False Hope (McKay-Tucker Men Book 2)

by Marianne Rice

  “It’s not your fault, Mason. I’m a big girl.” She pricked her finger, put the test strip up to the drop of blood, and waited. “Thirty-nine,” Mason swore again. “I have sugar snacks in my purse, it’s okay.” She opened a package of fruit snacks and quickly ate them.

  “It’s not okay. I promised to take care of you and—”

  “Stop right there, mister. It’s not your job to monitor my every move. I’ve had a rough day and totally forgot to eat and test before I went to bed.”

  “We shouldn’t have…”

  “No,” she interrupted. The irony didn’t amuse her. For weeks she worked at getting Mason to talk and now she was cutting him off. She could see the guilt in his eyes. Feeling a little steadier now that she had some sugar in her, she rose and walked toward him. “You’ve been perfect. You’ve known exactly what I’ve needed. Thank you.” Emma kissed him and felt his arms draw her in nearer to his warm body.

  “I’ll make us a midnight snack and then we can go back to bed,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

  Mason smiled. “How about I make us a snack and you go back to bed? I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

  Realization set in and her shoulders sagged. “This is my fault. If you didn’t rush here from New York—”

  This time he cut her off. “You didn’t make me come here, Emma. I-I wanted to. It’s my fault I left a j-job in limbo, not yours.” He led her back to the chair and sat her down like a little girl. “I’ll get us some cereal, okay?”

  She nodded. After a quiet, quick meal, he guided her to bed, tucked her in, and went back to his office to work.

  She woke early the next morning, this time not alone. Not wanting to wake him, Emma quietly slid out of bed and closed Mason’s bedroom door behind her. After eating a bagel and taking a quick shower, she pulled on a pair of shorts and tank top her mother brought over, laced up her borrowed sneakers, and scribbled a quick note, propping it by the coffee maker.

  Thankfully the physical therapy office was only three miles from Mason’s. She jogged at a slow but steady pace and let herself into the building. She knew Mason would freak when he woke up and discovered her gone, but she needed to work. Needed to clear her mind. An hour later, Harry tapped on her open door.

  “I thought you’d take some time off,” he said as he sat down in the chair across from Emma’s desk. “No offense, but you look like you got run over by a bus.”

  She didn’t wonder where he heard the news. Living in a small town, news, like a fire, spread fast. “Yeah,” she snorted. “You pegged it. That’s exactly how I feel. But I need to distract myself with work, with other people’s problems.”

  “Seems we’ve had this talk before. I came in early to juggle around our patients. Are you sure you want to keep your appointments?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you,” she said smiling at her mentor.

  The next few hours moved quickly as she busily worked with Earl Green’s hip replacement issues and little Lindsay Jasper’s recent cast removal. The five-year-old was determined to get back on the monkey bars the moment her cast came off. Emma brought out the treasure chest and kneeled down.

  “You were so brave today, Lindsay. Pick any treasure you want and if Mommy says you’ve listened to all my instructions, you’ll get to pick two treasures next week.”

  “Will you have more necklaces?” she asked.

  “I’ll put in an order for a bunch of princess necklaces, but don’t let the word get out, okay?” she whispered.

  Lindsay beamed and nodded, her long ponytails swaying like a horse’s tail. Emma waved her off and turned around to a scowling six-foot man. “Mason! You scared me.”

  “I could say the same,” he barked.

  Emma made sure no one was in listening distance and pulled him into her office. “I left you a note.”

  “You should have woken me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?” Emma placed her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin. They were having a ten-year-old stare down when Becca tapped on her door.

  “Em, your eleven o’clock canceled. Do you want me to…?" Neither Mason nor Emma turned to acknowledge her. “I’ll let you know when your ten thirty shows,” she said and closed the door behind her.

  “You’re being immature,” Emma said.

  “You’re being careless,” he retorted.

  Emma let out a growl, ran her hands through her ponytail, and plopped in a chair.

