Play Action Pass

by Gina Ardito

  “You told me so.”

  After replacing the lip balm and zipping up the purse, she tilted her head toward the sky. “Yes. I told you she would try to keep you tied to her, would hold you back from attaining your full potential just so she’d have a good-looking Vanguard man on her arm for social occasions. Look what she did today, making you escort her to the memorial, allowing the press to assume she had gained the upper hand over you again. You’re a nice guy, Jordan, too nice for someone like her. Face it. Like her mother, she eats nice guys as an amuse bouche. You should be thanking me for keeping her at bay as long as I did.”

  “You think so? Were there other times she tried to get to me?”

  “Oh, God, probably half a dozen or so. She really thought she had her hooks in you for a while there.”

  “Like how? When else did you have to run interference for me?”

  “Well, let me think. It’s been a while. The hospital really was the last time I saw her. Before that, it was just minor stuff. I intercepted birthday cards, and once, she sent a wedding invitation.”

  “A wedding invitation?”

  “Yeah. When her mother married that guy...what was his name?” She snapped her fingers, as if trying to light a spark. “Elton, Elliot...”

  “Ellison. Andrew Ellison.”

  She pointed at him. “That’s him. Can you believe it? What was she thinking? That you’d want to be her date?”

  Probably. Not that she couldn’t have her pick of men, if she asked. Escorting her to public events wasn’t about her having a cute guy on her arm, despite what Paris thought. Cam only asked men she trusted implicitly. So few people understood the way Laurel’s constant criticism had destroyed Cam’s self-esteem over the years. Public events always brought out the worst in Laurel, which brought out Cam’s most vulnerable fears. Had he known about the invitation, at the very least, he would’ve called her to make sure she was okay. Given her a pep talk to get through without him. But, he hadn’t even been able to do that much, thanks to Paris.

  “So you made sure I didn’t see any of this stuff?”

  “It’s my job to keep my clients focused on the game. If that means I have to remove the little distractions that pop up along the way, I’m not above picking up a thresher.” She wriggled her fingers. “I have my spies set up in all aspects of my clients’ lives: housekeepers, security personnel, PAs, even a coach or two. It’s nothing personal, Jordan. It’s good business.”

  Queasiness washed over him. “You know, Paris, it’s too bad you released me from my contract when the surgeons declared my career over. I would have delighted in firing your ass right now.”

  Leaving her sputtering, he headed away from the field where the service continued, away from the memorial garden where, soon, Bertie’s likeness would be enshrined.

  Jordan had always teased Cam about how much she disliked Paris. Turned out, she was right to be suspicious.

  Her words on the dais came back to him. Because whether you believe me or not, I still love you.

  He was an idiot. Cam might have turned down his marriage proposal, but she’d never stopped loving him. He would need a big play to win her back.

  And he’d need it fast.

  Chapter 14

  She had no idea how she made it to the very last mourner without breaking into tears. Her own fault, really. Because despite the multitude of reasons she had to hate Jordan, she still loved him and always would. What a pathetic loser she was.

  She studied the crowd on the dais and the grounds. How many of these people had noticed how quickly he’d abandoned her when Paris popped up? Paris, who’d dumped him when an injury ruined his football career, because he was no longer useful to her. Maybe that’s where she always went wrong. Instead of kicking him to the curb and letting him rot there, she kept welcoming him back into her life. Maybe men were only interested in the women who treated them like garbage.

  Okay, fine. She would let him go. This time, for good. She’d survived his departure before. She could do it again. Even if she didn’t have Bertie to fall back on this time. Bertie had given her the tools to live her life with passion. Now it was up to her to follow his phenomenal example.

  As the crowd began to disperse, she detoured past her mother and Mr. Ellison to exit the makeshift platform.

  “Cam?” Mr. Ellison’s voice stopped her at the first step.

  She turned and waited for him to approach. “Your mother and I are going to Ruby’s for lunch. Would you like to join us?”

  Cam looked past him to where her mother stood, hands twisting as she watched their interaction while desperately trying to feign indifference.

  “For what it’s worth,” Mr. Ellison whispered, “she’s sorry. She knows she went too far last time.”

  As big a step as Mom had taken in admitting her mistake, Cam shook her head. “I wish I could say that’s good enough for me, but she went too far about a thousand miles ago. Maybe someday, we can mend our issues. But for now, I think we’re both better off leaving some distance between us. Thanks for the invitation, though.”

  He offered her a curt nod, his smile nowhere near happy. “I understand. You can divorce a spouse for lots of reasons, but a parent...?” He shrugged.

  She took his hand. “You’re a nice man. I wish you and my mother years of happiness together.”

  Before he could say anything else, she descended the stairs and stood on the field. Here was where both her father and Bertie spent so many of their happiest days.

  Val appeared at her side. “Hey. You okay?”

  She nodded. “I will be, I think. I’ll miss him, though.”

  “Which one? Bertie or Jordan?”

  The question jolted her. “Oh, God. You heard that conversation?”

  Val wrapped an arm around her shoulder and whispered, “Cam, everyone in the stadium heard you. You were standing right next to a hot mic.”

