by Heidi Betts
Like the outside of the house, it was tidy; if there was a speck of dust on anything, she didn’t see it. But unlike the exterior, the interior carried an air of hauteur.
The furniture looked expensive…or maybe was supposed to look more expensive than it really was…and was made up of modern versions of old-fashioned designs. Victorian or Edwardian or Louis the XVIII knockoffs. Grace might not be up on her time periods, but she knew fakes when she saw them.
Zack’s crutches made clop-clop sounds on the hardwood floor, following behind the click-click-click of the other woman’s heels. The farther into the house they went, the less comfortable Grace became.
She knew Zack didn’t exactly hold warm and fuzzy feelings toward his father, and if they hadn’t seen each other in a while…well, they deserved a private reunion.
Laying her hand gently on his arm, she whispered, “You go ahead, I’ll wait here.”
Without missing a step, he nodded, though he didn’t seem overly happy about the prospect of going off alone.
Grace remained where she was, and a moment later, the ebony-haired woman returned. Her mouth was set in a lemon-sucking moue.
Since they didn’t call her “Amazing” for nothing, Grace pasted on her dealing-with-pissy-people smile and held out her hand.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” she said in an upbeat tone. “I’m Grace Fisher.”
The woman eyed her as though she were about to steal the jewelry from around her neck, but lifted her own hand to shake briefly.
“Patsy,” she said.
Ha! Patsy, Peggy…she hadn’t been too far off, had she? Grace wondered if her maiden name had been anything close to Bundy.
“Grace Fisher,” Patsy repeated warily. “Are you that woman from the talk show?”
The corners of Grace’s mouth lifted into Dealing with Awed Fan Smile #3. Not the most sincere of her Dealing with Awed Fan smiles, but it was up there. “Yes, I am.”
“And you used to be engaged to Zackary.” A statement, not a question.
The grin slipped a fraction. “Yes.”
Patsy narrowed her gaze. “I thought you broke up.
So what are you doing together again?”
Rude, much? Nosy, much, you frigid bitch? Grace thought, wishing she could curl her lip and show her disdain.
But then, this was Zack’s stepmother, and even if he didn’t love her, didn’t even like her or know her the least little bit and didn’t have a very good relationship with his father, she should at least try to be civil while she was a guest in their home.
“We’ve been seeing each other again,” Grace told her, enjoying the surprise her words brought to the other woman’s eyes.
Besides, it was moderately true. They had been seeing each other again, since they’d both been blessed with perfect twenty-twenty vision. And even seeing each other naked, so it totally counted.
“Come on into the living room,” Patsy said, more order than invitation, turning on her heel to lead the way. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
She didn’t ask what Grace would like or even offer a selection of choices, so Grace supposed she would have to take what she could get. She just hoped that whatever it was wasn’t laced with poison.
Taking a seat on the pristine sofa—which was so squeaky clean, the cushions so firm, it looked as though it bore a plastic cover five days out of the week—Grace waited for Patsy’s return by taking in even more of the room’s decorations. Her hostess apparently collected crystal figurines of every shape and size, and those miniature souvenir spoons. Both fell under the Dust Collector/What’s the Point? column in Grace’s book, but to each her own.
Patsy returned a few minutes later with a tray—an honest-to-God silver tray—holding a floral-pattern china tea set. She filled two dainty cups that looked infinitely breakable, and Grace added a touch of milk and sliver of lemon to her own, waiting for it to cool enough to drink.
“So what are you two doing here?” Patsy asked in what Grace was coming to believe was her typical straightforward (bordering on downright impolite) manner.
“We’re on our way to New York for a photo and commercial shoot,” Grace told her, and then went on to explain a bit about the endorsement deal with I.O.U., and that they were driving rather than flying because of Zack’s injury.
Patsy’s dark brows rose in what Grace could only categorize as keen interest. “An endorsement deal,” the woman all but crooned. “That sounds…lucrative.”
A trickle of dread snaked down Grace’s spine.
Uh-oh, had she said the wrong thing? Obviously, she had; or at the very least she’d said too much. Given the woman the wrong impression.
Then again, what business was it of hers how much she and Zack were receiving from Insides Out? Or how much they earned from their regular jobs, for that matter? She certainly hadn’t waltzed into Patsy’s house and started asking how much she’d paid for all of her museum-quality furniture.
Grace opened her mouth to respond, even though she didn’t have a clue what she should say, when noises from the back of the house caught their attention. She heard the staccato clop of Zack’s crutches, along with at least one other set of footsteps, and above that, an eager, rapid-fire voice.
A second later, the teen boy who had opened the front door to them appeared, walking into the living room backward. He was gesturing wildly, and when Grace caught a glimpse of his face, she noticed that it was cheerful and animated with excitement.
“Oh, man, that was awesome,” he was saying. “And then that time you blocked a shot from Sellers just as the clock ran down. Sweet!”
Zack smiled, and Grace could tell he was genuinely enjoying his half brother’s enthusiasm. His expression was no longer strained, his shoulders no longer stiff with trepidation.