  “Mason, this isn’t working. I need my space. I’m not a child. I don’t need you gawking over my shoulder every ten minutes.”

  “I didn’t come here to look over your shoulder. I came to get you because you said you wanted to go see J.T.”

  “Oh.”

  “I called when I got your note, but Becca said you were with a patient. I didn’t realize you were going back to work today.”

  “Oh.”

  Mason remained standing, his hands in his back pockets, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the next. He didn’t come to ream her out and cramp her style. He came to do her a favor, one she asked him to do last night. She needed to go talk to J.T. and get one of the weights lifted off her shoulders.

  “Well, my last client canceled so I guess we could drive down in about an hour? Unless you have work to do.”

  “I wrapped the project up last night. I’ll be back at eleven.”

  “A man with a mission,” she mumbled at his back as he left without kissing her.

  * * * *

  The two-hour drive to Beverly, Massachusetts was once again quiet. Emma’s nerves had a whole new characteristic to them. It wasn’t a confrontation this time, but a visit full of empathy, sympathy, and loss. How could she hate a dying man? Easily. He raped her mother and deserved to…No, no one deserved to die. No will always mean no, but Connor explained both sides: her mom was a naïve fifteen year-old at her first party with her first alcoholic drink, and J.T. was a pompous, arrogant, drunk punk who barely remembered getting in the back of the car and taking advantage of a helpless girl. It was rape, a rape J.T. didn’t remember until twenty-two years later when Connor reminded him of the drunken escapade.

  Had she not met the man, she’d probably feel differently. Now she had no idea what to feel. J.T. had kept track of her life but caused no disruption, never tried to contact her. Connor had filled her in about his confrontation with J.T. years ago, the restraining order, and his clever way to get her to sign the paperwork allowing Connor to officially adopt her.

  Physically, there was nothing left of J.T. Spiller, Pro-Bowler, Super Bowl MVP. But if everything she researched on ALS was true, mentally he was all there. Thankful for Mason’s support, she took out her notebook and studied the list of medical questions she had for him.

  How old were you when you were diagnosed with ALS? How old was your brother when he was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes? How long do you have to live? Shutting her notebook, she tossed it in the back seat and turned up the music listening to Nickelback ask about her last day.

  Mason turned it down and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Listening to music?” she replied sarcastically.

  Mason glared at her. “Going to see J.T. What do you want to get out of it?”

  “There’s unfinished business. I don’t exactly know what it is though. Why he didn’t tell Mom or Connor or me he was sick.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the cool window. “Crap. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to meet my big, strong, healthy football player dad and rip his thick head off for ditching my mom and never acknowledging his daughter’s presence. Learning he raped my mom should have been the clincher. I wanted to kick his ass. Then he goes and ruins it all by…by…”

  “Dying,” Mason said softly.

  “Yeah,” Emma said. She stared out the window as they drove past the Beverly Golf Club. She pictured rich yuppies wasting their days away swinging at a golf ball and sipp
ing on martinis, old men with their trophy wives, and aging women at the spa or getting the latest injection of Botox. That was the superficial life her famous father led, right?

  Following Lola’s instructions, Mason turned into J.T.’s development and slowed as he approached the large, modern home. He shut off the engine and turned to Emma. “We’re out of there as soon as you want.”

  She nodded and reluctantly opened the car door. Before she could stand up, Mason appeared at her side, helping her out of the car and leading her up the walkway. Nancy opened the door with a smile.

  “I was hoping you’d return. But I’m sorry, Mr. Spiller is…”

  “Oh no! He’s not dead is he?” Emma asked nervously.

  “Oh, no, no, dear. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s at his doctor’s with his…fiancée.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know he was engaged.”

  Nancy made a disapproving face, but the caretaker didn’t comment. “Come on out back, and I’ll get you two a nice glass of iced tea. I’ll call Mr. Spiller and let him know you’re here.”

