by Gina Ardito
Cam’s voice was whisper-soft, laced with steel. Under normal circumstances, he’d admire the way she kept control of her emotions, particularly because he knew the history she alluded to. Bertie might have died, but the spirit and confidence he’d instilled in Cameron lived on—along with a little too much fight for today.
When Cam’s hands curled into fists, the tension in the room ratcheted up a notch. For a scary moment, he wondered if she’d physically pick up her mother to toss her out of the apartment.
Apparently, Laurel shared his fear, because her complexion paled, and she looked his way. He shrugged and gestured to his chair. What the hell did Laurel think he was going to be able to do should Cam lunge for her?
His vivid imagination pictured blood splashed on the dove gray walls, and despite his better judgment, he pushed himself in between the two combatants. For a tense minute or two, he feared Cam would climb over him to get to her target, but then she sighed, and her mother made a quick about-face.
“Don’t bother to show me out,” she announced as if she was the one holding the reins of power in the room. “I’m leaving. I’ll expect someone to contact me with the details of the memorial service when they’re confirmed.” She jabbed the button to open the elevator doors and slipped inside, her perfectly made-up face a mask of fury.
The doors slid closed, and Jordan breathed a heavy whoosh of relief.
Cam’s posture relaxed, and her hands eased at her sides. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“To be honest, I’m glad I did,” he replied with a smirk. “Bertie would be proud of you.”
“Ya think?”
He reconsidered. Bertie, the peacemaker, would’ve preached for continued patience and understanding. Jordan, on the other hand didn’t know how Cam had put up with the abuse for nearly four decades. “Maybe not. But I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Great.” The words came out in a flat monotone. She collapsed onto the sofa in a heap of mournful fury.
He took her hand and squeezed. “It’s gonna be okay, Cam. I promise you.”
The first tear escaped, a shimmer of silver that landed on the edge of her inner cheek and stayed there, as if afraid to roll any farther. Cam looked at the empty cushion beside her, then at him in his wheelchair, and back again. “Can you... I mean, is there a way... are you able to...?”
He understood what she had difficulty saying, and with a nod, he held up a hand. Once he maneuvered the chair to a better angle, he used his upper body strength to push himself up, swivel around, and land almost exactly where she’d indicated, give or take a couple of inches.
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes rounded. “Wow.”
He settled against the plush sofa back. “Just because I’m in a chair doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”
“No... I mean, sure... that is, I get it. It’s just... it’s amazing to see you in action like that. I mean, you were always a great athlete, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but I guess I never realized...” Her cheeks turned pink, and she stared down at her lap.
He took her hand again, gave another encouraging squeeze to her fingers. “Thanks. It took a lot of hard work and a great rehab specialist. I don’t know if I’d be in this good a shape, if not for Marcus.”
“Marcus? The man that showed up in Brady’s a few weeks ago? He’s your rehab specialist?”
“He was. Now, he’s my business partner.” He reconsidered. “As well as my sports therapist. Best in the country, if you ask me.”
Her brow crinkled. “I thought you worked in corporate real estate at HRR.”
“I do. But I also want to open a physical therapy and rehab center that will focus on professionals in the tristate area. Athletes, stage performers, that kinda stuff. People who need more intensive training because they put their bodies through more intense workouts as part of their careers. Like I said, Marcus is the best at getting someone into incredible shape. I’m living proof. So, I took the job at HRR, not only for the career change, but also to get a jump on any commercial buildings that might suit our needs to launch our first center.” He craned his neck to look directly at her, ready to fill in the gaps she didn’t already know. “Originally, I thought the Loughlin site was perfect for our venture.”
“What?!” She scrambled against the arm of the sofa, attempting to get to her feet, but he held onto her hand.
“Relax, Cam. I’m not interested in your building. The minute I saw you in it, I realized it belonged to you.” She settled down again, but her gaze remained hard, flinty, mentally burrowing into his head as if trying to pull information from his brain through sight alone. “What?”
“You’ve changed,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You’re... different. I can’t explain it.”
He laughed. “I can. I got the shit kicked out of me and found out I’m not destined to be the superstar I planned to become. It was a helluva wake-up call. Finding yourself lying helpless in a hospital bed unable to take care of your most basic needs and having to learn how to do stuff that used to come to you naturally is a humbling experience. It certainly knocked me off that pedestal I used to try to balance on.”
Her focus returned to her lap. “I’m sorry.”
Was she apologizing for abandoning him? He wasn’t sure. That was the thing about Cam. Apologies didn’t spring from her lips easily. So when she did say those two little words, she rarely elaborated beyond them. For her, it was a blanket statement, meant to cover any misconceptions or hurt feelings she might have inadvertently created. Not because of her ego. Quite the opposite. Cam’s self-esteem had been so battered by living with her mother all those years, she never considered anyone put that much weight behind her words or actions.
“It’s okay,” he assured her.
She dropped her head to his shoulder and wrapped one arm around his waist, a loose hold that might as well have been a vise. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want time to pass. He’d sit this way forever, if she asked. Nothing else ever seemed so right, so natural. He ran a hand over her hair, reveled in the feel of her in his arms again. Using the pad of his thumb, he brushed away that lone tear.
