One Night with a Quarterback (24 page)

“Those are private family matters—” Ken started, but Trey interrupted him.

“Consider me family, pal, because I'm going there.” When the older man's eyes widened in surprise, he barreled on. “I love your daughter, so I'm included from here on out. Yeah,” he added when the coach started to speak. “I fucked up. I should have manned up and came to you from the start. But I didn't, at Cassie's request, because she was terrified she would lose her chance to know her sisters. And you.”

When he said nothing, Trey continued, “We met the night before she met you. It was a fluke. Luck. Chance. But it turned out to be the best accident of my life and I can't just walk away from her.”

Ken ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the neatly combed strands. “Shit,” he muttered.

Trey huffed out a laugh at that. Hearing his straight-laced coach swear was as rare as a unicorn sighting. “Ditto.”

“I believe in discipline,” Ken began. When Trey wanted to argue, he held up a hand.

Old habits, and ingrained respect for his coach, stopped him from interrupting.

“I believe in discipline, both in my family and with my team. She's an adult, but she's my daughter. I missed the formative years. I missed watching her grow into the woman she is.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead and walked in a tight circle, as if unable to stand still. “You get a call when you're in your fifties you've got a nearly thirty-year-old kid out there. You don't know what they're like, or if they've got your eyes, or if they're athletic or smart . . . You don't know.” He shook his head. “I panicked. I lumped her in with my daughters. My teenage daughters,” he amended. “I didn't have a hand in raising her. I didn't know how else to protect the two kids I've still got a responsibility to.”

Then, almost as if remembering, he scowled at Trey. “You aren't blameless, you know.”

“I'm not,” he agreed. “I'm making it right, though. If that means you have to have me traded to save face or for the good of the organization, fine. Talk to the owners and do it. But I'm not letting the weak excuse of not wanting to be watched like a hawk on my personal time keep me from being with her. I love her. So . . .” He took a breath, let it out slowly. “That's it.”

“That's it,” Coach echoed. He snorted. “I'd rather have her back myself. But I'm thinking some changes will have to happen in our family dynamic to make that work.”

“Starting with your wife?” Trey asked mildly. It was dancing on the razor-thin edge, but he was already in for a penny. Might as well go for the pound.

Ken ran a hand down his face again and looked at a painting of some flowers in a field. “Tabitha's going to be adjusting her expectations for how things are run, yes. As will I.” He glared. “And you're not going to be sneaking around like a couple of teenagers. If you want to date my daughter, you're doing it with respect.”

Trey grinned. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, then.” He smiled back. It was faint, but encouraging. “I've got some calls to make.”

It was a little disconcerting, how easy it was to fall back into her old routine. Work, hang out with Mom, hang out with Anya, sleep. Had this been the sum total of her life before Santa Fe? Before the Nerd Herd?

Before Trey?

Granted, she was still keeping a low profile, as previous experiences had scarred her from the media. She stayed to her apartment, work, and either Anya's or her mother's homes. But much as she'd hoped, the world of sports was rocked by a new scandal barely a week after she'd been home. A basketball player with a drunken disorderly—his third—became the more pressing story. At least at a national level, anyway. She had a feeling the more local Bobcats bloggers would consider her “love triangle” to be hot news. But in Atlanta, it was nice to be able to watch the nightly news once more without worrying her face would flash up there.

The Bobcats organization had come straight out to refute the claims. They hadn't acknowledged her and Trey's relationship, but they'd denied claims the fight was over her. They also made a public statement, quoting Stephen, saying he was sorry for his actions and any embarrassment he'd caused the franchise. That he was using the rest of the season to clean up his act, with the support of the team.

She was proud of him. And proud of Trey for loving his friend enough to be unpopular and push.

Cassie pulled up to her mother's home. The little cottage-style house had been her own home for eighteen years. Enough room for just the two of them, her mother had said.

But today, there was a car she didn't recognize in the driveway. Cassie frowned as she studied the vehicle. Mid-sized beige sedan. Totally non-descript. She glanced in the tinted window as she walked by, but there was nothing she could see besides a to-go cup of coffee in the center console cup holder.

Had a reporter shown up to harass her mother? Or was this one of her mother's friends over for a visit? She knocked briefly on the front door then walked in, calling out, “Mom, I'm here.”

Sandra Wainwright walked in from the kitchen, wearing a sweater, jeans, and slippers. Her light hair fluttered around her ears in a short, stylish shag cut. Since the chemo, and resulting hair loss, she'd joked she wasn't sure she remembered how to manage long hair anymore and kept it shorter since.

“Hey, sweetie.” Her mother hugged her briefly, then took the brownie pan out of her hands. “How are you?”

“I'm good.” She studied her mother's too-cheerful smile. It wasn't natural, the way it tightened around her eyes. “Mom? Is something wrong? Whose car was that outside?”

