Playing For Keeps (2 page)

He could still see the fear in Tyler’s big
brown eyes when Mike said he’d be leaving for a while. His son’s
misery had eaten away at his insides and he wanted badly to ease
it...

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he’d told
Tyler.

“Okay.”

Brushing the thick brown hair from his
child’s eyes, Mike’s chest had tightened. “Honest, Champ. I
promise.

Tyler had only nodded. He was insecure
because his mother had gone away and never come back. Mike knew
that had to be traumatic, and he was determined to fill the void
now that he had custody. He wanted to; hell, he loved the kid!

In a better mood, he picked up speed on the
tenth lap. He’d gone a fair piece when he saw the blonde again; she
was with the two guys by the fence. And was hugging one
with...enthusiasm.

Figured. She had a boyfriend—was the
autograph for him? That thought made Mike mad all over again. He
ran harder; eventually he shed his warm-up jacket.

He wished he could shed the freakin’ fan
scene just as quick.

o0o

“Hey, Mom. You
got
it?” Kyle stared
down at the signature of the King and grinned, despite his
embarrassment. He knew he was acting like a kid, but he really
wanted the autograph.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” He looked up to see
his Uncle Eric grinning. “Your mom can do anything she sets her
mind to.” Eric let go of Kyle’s mother, whom he’d greeted with a
customary hug, then held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

“Be careful.” He gave the program to his
uncle.

His mother rolled her eyes. “You two. It’s
just an autograph. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“It’s the King’s autograph,” Eric told
her.

She sighed the way she did when she didn’t
understand some guy thing. Jacelyn Ross was one terrific mom but
she didn’t get the male perspective sometimes. “Why’s he called
that, anyway?”

Eric—who was two years older than Kyle’s mom—
studied the autograph with respect. “Because he’s the king of wide
receivers. When he stopped playing in 2005, he held the NFL records
for most catches, consecutive games with at least one reception and
most receiving yards. He still holds the top spot for most seasons
with fifty or more receptions.”

Kyle jumped in. “Since he rarely missed a
catch, the crowd used to yell, ‘King me,’ when they wanted the
quarterback to throw him a pass. They named an award after him,
it’s given every year. And he was voted Man of the—”

Jacelyn held up her hands. “Enough.”

“How’d you get her to do this, kiddo?” Eric
asked. “I know my sister. She’d eat ground glass before she’d
willingly have contact with athletes.”

Kyle blushed. He’d resorted to wheedling the
way he used to when he was little....

“Please, Mom. You’re the only one who can
get the King’s autograph. He refuses to sign them for the public.
And no students are allowed near the sports office. I put in to
work for him this summer, but a lot of kids did so I probably won’t
get the job. A teacher could get near him, though.”

“But, Kyle, why do you even want
it?”

He hadn’t told her the truth. The autograph
was for Kay, the gorgeous, smart and funny girl he’d fallen for
during his freshman year. An athlete herself, she was a huge
Buckland fan, particularly of the King. Next week was her birthday
and he wanted to surprise her with it then. But he couldn’t tell
his mom how serious he was about his girlfriend or she’d have a
million questions and give him more advice than he wanted. So he’d
flashed her an indulgent look.
“If you weren’t such a sports
snob, you’d know why I want it.”

“I’m not a sports snob.”
She’d lied
with a perfectly straight face.

He’d laughed and hugged her, already taller
than her five-seven.
“Yeah, you are. But I love you
anyway.”
He’d hooked his arm around her neck.
“Please?”

She’d finally conceded.
“All
right...”

Kyle told his uncle a shortened version,
leaving out Kay. Smiling, he tucked the paper into his backpack. “I
gotta go, Mom,” he said giving her another hug. He liked how she
always held on a little longer than he did. “I got that meeting to
see about my summer job with the team.”

His mom scowled.

“Hey, I need a job. And the Beckett students
get first pass with the Bulls’ training camp. Which is totally
cool.”

“I know. But I wish you’d reconsider taking
that seminar at Hochstein instead.”

