Homecoming King

by Jami Albright

  I allow the sensation to pull me under once more, then I extract myself from his hold. I loop my hair behind my ear and speak to the floor. “I could tell talking about your shoulder made you uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah, it is a sore subject.” He shoots me a self-deprecating grin. “Every pun intended.”

  That grin.

  Danger.

  Danger.

  Danger.

  I move to the counter to a stack of mail and begin straightening it like my life depends on it. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  Part of me is dying to know why their inquiries make him so uncomfortable, but the other part of me doesn’t want to know. This is something intensely personal to him, I can tell, and I don’t know if I want to hold his secrets.

  “I don’t mind talking about it with you.” He moves to the counter opposite me. “In fact, it might help to talk about it with someone besides Duke.”

  Well, hell. “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have a seat.”

  He slides onto the barstool. “My shoulder’s fucked.”

  I’m so shocked by his pronouncement that the coffee carafe nearly slips from my grip. “What?”

  He chuckles. “I guess I should work on my delivery.”

  I set his cup in front of him. “Maybe a little.” The other stool slides against the floor as I pull it out and sit. “Explain.”

  “I still have significant pain when I use my shoulder. I can barely throw a football and when I do, it hurts like a mother.”

  “But Duke said he was going to get you back to 100 percent.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “He and I both know that’s a promise he may not be able to fulfill. At my age—”

  “You’re only thirty.”

  “My body sure as hell doesn’t heal like it’s thirty.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and contemplate that statement. “So, what will you do?”

  “Make it work.” The determination in the statement is fierce.

  “But if you’re in pain?”

  “Pain’s part of it, Tiger. Besides, it’s my job.”

  Another sip, and I examine him. “Surely there’s an easier way to make a living.”

  He turns the mug from side to side. “Not one that’ll give me what football has.”

  “Is the money really worth the abuse to your body?”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  There goes my wayward eyebrow again.

  He chuckles. “Fair enough. It’s not all about the money.”

  “Then what’s it about? Help me understand why you’d continue to put your body through that much torture.” I’m having trouble understanding why he’d do permanent damage to his body.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He gnaws on his bottom lip like he’s trying to decide if I can be trusted, and inspects the content of his cup. “The good people of Ryder would disown me for one thing.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Are you kidding me? This town loves you. Have you seen that monstrous sign they’ve erected like a shrine to your accomplishments as you enter town?”

  “Do you really want to talk about monstrous billboards?”

  I laugh. “Good point. But you’re Ryder’s favorite son.”

  “I am now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that until I learned to throw a football, this town had no use for me or my mom.”

  “Why?”

  He gets up and places his empty mug in the sink. He splays his hands on either side of the sink and stares out the kitchen window. “How much do you know about my dad and his brothers?”

  “I’ve heard things, but most of what I know came from you.” The memory of him telling me about his abusive dad, and how he saved his mom, is why I’ve never been able to completely write him off as an arrogant, selfish athlete, no matter how hard I’ve tried.

  “Yeah, well.” He cracks his knuckles and peers out the kitchen window. “They plagued this town with their illegal activity and general meanness for years.” He turns and rests his butt against the counter with his arms crossed. “There was more than one instance where my mom and I were asked to leave places because of our last name.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He shakes his head. “I wish I were. Once, we were at the laundromat. I was maybe six and acting like a bored six-year-old, being loud and running around the place. I crawled up on the counter where my mom was folding clothes, and the owner yelled at me. He told my mom he shouldn’t be surprised that a King boy would act like a hellion, then he told us to get out of his establishment.”

  He shakes his head at my appalled gasp.

  “It wasn’t the last time something like that happened. My mom was never invited to social events in town. I remember this one time when she came home from the lady’s club meeting crying. They’d told her the membership was closed, and they weren’t taking new members, but she knew it wasn’t true because a woman she worked with had joined the day before.”

  Tears prick against the back of my eyes at the thought of sweet Gracie King being shunned like that. “That’s terrible, Cash. I’m so sorry that happened.”

  “Things like that happened all the time, until one night my freshman year, when my life changed in a single half of football. I stole the starting quarterback position from your ex that night.” He gives me an evil grin that communicates stealing Brad’s position was one of the highlights of his career.

  “You have to know that the town loves you and doesn’t just see you for what you can do for them.”

  “Oh, really? You did see those signs at the town meeting when they thought I’d rejected the grant proposal. It didn’t take long for them to turn on me.”

  Guilt chokes at me. “That was probably my fault. I assumed you were the same person who did something crappy to me as a teenager.” I move to him and it’s my turn to make him look at me. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  He searches my face, and that same whirlpool of emotions swirls between us. I’m not sure who leans forward first, me or him. Either way, his lips hover over mine. The silent conversation goes on forever, and the moment hangs between us like a memory that never was. Before we can close the distance, his cell rings and breaks the spell that holds us captive.

  I jerk and stumble back a few steps. It takes me a few seconds to get my wits about me.

  He answers his phone while his predator’s gaze follows me to the other side of the kitchen. “This is Cash.”

