“He hurt you,” Maggie supplies.
“Yeah.” We’d gotten close during the six weeks we worked on our science project. Instead of laughing at my ideas, or spending the whole time flirting with me, he listened and took my suggestions like my opinion mattered. I’d believed that he saw me for more than what was on the outside.
He’d also ask questions about me. At first, I was reluctant to say much of consequence, but then he came up with the idea of playing Truth or Dare. It was like if we were playing a game, then we could share things freely. Almost like it didn’t count, but it did. And when he told me about his mom and dad, and how he saved his mom, I fell hard for him.
I thought we had a connection, and that I could trust him, but then he did what he did. If I hadn’t liked him as much as I did, then it probably wouldn’t hurt still to this day.
“Speaking of Cash’s mouth …” Maggie said.
I choked on my treat. “Maggie!” I glance around again to make sure we’re still alone. “Nobody was talking about his mouth.”
Now all I can see are his white teeth and full lips, framed by a square jaw covered in dark scruff.
Maggie flips her blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Well, we should because, oh. My. God. Someone should write a song about that man’s mouth.”
“I swear, Maggie, you have no filter.”
My best friend shrugs and grins. “It’s the cancer. When you come that close to death, you realize that filters are for weenies.”
I reach across the table and squeeze Maggie’s hand again. I love this woman, and it still turns my blood to ice to think of how close we came to losing her. And she came through the illness changed. She doesn’t hold one thing back now when she’s got something to say. “You know you’re my hero, but sometimes it takes me a minute to catch up. Also, I don’t want to talk about Cash King’s mouth. Besides, what would Donny think about you talking about the homecoming king that way?”
She wads up her napkin and tosses it on the table. “You know how cocky my husband is. His ego is big enough to handle me appreciating another man’s attributes.”
I laugh because she’s so right. I love Donny like a brother, but he does not lack for confidence. “You’re probably right.”
“Besides, he knows I’m hopelessly in love with him.” Her perpetual sunniness shines through her eyes. “I mean, I came back from the dead to be with him. What more would the man need from me to prove my devotion to him?”
She hadn’t literally died, but she came pretty damn close. Those few days when we didn’t know what would happen were the longest of mine and Donny’s lives. “We’re both grateful that you’re too darn stubborn to die.”
She raises her glass of water. “I aim to please. So, do we believe Cash?” she asks. “I mean, I don’t know why he’d make that announcement in front of everyone if it weren’t true.”
“How could he not know about that grant, Maggie? It’s the Cash King Foundation.” I pop the last bite of ice cream cone into my mouth. “If he doesn’t know, then he’s an idiot.”
“Or maybe he’s not involved in the day-to-day running. He does have a career,” Maggie adds.
I cut her a look. “Whose side are you on?”
“I think we’ve already established that.” The fierceness in her expression leaves no doubt it’s mine. “I’m trying to figure out how this whole thing might work out.”
I straighten my shoulders. “I wouldn’t take the money from him now if he begged me.”
“What?” Maggie shouts, and several people turn to stare at her.
“He’d only be giving it to us to save his reputation.”
Maggie leans forward and crosses her arms on the table. “Who cares why he’s doing it? We need the money if we’re going to keep the center open. You know this.”
“He had his chance to be involved, and he blew it. If we come together as a community, then I’m confident we can raise the money for a monthly payment. I’m sure Elva Clayton will let us make monthly payments. She’s not unreasonable.”
Maggie gives me a look that clearly communicates she thinks I’m being pig-headed, and maybe I am. But taking money from Cash’s foundation was clean and sterile. If he were to offer us the money from his own pocket, that would require me trusting him to hold up his end of the bargain.
And I don’t trust Cash King as far as I can throw him.
Nine
Cash
I punch the pillow on my mom’s guest bed and flop onto my stomach. I usually fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, then sleep like the dead until I wake up at six o’clock sharp. But tonight, I can’t calm my mind. Too much has happened today.
Sounds from Nan and Joe’s room next door come through the wall.
“Mmmm, Linny Rae.”
“Oh, Joe.”
A moan and the sound of giggling make my eyes fly open. That can’t possibly be what it sounds like.
“Yes, like that, Joe.”
“Oh, hell no.” I’m up and out of the room before my ears are assaulted by the geriatric lovemaking next door. I head to the kitchen. I swear my feet don’t touch the ground until I’m well out of earshot.
My nan and Joe are having sex.
I can’t tell if I’m disgusted or envious. I broke up with my last girlfriend six months ago. I use the word girlfriend loosely. We went out, she got to be seen on the arm of a pro football player, and I got regular sex with someone who was discreet. When it was over, there was no dramatic scene or tears, no hard feelings. She got a nice parting gift, and I got a drama-free breakup. Clean and simple, exactly the way I like a relationship.
I grab a can of fizzy water from the fridge and take a seat at the kitchen table. Damn, today’s been bizarre. Even with the fame, my life is relatively calm. I get up, eat, work out for several hours, eat again, watch a film or go to physical therapy for whatever injury is plaguing me that day. And after nine years in the NFL, there are plenty of aches and pains. Then I have another meal, watch some ESPN, and hit the hay, only to get up and do it all again. I rarely vary from my routine.
