “Talent? Loud instruments, blinding lights, who the hell can hear you at all?”
“Fuck you, Stash.”
The car pulled up to the hotel. The valet opened the door, and Emmy got out.
“Look, it’s Emerald!” one young woman cried. Dozens of eyes turned to look. Before the crowd could mob the star, Stash was out of the vehicle and cutting a safe path for her through the mob. Emmy smiled and shook hands with fans as Stash ushered her up the stairs. He checked them in quickly while hotel security flanked Emmy.
Stash took her elbow and guided her to the elevator. Once the doors closed, the smile evaporated from her face. She yanked her arm free. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised his palms. “Fine with me.”
Once in her room, Emmy opened her suitcase and pulled out a shimmering, green outfit. She stripped off her clothes. Dressing quickly, she padded barefoot to the picture window of the suite and looked out over Boston. The sky was black with a few stars twinkling. “Buddy, you’d better mean what you said,” she whispered.
A knock on the door drew her attention. She let in Paula and Lani.
“Are you ready?” Lani asked.
“Where’re your shoes?” Paula rummaged through a small piece of luggage until she found a pair of black, patent leather stiletto-heels. Emmy sat down, and Paula put them on her.
“Let’s go. Stash is outside,” Lani said.
“Curtain in twenty,” Paula added.
Emmy started her voice exercises as she headed for the hall. She did two quick tests with the soundman, then retreated. Standing in the wings, she began to sweat. Stash handed her a small towel.
“Thanks.” She wiped her neck and patted her face gently, so as not to rub off the makeup. Colored lights flashed, the band played her intro, and then Emmy stepped out on the stage. The cheer from the crowd was deafening. She raised her arms to the sky, a huge smile on her face. They love me. Me, Stash. Not you. Not the lights. Me.
Adrenaline rushed through her like the rapids on the Colorado River. When she heard the beginning bars of her first tune, Emmy strode up to the mic. She lifted her rump up on a black, lacquered stool and sang the ballad that began the concert. The crowd quieted down immediately. The lyrics were a poem she had written to Buddy in college, and the tune was one she had invented while riding through the Midwest on her tour bus.
The song was called “When You Need Me.” She closed her eyes to feel Buddy’s arms around her, his smile shining, as he had looked a few hours earlier. She poured more emotion into the words than ever before. Afraid to expect anything, her heart courted the hope to find love again with her football player.
The silence when she finished was reverential. She stepped off the stool and raised the mic. The audience went wild, and the game was on. Emmy belted out number after number, strutting across the stage now and then to make sure Stash, Lani, and Paula were in the wings. Strength poured through her, and happiness bubbled up.
After the third curtain call, Emmy exited left. She shoved the mic in Stash’s hands. “Who has the talent?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“You do,” Paula piped up.
“Who?” Emmy glared at Stash.
“Okay, okay. You do. You rocked the theater tonight. Well done.”
A slow smile of satisfaction slipped across her face. “And don’t you forget it.”
“I’m sure you’ll never let me.”
“That’s right. What’s to eat? I’m starved.”
Lani checked her watch. “Dinner should be waiting in the suite.”
“Let’s go.” Emmy hooked her arm through Paula’s, and the foursome headed for the stage door. A limo took them to the hotel.
On their way to the elevator, Emerald’s phone vibrated. Her friend handed Emmy’s cell to the singer. “Text! It’s Buddy. Well, what do you know?” She glanced at Stash and moved down the hall, alone, to read it.
“Don’t be long. We have to get packed. We’re leaving early for New York,” Stash called.
“Screw you. I’ll take all the time I want.”
Stash caught up with her, grabbed her arm, and squeezed until she squirmed. “Listen, bitch. I didn’t kill myself, putting my life on hold to build your career, so you could throw it away on some jock.”
“It’s my life.”
“That’s what you think. When you put me in charge, it became my life. And I say, fuck that asshole and focus on your singing.”
“I am, I am, Stash. I’m gonna do the concert. I’m committed. But I want a private life, too.”
“You can’t have it all, baby. Choose—career or that jerk.”
“Let go. You’re hurting me.”
Stash released her. “Well?”
“I’m still committed. But I’ll talk to Buddy whenever and wherever I want.” She sniffed, raising her chin.
“You can be such a bitch, you know that?” He shook his head.
“Stop trying to control me. Do your job, and stay out of my private life. I can sing and still have a relationship. Plenty of people do.”
“Yeah. Right. Keep telling yourself that.”
She stabbed her finger in his chest. “Just do your job, Stash. And I’ll do mine.”
“Fine. Get your ass back to the suite. If you’re late tomorrow, I’m taking your phone.”
“Over my dead body!”
Stash gave a snort and walked away. He slammed the door to their suite, leaving her in the hall. Emmy’s stomach muscles clenched. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Can I keep Buddy and Stash? I can’t lose either of them. Crap. Between a rock and a hard place.
