Homecoming King

by Jami Albright

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re so overly sensitive about that stuff.”

  My frantic collecting stops, and I slowly turn to face him. But it hurts too much to meet his beautiful eyes. The ones that looked at me with such understanding and empathy when I told him how Brad and my parents hurt me. My gaze drops to the little pocket I’ve made with the tissue for my earrings and bracelets. I use my finger to straighten one of the chains that has gotten kinked in the reckless gathering of my belongings. “You know, Cash, those are the exact words Brad and my parents used to say to me when I didn’t fall in line and do what they wanted me to do. I thought you were different from them.” I do meet his eyes then. “I was wrong.” I drop my homemade pouch into the overnight bag and leave the bathroom.

  He follows me into the bedroom. “That’s not fair. This was completely different.”

  “Was it? Because from where I’m standing, it feels exactly the same.”

  “Hell yeah, it’s different.”

  I grab my jacket and shake it out, then shove my arms through the sleeves. “Oh, really, then please, Cash, enlighten me.”

  His only response is to peel his sports coat off and yank his shirttail out of his slacks.

  “I’m waiting.” Even though I know he can’t, I want more than anything for him to be able to explain this away.

  “Because …”

  I put my hand behind my ear and lean his way. “What’s that? I didn’t hear you.” I know I’m being a jerk, but I’m the injured party here.

  He loosens his tie and yells, “Because I’m not Brad.”

  For some reason, those four words slice my heart completely open. “I know.” I can’t control the tremor in my voice or the tears that pool on my lower lashes. “Or at least that’s what I’ve wanted to believe, but what you did tonight tells a different story. I thought I knew who you were …” I curse the hiccupped sob that escapes and hangs between us.

  “Are you kidding me? You would actually compare me to him?”

  “Tell me how what you did is any different from what he did to me for years.” I furiously swipe at a tear that escaped its borders. “I mean, I didn’t even recognize you today. I kept thinking, who is this man.”

  His teeth clamp down on his lower lip, and he shakes his head. “You know what, Tiger?” He slaps a hand to his chest. “I know who I am, where I came from, and where I belong, and I don’t need this from you.”

  The steel of his comments dries up every unshed tear and cauterizes the gaping wound in my broken heart. “No, actually, you have no idea who you are, but that’s your problem.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re Cash King, the boy who saved his mom, the man who changed his life, and who’s made a ragtag bunch of kids feel like they can do the same thing. That’s the man I’ve always wanted. But you’re so invested in being that guy in the owner’s suite that you can’t see any of that.”

  “You don’t get to judge me.” He spreads his hands out like he’s showing off the room. “Look around you. This doesn’t come free. I’ve worked my ass off for everything I have. You’re right I changed my life, and you have no idea what I stand to lose.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I heave my overnight bag onto my shoulder. “Me.”

  I turn and leave, and don’t look back.

  He doesn’t follow.

  I knew he wouldn’t.

  Forty-Five

  Cash

  “Mom, thanks for bringing these things to me.” I take the bag she’s carrying and loop it over my shoulder.

  She pushes past me into the living room of my Fort Worth home. “Not a problem.” I can hear the suspicion in her voice right now, just like I could when I called her this morning and asked if she’d go by Wayland Estate, pack my bag, and bring it to me. “Though, I don’t know why you couldn’t get Tiger to bring it to you, or go get it yourself.”

  “You know I can’t leave Fort Worth now that I’m back with the team.” A slight exaggeration, but close enough.

  The team doctor released me yesterday, and I worked out with the team this morning. Was it horrible taking snaps after McKay? Yes, but I have experience on my side. I just need to bide my time, and the rookie won’t be able to handle the pressure. Especially during the playoffs, which start this Sunday.

  “And Tiger? I didn’t see her at the house when I stopped by to gather your belongings.” She sits back on the sofa with her legs tucked in beside her. Apparently, she’s settling in for a long conversation. “Oh, but Donny was there. He told me to give you this.” She reaches into her purse that’s sitting beside her, withdraws a key, and hands it to me. “He also said to tell you that you’re an idiot.” Her elbow rests on the back of the sofa and she props her head in her hand.

  The accusation finds its mark, and I flinch. The key in my hand cuts into my palm as I clench my fist. “What’s this?” I ask, but I know.

  “The key to the pool house.” She pats the sofa. “Come sit with me.”

  “I wish I could, Mom, but I’ve got hours of film to watch before this weekend.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. The look she wears says it all.

  Damn it. I take a seat at the opposite end to her. I don’t want her to be able to smell the misery rolling off of me. “What’s up?”

  Her lilac-tipped fingers play with the fringe on one of the sofa’s throw pillows. “What happened between you and Tiger?”

  “I love you, Mom, but I’m not going to discuss my relationship with Tiger with you.” I’m super impressed with how strong and even my voice sounds, even though my chest is as empty as a ghost town.

  “Do you even have a relationship anymore?”

  “Mom.”

  “Because, Louise Mays saw Tiger unloading suitcases at Donny and Maggie’s house yesterday morning.” She nods toward my hand. “Also, because of that key you’ve got a death grip on.”