  I grab a dish towel and wipe down the bar where we were sitting, trying to calm my pounding pulse. I don’t even bother asking myself how that could’ve almost happened. I know how, and it’s why I didn’t want to hear his story. Now I’m emotionally invested, and I don’t want to be.

  Who am I kidding? I’ve been emotionally invested in Cash King since we researched the oxygen production of brown and green seaweed under different color light. But the last thing I need is to play with the kind of fire that this man represents.

  “That’s great, Carlton. Thanks for letting me know. Yeah, talk to you later.” He pockets his phone and grins. “Good news.”

  It’s like nothing ever happened between us.

  I ignore the irritation inching up my spine because he seems to have seamlessly moved on from our near kiss. “What is it?”

  “The money for the rec center is available.”

  My excitement blows the irritation away. “Really? Oh, my gosh.” My hands go to my heated cheeks. “I’ll head to Elva’s right now.”

  “If you’ll give me twenty minutes, I’ll shower and go with you.”

  I don’t really want to spend any more time with him than I have to, but it is his money. “Sure. I’ll meet you at the car.”

  His beaming flash of teeth is blinding and acts like a beacon to the horny June bug with a death wish that lives inside me.

  F
or the love of all that is holy, run away from the light, Tiger.

  “Great.” He exits, and I drag in a huge gasp of air.

  I have twenty minutes to get my mind right or die a fiery death like that horny June bug.

  Twenty-Seven

  Cash

  Twenty minutes later, I’m kicking myself for sharing all that shit with Tiger. It was like once the words started rolling, I couldn’t stop them. I’ve never said those things to anyone but Duke, and even he doesn’t know some of the stuff I told Tiger. I just handed her all the ammunition she needs to bury me.

  You know you can trust her, King.

  That is the thing, I do know. Tiger is trustworthy, and she doesn’t have any skin in the game when it comes to my life, which makes her question of why I keep doing this to my body both valid and uninformed.

  She can’t possibly understand.

  But she’s not wrong about there being an easier way to make a living.

  “Your thoughts are deafening,” the beauty queen next to me says.

  I take one hand off the wheel and rub at the tight muscles in my neck. A forced laugh fires up my throat and past my lips. “Sorry. Sometimes I get pretty lost in thought.”

  “I get it. You’ve got a lot going on right now.” She examines her short nails. “I hope Elva’s home. Maybe we should’ve called her.”

  The stress holding my shoulders taut seeps from my body. She’s not going to force the subject of my health and football. “I’m sure she’s home. It’s still early.”

  She glances at the time on her phone. “Oh, my gosh, it’s barely eight. It feels so much later.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been busy this morning. I ran three miles, apologized for being a grade A ass, and overshared like a junior high girl at a slumber party.” Why did I bring that up again?

  A slender hand waves away my concern. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve told you things about Brad that only Maggie knows.”

  Oddly that does make me feel better. “Does that make us BFFs? And before you answer, you should know that I confiscated the billboard vandal’s supplies the other night.”

  “You did?” She has an odd look on her face that I can’t interpret.

  “Yeah, I was coming back from the game and saw them sitting on the ground next to the homage to your beauty.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  I laugh. “So I stopped and picked them up. Wonder why the person would leave them there for anyone to find?”

  “No idea.”

  Her unenthusiastic response tells me to move on from this touchy subject. I hold my hand up for a high five. “So, friends?”

  But instead of slapping it like I’d intended, she wraps her warm fingers around mine and squeezes. “Sure, why not. And thanks for the billboard thing.”

  As quickly as she takes my hand, she releases it, but it’s too late to avoid the damage. My attempt to shift these feelings crashing around my chest into something more platonic is destroyed with the gentle grip that still warms my hand. I like this woman, always have. It’s a little shocking to realize that a crush I had twelve years ago is still alive and well.

  I clear my throat. “So … um … what’s the first thing you want to update at the rec center?”

  “I’m not sure. I was just hoping to get enough money to pay the lease, but you’ve given us enough to do some serious updates.” She shakes her head like she can’t quite believe it. “I guess a new gym floor and some new sports equipment.”

  I turn onto Elva’s street and pass a black Mercedes coming the other direction. “Isn’t that Brad?”

  Tiger’s head jerks around, and she looks out the back window. “It is a car like his, but I didn’t see the driver.”

  “I’m probably just being paranoid. I hope this doesn’t mean he’s going to start haunting my dreams.”

  She laughs, and the sound improves my mood by a factor of about a hundred. “Me too.”

  The undercarriage of the Bugatti scrapes the concrete when I turn into Elva’s drive. An old Victorian sits in the middle of the property like it’s part of the landscape. The house is beautiful, if a little worse for wear. I cut the engine and stare up at several bird’s nests nestled in the gables across the front porch. White paint flakes off the exterior like the place is shedding its winter coat. And weedy, overgrown flowerbeds wreath the home like a jeweled necklace that’s seen better days. It looks like Elva may have fallen upon hard times.