  She opened the French doors to the patio and fled into the kitchen. Emma looked at Mason, shrugged, and settled herself into a chaise lounge by the pool. The backyard was exactly what she would have envisioned for a filthy rich football player. The turquoise water from the inground pool reflected the sun and made Emma wish she brought her sunglasses. The stone patio circled the pool and stretched to the cabana. From afar, it looked more like a pool house and probably held more bottles of alcohol than pool chemicals. She imagined many parties had taken place here before her father took ill.

  Emma chided herself for thinking poorly of her ailing father. She took a few calming breaths and returned her attention to Mason. He reclined in his chaise lounge seeming at ease, but she knew he was wound up tighter than a stiff neck on ice.

  The French doors opened and Nancy came out carrying a tray filled with cookies and a pitcher of iced tea. True to her welcoming nature, she poured a glass for Mason and Emma and smiled down at them.

  “Mr. Spiller is surprised and thrilled you’re both here. He and Ashley should be here in less than twenty minutes.” Before Emma could ask any questions, Nancy hurriedly retreated back into the house.

  Emma sipped her iced tea and wandered around the pool, lingering to smell the roses, lilies, sweet peas, and dahlias. She wondered how many summers J.T. had left to enjoy. Or falls or winters. Would he make it to next spring? Suddenly knowing her biological father’s family’s medical history was no longer a priority. She wanted, needed, to know his medical story. She walked back toward Mason as J.T. emerged from the house on the arm of what must be his trophy soon-to-be wife.

  The tall blonde stopped suddenly and glared at Emma. She would have been the perfect match to the infamous Super Bowl MVP but looked incongruous holding on to the frail arm of the current J.T. Spiller. His stats—which was the best way to read up on her father—claimed him to be six foot five, but his hunched shoulders and sagging head put him at far less than six feet. The perfectly groomed woman at his side stood as tall as him.

  Her hair was artificially blonde—it had to be to have so many varying colors—and the spray on tan only accentuated her perfectly white teeth. Her French manicured left hand was accessorized with an enormous diamond as large as the ring pops her little brother and sister loved to suck on. It amazed and disgusted Emma at how the woman could snarl so fierce and not create a single wrinkle on her Botox injected face.

  J.T. in contrast seemed delighted to see her.

  Turning to Mason for support, Emma set her glass on the patio table and retrieved her purse. “I’m sorry to intrude…J.T. We’ll come back at another time.”

  “Yes,” Trophy Wife began.

  “No,” J.T. interrupted. “This is the highlight of my day. I swear those damned therapists are beating me to death.” He laughed at his own joke while Mason and Emma stood silent. “Sorry, bad joke. Please, sit down.” J.T. shuffled his feet to a nearby chair and asked his fiancée to turn it toward the chaise lounge Mason sat in. Emma sat on the same lounge chair with Mason, needing to feel him near.

  “I’m very glad you came by, Emma. I wasn’t sure…after last time…” He coughed while his fiancée stood behind him, still glaring.

  Emma expected the fiancée—she forgot her name—to bang on J.T.’s back like Nancy did the last time they visited, but she didn’t. As if on cue, Nancy came barreling out of the house and banged on his back loosening phlegm from his lungs.

  “Ashley,” Nancy scolded, holding a towel to J.T.’s mouth. “Either bang on his back or call someone for help. He’s going to…”

  Ashley sneered at J.T.’s back as if the thought of helping her fiancée repulsed her. Their relationship seemed completely messed up. “Would you like me to stay out here, Mr. Spiller?” Nancy asked.

  “No, no, Nancy. I’ll be okay. I just got a little winded hurrying back home to see my…to see Emma.” He smiled sheepishly.

  Her heart took an instant nosedive. Grabbing Mason’s hand for support, she cleared her throat. “I…I had no idea you were sick until we saw you a few weeks ago. Actually, I didn’t know you existed until a few weeks ago. Well, I knew you, as in a birth father, existed but I didn’t know it was you. I came to see you because you owe me—”

  “Stop right there, missy,” Trophy Bitch cut in. “You can’t jump out of the woodwork and expect J.T. to give you an inheritance. The poor man is dying.”