He forced himself not to stiffen. As far as
anybody besides Kay knew, Kyle was enjoying his music studies at
Beckett and at the prestigious Hochstein School of Music, where he
took private piano lessons. Everybody thought he was still excited
about his chances of getting into Julliard for grad school. “The
seminar didn’t pay money, Mom. Besides, I want to do something
different.” He started away. “See ya.”

He could feel his mom watching him. He hated
not telling her where his mind was at these days. The two of them
had always been tight. But things were changing now, and he had to
follow his own path. He just hoped she’d be okay with it.

o0o

“I’d rather be anywhere but here,” Jacelyn
remarked to her brother as they pulled up to President Cavanaugh’s
house and got out of Eric’s car. Located a few short blocks from
campus in the prestigious suburb, the house sprawled like a
Southern mansion with its three stories, wraparound porch, peaks
and gables and even a widow’s walk. It overlooked the canal.

“Careful, Jacey baby, your biases are
showing.”

Nervously, she smoothed down the gauzy yellow
sundress she wore with strappy sandals. The outfit was casual and
summer-cool, but sophisticated enough for tonight’s affair.

The event was to honor the staff of the
Buckland Bulls, along with the star players who’d driven up for the
party. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was also to welcome the
entire Sports Studies faculty to their first year at the college. A
double whammy.

“I wish we could have stayed home with
Kyle.”

“Kyle would much rather be alone with Killer
Kay.”

“Killer Kay?”

“Yeah, I hear she’s a wild woman on the
lacrosse field.”

As they followed the brick path to the back
of the house, Jacelyn shook her head. “I’ll never understand the
penchant for nicknames that sports people have.”

“Hey, you’re talking to the former Ross the
Boss.”

Jacelyn didn’t respond. A breeze off the
canal ruffled her hair, she tried to enjoy the balmy night, but
couldn’t.

“Honey, it’s okay. I can talk about those
days.”

“I know. But it still makes me feel bad that
you got hurt.”

He slung an arm around her. “My biggest fan.
Even in high school, when I got all the attention and they ignored
you.”

She leaned into him. “I loved watching you
play.” He’d never know how bad she felt at her parents’ dismissal
of her own achievements in favor of Eric’s. They’d been dead for
several years, but she still thought about their favoritism. Yet,
she loved her brother unconditionally. “I just wish you could have
your dream.”

“Look at it this way. If I hadn’t blown out
my knee on the soccer field, I never would have met Lily. She and
my four girls are my life.”

“I know. Are you sure it’s okay you’re doing
all this stuff with me this week?”

“Yeah, Lil knew how much I wanted to
experience the hoopla for the camp.”

“Well,” Jacelyn said as they reached the back
of the house, “let the games begin.”

Though to be fair, this wasn’t a circus. The
yard was tastefully decorated in blue and white, the team’s colors.
Music wafted out from a quintet Jacelyn recognized as the college’s
jazz ensemble. She wondered why Kyle wasn’t playing with them. All
around the perimeter of the manicured backyard were food stations.
The aroma of spicy food and breads mixed with the rich scents of
the earth and water.

At the food stations were jocks. Lots of
them. Their brawny stature separated them from the academicians who
mingled among them. Well, some of them mingled. Others distanced
themselves. “Good old Hal’s over there, sis,” Eric quipped,
derision lacing his tone. Her brother wasn’t crazy about the
colleague Jacelyn dated.

“Be nice.”

“Always. But, jeez, you should be able to
find something better with all this prime beef here tonight.”

“I’m not looking for something better,
Eric.”

“You should be.” He grasped her shoulders and
turned her to face the crowd. “Humor me. Don’t any of those broad
shoulders, washboard abs or sinewy chests call to you?”

She remembered a sinewy chest from this
morning. And nice shoulders. Though the encounter still mortified
her, she could appreciate those attributes of the King. “Yep. I can
hear them call out forty-three, twenty-four, hupp.” She mimicked,
or tried to, the huddle noises.

Eric laughed. “Let’s get something to
drink.”

“I have to say hello to some people
first.”

“Oh, well, you’re on your own. I’ll head over
there.” He nodded to where Millie Smith stood with a few
colleagues. As a close friend of Jacelyn’s, Millie knew Eric well.
“I’ll talk to Mil until you’re done with the PR thing.”