  Tiger’s out of the vehicle and halfway to the porch before I get out of the car. Excitement billows from her like a superhero cape, which I’m coming to realize is appropriate for her. I jog to catch up with her. “Ever heard of playing hard to get?”

  “Nope.” She takes the front steps two at a time. “In this, I’m the easiest girl in town.”

  I laugh because this woman’s a lot of things, but easy isn’t one of them. “I’d like to meet that girl.”

  She reaches past me to ring the bell. “You would.”

  Yes. Yes, I would. But before I can convey my current thoughts, the door opens and a fiftyish woman, with watery blue eyes that look huge in her slender face, greets us.

  “Tiger?” She glances down the street then back to the woman next to me. “What can I do for you, dear?”

  “Hi, Maxine, is Miss Elva in?”

  “Um … yes.”

  Tiger shoots me a look. “Can we see her?”

  Maxine’s gaze slides to me and her eyes get even bigger. “Oh, Cash King.” It’s said like an unwelcome surprise. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

  Man, this trip has not been good for my ego. “Good morning, Maxine. How’s Tubbs?”

  Her entire face transforms at the mention of her son. “Just fine. He and his wife live down in Dallas with my two precious grandbabies. He’s a pastor now, you know.”

  I do the best I can to hide my shock. Tubbs Monroe was quite possibly the grossest, most vulgar guy I’ve ever known, and I play in the NFL. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. The Lord got ahold of that boy and turned his life around.”

  “Well, isn’t that somethin’. Tell him I said hi.”

  “Um, Maxine …” Tiger waves her hands in the air.

  “Oh, Lordy, yes, y’all come on in.” She steps aside and we enter. The place looks like a museum. The smell of furniture polish, potpourri, and the tiniest hint of mildew hangs in the air like those hanging basket things my mom keeps on her front porch. She ushers us into a parlor. “Miss Elva is just finishing her breakfast. She’ll be with you in just a moment. Can I get y’all some coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” Tiger answers before I can speak.

  “Well, okay then. I’ll be right back.”

  I carefully sit on a dainty, frilly piece of furniture that I’m not sure will hold me. “Next time, let me answer for myself. I could use another cup of coffee.”

  She snorts and keeps her attention on the door. “You don’t need the caffeine. I just saved that finely tuned machine you call a body. You’re welcome.” Even though her tone is light, a small wrinkle sits between her brows.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her hair swishes over her shoulder when she finally gives me her attention. “Did she seem nervous to you?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to Maxine Monroe in twelve years.”

  She pinches her lower lip as she paces the carpet in front of me. “You didn’t see how she kept looking down the street when she opened the door?”

  “Now that you mention it, I did, but I thought it was because she was waiting on a delivery.”

  She glances from the door to me. “Something’s going on.”

  “Okay, slow down there, Sherlock.” I stand and block her way. “I like excited Tiger better than paranoid Tiger.”

  She shakes her hands out and laughs. “You’re right.”

  The door opens, and a small woman in a housecoat and slippers shuffles into the room followed by an old gray terrier. Unlike Maxine,
who was full of pent-up energy, Elva looks like a piece of clothing that’s been washed in hot water and shrunk to half its size, and the dog looks like he came over on the Mayflower.

  “Good morning. Y’all will have to excuse me, it’s been so busy around here that I haven’t had time to get dressed.” She takes my companion’s hand. “Tiger, darlin’, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, Miss Elva. You remember Cash King, don’t you?”

  Elva’s cheeks wrinkle and gather when she smiles at me. “Yes, indeed I do. How have you been, Cash?” She moves to a nearby chair. “How’s your mama?”

  “I’ve been well, Miss Elva, and my mom is great.”

  The dog makes a feeble attempt to bark. “Hush now, Rocco. Tiger and Cash are our company.”

  She attempts to lower herself into a chair but hesitates. I go to her side, and the smell of rose petals and baby powder floats around her. “Here, let me help you.” She giggles when I take her upper arms and help lower her to sit.

  “Thank you, dear. Getting old stinks.” She settles her housecoat around her and Rocco drops to the floor at her feet like he’s incapable of taking one more step. “Now what can I do for you two today?”

  I nod to Tiger. This is her show.

  “Well, Miss Elva, I’m happy to tell you that I have the money for the annual lease on the rec center.” You could land a plane with the beam coming off Tiger’s smile.

  A foreign sensation shifts behind my ribs. I’m too young and in too good a shape for a heart attack, so I think it’s satisfaction. Which is bizarre because I’ve given thousands of dollars away, and never felt like this before. Maybe it’s that I’m not only helping my hometown, but this incredible woman too.

  “What?” Tiger’s distressed cry pulls me back to the moment.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but I’ve decided to sell the land,” Elva says.

  “To who?” When I see her wince, I temper my tone. “I mean, who wants to buy the land?”

  She fiddles with some papers on the end table beside her chair. “Now, where is that paperwork Mayor Watson gave me?” Her fingers pluck a page from the stack. “Oh, here it—”