Successful professional athletes don’t stumble into their positions. They gain that level of success by working their asses off, with discipline, and pushing through pain and injury. I’m no exception. Football is all that matters, and it’s been that way since I was thirteen years old. I’m respected because of football. Without it, I’m no different than my dad and his brothers.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
I’m startled out of my thoughts as my mom enters the kitchen. “Nothin’. You’re up late.” I haven’t seen her since she left the meeting. She was in her room when Nan, Joe, and I got home.
She moves to the cabinet next to the fridge and removes a glass. Her palm opens, revealing a giant oval pill. “I forgot to take my vitamin. I have to take the fool things at night, or they make me sick.”
“Good Lord, that’s a horse pill.”
Mom pops the pill into her mouth and chases it with a drink of water. “You get used to them. Why are you up?”
“Nan and Joe.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “I should’ve warned you. Why do you think I sleep with earplugs?”
“It’s not funny.”
“The look on your face is funny.” The shoosh, shoosh, shoosh of her slippered feet as she moves to stand next to me is as familiar as the way she brushes the hair from my forehead. “What happened with the application, Cash?”
“No idea. I put a call in to Carlton but haven’t heard from him yet.” I reach for her hand. “I’m sorry, Mom. You’re right. I should’ve returned your call.”
The nails of her other hand scratch over my upper back. She used to do this when I was upset as a kid. “I know you are. I’m sorry that I let my anger get the best of me. I should’ve talked to you today and warned you.”
If my mom has a fault, it’s that when she gets angry, she really gets angry, and it takes her a while to get over things. That’s wh
y I haven’t told her about Wayland Estate. I’m not exactly sure how she’ll react.
She kisses my forehead. “Night, baby.”
I don’t let go of her hand when she tries to step away. “Um … Mom?”
“Yes?”
The chair across from me scrapes against the tile floor as I push it out with my foot. “Can you sit for a minute?”
My mom has very few wrinkles, but she has a very definite crease in her forehead over her right eye when she’s concerned. “What is it, baby?”
When she calls me baby, it’s like I’m back in junior high, trying to figure out how to tell her I busted the Lovette’s kitchen window when they weren’t home. I was working on my throwing accuracy. I had a bullseye drawn on our fence, and their window was about three feet above the boundary between our houses. In my preteen pea-brain, I thought it would teach me to perform under pressure.
Needless to say, I missed.
She was so mad. I’ve only seen her madder one other time. I thought she’d kill me when she found out what I said about Tiger at the homecoming dance. She insisted I apologize. I lied to her and told her I tried but that Tiger wouldn’t speak to me. Teenage pride, man. It’s a bitch.
“Cash? Is something wrong?”
I smooth on an adoring expression—not hard, since I do adore my mother. But I need to handle this just right. “No.” I squeeze her hand that I’m still holding. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t have to get me anything. I have everything I could ever want.”
Gulp. Oh well, I didn’t get where I am by wussing out. “The thing is, Mom, I bought Wayland Estate … for you.” I slap on my endorsement grin, the one that’s sold millions of sneakers.
She blinks … once … twice … three times.
The hum of the fridge is the only sound in the room, and with every second that ticks by without her speaking, I know I’ve screwed up. “Say something.”
“Why?”
“You always said you wondered what it’d be like to live in such a grand place. Now you can know.” I up the dazzle on my smile, hoping that will help get me out of the doghouse on this one.
“Cash, I used to say that like someone says they wonder what it’s like in outer space. And I sure as hell don’t want to go into outer space.” She stands and the chair skids backward. “I don’t want or need another house. Sorry, but you wasted your money.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t Mom me.” This probably just surpassed the window incident. She’s furious. I know because she’s not yelling at me. When she’s really mad, every word is spoken with the precision of a surgeon’s blade and in a barely restrained whisper. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Did what? Give you a gift? A really nice gift.”
Her jewel-green eyes narrow and she leans toward me. “You know as well as I do that you buying that house has very little to do with me and everything to do with you and your never-ending quest to prove something to this town.”
“That’s not—”
“Don’t make this worse by lying. I’ll never understand why you’re so embarrassed that I still live in the old neighborhood.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I only want you to have nice things.”
I hate the sad look in her eyes. “You still don’t get it. This is my home. It’s where my friends are, and I have no intention of going anywhere.” She sucks air down to her toes, then releases it. “You know what? I think you should go.”
“Mom …”
She shakes her head. “I need some time.” Her small hands go to my cheeks. “I love you with my life, Cash, but right now, I’m so mad that I can’t see straight.” Her lips touch my forehead and then she’s gone.
The kitchen’s quiet after she leaves.
I drop my forehead on my crossed arms resting on the table. What a mess. The worst part is, I knew it was a mistake when I was signing the papers at the realtor’s office, but I was in too deep by then to stop. Man, I’m batting a thousand today. The house and the money for the rec center, the way I treated Tiger. I don’t know which one I’m more upset about.