“Mom,” the boy said, spinning on one foot to face Patsy. “Did you meet Zack? He’s the star goalie for the Cleveland Rockets. And he’s my brother! I can’t believe he’s my brother!”
The boy positively vibrated with pleasure, and Grace wondered if he’d just discovered his relation to Zack. Did Zack’s father not talk about his oldest son—or his other children from other marriages, for that matter? Or had the young man known that technically they were related, but never met Zack, and therefore never believed there was true familial potential between them?
“He’s going to send me a jersey signed by the whole team,” he continued. “How rockin’ is that?”
Grace chuckled, meeting Zack’s gaze over the boy’s shoulder.
“Grace,” Zack said, still grinning, “this is Ian. Ian, Grace.”
“Hey!” the young man greeted her, chest still heaving from his breathless monologue.
“Hi, Ian, it’s nice to meet you.”
An older man with thinning, light blond hair going to gray came around both Zack and Ian, taking a seat in the armchair opposite his wife. He wore a pair of charcoal Sansabelt slacks and a navy blue sweater over a plaid button-down shirt.
“And this is my father, Frank,” Zack added, his smile slipping a fraction, his voice taking on a less happy note. “Dad, this is Grace.”
She shook the man’s hand, offering a polite hello. He didn’t seem overtly ill, even though Zack had mentioned he’d been sick. But when Grace looked closely, she did notice a slight pallor to his skin, and that his clothes hung a bit loosely from his tall but thin frame, as though he’d recently lost weight. She would have to ask Zack later what was wrong with him.
“Frank,” Patsy said, ignoring her son’s desire to continue raving about Zack’s accomplishments on the ice. “Did Zackary tell you that he’s on his way to New York to shoot an ad campaign for Insides Out Underwear? They’re paying him a mint, I’m sure, and you know how I’ve been wanting to move into a bigger house in a much better neighborhood.”
Row 21
From there, the visit went downhill fast. Or, as Zack would have said, it went to hell in a handbasket down a very slippery slope.
She went on and on about all the things Zack could do and buy for them, and Grace could have sworn her brown eyes turned green, the pupils reshaping themselves into dollar signs. It was both eerie and sickening.
The longer Patsy blathered on, truly believing Zack would just open his wallet and shower her with cash, the more regretful Grace became that she’d ever said anything about the endorsement deal, and the more stoic and quiet Zack became.
She understood now why he didn’t visit more often. Whatever his relationship with his father, she wouldn’t have wanted to deal with the money-hungry barracuda just to get to him, either.
Because she could feel the tension rolling off Zack in waves, Grace quickly stood and suggested they get going. Bruiser was waiting in the car, after all, and they really should get back on the road.
Zack heartily agreed, and clomped to the door faster than she’d ever seen him move on those crutches, and she was only too happy to follow him out. They said their good-byes and made their way to the Hummer, climbing in and driving off as quickly as possible.
Bruiser pranced back and forth on the backseat, but neither of them wanted to stick around long enough to let him out. God knew how much longer Patsy’s windfall wish list would grow in the span of time it took for the dog to tinkle on her lawn.
Reaching behind her, she patted the Saint’s furry head. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll stop in a few minutes so you can go potty.”
She returned her hand to the steering wheel, taking a deep breath and then letting it out. “I’m sorry, Zack. I had no idea your stepmother was going to be like that. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
He lifted one broad shoulder, staring straight ahead as she maneuvered them through town and back toward the highway.
“I didn’t know she was like that, either. I’d never met her before.”
It wasn’t exactly a free pass, but the fact that he hadn’t known she was a gold digger either was some small consolation.
“How long has it been since you last saw your dad?”
“Years,” he said. “Patsy and Ian weren’t home at the time. Before that, he was married to a different woman with a different set of kids, and lived in a different part of the state.”
She gave a snort of ironic laughter. “You know, we make quite the pair.”
“Why?” he asked, turning a dark blue gaze in her direction.
“Because we both come from completely fucked-up families. My mother let everyone around her run her life, thinking they were going to make her a star, but ended up drinking and drugging herself to death. I never knew my father—I’m not sure my mother actually knew who my father was—and ended up being raised by my grandmother. And you,” she went on, “had a great mom, but a deadbeat dad who went and got himself bitten by the Bride of Dracula.”
It was Zack’s turn to chuckle, the corners of his mouth creasing for the first time since they’d pulled up in front of his father’s house.
“All in all, I’d say we could be the poster children for Dysfunction Junction,” she told him, pulling off to the side of the road in front of a park on the outskirts of town.
A small, square plot of land, it boasted a few benches, picnic tables, and flower beds, along with a sliding board, a set of three swings, monkey bars, and a couple of those cute animal-shaped seats on giant metal springs—in this case, a duck and a dolphin—for kids to play. Two of the swings were occupied by girls who looked to be about nine years old.
Grace smiled at them as she hopped out of the Hummer and moved around the hood to open the door for Bruiser. He jumped and bounced, eager to get out and run around, but making it difficult for her to get the leash snapped onto his collar. Once that was done, though, she let him out and gave him a long lead to run ahead and sniff everything in sight.