She paused briefly. “Let's go talk in the living room.”

Fear slid through Cassie's gut like an icy wave. “Mom? You're scaring me.” She gripped her mother's forearm gently. “Is it the cancer? Have you seen Dr. Jackovich recently?”

Her mother smiled more broadly. “No, no, nothing like that. Just go have a seat in the living room. I'll be back in a minute.”

“Not reassuring,” Cassie murmured, but did as she was asked . . . sort of. She paced around the small room, doing laps around the coffee table. At the sound of footsteps behind, she whirled around, prepared to demand answers from her mother.

Instead, she found herself face-to-face with her father.

Her dad, in her mom's house. Hello, Twilight Zone.

“Hello, Cassie.” He stopped a few feet away, giving her space.

“Ken.” She blinked, making sure it wasn't just a really weird dream. “You're in Atlanta. On a Wednesday. Don't you have practices or something?”

“I took a few days off. It's our bye week. Practices were mostly walk-throughs anyway.”

Uh, okay. Whatever that meant.

He looked around, his size making the comfortable living room feel like a shrinking vault. “This is a nice house. Did you like growing up here?”

Cassie nodded.

He walked to one wall, where several pictures of Cassie and her mother were framed. From the time she started kindergarten to when she graduated college, her years were documented frame by frame. “I missed a lot of years.”

“Not your fault.”

“No.” He smiled sadly, then looked at her. “Not that part, anyway. I carry a lot of blame though. When you came to Santa Fe, I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing. Of alienating you, or my younger two daughters, or my wife.” His smile turned rueful. “I might have done all three, as it turns out.”

“Tabitha is on your side.” She said this through stiff lips. The pain was still fresh, their united front against her and her mistakes. Her father choosing his wife's side, rather than showing mercy toward his daughter who had unintentionally chosen the wrong path.

“She was, until I shifted. Can we sit down?” He glanced around, evaluating the options. Every piece of furniture was feminine, airy. His frame might have cracked the more delicate pieces. “Never mind. I'll stand.”

She muffled a laugh.

“Your mom did a good job,” he said finally. “I never doubted it, but seeing the house . . .” He shrugged. “I'm glad you had her.”

“Me, too.”

“Was it scary? Her diagnosis,” he clarified when Cassie raised a brow. “Knowing you might lose her like that.”

“It was. She's all I had. And in my mind, you didn't exist.” She didn't bother adding no offense. “I guess it had been weighing on her for awhile, since I graduated high school.” Cassie trailed a fingertip down one flower petal from the vase on the coffee table. “After she won the fight, she said she couldn't keep it any longer. She was scared to lose me by telling me about you, I guess, but ready to accept it.”

Ken nodded, but said nothing.

“Was there anything else?” Cassie was suddenly tired. So very tired. She just wanted a nap and some of her mother's comfort food.

“I'm sorry.” He took one step toward her, then another. “I got it wrong. I imposed rules on you like a kid. But I was floundering, and I took the wrong direction. I was too heavy-handed, when I should have had grace.”

The words, so close to her own thoughts, struck something deep inside her, had her closing her eyes against the tears.

“Irene also confessed to the bar trip.” He closed his eyes a moment, clenched his fists. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Cassie shrugged and bit down on the urge to cry. “She was home safe. It seemed important for her to tell you on her own, when she was ready.” She feared asking, but had to know. “Is that why you came?”

Ken shook his head firmly. “She confessed last night, after explaining she thought you would have ratted her out. When you didn't, she decided to do it herself.”

“Because she's a good kid,” Cassie said quietly.

“So it seems. She also wanted me to give you this.” Her father reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her, and she opened to find Irene's precise, no-nonsense handwriting.

I told them the truth. I'm still sorry about it, but it feels better after being honest. Come back. After I'm done being grounded (in ten or twelve years) we can hang out. Love, Irene

She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the choked sob.

“Irene and Mellie are pissed at me,” he said, his voice amused. “They want you to come back, but of course that's your choice. I'm here to tell you you're welcome to the pool house anytime. A visit, to move permanently, whatever you want. And if you stay here, I've given the girls the okay to friend you, follow you, do whatever social media works for you. Calls, texts. After Irene earns back her cell phone, that is.” He reached out and took one of her hands in his, warming her chilled skin. “I trust you with them. I know you're a good influence. I don't need a trial period. I shouldn't have forced one on you to begin with, holding them as a reward, a dangling carrot.”

“You were protecting them,” she said hoarsely, swallowing to gain control of her voice again.

“I protected them, and left you vulnerable. You're an adult, but you're still my daughter.”

She sniffled a little, trying hard to fight back the stinging tears.

He smiled now, his tanned face spreading and creasing at the corners of his eyes. “Can I get a hug?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Sure, Dad.”