* * * *
Buddy woke up with the sun. He put up a pot of coffee and had breakfast—three eggs, two sausages, and bacon. He was due at practice at ten and wanted to run with Griff, as he did every morning. But first a call to his mother.
“Hey, mom. Whatcha doing on Sunday?”
“Glad you called. We need to go over some tax stuff. I have a ton of questions for you.”
“Great.”
“Why don’t you come to dinner? I’ll grill a couple of steaks.”
“Perfect. What time?”
“How about six?”
“Why not make it earlier?”
“Earlier? What’s up?” He could visualize his mother’s eyes narrowing as she shot a suspicious look his way. She’d had a way of doing that when he was in high school, worming an almost instant confession from him.
“Nothing, nothing. Haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire. I’ll find out when you get here. See you at four.”
Buddy clicked off his phone. Saved! Now I can’t go to Chrissy’s house. Close call.
He met up with Griff on the track.
“You really do know Emerald.”
“Told ya.”
“Yeah, but you’re always telling stories about women.”
“Maybe now you’ll believe me.”
“If they’re all true, I give you my crown as team dick.”
Buddy laughed and pushed ahead. A
smile had taken up residence on his face since he had reconnected with Emmy. Happiness flowed through him. I’m gonna get her back.
He focused on practice, finding new energy and increased speed. He hit the showers then the ice tub at three. By four o’clock, he was roaring down the road toward his mom’s, taking sharp turns easily in his SLK250 two-seater Mercedes.
His dad, Al, had died when Buddy had been in college. His mother, Verna, lived about ten miles away, in a modest Cape Cod-style house her son had bought for her with money from his first contract. She had been a teacher and retired on a small pension. After Al passed, Verna had to take the reins on their finances. She had invested Al’s life insurance and the profits on their large house, which she’d sold when Buddy’d bought the new one.
Verna paid Buddy a small rent on the place, which she invested for him. He’d handed her his money to manage since he knew he could trust her. She’d been careful with his earnings, knowing that one big injury could end his playing career forever. She’d made his nest egg grow substantially and kept her son on a budget.
He parked in the driveway and circled around to the back deck. The smell of grilling meat filled his nostrils. He grinned. Verna, a slim woman of average height with short, brown hair and Buddy’s bright blue eyes, waved. She wore flip flops, an apron over her shorts, and a bright blue Kings T-shirt. She’s fifty-eight, and she still looks good.
“Beer?” she asked, turning the potatoes over.
Buddy bent down and grabbed an ice cold one from the cooler. “You know, Ma, these might stay colder if you moved them away from the grill.” He popped open the can.
“Then I couldn’t get one while I’m keeping my eye on the steaks, could I?”
He smiled as he shook his head.
“What’s up with you? What are you avoiding?”
“Chrissy.” Why bother lying? She’ll only worm it out of me anyway.
“The one with the double D’s and the small brain?”
“You make her sound like a T-rex.”
“If the shoe fits…I mean, she’s pretty, but no rocket scientist.”
“Neither am I, Ma.”
“You’re a college graduate.”
“Phys. Ed major.”
“You could have majored in Econ. It was your best subject.” She sliced into one of the steaks a bit to check for doneness.
“You’re never happy.”
“Not true. I’m very happy with you. You’re a star, doing something you’re the best at. I’m proud of you, Buddy. Just wish you’d have pushed yourself a little more in school.” She turned to face him before bringing a beer can up to her mouth.
“Guess who sang the National Anthem at the last game?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I was there, remember? Emerald.”
“Know who she is?” Buddy lounged back against a tree.
“Oh, no! Really?” Verna clamped her free hand on her hip and faced Buddy. “It wasn’t little Emmy Meacham, was it?”
“Damn right, it was.”
“She’s a big rock star now? Wow.” Verna shook her head and smiled. “Good for her. She needed something, with that poor excuse for a family.”
“She’s huge, Ma. Probably makes five times what I make.”
“You do all right. Three year contract for eighteen mil is nothing to sneeze at.”
“I saw her after.”
“Yeah?” Her eyebrows rose. “I always liked that girl. ’Til she broke your heart.”
“It was all a misunderstanding. Probably my fault.”
“Honestly, Buddy. Did you fuck it up?” sniffed his mother.
“Ma! Nice talk.”
She laughed. “Just trying to fit in. Your father’d roll over in his grave.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?” She cocked an eyebrow before turning the steaks.
“Yeah. I’m gonna be seeing Emmy, whenever we can. Our schedules are crazy, but sometimes we’re on the same coast, or near enough. I’m gonna need money for airfare, dinner, hotel rooms, and stuff.”
“You want to change the amount you take from your account every month?”
He nodded, staring at his shoe, scraping dirt off the slate path.
“Okay. No problem. We’ve had a great year. How much do you think you’ll need?”
“I don’t know.”