  Well, crap. Could this day get any worse? She glanced down at the ground, wishing for a hole to open up and swallow her. But the wish was short-lived.

  Straightening her shoulders, she flashed Val a bright smile. “You know what? It’s okay. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m done playing Little Orphan Cammie for the press and for everyone else.” She stole a glance at her mother and Mr. Ellison, making their way off the dais. “I’m a grown-ass woman. I run a multi-million dollar foundation. I’m nobody’s victim. It’s about time I stopped acting like one. I love Jordan. Turns out, he doesn’t love me back. I’m not the first person in New York to suffer from unrequited love; I won’t be the last.”

  Val’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly and gave a curt nod. “Okay, then, grown-ass woman. What happens now?”

  “This.” On a whim, she took off her shoes and allowed her bare feet to touch the turf all the men she’d loved had once run upon—each at different times.

  To her delight, Val followed suit.

  “When I was a kid,” she told Val, “my dad would bring me here to play two-hand-touch with his teammates’ kids. God, it was so much fun!”

  The memories evoked all of her senses: the sound of children’s laughter, the smell of dirt and grass, the rough texture of the football, the indulgent smiles on the grownups’ faces, spicy hot dogs covered in mustard washed down with sugary sodas. Her childhood might have been odd, but at times, it had been a lot of fun.

  She took a deep breath in, tilted her face toward the sun, and let the spirit of the men who’d guided her through her formative years fill the empty places in her heart. She’d go on. She had a foundation to run—and a life to live.

  “Come on,” Val said. “I’ll race you to the end zone.”

  “You’re on! Loser buys the first round at Brady’s Place. On your mark, get set, go!”

  With her flats dangling from her fingertips, she ran forward, the spiky green blades tickling her soles.

  Val kept pace, giggling.

  From the loudspeaker, the voice of the Vanguard for more than thirty ye
ars, Powell Armistead intoned, “Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please?”

  She and Val both stopped short, five yards from their goal.

  The milling crowd stared upward. It always amused Cam that when an announcer used the sound system in any stadium or theater, everyone would look toward the sky, as if the message came from heaven. “I’d like to direct your attention to the jumbotron on the scoreboard for a special announcement.”

  What the...?

  “Uh-oh,” Val said through huffs and puffs. “What’s going on now? Did you do this?”

  Cam shook her head. Suspicion slinked up her spine. “And it better not be some stunt my mother cooked up, either.”

  Like the rest of the spectators, she did as Powell directed and stared up at the scoreboard. The photo of Bertie with his name and the year of his birth and death disappeared. The Vanguard logo briefly took its place, then quickly dissolved, and Jordan’s face filled the hundred-fifty-foot screen.

  “Is that...?” Val stared in wonder, her mouth agape.

  Cam was just as speechless. Along with everyone else inside the stadium.

  “Did he tape something?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She did note he wore the same suit and tie she’d seen on him since this morning. So, whatever this was, it had to be live—or at the very least, taped today. What the hell was he up to now?

  “Hey, folks,” he said from the screen. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Jordan Fawcett. A while back, I was a quarterback for the Vanguard. I had a couple of pretty good seasons here, made some great friends, and fell in love with a terrific woman. But I wanted more, more money, more playing time, more of what I thought I deserved. Mostly, I wanted more than what that terrific woman was ready to give me. I was arrogant. And greedy. So when the opportunity arose for me to sign with another team, to have a few more seasons in a place where I could help build a winning enterprise, I took it. I left my teammates, I left my friends, I left the woman I loved.”

  People stirred around her, staring at her with keen interest. She couldn’t move. Her feet had embedded invisible roots in the turf. She could barely draw a breath. All she could do was stare at Jordan’s face, her chest tight with dread. What was he doing? And why now, during Bertie’s memorial service? Please, Jordan, please don’t break my heart like this. Not today. I’m trying so hard to pick up the pieces. Don’t take a sledgehammer to what I’ve had to rebuild.

  “Cam,” Jordan said, and the camera zoomed closer, until all anyone could see on the screen was his face, the intensity of his expression. “You once accused me of leaving you for the first woman who could get me hard.”

  Around her, murmurs of disgust and discontent rose like a foul wind. Her cheeks blazed, but she kept her head held high, her focus lasered on the screen. She would not fall. No matter what he said next, she would not fall.

  “You were wrong. Lots of women have made me hard since I hit puberty.” He flashed a boyish grin. “You’re the only woman who ever made me weak: weak in the knees every time you’re near, weak in the head so I never know if I’m saying something stupid or clever when I try to talk to you. Even now, I’m probably screwing this up. Cam, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I had no idea you flew to Houston after I was injured. I should’ve realized you would. It’s one of the things I love most about you: your never-ending compassion. If I had known, I would’ve crawled downstairs in my hospital gown, bare-assed and doped-up, just to see you.”

  Laughter erupted around her, and Cam couldn’t bite back a snort of amusement.

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he continued, his tone dense with sincerity. “Give me a chance to be the man you need. Let me prove to you we can make it work forever—on our own terms.”

  Good thing Val was there to catch her by the elbows, to keep her from falling to her knees.