As he enveloped her in his arms, he whispered, “You called me Dad.”

“You are.”

He sighed and rested his cheek on her head for a moment. “Yeah. I am.”

* * *

Trey watched from the top of the stairs, hidden from view. He'd wanted to give Coach and Cassie their time together first. Of any relationship, theirs needed to be repaired first. But he wasn't about to walk out without fixing whatever was broken between them.

Coach Jordan stood back, holding her at arm's length. “You up for one more visitor?”

Cassie blinked back tears—God, he wanted to just hold her and make it all better—and shrugged. “Depends, I guess. Who is it?” She took a step back. “Tabitha? The girls?”

Ken shook his head. “No, Tabitha and I are . . . working on it,” he decided on. “Give her a little leeway, I'll make sure she gives you the same. Change takes time, right?”

She smiled softly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Trey took his cue and walked down the stairs. As she caught sight of him, her eyes widened and her skin flushed an adorable pink. But she didn't run, so he took that as a good sign.

“Hey, Cass.”

“Hi,” she said, her voice sounding smaller than normal. “You're here.”

“It's bye week.”

“So I've been told.”

Coach drew her in for another hug, and just before letting go, whispered, “Hear him out.” Then he stepped back and squeezed her shoulders. “I'm going to go have coffee with your mother.” He smiled, the gesture full of disbelief. “We've got catching up to do.”

Trey paused next to her, watching Cassie watch her father walk into the kitchen.

“My dad is having coffee with my mom,” she said, a little awe in her voice.

“Looks like it.” He took her hand and was grateful when she squeezed his instead of jerking back. “Today's the day for apologies.”

She blinked, then looked up at him with glassy, unfocused eyes. “Sorry, what?”

“Here, let's sit . . .” He looked around, then realized he was in a house of doll furniture. Nothing was safe to sit on. “How about the front porch?”

She laughed and followed him out. He settled his long legs in front of him while she positioned herself on the opposite side of the step. Close enough to reach out and touch, not close enough to pull in for a kiss. So, basically, too far.

“I sent that text in frustration.”

She looked out to the street as a woman and her dog walked by.

“I was at the rehab center with Stephen, and he was balking at going in, and the media and my agent were up my ass about making a statement on the whole situation, and I was worried about my job and . . .” He raised his hands, let them fall again. “I choked. Fourth and goal, and I blew it. I left you hanging.”

“You did,” she said quietly. It was the lack of anger that tightened the screws on his guilt.

“I should have texted you back as soon as I had Stephen settled. I should have insisted we talk to your dad earlier about us dating. I shouldn't have let us hide things and act like it was a big deal. I shouldn't have been so worried about staying low key, at the expense of us.”

He scooted over to her half of the porch step, crowding her a little. Aggressive move, but he was finally ready to lay his cards out, and damn if he would hold any back now. “But the worst one was . . . I should have told you that I love you before you left.”

Her eyes drifted closed, her face still in profile to him. He wasn't sure if it was pain, or relief, or any other number of emotions. But the suspense was unbearable. He laced one hand with hers, squeezing gently. “Come back with me.”

At that, her eyes fluttered open. They were misty, but focused. “I love you.”

His heart stuttered. The goal line was within inches. “Thank God,” he whispered, then kissed her temple and pulled her to him. Her head rested against his chest, her arm wrapped around his back. He pressed a kiss to her hair and adjusted her even tighter to him.

“But I can't come back.”

It was like she'd sucked the oxygen from his lungs. “What?” he asked hoarsely.

“I have a job here, and a life. I can't just run back and be your girlfriend.”

“Your family is there,” he reminded her.

“My family is here, too. No matter where I am, I'm leaving one parent behind. And there's no full-time job for me out there. My work let me telecommute for a short time. It won't work permanently.”

He took a deep breath, forced calm, and let it go. “Okay then. In the morning, I'll see what I can do about getting traded somewhere out here for next season.”

“What?” She sat up, leaning back to look at him.

“I can't promise I'll be in Atlanta. But Jacksonville wouldn't be a bad drive. Maybe Carolina . . .”

She pinched his side hard enough to make him yelp. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He tugged on her ponytail. “I'm in love with you, that's what's wrong with me. Though I didn't think it was wrong, exactly.” He rubbed his side. “Maybe I should change my mind on that.”

“You can't just ask to trade teams because of me. That's insane.”

“That's love,” he argued with a shrug.

“How about a job?”

They both whipped around to see Coach Jordan and Cassie's mom, watching them from the open living room window. Her mother had a soft smile on her face; Coach just looked annoyed at them.

“A job for who?” Cassie asked.

“You. I talked to Barry from the Nerd Herd after you left. He was pissed you up and walked away. Said your security defense for the interoffice messaging system was some of the best work he'd seen. He wants you back to pick your brain and make you his security slave.”