A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks; she
snagged a glass of wine. “Okay. See you later.”

Eric grabbed a beer and winked at her. “Maybe
I’ll get to meet the King.”

“Lucky you.”

As her brother strolled away whistling,
Jacelyn watched him. Though he spoke lightly of it she knew he’d
been devastated when he’d gotten hurt in his sophomore year at UVA
and couldn’t play Division One soccer anymore. Then he’d lost his
scholarship. Then his interest in school—which had never been
great— had evaporated completely. Rockford East High’s Athlete Most
Likely to Make the Pros was now a car salesman.

Who’s happier than you,
she told
herself. Sighing, Jacelyn scanned the crowd. Hal was deep in
discussion with Lew Cavanaugh. She headed toward them.

“Well, there she is.” Hal pivoted and touched
her arm. “We were just talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope.” As she sipped her
wine, she studied Hal. He was medium height, thin and dressed in
teacher garb. Oxford shirt, tailored blazer. He headed Beckett’s
renowned Science Department, noted for their award-winning faculty.
Hal himself had been voted one of the top ten department chairs in
small colleges across the nation.

He was smiling at her. “Everybody always says
good things about you.” Nodding to the crowd, he added, “We were
just discussing the new program in your department, Jacelyn. Think
you can handle all these athletes?”

“Handle them?”

Lew answered. “Well, the three Sports Studies
profs come from athletic backgrounds. And then there’s the team,
who will be involved.”

Involved, as in lecturing, participating in a
speaker series and some even might be adjuncts and teach a course
or two.

Hal threw her a conspiratorial look. It said,
we agree on this one.
In truth, she did agree with Hal,
and about a third of the faculty who resented the athletes’
disruption of their quiet summer campus. They’d also objected to
the addition of a program to their curriculum for what many thought
were political reasons as opposed to sound academic
decision-making. If, indeed, Jacelyn was a snob, at least she was
honest about it.

But she tried not to take part in the catty
comments a few of the other teachers had bandied about...

From an English professor:
Can’t you hear
them bumbling through a lecture...?

From a math associate:
They’ll probably
have to resort to taking off their shirts and flexing their muscles
to keep the kids interested....

And of course, from the Education Department:
Teach here? What are their qualifications? Half of them
probably took courses like basket weaving
—
and got Cs in
it…

“Jacelyn, I asked if you’d met with the team
liaison yet?”

“Um, no. Last we heard, he hadn’t been
appointed.”

“He was. Last week. And he’s heading right
toward us.”

Jacelyn pivoted to see none other than Mike
Kingston approach them. His stride was confident, his big, rangy
body encased now in nice-fitting khakis and a tucked-in black silk
shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. It accented his
sinewy chest even more than the clothes he’d worn this morning.

When he reached them, he nodded to Lew.
“President Cavanaugh.” They shook hands.

Lew pivoted toward her. “Mike. This is Dr.
Jacelyn Ross, our Business Department chair.”

The King’s mouth literally dropped.

Jacelyn couldn’t keep back the condescending
smile. “We met, earlier today.” She arched a brow. “We were
discussing my son.”

“Kyle?” Hal asked. “The boy wonder of the
music department?”

Not much surprised Mike these days. Hardly
anything embarrassed him anymore. But he’d jumped the gun on this
one, and felt his face flush like some first-year rookie fumbling
the ball. “You’re Dr. Ross?”

Her blue eyes sparkled with humor. It made
them about as pretty as a Georgia sky in summer. “Yes, Mr.
Kingston, I am. And this is Dr. Harrington.”

“I don’t like formalities, ma’am. Make it
Mike or Coach.”

Harrington choked on his cocktail but covered
it with a cough. “I can’t imagine Dr. Ross ever calling you
Coach.”

“Mike, then,” he said, frowning. He faced
Jacelyn. “Listen, I apologize about this morning.”

Now her complexion reddened. “No need. An
honest mistake.” Her frigid tone said there wasn’t a chance in hell
she meant the words.

The science professor caught on. “What
happened this morning, Jacelyn?”

“Nothing of import, Hal.” She dismissed Mike
with a glance and focused her gaze on the other men. “I need to
find Eric. I just wanted to say hello to you two.”