  Shock was too small a word to describe Emma’s reaction. “I’m not here to claim any inheritance. I’m here to meet my birth father and to get some answers. You can go to—”

  Mason squeezed her hand hard. Emma glanced at Mason then back at her father. “I was hospitalized less than a month ago and diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Long story short, I only then learned about you…how my mom got pregnant.” J.T. folded his gnarled hands in his lap and hung his head. “I wanted to see for myself who you were, learn about your family’s medical history.”

  After a long silence, J.T. lifted his head, tears in his eyes. “I’ve lived with the guilt for five years. I wish I could say for the past twenty-eight years, but I honestly didn’t remember what happened until Connor reminded me. I was young, cocky, and stupid.”

  “I think you’ve had enough, darling. Why don’t you go inside and rest? I can show these two out.”

  “No, no.” He affectionately patted Ashley’s hand. “This is long overdue.” In a pissy huff, Ashley stomped inside the house. “Pre-wedding jitters. The big day is less than a month away. Why she wants to marry a decrepit man is beyond me,” he joked. He paused and stared at the pool. “There’s no way I can take away the hurt I caused your mother, but I hope you can forgive me. I know it’s probably too late for us to form any type of relationship, but please don’t hate me. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but I’d like to think I’ve rectified some of them in the past few years.”

  “Nancy showed me your scrapbooks,” Emma said softly.

  A small smile curved his lips. “You were quite the athlete in high school. I had fun researching you. I would have loved watching you play.” She saw the light in his eyes for a brief moment. “Connor’s a good dad, isn’t he?”

  In the past few weeks, she learned of Connor and J.T.’s past friendship as well. Some of it online but most of it from Cole, as Connor refused to talk about his former friend. She wondered if J.T. had any other close relationships, or if he shut himself off from the world as the papers claimed he did for “no expected reason.” She found hundreds of articles online claiming to know why the infamous J.T. Spiller quit the game at the prime of his career, when he still had a few solid playing years left in him and showed no sign of slowing down.

  “You quit when you found out about me. Why?”

  “Why not?” He smiled sadly. “It was a wake-up call. I was nearing retirement anyway and missing something in my life. I didn’t know what it was until Connor showed me.” He cough
ed and Emma shot up and banged the palm of her hand on his back, loosening the phlegm. “Thank you,” he choked out.

  Mason grabbed one of J.T.’s arms and brought him to his feet. Emma came around and linked her hand through his other arm. “Let’s get you inside. You’re beat. We’ll come back another time.”

  J.T. nodded and showed them the way to his bedroom. The spacious room was decorated with a grand mahogany bed and matching furniture. It looked almost ostentatious but filled the masculine space quite well. Dark wood, navy draperies and bedding, and a stone fireplace finished the simple but male décor. The oxygen tank and plethora of medicine bottles by the nightstand stood out of place in the room.

  Helping him into bed, Mason turned back the sheets and lifted J.T.’s legs up onto the bed. “Thanks, Mason. You’ve always been the good brother.” J.T. winked. “Take care of…my girl, okay?”

  Emma’s heart didn’t flutter, drop to her feet, or do flips. It felt squished and confused and torn.

  “Of course,” Mason said and turned to leave.

  She stood frozen, gazing down at the waif of a man who fathered her. She didn’t hate him or pity him. Well, pitied a little bit for being engaged to the bitchy blonde. “Bye,” she murmured and left.

  “Well,” she said once she was buckled in to Mason’s car. “Not exactly what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Mason asked as he backed out of the driveway.

  “Honestly? I don’t know, but that wasn’t it.”

  “Gold digger is still spying on you.”

  “What?” Emma turned around and looked out the back window at the retreating house.

  “She stayed in the kitchen listening through the window while we were outside. She doesn’t like us.”

  “She’s afraid I’m after her money.”

  “It’s not her money yet. And don’t you think it’s odd they’d get married now?”

  “Very.”