by KB Winters
However, the next day, it was the same thing. Another no show.
And the day after that.
By Thursday, I was raging mad and finally broke down to call him.
To my shock, he answered on the third ring. “Where the hell have you been?” I growled by way of a greeting.
“Hello to you too,” he quipped, not a trace of humor in his voice.
“Chance.”
He sighed. “I’ve been busy with my attorneys. In case you hadn’t heard, I’m being sued by two different people, and I can’t leave my house without two dozen cameras up my ass. So, forgive me if checking in for community service isn’t on the top of my priority list right now. If you want me to sign t-shirts or some shit like that, you’re going to have to FedEx them to my fucking house.”
His terse tone caught me off guard. I wanted to believe it wasn’t personal but it felt personal.
I drew in a deep breath. “Wow. Are you all right?”
He barked a dry laugh. “Peachy.”
“Chance, I’m sorry.” God, I’m such a sap.
“Yeah? Well, me too.”
His anger both repelled me and drew me in. I’d dealt with a lot of angry kids and teens over the four years I’d been at Harvest House. I could handle it without flinching. And I also knew that most of the time it was just a flimsy mask that was only in place to cover a lot of pain and despair.
Which, given Chance’s situation, made a lot of sense.
“How can I help?”
He scoffed. “There’s nothing you can do, Lacey. I’m in a pile of shit so deep I can’t see straight. My lawyers keep telling me they’ve got it handled, and I’m just supposed to sit tight until they can get things figured out.”
Silence ate at me as I rummaged through my crowded mind to try and come up with something encouraging to say. Everything fell flat. I didn’t want to come off as trite or dismissive in the face of his overwhelming situation. Likely, his lawyers would reach out-of-court settlements with the paparazzi and the woman, and as soon as the next big story in the sports and celeb gossip world broke, Chance’s—literal—slip, would be old news.
“How’s Aria?” he asked after a long moment, his voice calmer.
“She’s still hanging in there.” I thought back to my visit with her the other day. “The doctors had to put her in a medically induced coma because she had an infection that wasn’t clearing up. They put her on some pretty heavy meds, and she’s been getting better, but it’s slow.”
“Damn. I was hoping by now she’d at least be awake.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“I’d like to see her. Once all this goes away, I guess.”
“I’m sure she’d like that. I saw the stuffed animal you bought for her. I know she’ll love it. Right now, it stays at the foot of her bed.”
“Good.” He sounded miserable.
My heart twinged. “Chance, can I come and see you?”
“Probably not a good idea, pretty girl. I don’t want to drag you through this shit.”
It stung that he was rejecting my offer to help, and I choked down the disappointment. “All right. Well, you have my number now. Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
We ended the call after a moment of awkward silence. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute after disconnecting. I hated that he was in pain and feeling all alone. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted from—or with—Chance, but it made my heart ache to see anyone feeling that low.
But, for the time being, it didn’t appear that there was anything I could do.
18
Chance
“All right, you done with your call?” Nolan Riley asked, his tone sharp and snappy.
He was pissed at me since the story broke. He insisted I should’ve called him as soon as it happened, so that he might’ve had a chance at keeping the whole thing from going viral.
Yeah. Right.
Welcome to the internet, Nolan.
Nothing stays quiet for long.
I raked my hands through my hair. It was still damp from the long shower I’d taken after a hard workout I’d put myself through, forcing my body past the physical pain and agony, to take the sting off the ache in my chest.
“I’m done,” I replied, my tone deflated.
Nolan gritted his teeth and took a seat behind the large desk that sat in the office inside my home. I hadn’t left it since the wee hours of the morning after the entire world went nuts over the photographs of me outside Jefe’s. I hardly ever used the desk, and Nolan often took to the high-backed leather chair as naturally as though we were in his office.
“Who was it?” he asked.
I sighed and straightened to a sitting position on the long couch along the opposite wall from the desk. “The activity director at Harvest House. She wanted to know why I haven’t been there the last few days.”
Nolan rolled his eyes. “What? Does she not read?”
Defensiveness flared in my chest, but I kept my mouth shut.
“If they want to turn you over to the court, I’m sure our legal team can explain why you haven’t been there. I mean, for fuck’s sake, if you were to show up, you’d be leading a damn swarm of gossip hounds behind you like some modern day Pied Piper! It would be a disaster for them, just as much as it would be for you.”
“That’s what I told her. She’s not going to call the court.”
“Good.”
My shoulders rolled forward as I clamped my hands together. “So, where are we at?”
Nolan leaned back in the chair and folded his hands. “Barker and Beckett are working on settlements. This little fiasco of yours is going to cost a pretty penny.”
I nodded. That was obvious. The blonde chick had threatened to go to the cops and file assault charges, even though it had been caught on half a dozen camera phones. However, depending on the angle, it could be misinterpreted as deliberate. Of course, the gossip rags were saying I ripped her dress to get the camera off of me and cited my low profile over the past weeks. It was all horse shit, but it would be tough to find an unbiased judge. Settlements were cleaner—more expensive, but cleaner.