Even though I remember being excluded from things because of my last name, I’ve still tried to do right by Ryder. That grant application being turned down puts me in a bad position with the town that has as long of a memory as I do. And even though it shouldn’t, their good opinion of me matters.
Regardless of the foundation turning down the application, I’m going to give the town whatever money they need to save the rec center. But maybe I should be more involved than just writing a check. It might help get me out of hot water with my mom too.
But how would that work? I have my routine and getting this shoulder back to top performance has to be my priority. Of course, I don’t have to be in Fort Worth to do that. I yank my phone from my pocket and punch in a familiar number.
“What’s up, King?”
“Sorry to call so late, Duke. How does a trip home to Ryder sound?”
Duke’s low chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Sounds expensive for you.”
“Name your price. I need you, man, and I don’t want to rehab this shoulder in Fort Worth.”
“Okay, but why Ryder?” Both of us have our own hang-ups about our hometown.
“Have you seen the old rec center lately?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s in bad shape.”
“Shame, that place was the hub for everything back in the day.”
I rest my elbow on the table and prop my head in my hand. “Yeah, it’s the only reason I didn’t spin completely off as a kid.”
He laughs again. “Yeah, Big Dave would’ve kicked your ass if you had … if any of us had.”
A pang of sadness pulls at me. Dave Rogers, the center’s director when we were growing up, was the closest thing to a real father I had. I cried like a baby at his funeral and never shed one tear at my dad’s.
“Anyway, I want to stay here for a while and help with getting it back in shape.”
“Alright, but where are you planning to do all this rehab? It’s not like there are a ton of options in Ryder.”
“The high school weight room.” The more I think about this idea, the more I like it. I can get back to basics, and we can give a little motivation to the hometown boys.
“Sounds good. Let me move some things around, and I’ll be there in a couple of days.”
“That’s fine, just get your ass home.” I disconnect the call and sit back in my chair, liking the way this plan is coming together.
“Oh, sorry, Cash. I didn’t know you were up.” Joe comes shuffling into the kitchen wearing a pair of gray sweat pants and a T-shirt that hangs on his skinny frame. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No, I’ve got some things on my mind.”
Joe nods. “I get it. How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s fine.”
The older man makes his way to the fridge. His back is to me, and Money Maker is spelled out in multicolored sequins on his narrow ass. He’s wearing Nan’s sweatpants. I know they’re hers because I got them for her on her last birthday as a joke. “Nice sweats.”
He glances over his shoulder at his rear end, then to me. “I just grabbed the first thing I could find. I sleep in the nude.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I chuckle.
He pops the top on the water bottle he’s pulled out of the fridge and turns and leans against the counter. “Here’s some more advice. You might want to get some earplugs.” He winks and leaves me to deal with that image in my head.
I make my way to my room and grab my bag. If my mom kicking me out wasn’t enough to leave, then the old man’s warning is.
I’d rather sleep in a partially gutted house than next to horny Joe and his sexcapades.
Ten
Tiger
I wake before dawn and head to the bathroom. I slept like crap and my dry, scratchy eyes and pounding head tell the tale. I need a shower, some ibuprof
en, and a vat of coffee before I’m a functioning human. I flip on the water in the stall, and a tiny trickle of moisture dribbles out of the faucet head. “Damn it.” I really thought the last repair James did fixed the pressure problem. It worked fine when I showered before the rec center meeting.
I slide my fingers into my hair that’s three days out from a wash. There’s no way I can go without a shower. I grab my tub of haircare products and body wash. My face scrub goes into the bucket as well. “It’s too early for this.” I’m talking to myself, and I don’t give a damn.
The predawn air is cool on my bare arms as I make my way to the big house. I know the drill well. I’ve showered more in the big house than I have in my pool house over the last few weeks.
Inside the bath, I test the water and am rewarded with a hard, steady stream of hot water. Thank God. My humming fills the small space along with the steam from the fully functional shower head. I shed my pajamas and climb into the stall. The warm spray pounds on my shoulders and loosens the stiff muscles of my neck. I slept like crap. I couldn’t stop thinking about the grant application and worrying that I did something wrong, and that’s why we didn’t get the money.
I might’ve also had a dirty dream about one maddening quarterback, which has left me in a foul mood and more than a little sexually frustrated. It’s been a while. Brad and I split a year ago, and even before then, our sex life wasn’t what anyone would call adventurous. He was my first and only, and frankly, I never saw what the big fuss was all about. Sex was sex, a little messy, sometimes satisfying, and usually over rather quickly.
I know that doesn’t paint my ex in a very favorable light, but I’m under no obligation to make him seem any better than he was. He got the job done, but I never once had a sexy dream about him.
My hands slip through my wet hair as I rinse out the last of the conditioner. I turn the faucet to make the water cooler because all this thinking about orgasms and dirty dreams has heated me up more than I should be, since I have to deal with Cash again today.
Homecoming King Page 6