  What’s the use in trying to keep it from her? Maybe I can excise these shitty feelings if I tell her what happened. “We’re not together anymore. She left me high and dry … again.”

  “What happened?”

  “She’s too damn sensitive about stuff and acted completely irrationally.” The untruth slithers from between my lips with such ease that it scares me. I don’t lie to my mom. I made her promise me honesty when my dad was still around, and in return, I’ve always given her the same. The only thing I have ever directly lied to her about was when I told her that I’d tried to apologize to Tiger after the homecoming dance but hadn’t. “The truth is, I screwed up.”

  “Tell me.”

  So I tell her everything. All of it. The fear of losing my position, the hurt of being written off, and finally using Tiger. The crazy thing is that if I’d told my teammates she was Miss Texas, none of them would’ve cared. But I read the room correctly when we were in the owner’s suite. That crowd ate it up with a spoon, and I’m the one who benefited.

  “Oh, Cash.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I stare at the key in my hand. “It was a shitty thing to do.”

  “I’m sure if you apologized—”

  I shake my head. “It’s better this way. I don’t deserve her, never have. Plus, my life is here with the Thunder, or possibly with another team, since my contract’s up at the end of this season. Her life is in Ryder.” I chuckle, but there are death dirges with more pep. “She loves that town almost as much as you do.”

  “Smart girl.” She tries for light and carefree but misses the mark as much as I do. “Of course, you could always retire there. You’ve got that big ol’ house and all.”

  I’m on my feet before my brain even registers that I’m standing. “I’m not retiring, Mom. I’m a football player. It’s all I have. Why does everyone keep suggesting that?”

  “Honey, I was speaking hypothetically.” She stands and reaches up to put her hands on my cheeks. “I will say this. Play football or don’t, that’s up to you. But know that you are bigger than fo
otball. Your talent on the field is such a small part of what you have to offer the world. I hope one day you see that.” She pulls my head down and kisses my brow. “I love you.”

  The front door closes, and I’m still standing where she left me, caught in the whirlwind of her words.

  I wish she was right.

  I survey the home that football bought me. I have every material possession I could ever want, and if I don’t, I have the means to get it. But with this key digging into my palm, none of it matters because I’ve wronged the best person I know … again.

  Forty-Six

  Tiger

  I stare at the ticket and note sitting on my makeshift desk at the Anderson house. I’ve done nothing but read and reread the message for the last twelve hours.

  Tiger,

  There aren’t enough ways to say I’m sorry, but I am so sorry. I’d love it if you came to the game this Sunday, then maybe we could talk after. I don’t know how to be different, but I’m willing to try for you.

  I love you.

  Cash

  P.S. I didn’t intend for the first time I told you I loved you to be in a letter, but it just came out.

  I still don’t know what to do with this information. Words are easy. How many times did Brad apologize, only to do the same thing again? Too many to count. But, regardless of what I said, Cash isn’t Brad.

  My phone rings, and I check the caller ID on the phone and curse my stupid heart for being disappointed when I see April Zimmerman’s number. The woman has called me every day for the last four days. I’ve ignored them all. Clearly, she’s not giving up, so I suck in a deep breath and answer. “This is Tiger.”

  “Tiger, this is April Zimmerman.”

  “Yes, hello.”

  “Girl, you’re harder to catch than a greased pig.” She laughs and it sounds like gold coins falling from the sky.

  I lean against the load-bearing wall that we’ve added to the Anderson house. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with work and the rec center.”

  “That’s what I’m calling about.”

  I nearly pull the phone from my ear and stare at it. “It is?”

  “Yes. Lauren, Hollis, and I adored you. We enjoyed our conversation with you so much on Sunday. And we’ve been scheming.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We think you’d be the perfect keynote speaker for a conference the three of us are involved with called Beneath the Skin.”

  Brother, these women are obsessed with skin care. How am I going to say no without being rude? She’s a perfectly nice woman, and I’m sure she means well, but … “April—”

  “Before you say no, give me a chance to make my case.”

  “Fine.”

  “You are distinctly qualified to speak to young women. A former Miss Texas from an affluent family—”

  “April, let me stop—”

  “Who escaped a bad marriage and blazed her own path by not relying on her appearance but on her intelligence. Beneath the Skin encourages young women to value themselves for things other than beauty, like intellect, kindness, and acceptance. It’s a wonderful organization that does really good work. Please say yes.”

  Not one word will form on my tongue. The only thing we talked about on Sunday was my history as a beauty queen and a little about the rec center. “April,” I finally managed, “how do you know all those things about me?”

  “Cash, of course.”

  “What?”

  “He called me Tuesday to tell me that he hadn’t represented you well. I’m telling you, he was singing your praises to the heavens. In case you don’t know it, that boy has got it bad for you.”

  “I’m sorry, April. He what?”

  “It was kind of adorable really. He told me you are so much more than what you look like, then started enumerating all of your accomplishments. Like he needed to tell me how intelligent you are. Any fool would know that after a five-minute conversation with you.”