She sat up and rearranged herself until their lips were a breath apart. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and her mouth met his.
She tasted, as she always did, of everything he believed good in the world: sunshine and warm summer grass and freshly fallen snow. Her lips parted beneath his, and his tongue swept inside, needing more of her, burning with a longing to consume all of her, to keep her, to retrieve the woman he’d once loved and lost. He cupped her face between his palms, his fingers pressing gentle circles to her temples, and was rewarded with a low moan that zinged straight through him.
And while a tiny voice tried to warn him that she was still the same woman who’d turned her back on him, his desire for her easily drowned out any misgivings. He loved her, God help him. He always would.
Chapter 13
Albert “Bertie” Wallace was laid to rest with great fanfare on a cloudy, chilly September afternoon. In keeping with the requests made in his will, his memorial service was held in the place he loved most: Vanguard Stadium. A dais was set up on the fifty-yard line, with seats for the friends and family members he’d asked to speak at the event.
All of New York’s sports royalty attended, along with the biggest names in city and state politics, local celebrities, and news crews from every network. As a former player-turned-head-coach of the Vanguard, Bertie had impacted a lot of lives over the years. At the end of the speeches, all the guests were invited to pay their respects to Bertie’s former wife and beloved stepdaughter. For what seemed like hours, Cam stood next to her mother, neither speaking a word to the other as they accepted condolences from the multitudes of mourners. Since they were not part of Bertie’s immediate family, past or present, Mr. Ellison and Jordan remained in the background—nearby if needed, but out of sight. Jordan, however, would never be out of mind. He’d spent the other night on her sofa—b
ut then, so had she.
She didn’t really recall how it all happened. There’d been dinner, that confrontation with her mother, and then a conversation that had surprised her for so many reasons. The Jordan she used to know was a good man, but this new Jordan was a better one. He seemed to have more empathy, more generosity to his spirit, and packed a kiss that curled her toes and left her breathless. She stole a glance behind her to watch him and found him watching her. As a blush heated her cheeks, she returned her attention to the people waiting to pay their respects.
Despite her flat shoes, or maybe because of them, her feet ached. Faces and murmured messages of sympathy blurred into a collage of colorful buzz words.
So sorry for your loss...
He’s in a better place...
He’ll be sorely missed...
Her reaction to the wall of sorrow became robotic: a firm handshake, a whispered thank you, a curt nod, then move along to the next person. That all changed when Paris Redmond reached out to clasp Cam’s hand.
“I’m so sorry, Cameron. Bertie was a giant in the sports world. We’re all devastated that he’s gone.”
Cam stiffened, but manners and respect for Bertie would not permit a scene—not here, not now. “Thank you, Paris. Thanks for coming today. It’s good to see you again.”
Paris should have moved on at that point and allowed the next person in line to pay their respects, but she remained on the platform in front of Cam. “Yes, it’s been years, hasn’t it? When was the last time? The Aquila Bowl, wasn’t it?”
“That was the last time we talked, but, of course, we did see each other in passing at the hospital in Houston.”
Paris waved a hand, sending her signature multitude of bangles tinkling in the air. “Ah, yes, that’s right. Well, I’m sorry about the circumstances that brought us together again today.”
“Thank you.” To her relief, Paris finally moved down the line to offer her regards to Laurel, and Cam relaxed.
But before the next person could approach to offer their solemnities, Jordan rolled up beside her. “Did you just tell her you saw her at the hospital in Houston?” At Cam’s curt nod, he demanded, “When were you in Houston?”
All she could do was blink at him. “Huh?”
Jordan repeated the question in bullet points. “When... were... you... in... Houston? When did you run into Paris there?”
“At the hospital. The day after your—” She stopped, swallowed. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to mention the injury. “After that game.”
“Bull.”
“No bull.”
He arched a brow at her. “If that’s true, why didn’t I see you there?”
Really? He wanted to have this discussion now? Fine. Let’s go. She folded her arms over her chest, poised to do battle.
“My guess would be, because you put me on your stupid list. If you’d granted me a modicum of decency, you would have realized I would charter the team jet to get me to you. And that’s exactly what I did—about forty minutes after they carried you off the field. I saw the hit. I knew it was bad. I would’ve gone straight from the tarmac to the ER, if I’d thought I could’ve been by your side during the surgery. Instead, I spent the night at the hotel across the street and got to the lobby five minutes before visiting hours began the next morning. I wanted to be the first face you saw when you woke up. But apparently, you made sure you didn’t have to see me at all. And maybe you were right. Maybe I had no business showing up after what happened between us. But I was terrified for you. Because whether you believe me or not, I still love you. You, obviously, feel differently. I knew you were angry at the way things ended, but I had no idea you hated me so much.”
