Homecoming King

by Jami Albright

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” The words hang there between us like week-old fish drying in the sun. And I notice him stealing glances at the woman who’s now stiff as a board next to me.

  She knows my shoulder is still painful, but nothing’s going to stop me from playing. Nothing.

  “Coach, this is Tiger Lyons. Tiger, this is Jim Robbins, the quarterback coach for the Thunder.”

  Tiger extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, Coach.”

  His big hand engulfs hers and he seems to be having trouble forming words while in direct contact with her brilliant smile. “Call me Jim. And it’s nice to meet you, Tiger. That’s an unusual name.”

  She laughs and flips her hair over her shoulder. It’s an innocent gesture, but Coach follows the movement like he’s in a trance. “Family name.”

  “Well, it fits you. Tigers are beautiful creatures, and so are you.” Someone calls his name, and he reluctantly releases her hand. “Well, I better get back to work. See ya ’round, Bullet.” He glances over at McKay warming up with one of the other guys, then motions with his head. “He’s doin’ a helluva job. Finally hit his stride. The wins and momentum have been good for the team.”

  I don’t miss the underlying message in that statement. This isn’t a popularity contest. We do what’s best for the whole team, not an individual player.

  Basically, suck it up and take it if I don’t get my starting spot back from the rookie. So I give him the response he’s looking for. “The team is all that matters, Coach.”

  His big hand cups my uninjured shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” His eyes slide back to my companion. “It was a real pleasure, Tiger.”

  “Thank you.” Her response isn’t as warm as she was before he made his comment about McKay, and I appreciate the solidarity.

  Coach leaves and I check the jumbotron. “It’s almost time for kickoff. Let’s head upstairs.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Whoa there, King,” Jamail Winters, our star wide receiver, says. Also one of my brothers who refused to acknowledge me not five minutes ago.

  “Hey, what’s up, Jamail?” Maybe the guys are just nervous about the game. A win today clinches the playoffs.

  “I think the question is, what’s up with you, and who is this lovely lady you have with you?” He lifts Tiger’s free hand and places a kiss on the back of her fingers. “Jamail Winters.” He winks. “Wide receiver.”

  My date pulls her hand away immediately. “Tiger Lyons.” Her beauty queen smile is plastered in place. I hate that expression because it’s the one she hides behind.

  Jamail jerks his head in my direction. “And how do you know this ugly guy?”

  “I’m work—”

  “We grew up together.” I don’t know why I don’t want her to tell them she’s working on my house, because I’m sure that’s what she was about to say.

  “Damn, Bullet, were you born under some lucky star shit? Not only do you have the arm of the century, but you grew up with someone as beautiful as this.”

  I give a noncommittal grunt.

  Jamail glances over his shoulder. “Hey, man, I gotta run, but let’s catch up after we beat these fools.”

  “Sounds good. Have a good game.” I hold my fist up.

  He bumps his balled hand to mine. “You know I will.” His white teeth flash and he dips his head to Tiger. “Will I see you after the game too?”

  She hooks her thumb my way. “I’m with him, so I guess so.”

  He raises his chin and winks. “Cool. Cool.”

  The counterfeit smile remains on her face until he’s out of earshot. “He’s … friendly.”

  Before I can answer, two more teammates make their way to us. They each speak to me, but never take their gazes from Tiger. The conversations go much the same as Coach’s and Jamail’s. They both make plans to chat with me after the game, and they both check to make sure Tiger will be with me at the after party.

  I release the breath I was holding and glance at the woman next to me. She’s the reason that I’m now back in the fold. Because I’m with her, I’m not seen as a loser.

  These men value power and prestige, just like me, and she gives me that. I should be upset about it, but I’m not. She’s amazing, and all I need is one foot in the door to get my position back. I just need them not to dismiss me and count me out.