Zack got out, too, collecting his own crutches and following along at a slower pace while Bruiser dragged her to and fro all around the playground. Zack made his way to one of the picnic tables and climbed up to sit on the top set of wooden planks, his feet and the crutches propped on the seat.
When Bruiser brought Grace around to the swings, the two girls wanted to know if they could pet him. And big attention hog that he was, he nearly knocked them over trying to get more and more full-body pats. Grace almost offered to let them ride Bruiser around for a while, but then reminded herself that he only looked—and ate—like a horse.
Finally, the girls grew bored and Bruiser’s energy level tapered off a bit, so she wandered over to where Zack was sitting.
“Hey,” she said, taking a seat beside him. Bruiser continued to sniff and explore, pacing to the end of his leash and back again. “You about ready to go?”
“In a minute,” he said, staring off across the park.
“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly, knowing it must be something serious to put such dark shadows behind his eyes.
He shook his head, and for a second she didn’t think he was going to answer.
“I promised I wasn’t going to bring this up again,” he said in a frustrated tone.
Whether frustrated with himself or whatever situation he’d vowed not to broach again, she wasn’t sure, but she simply waited, knowing that he would open up when and if he was ready, and not a moment before.
“My dad,” he began slowly several minutes later, head bowed as he studied his clasped hands balanced between his spread knees. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at him now, but he used to be quite the ladies’ man. He cheated on my mother multiple times before taking off, cheated on all of his other wives, and most likely cheated on every woman he’s ever had any sort of relationship with. I hated him for that as much as for the fact that he abandoned us.”
Zack straightened, flattening his palms on his knees and rubbing roughly along the faded denim. “I know you don’t want to hear this—or maybe you just aren’t ready to yet—but that’s the number-one reason I would never be unfaithful to you. I watched my father go through women like they were toilet tissue. I saw the trail of devastation his infidelity left behind. And I swore long ago—long before I met you—that I would never be that kind of man.”
He turned then to meet her gaze, his blue eyes Arctic clear and brimming with sincerity. It reached in to cut off her oxygen and grip her soul. God, how she wanted to believe him.
“I may pretend to be a player. I may grin and wag my tongue at the female fans. I may even have gone home with a different woman each night before I met you. But I never once lied to them or let them think there was more to it than a simple one-night stand. And when I date a woman, I date that woman, and that woman alone. No stepping out on her, no having a girl in every port—or every game city, as the case may be. And if my eye did start to wander, that’s how I knew it was time to break things off and move on. Which I did, before I started anything with anyone else.”
He lifted both shoulders in a careless shrug and clapped his hands together. “That’s it, Grace, that’s all I’ve got. The ball’s in your court now, I guess. You’re going to have to decide for yourself what kind of man you think I am. And if you think I’m someone who would lie to you, betray you, cat around on you …” Another shrug, only one shoulder this time. “Then you’re right to kick me to the curb and walk away. No woman should put up with an asshole like that.”
His lips twisted in a sad, defeated grimace before he slid down from the picnic table, retrieved his crutches, and fit them under his arms. “I wish to hell my mother hadn’t.”
He murmured the last in a low, resigned voice, then turned and hobbled back toward the Hummer, leaving her both speechless and moved…and so confused, she felt as though she were being torn in a million directions at once.
Zack sat at the round table at the front of The Penalty Box where h
e and his friends normally gathered on Wednesday nights. The same Wednesday nights the girls had their Knit Wits knitting meetings.
Grace would be there, he was sure. And sooner or later, Dylan and Gage would wander into the bar to join him, although he had every intention of getting the hell out of Dodge before the girls showed up for their after-meeting drinks.
For now, though, he was early and he was alone—just the way he’d planned.
He’d done all he could where Grace was concerned. Bared his soul and laid it all on the line.
Fat lot of good it had done him. She’d hardly said three words to him since.
She’d put Bruiser in the car and pulled away from the tiny park near his father’s house, driving them the rest of the way into Manhattan almost like a chauffeur—silent and ghostly, there to get him where he was going, but not much else.
They’d even skipped their second planned stop and driven straight through, checking into the Manhattan hotel early, then sat around waiting for the I.O.U. reps to get in touch and set up the numerous hoops they were expected to jump through.
Needless to say, any chance of having her let down her guard enough for them to heat up the sheets again was out of the question.
There were meetings with Insides Out representatives, with Quentin North in attendance. Then a photo session for the print ads that would appear in magazines and on billboards across the country, and a shoot for the commercials that would run on some of the more popular television networks. Both of which involved the two of them stripped down to their I.O.Us, and in various versions of hockey gear, striking any number of sensual, suggestive poses.
If Zack hadn’t been so worried that he’d fucked things up royally with her, and blown any chance he’d ever had of getting her back, he thought he probably would have even enjoyed the weekend.
They stayed in New York through Tuesday before heading back to Ohio. And, oh, what a great trip that had been. Right up there with a root canal, sleeping on a bed of nails, or having a colonoscopy without anesthesia. Not because they’d been fighting, but because they’d barely talked at all.