“Watch the food.” Verna wiped her hands on her apron and climbed the stairs. In a few minutes, she came out, carrying an envelope. “Here. I’ve been saving this credit card in case you needed it. Seems like you do now.”
“Yeah?” He turned it over in his hand.
“It’s got a twenty thousand dollar limit. Use it for whatever you need.” She picked up the giant wooden fork and spoon resting in the salad bowl.
“Twenty grand?”
“It’s your money, Buddy. You’ve earned it.”
He rolled the card over and over, staring at it.
“Just don’t lose it.”
“I won’t, Ma,” he replied, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
She glanced up from her task. “You’re not just skirt chasing, are you?”
“This is serious.”
“Good. ’Cause you’ve done enough of that. Time to settle down. You’re almost twenty-eight.”
“I know. She’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”
“I always liked Emmy. A shy one, but smart.”
“Yeah. She’s still great. This time, I’m not going to be a jerk.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake, I hope not!” Verna gave her head a brief shake. “Dinner’s ready. Wash up.”
Buddy washed his hands in the kitchen then returned. He sat down and bowed his head while his mother said grace. One slice into the meat told him it was done just the way he liked it. “Ma, you’re incredible, you know that?” He stuffed a piece into his mouth.
Verna blushed and cut hers into smaller pieces. “Aw, Buddy.”
“No. Really. You are.” He squeezed her hand.
“I only want you to be happy.”
“I am, Ma. I am. And when Emmy and I get together, life will be complete.”
“Wish your dad could have been here to see your success.”
“Me, too.”
Verna teared up for a moment. She fanned the air in front of her face for a second then smiled. “You’re the best son in the world.”
Buddy grinned. They don’t make them like her anymore.
Verna dug into her salad. “So, tell me. What’s the strategy for getting around the Sidewinders?”
Buddy finished chewing. “Well, Griff and Coach Bass have a new play…”
After filling in his mother on the Kings’ latest game plan, he prepared to go. Verna stopped him with a hand on his forearm.
“Call Chrissy.”
“But, Ma. I’m not interested in her. I told her from the start it’d be short term.”
“Call her. Meet her. Tell her in person. Be a man. No text. No dumping her on the phone. Face her and tell her the truth.”
“Won’t that hurt more?”
“Maybe. But it’s the honorable thing to do. Show her some respect.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded. While his car idled in the driveway, he sent Chrissy a message.
Meet me at the Savage Beast for a drink in an hour.
He put the vehicle in gear and roared down the quiet, country road. I hope Ma knows what she’s talking about. Hope Chrissy doesn’t own a gun. He ran his fingers through his short, blond hair and knitted his brows. Honorable break-ups weren’t his specialty. More like cut and run.
He showered and changed into clean jeans and a short-sleeved, button-down shirt. Then, he got her reply, with one word—“okay.” Sweat gathered behind his neck and under his arms, so he blasted the air conditioning in the car. Is this what driving to your own execution feels like?
He pushed open the door, not expecting to see Griff Montgomery there with his wife, Lauren, and their new b
aby. The infant slept in a portable baby seat on the floor between them. They waved Buddy over.
He stopped at their table, but didn’t sit down. “I’m meeting Chrissy. We gotta talk. It’s private. You understand.”
Griff gave him a knowing smile, but Lauren cast a quizzical look. “Tell you later,” Griff said, patting his wife’s arm.
Buddy found a table far away from everyone else. He ordered a beer and sat back, awaiting doom. His toe tapped the floor. After he’d finished half his lager, the door opened.
Chrissy stood, shielding her eyes, squinting as she surveyed the dark room. Buddy raised his hand. She looked good, her long, blonde hair pushed behind her shoulders, her breasts almost bursting out of her pale yellow tank top, her dungaree shorts as tight as a second skin. High wedged sandals made her appear taller.
When she spotted the wide receiver, she headed for him, a frown on her pretty, pink lips. He rose when she neared and pulled out a chair for her.
She threw a suspicious look his way. “Suddenly a gentleman?”
“Always for a beautiful woman.”
She sat back and crossed her legs, staring at him through hooded eyes. “What’s up?”
The waitress, Carla, stopped by. “Whatcha havin’?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Chrissy said.
“’Nother one?” Carla turned to Buddy.
He nodded. Maybe another ten.
“Too busy to come to dinner? But you have time for this? My parents are waiting for me. What do you want?”
He cleared his throat. Took a gulp of beer. Cleared his throat again.
“Come on, I don’t have all night.” She glanced at her watch.
“Well, you know how we agreed our…our…relationship would be kind of just fun and games?”
“You agreed. Not me.”
“Okay. Yeah. Maybe it was my idea. But I never, never said to you that we’d be permanent.”
She sat in silence, her lips compressed.
“You’re a great person and a beautiful girl, Chrissy…”
“But…” she said, sparks flying from her eyes.
Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Page 3