  “Let’s get upstairs.” I lead her up the tunnel and to the elevator that takes us to the team owner’s private suite. “Something wrong?” I notice she won’t meet my eyes on the mirrored walls that surround us.

  “You told your coach that you were going to be ready for the playoffs, if the Thunder wins today. That’s next week. How—”

  “It’s going to be fine.” The sharp edge of my words pings off the interior of the elevator.

  “I’m concerned, that’s all.”

  I kiss her temple as the doors slide open. “Don’t be. It’s all going to be fine.” I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her down the hall to the big mahogany door with the Thunder’s logo on it. “Sam.” I nod at the security guard who opens the door for us.

  “Good to see you, Cash.”

  Tiger turns in my arm so that I’m forced to look at her. “Cash, you could do permanent damage to your shoulder if you play before you’re ready. If you get the surgery now and sit out the rest of the season, then you can come back next year better than ever. If you even want to play next year.”

  I cut my eyes toward Sam to see if he’s listening to this conversation. “Of course I want to play.” I chuckle like she’s just said the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. “They’ll have to carry me off the field on a stretcher before I stop playing.” I kiss her hard and wink. “And I’m going to be fine by the playoffs.”

  You hear that, universe? I’m going to be just fine.

  The smell of prime rib and money hits me in the face as we enter the owner’s suite. It’s bigger than the other stadium boxes and furnished in leather and dark wood. It reminds me of a cigar bar, but there is of course no smoking allowed.

  On the far side of the room are windows that look out onto the field with plush stadium seats lined up three rows deep. Two large-screen TVs are mounted on either side of the suite. There’s a long table loaded with five-star restaurant quality food. The light glimmers off the liquor bottles behind the small bar set up in the corner, making the whole display look like a boozy fairyland.

  There are eight people in the suite with us. They’re all standing while the national anthem plays. The beauty queen and I stop where we are until the song is over before moving further into the room.

  “Cash, it’s amazing to see you.” April Zimmerman, the wife of the Thunder’s owner, approaches with her arms extended. She’s in her mid-fifties but looks ten years younger.

  I drop my arm from around Tiger’s shoulder to accept her embrace. “April, it’s great to see you too. If you were any more beautiful, I couldn’t stand it.”

  She laughs and slaps my arm. “Save it for someone who’ll buy that load of bullshit you’re peddling, King.”

  I laugh too. “You know you look like a million bucks.”

  She lightly runs her fingers over her blonde hair. “I better, for what I spend to look like this.”

  My hand rests on the small of Tiger’s back. “April, this is Tiger Lyons. Tiger, this is April Zimmerman. She’s married to Kyle Zimmerman, the owner of the Thunder.”

  “Oh, my Lord, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t know why I expect anything less from our Cash.” April extends her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, April.” Tiger is as rigid as a board, and the pleasant expression on her face is as unnatural as the toupee Joe wears for special occasions. Nobody but me would probably see it, but I know all her looks, and this one is as fake as a three-dollar bill.

  “Seriously, your skin is amazing. You could be a movie star.”

  “Thank you.” She glances to me with a make
it stop plea.

  I know it bothers her, but she is beautiful, and I don’t know what it hurts for people to notice that about her. It’s not like she can hide it. But I step in all the same. “Looks like you’ve got a good group today.”

  April gestures to the others in the room. “Come on and let me introduce you before kickoff. If I wait, then Kyle won’t even know I’m talking.”

  She leads us to the group of people mingling by the seats. “Kyle, look who’s here.”

  “Cash.” He extends his hand to me. “Good to see you.”

  “Thanks, man. It’s good to be here, though I’d like to be down there.”

  The owner of the Thunder nods. “I get it.”

  That’s not the response I was hoping for.

  “You look good, Cash,” Ray Benson, the Thunder’s general manager, says.

  “Thanks, Ray. I feel good.”

  “Excellent.” His eyes drift to Tiger. “And who is this beauty?”