  INSIDE THE BROADCAST room, Jordan struggled to figure out what Cam might be thinking about his public apology. What if his declaration of love had come too late? What if she couldn’t forgive him?

  Well, then, he’d do what he’d just promised in front of a thousand strangers. He’d prove to her they could make their love work forever.

  Although he’d managed to get a pretty damn good speech together for the moment, the longer he went without an answer from her, the faster his confidence fled on wings of dread. His tongue grew thick, and his brain misfired. He cleared the block in his throat.

  “Cam?” he said into the microphone. “Say something please?”

  While his heart thundered in his chest, she strode back to the makeshift dais and, on a screech of feedback, pulled the mic at the podium closer to her mouth. She stared straight up at the windows where he sat. “Are you proud of yourself now?”

  “That depends. What did you think?”

  “That you used a lot of pretty words I’ve heard from you before.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Go back to Paris. I have nothing more to say, Jordan.”

  “I was never involved with Paris. Not in a romantic way. Did I listen to Paris? Yes. She was my agent. Did I trust her? God help me, I did. And I realize now I shouldn’t have. She filtered my mail, Cam. She screened my visitors in the hospital, and I never knew anything about it ‘til now. She told security to keep you from me. So to any of my compatriots out there who still have Paris Redmond representing them, be aware she has spies set up everywhere. And if someone tells you they’ve been trying to reach you, but you’re not getting back to them, believe them. It’s Paris who’s keeping you isolated.” He shook his head. “But this isn’t about her. Not when it comes to you and me, Cam. I screwed up. I gave her all that power because it was easier than taking responsibility for my life and facing up to what I did to you, to this team, to everybody who cared about me.”

  “She filtered your mail?” Cam’s tone held a scalpel’s edge. “Did she tie up your fingers so you couldn’t call, either?”

  He sighed. She wouldn’t make this easy on him. But he’d do whatever it took to make her believe him, to win her back to his side again. “I blamed you. When you turned down my proposal, I thought it was because you didn’t care. But that’s not why you said no, is it? I get it now. You, of all people, have every right to doubt a marriage leads to happily ever after.”

  There was a good chance he’d just insulted her mother, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was reaching out to Cam and convincing her to give him—give them—a second chance.

  “I should have never doubted that you love me, that despite not wanting to marry me, you hadn’t given up on me, or us. Because when you love someone, you love them forever. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. All this time, we’ve wasted. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I’d waited before running off to Houston. But I can’t change what’s happened before. All I can do is move forward. And I’m asking you to move forward with me. I want to shower you with that same never-doubting, forever kind of love. Give me a chance. Give us a chance. Please.”

  She met his plea with dead silence. Not a sound came from anywhere in the stadium. Time stood still, and he held his breath until his chest ached.

  Just when he thought he’d lost, she shouted into the mic. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get down here and kiss me.”

  His chest expanded, and he gave a whoop, then a thumbs-up to Powell. He leaned into the mic. “I’m a little slow these days. Meet me halfway?”

  “I’ll race you,” she replied. “But don’t think I’m giving you a head-start because of that chair.”

  No. She’d never show him pity. Empathy, yes. Sympathy when warranted. Bucket loads of love, encouragement, kindness, and loyalty. But Cam would make him face his challenges head-on, not avoid them. She was his greatest cheerleader, his strength, and his weakness. He wouldn’t have her any other way.

  He left the booth and for the millionth time since that damn sack he took in Houston, he cursed his inability to run. Lucky for him, going down the ramps from the broadcast
booth was easier than going up had been. The incline wasn’t steep, and the multitude of curves kept him from picking up too much speed and careening out of control. Still, he wished he could go faster.

  He’d meant it when he told her, if he had to crawl the last few yards to reach her, bare-assed and doped-up, he would. Whatever it took, he’d find his way back to the woman he’d callously left behind. They’d wasted so much time already. Every second that kept them apart now was torturous.

  He rounded another turn and suddenly, there she was, barefoot and out of breath. She paused long enough for him to set the brakes on his chair before she ran the last few yards and launched herself into his lap.

  He gathered her close to him, reveling in the scent of her, the feel of her, the nearness of her. He cupped her face in his hands. “God, Cam, I can’t believe I ever let you go. I’m so sorry. So goddamn sorry.”

  “Shut up and kiss me, Jordan.”

  He captured her lips with his, breathed her into his lungs, received her forgiveness and offered his love to her in return.

  From outside, a rhythmic applause and chant created a booming song.

  Cam broke their kiss to stare at the gate closest to them. “What is that?”

  He nuzzled her collarbone. “Who cares?”

  When she pushed away as if to leave his lap, he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Okay, okay. We’ll look.”

  He released the brake on his chair and headed through the gate. The cement walls echoed the noise, increasing the volume and the thunderous bass of the crowd’s clapping. They left the dim tunnel leading to the fold-up seats in this section of the stadium and came outside to the railing where several levels below, people still littered the football field looking up at the various gates and sections, clapping and shouting in unison.

  “Cam and Jor-dan!” Clap, clap, clap. “Cam and Jor-dan!” Clap, clap, clap.