“I don’t care how much it costs, Nolan. I just want this over so I can get back to my normal life.”
Nolan eyed me. “You mean with the season right around the corner?”
I cocked my head. “Yeah, of course that’s what I fucking mean. What else would I be talking about?”
Nolan snapped upright, the chair lurching, and he lifted a glossy folder from the desk. “Well… it seems to me there are some things going on that I haven’t been told about.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nolan opened the folder and pulled out a packet of papers. My stomach dropped out the bottom. “Where did you get that?” I snarled.
He set the packet back on the desk and leveled me with a hard stare. “In the kitchen, Chance. It wasn’t like you had it hidden.”
“Damn it, Nolan.” I surged to my feet and stalked across the wide room to snatch the papers from the desk.
I hadn’t told anyone about my plan yet. Not even Lacey.
The packet of papers in my hand was the beginning phase of the process of becoming a foster parent.
“What the hell is going on with you, Chance?”
“This,” —I smacked the papers in my hand— “this is my personal shit. You shouldn’t have even seen this. I didn’t plan on having an army of PR blowhards infesting my house.”
Nolan didn’t flinch at my cruel taunt. He was my business manager. My brand manager. He handled my endorsement deals, the lawyers, and other business deals. He wasn’t a PR spin doctor. But at the moment, he was the first available.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I growled. “No social worker is going to give me a second glance after this latest shit. You know. Fuck, I try to get ahead, do something good instead of making a mess and then this happens.” I paused and shook my head. “It’s un-fucking-believable.”
“So this is real?” Nolan said, his expression morphing into a look of disbelief.
“Yes! Damn it. Why does everyone think I’m such a fuckup that I can’t do anything right? You know that quote, unquote bar fight wasn’t because I was drunk off my ass and getting all up in some random club girl. You believe me, right?”
Nolan considered me for a long moment, and with each passing second, the heat of rage simmered a little higher in my chest. “Chance, I think—”
“Get out.”
Nolan looked as though I’d physically struck a blow with my command. “Chance—”
“Get out! You’re fired, Nolan. I never want to see your sorry ass around here again. And you know what, while you’re heading out, tell the rest of those assholes to get out too. I’m done with this shit.”
Nolan rolled his eyes. “What? You’re going to manage yourself?”
“Why not? At least I fucking believe in myself. You and the rest of those bozos out there probably think I did all this shit the media makes up. I pounded the shit out of that motherfucker at the club because he was getting aggressive with the girl I was with. I was helping her.”
Nolan leaned in, still seated behind my desk. With a calm tone, he asked, “Then why didn’t she come to the hearing and testify before the judge?”
“Fuck if I know! I didn’t get her number or take her out. I don’t even know her last name. She probably didn’t want to get involved and piss this ex-boyfriend off even more. It wasn’t like I was going to be her bodyguard or something. We fucked, one night, then I never saw her again.”
I stormed across the room to the massive fireplace and braced my hands against the wood beam that served as the mantle. “I’m not saying that I’m this amazing guy. Hell, I’m a straight-up asshole most of the time. I trash talk, chase pussy, get drunk, say the wrong things at press releases. All that shit. I’m not saying I’m some saint. But damn! I don’t deserve this. Not now, not when I’m trying to straighten all that shit out.”
The room fell eerily silent and as the wild thoughts ravaged my mind, I nearly forgot that Nolan was still in the room until he cleared his throat, “Chance, in all of my years working in PR and brand management, I’ve never had more shit to deal with than in the last few years since taking you on as a client. But I’ve never once trashed you to the media or leaked dirt as some anonymous bullshit source. You may not like the way I speak to you, but you cannot say that I haven’t been loyal or that I haven’t done the best job I could to keep your reputation intact through the shit you’ve been through—or put yourself through—over the years.”
I whipped around and crossed my arms. “That might be true, but that’s called doing your job, Nolan. So don’t expect me to give you some damn medal. I don’t want someone like you representing me to the public anymore. Not if you can’t get on board with the direction I’m going. What would be the point? It would be like bashing your head against a brick wall and you’ve known me long enough to know that this wall doesn’t crumble.”
Nolan looked at me for a minute and then his expression changed. He held up a finger. “All right. Fair enough. Sit down and tell me about this plan,” he said, gesturing to the papers I’d left on the edge of the desk.
My blood was still pumping through my veins like molten lava, but I calmed myself down long enough to walk back to the desk and grab the papers. I sagged into the seat opposite Nolan and started to tell him about Aria. I told him about the shooting and what her social worker had told me in regard to her not being able to return to her foster family.
“She doesn’t have anywhere to go, other than some bullshit long-term care place where she’ll be bored out of her damn mind in between treatments and therapies,” I explained. “She deserves a good home, with all the best in life, especially after what she’s been through. So, I thought, why not me? I have this big ass house, with no one but me wandering around, and hell, I’m not even here half the time. I could bring in a live-in nurse to help her while she recovers.”