His expression turned stricken. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”
Hurt and anger whipped her grief into a froth, and her voice rose in volume. “No? You could’ve fooled me. I mean it would’ve been one thing if I’d gone to the hospital, security called your room, and you told them you didn’t want me to come up. I might have been able to forgive that. But you put me on a list. As if you knew I’d show up and you were going to make damn sure I never got close to you. Like I was some... deranged, dangerous stalker. With everything else you were going through, no matter how much pain you were in, within hours of being injured, undergoing surgery and coming out anesthesia, you actually found the time and wherewithal to make sure hospital security had my name at the top of your Do Not Admit list.”
“My... ‘Do Not...’?” His gaze shot from her to Paris, who had slipped away into the crowd on the other side of the platform. “Son of a—” After giving her hand a quick squeeze, he meandered around where she stood. “We’re not done discussing this.” Without another word, he motored toward the steel ramp that led down to the field.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever.” As Cam watched him speed after Paris, from the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar look of pity on her mother’s face, and it froze the blood in her veins. Turning back to the next mourner in line, she told herself she didn’t care that Jordan had, once again, publicly ditched her for Paris. To hell with him. And to hell with her mother, too. She’d survive this latest humiliation with her grace and dignity intact. The pain crushing her chest would ease... eventually. Losing Bertie hurt more anyway.
Jordan... well, despite all the changes she’d thought she’d seen in him the other night, Jordan had never really loved her to begin with. Right?
Right.
DAMN, PARIS COULD DASH through a throng—even in her spiky heels. But Jordan wouldn’t be deterred from catching up with her. He scanned the crowd for a friendly and useful face and found one. “Luis!” he called out. “Grab Paris.”
Luis Blades, retired Vanguard fullback, raced into action. He might have left the gridiron a couple of years ago, but he still had the moves that made him a fan favorite. He faked left, ran right, broke from the people around him. Some of those people, upon seeing the bulk of man in a black suit bearing down on them, scrambled out of the way until, at last, Luis had a straight shot to Paris. As he closed in, with mere feet to go, Luis dove forward, grabbed her by both shoulders the way he would a running back, and held on tight.
Assured she couldn’t get away, caged as she was by Luis, Jordan rolled down the ramp and onto the grass. Thank God for the motor on the chair, which made the transition with the briefest chug. When he finally got within earshot of his former agent, he thanked Luis and waited until the fullback had released her arm. “Let’s take a walk, Paris. I think we need to have a conversation.”
She must have realized he’d trapped her because she stole a quick glance at Luis, who stood by, prepared to pounce again, then flashed Jordan a stunning smile. “Of course. Shall we get a bite to eat? It’s bad luck to return straight home from a funeral, you know. There’s a charming little bistro on Forty-Sixth. My car is in Lot A.”
“What I have to say isn’t conducive to a meal.” To be honest, depending upon her answers to his questions, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t cause a scene by lunging for her lying throat. “Let’s start by getting away from all these people.”
She cast another glance at Luis, and her smile faltered. “All right.”
He led the way off the field, past the police officers posted around the entrances and exits, and out of earshot of spectators. He didn’t need to make sure she followed; Luis flanked her every step. In fact, he found a bit of humor watching her search beyond him for an exit, then steal a quick glance behind her to see Luis within tackling range.
As Jordan headed for the memorial garden at the side of the stadium, he said nothing, but his insides screamed. When they reached the stone benches in front of the marble effigies of former Vanguard players who’d passed on, a site that would soon include a new member, he gave Luis a curt nod of thanks and sent him back to the memorial service.
“I can handle it from here.” He struggled to keep a lid on his percolating emotions until Luis was g
one. Then, he went for the jugular. “Tell me how it’s possible you saw Cam at the hospital after my injury and not only did I not see her, I never knew she was there.”
She took a seat on one of the stone benches and hitched her handbag strap up higher on her shoulder. “Believe me, I was as shocked then as you are now. I mean, it never occurred to me she’d charter a plane and fly halfway across the country to see you—unless she felt the need to gloat.”
What was Paris talking about now? “Gloat?”
“Well, why else would she show up? You left her team and after two seasons in Texas, wound up sustaining an injury that ended your career. Do you think she came to bring you a fruit basket?”
No. But he didn’t, for one second, believe she came to gloat, either. The Cam he knew was a woman of integrity with a heart as deep as the ocean. And like the ocean, she swept away hurt with waves of forgiveness. It took a lot to get her to the stage she reached with her mother the other night. She might have felt betrayed by his sudden departure all those years ago, but it wasn’t in her nature to revel in anyone else’s pain, not even his.
“Did you happen to ask her why she was there?”
A plane flew overhead, engines screeching, and Paris used the distraction to cross her legs, arranging her skirt to best show off her wasp waist and lean calves.
“I barely saw her,” she replied as she opened her handbag and removed a lip balm. “I was racing through the lobby on my way up to see you after your surgery.”
“And yet, in all the hours you spent with me after that morning, you never once mentioned she was there.”
Paris applied the waxy substance to her lips with deliberate care. “She didn’t stick around long enough for me to even think about her. Once she realized she wasn’t authorized to get beyond the lobby, she must have turned around and flown home.” Paris laughed. “There really isn’t more for me to say, except maybe ‘I told you so.’”