  “This is Tiger Lyons. Tiger, this hard-ass is Ray Benson, our general manager, and with him is his wife, Lauren. And this is Kyle Zimmerman.”

  “Hello.” Her posture is more relaxed when she greets the group. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

  “Your skin and bone structure are gorgeous.” Lauren nudges Tiger in the ribs. “Who does your work?” she asks in a stage whisper.

  Tiger’s back is ramrod straight and you could pop a quarter off the taut line of her shoulders. “No one. This is all me,” she replies.

  The two women groan dramatically, and Lauren says, “It’s so unfair.”

  April laughs and loops her arm through Cash’s. “And y’all, this is Senator McMurphy and his wife, Hollis.”

  “Good to meet you, sir.” I shake the senator’s hand. “Ma’am.”

  “Those two with their noses in their phones are our twins Alister and Ivy,” Hollis says and gestures to two teenagers in the seats.

  “Shame about your shoulder, Bullet.” The senator throws back amber liquid from a highball glass.

  I hold my hands apart, palms up. “It’s part of the game, but I’ll be back for the playoffs.”

  Neither Ray nor Kyle say anything, only exchange a covert glance. What the hell? This isn’t good. They’ve already written me off. I remember McKay’s face on the jumbotron during the Thunder’s entry into the stadium.

  My body shakes like a buzzing beehive is in my chest. Sweat coats my hands and my neck, and rolls down my back. My pulse thrums in my head to the uncoordinated rhythm of my heart. It’s like being sacked from behind. I’m dazed and can’t get my bearings.

  “Really? Back for the playoffs?” the senator asks.

  “Yeah.” I pat my injured shoulder. “Good as new.” Tiger’s mouth flattens at that statement, and she makes a noise in the back of her throat.

  “Well then, the Thunder should be a force to be reckoned with, with you and McKay.” The senator shakes the ice in his glass, and the attendant brings him another drink. “It took Hart a while to find his feet, but he’s been unstoppable ever since.”

  “Yes, he has. He’s a great player.” The words fall from my lips like boulders. They taste like horse shit, and I want to swish my mouth with kerosene.

  “That he is.” Kyle throws back his own drink.

  “I hear he’s dating that supermodel, Monique Rasheed,” the senator’s son says. “She’s hot.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Kyle says with appreciation.

  “Kyle.” April slaps his arm. “Be nice.”

  “I am. The kid’s right, though. She’s hot.”

  The three men laugh and clink their glasses together.

  “McKay’s got the world by the tail and can do no wrong. He’s got it all. Skill, looks, and beautiful, famous women at his beck and call.” The admiration in Ray’s voice is so thick I nearly choke on it.

  The buzzing in my chest migrates to my brain, leaving a hollow space behind my ribs. Everything is slipping away from me. I try to suck a deep breath into my petrified lungs, but I’m drowning in desperation. My mind searches frantically for a lifeline, something that will make me relevant to them. Anything to get them to see me like they did before Hartly McKay started playing like a professional. I grasp for the first thing I can think of, and only briefly recognize the wrongness of it before it flies from my mouth. “Tiger is a former Miss Texas.”

  For just a moment, no one says anything, and all I can hear is the woman I love, the woman who’s trusted me with her secrets, the woman I just used to make myself look important, gasp like I’ve jabbed a knife into her chest.

  Then everyone speaks at once.

  I can’t believe I said it. I want to call the words back, but then the worst possible thing happens.

  It works.

  Kyle raises his drink in my direction with a nod of approval. And just like that, I’m back in the fold, a winner, someone who deserves a seat at the table.

  It feels fucking amazing until I look into Tiger’s eyes, so I look away and give my attention back to Kyle. I’ll explain things to her later.

  She’ll understand.

  She has to.

  Besides, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.

  I’ve got a million justifications, hell, I’ve got a hundred million, and none of them makes me feel one bit better about what I’ve done.

  Forty-Four

  Tiger

  There is a God.

  Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sit in that owner’s suite for three hours while people peppered me with questions about skin care, beauty pageants, and the perks of being a beauty queen.

  At one point, I honestly thought my head would explode.

  For his part, Cash did try to interject that I was the project manager for the renovation company working on his house, and mention my work with the community center, but once the beauty queen bomb had been dropped, it was all over.

  To make matters worse, the quarterback’s solution to the mess he’d made was to act like nothing happened, and then leave me alone with the wives while he schmoozed it up with the men. They were all back slapping and congratulating him on his choice in women and his comeback from his injury.

  We haven’t said a word to each other since the moment he reduced me to an adornment—something sparkly to make people notice him. Thankfully, I’ve had years of experience of compartmentalizing this kind of hurt and betrayal, or I wouldn’t have made it through the game.

  The Bugatti slows to make the turn into his drive and then glides through the iron gates of his Fort Worth home and comes to a stop next to my Camry. “So, I thought we’d change, then head over to the team party at Guthrie’s house.” His carefree expression wavers around the edges like heat waves rising off an asphalt road on a scorching Texas day. He knows he’s screwed up but refuses to own up to it. “That’s cool with you, right?”

  I busy myself collecting my purse from the floorboard. “Unfortunately, I have to get back to Ryder. I have quite a few things to take care of before next week.”

  He’s nuts if he thinks I’m going anywhere with him right now. I’ve seen this behavior before—hell, I’ve lived it with Brad—and I won’t let him tote me around and show me off like a new plaything.

  “What? Why?”

  We exit the car, and I make my way to the front door. As soon as he unlocks it, I march past him. “I have schedules to work on. We’re bidding for a new job this week, so Donny needs some numbers from me.” I’ve already done all of those things, but he doesn’t have to know that. I’m not really sure why I’m lying and not confronting this head-on, but it’s how I’ve always handled things.

  That thought stops me in the middle of his enormous living room, and I face him. I’m not that person any longer, and I don’t handle things like this by running away anymore. “Actually, I’m leaving because I have no intention of going anywhere with you tonight, and maybe ever again.”

  He skids to a stop like he’s run into an invisible wall. “Why?”

&
nbsp; I cross my arms over my chest and let my left eyebrow do the talking for me.

  The snort and eyeroll he performs is just a little too dramatic. “Is this about the Miss Texas thing?”

  My expression and stance remain the same.

  His hands splay across his hip bones. “Really?” He cocks his head at me like I’m some new specimen of woman. “Really?”

  “Yes, Cash, really.” I turn and head to the master bath to gather my toiletries and bag.

  His heavy steps trail behind me on the hardwood floor. “Tiger, I don’t get it. Those people were nothing but nice to you. Hell, April asked you to lunch tomorrow. She’s very picky about her friends. In fact, she’s never invited any of my girlfriends to socialize with her.”

  I grab my overnight bag and begin to sling things into it. “First, how wise do you think it is to introduce the subject of your past girlfriends into this conversation? And second, she only asked me because her friend Millicent is a supporter of the current Miss Houston, and she wants to one-up her by bringing a former Miss Texas to lunch.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that she thought you might enjoy being with people who are familiar with what you do?”

  “Did.”

  “What?”

  “That’s something I did, Cash. I’m not involved in that world anymore.” I catch his eye in the mirror. “What in the world would make you think I’d be interested in spending a long lunch discussing ballgowns and tiaras?”

  He yanks at his tie to loosen it, then pulls it free of his collar. “And what’s wrong with those things?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  His big arms go across his chest. “See. I—”

  “This isn’t about those things, and you know it,” I continue, before the smug, I’ve won this argument grin forms on his face. “This is about the fact that you used me.” I scrape my makeup into my overnight bag, not even bothering to put everything away in the little pockets. I grab several tissues from the box to wrap my loose jewelry, the adrenaline in my body making my movements jerky and uncoordinated.