Nolan—to his credit—listened intently, without interrupting. He waited until I finished before dropping his folded hands to the top of the desk. “I think it’s noble, Chance. I really do. But I’m not sure it’s all that practical. Like you said, you’re not even home half the time. You’re on the road with the team and even when you’re here in Bitsberg, you log a lot of time at the practice facility and then game nights here at home. Those are always long days.”
“I get that,” I agreed, pausing to scrub a hand over the stubble that had grown out along my jaw. “But lots of the guys have kids. They find ways to make it work. Why couldn’t I?”
“They have wives—or, in most cases, ex-wives—or girlfriends that do most of the care.”
I snorted. “Yeah right. They have hordes of nannies to take the little brats off their hands while they go shopping and get manicures and bang the pool guy.”
Nolan rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. “First of all, if you’re serious about this, you’re gonna need to refrain from referring to all children as brats.”
“You know what I meant,” I growled.
“I do. But the social workers and family court officers won’t.”
“All right, fine. So… what, you’re approving this plan now? You’re gonna coach me?” I arched a brow at him. Five minutes ago, he was openly mocking my plan, but now he was on my side. Or was he just trying to save his own ass from getting fired and losing his most valuable client-slash-cash-cow?
Nolan sighed. “Listen, I’m gonna level with you. I think it’s a long shot, you’ve got a record. But if this is what you want, and you want to try and move things in this new positive direction, I think it’s worth a try. I’m in your corner if you’ll have me.”
I nodded. “All right.”
Nolan and I had fought over my career—and often questionable life choices—before and had always found a way back to the same side of the fence. And at the moment, I could use all the allies I could get.
19
Lacey
A knock woke me from a fitful sleep. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table, blinking a few times to clear the fuzzy edges from my vision. It was nearly eleven-thirty. Not absurdly late, but still well past the time that most people would drop by. Even Tien, who was most definitely a creature of the night.
I grabbed the pair of glasses I wore after taking off my contact lenses for the night and smashed them on my face before wrapping myself in my old terry cloth robe. It was thin and threadbare, but it was a staple in my loungewear collection regardless. Some things were too comfortable to get rid of.
Out in the living room, I flicked on a lamp and went to check the security hole in the front door. Chance was standing on the other side, hands in his pockets, a worried look tugging at the edges of his face. I tied the robe a little tighter around my middle before pulling the door open. Chance’s eyes swept over me, not missing an inch, and my cheeks warmed. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about him—or rather, how I should feel about him—but there was one inescapable truth that rose to the surface when he looked at me, and it was filled with pure intoxication.
“Chance?”
He offered a weak smile. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I stepped back and waved my hand, beckoning him inside.
He walked into the room, and I was struck by the difference in his movements. His shoulders were still broad as ever but rounded at the edges, not thrust back and down, like a strutting peacock. Bags and dark circles framed his eyes, and his hair looked as though he’d raked his hands through it half a dozen times—or maybe he just woke up.
“Are you all right?” I asked, closing the door and locking it again. It was an automatic gesture. No one was going to break in and get past Chance. He was a walking, breathing security system all on his own.
He paced the floor of the living room, pausing to glance out the crack in the curtains, before crossing back to me, his expression tight and wor
ried. He stopped in front of me and shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Can we talk?”
I nodded, worry rising inside me like a dark cloud. What was going on?
Chance went to the couch and I took the seat beside him. He took my hand in his and we stared down at our interlocked fingers for a long time. I smiled softly at the way his hands morphed around mine as I began mindlessly rubbing his rough knuckles with my thumbs, waiting for him to talk. When I looked up, his eyes were already locked on mine. “First, I want to say that I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”
A titter of a laugh passed my lips. “You’re not.”
“Yes. I was. I had no business showing up here the other day, in the middle of the night, smelling like I’d just taken a bath inside a friggin’ tequila bottle.”
“It’s all right, Chance. Really.”
“The reason I came here that night was because I knew that the whole thing was going to go viral, just like every other mistake in my whole fucking life.” Irritation pulled his voice tight, making it sound strangled. He paused, regrouping for a moment, before continuing, “As soon as I got away from all the photographers and the noise, the first thing in my head was you. I was afraid—hell, I was terrified—about the way you’d react or what you’d think when you saw the videos from that night. I came here to explain it, in person, before it hit the internet and went crazy.”
I nodded, even more unsure where he was headed with the conversation. “I get it. I’ve seen the video half a dozen times, and I believe you. About what happened. It was just a mistake.”
Chance stared at me for a moment, a strange look on his face, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. “I seriously don’t know how I found you, pretty girl.”
I smiled but couldn’t find the words to reply. There was something dark and intense in his eyes that made it hard to think straight. I wanted to set aside everything else and get lost in him, back in our own little space where it was just him and me and the rest of the world didn’t matter.
Chance released one of my hands and traced his fingers down the side of my face. “I’ve never felt like this before, Lace. It’s always been about me, my own one-man show. Other than my mom and my brother, I never cared about anyone else before. At least, not like this.”