  “I don’t …”

  “As soon as I hung up with him, I immediately called Lauren and Hollis,” she continues. This woman’s clearly not stopping until she’s had her say. “And we all agreed that you’re the person we’ve been looking for to speak to how powerful women can be. So, what do you say?”

  “When and where is it?”

  “May, in Dallas. Is that a yes?”

  I rub my hand over my forehead. “I’d be honored.”

  “Yay.” I can hear her clapping on the other end of the line. “I’ll have my assistant get you all the details. Can I get your email address? Oh, and I’d love to talk to you about supporting a female positive program at that rec center of yours too.”

  I give her the information and disconnect the call. My gaze never leaves the phone in my hand, but I don’t see it. I’m lost in a never-ending rollercoaster of emotion. That’s why I nearly throw the device across the room when it rings again. “Hello.”

  “Hey, I just wanted to check in. How are you?” Maggie’s concerned voice comes through the line.

  “I’m fine.” I can’t control the waver in my voice.

  “Oh, honey, are you crying? What’s wrong?”

  I bat at a tear as it spills over my lower lid. “Cash.”

  “I know. He’s an ass. I still can’t believe he said those things to you.”

  “You cussed.”

  “I do that sometimes when the situation warrants. Tell me about Cash.”

  There’s a giant lump in my throat that refuses to budge no matter how many times I swallow. “He did something.”

  “What did he do now? They will never find his body when I’m done with him.”

  “No. He did something amazing.”

  “Tell me.”

  I do, and can’t control several more tears leaking from my eyes.

  “Hang on.” I hear computer keys on the other end of the line. “Oh, wow, Tiger, have you looked up this organization?”

  “No, I just got off the phone with April.”

  “It’s incredible, and a nationwide movement. You’re going to be amazing.”

  “I don’t know what to think right now.” I drop into a folding chair, set my elbows on my knees, and rest my head in one hand. “Why did he do it, Maggie?”

  “Because he loves you, Tiger. I told you he meant what he said in that letter.”

  A sob catches in my chest. “I love him, too, I think I always have, but I won’t be in another relationship with someone who can’t put me first. I deserve better than that.”

  “Abso-freakin’-lutely.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I think you do, but you’re scared. And that’s understandable. I guess the question is, what will you regret more? Giving him a chance to prove that he can put you first, or not taking a chance at all?”

  That is the hundred-million-dollar question.

  Forty-Seven

  Cash

  The Thunder’s fans are rowdy and restless for this playoff game to start. I wish I was feeling the same way. I’m standing on the sidelines and instead of warming up my arm, I’m wearing the headset around my neck, ready to relay plays to McKay from the offensive coordinator in the booth. I’ve known all week that I wasn’t going to start, but it’s still freakin’ hard.

  A quick search of the crowd, and I see my personal cheering section. My mom, Nan, Joe, and Duke are here, of course, but so are Jared, Cam, Kayla, Marci, Misty, and Elva. The empty seat next to the older woman is like a knife to my heart. I sent the ticket along with an apology to Tiger, but never heard from her. I haven’t called her, because I wanted to speak to her face to face. Not that I deserve her forgiveness, but I was hoping she’d give me a chance to explain. I’m not giving up, but I can’t formulate another plan until this game is over.

  I laugh when the kids hold up handmade signs.

  Cash is King!

  Shoot straight, Bullet!

  Cash is the Best!

  The Twinkies are holding that one, and it’s s
o bedazzled with jewels and glitter that you can probably see it from space. I chuckle in spite of my shitty mood. I raise a hand, and they all wave back.

  “You ready, Cash?” Coach asks.

  “You know it.”

  His big paw lands on my shoulder pads. “I know this is hard, son, but I appreciate your good attitude.”

  If he believes I have a good attitude, then I might try acting after I’m done with football. “It’s about what’s best for the team, Coach.”

  He slaps my pads again. “Good man.”

  The Thunder won the toss and has chosen to receive the ball. The special team takes the field, and the crowd begins to chant “Thunder, Thunder, Thunder.”

  It’s a deep kick and the receiver, Morgan, calls for a fair catch, putting us on the thirty-five-yard line.

  “Alright, get your asses in there, offense,” Coach barks.

  McKay jogs past me, but I stop him. “Give ’em hell, Hart.” And I find that I mean it. No one’s more surprised by that than me. But these men have been my family for nine years, and I want them to succeed.

  His eyes peek out from behind his face mask. “Thanks, Cash. I appreciate it.” We bump fists, and he takes the field.

  The first few plays go off without a hitch, but on the fourth possession, McKay throws a pick six. He misreads the defense and throws it straight into the Seattle cornerback’s hands, who runs it sixty-five yards for a touchdown. After the extra point, the Thunder is down by seven.

  The second series is better, but the offense can’t convert and has to settle for a field goal instead of a touchdown. But at least we put points on the scoreboard.

  Those are the last points we put up for the rest of the first period.

  McKay looks good at the beginning of the second quarter, but after two more interceptions that Seattle is able to convert into touchdowns, I can see the kid losing confidence. While the defense is on the field, I glance around and see McKay on the bench with his head in his hands.