by L. M. Carr
Julian props his foot on the nightstand to tie his sneakers. “Sorry to break it to you, I’m not old, and I’m definitely not rundown. And as far as being stressed, I have this gorgeous girl I come home to who helps me with that.” He waggles his brows.
I smile. “You sure do.”
He switches legs and ties the other sneaker.
“Julian, do you think you’d still be playing football if…”
He stands and looks at me, hands on hips. “I don’t know. I try not to think about what could’ve been. I’m happy where I am now. You and this team mean everything to me. Honestly, I sometimes wonder when my luck is going to run out.”
I suck in a breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have everything I’ve always wanted. It almost feels too good to be true.”
His comment solidifies my decision to confront the bastard taunting me, exploiting a private moment for personal gain.
“What time are you going to work?” he asks, leaning down to kiss me goodbye.
I shake my head. “I’m not. I took the day off. I’ve got a couple of things I need to take care of and I’m exhausted. I emailed Wes last night.”
“I’m glad. You’ve been working too hard.” He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger, then turns to exit the room.
“By the way…” He looks over his shoulder. “I’m covering your game on Sunday.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Really? That’s awesome! It’ll be great to have you there. I miss looking down the sidelines and seeing you. It’ll be like old times, at least for one game.”
After Julian leaves, I quickly shower, then throw on a pair of leggings and a long, flannel tunic. I slip my feet into a pair of booties and take the elevator down to Naomi’s.
Using my key, I enter and walk into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. When she strides into the kitchen wearing a sharp gray pantsuit and heels, she looks like the no-nonsense, high-powered attorney she is.
“You look like shit,” she comments, breezing past me and reaching for the carafe of coffee.
“Geez, thanks!” I retort. “That’s because I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I meant your coloring is off. Are you feeling all right?”
If she weren’t my best friend, I might be offended. “Yeah. I’ve just got a lot of my mind.”
“Speaking of…,” she sings, setting the travel mug of black coffee down and reaching for a large, manila folder.
“I wish I could stay and go over it with you, but I have to be in court in two hours. I printed out everything I could find,” she says, handing it to me. “A lot of those are sealed documents.” Naomi raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to keep digging.”
Understanding, I nod. “I don’t think I’ll have to use them, but I want to have them just in case.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Where did you tell Julian you were going this morning?”
Lowering himself onto the couch in his luxury apartment, my brother shrugs a broad shoulder. “I told him to mind his fucking business.”
I purse my lips. “Rence!”
“I’m kidding!” He chuckles. “I told him I had a migraine.”
“Good one. He’ll believe that.”
I sober. “So, listen… I need to tell you something. I know you’re going to be upset, but I need you to promise me you’re not going to flip out and be irrational. I’ve got this under control and am handling it. I just need one thing from you.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not getting involved with your marriage!”
“This has nothing to do with him,” I say, then hesitate. “Well, it kind of does, but… Just listen, Rence.” I blow out an exasperated breath, then inhale sharply and start at the beginning.
After several minutes, I look at him.
“And you’re absolutely positive it’s him?” he seethes, clenching his hands.
I swallow nervously and nod. “It took me some time, but I figured it out.”
Nostrils flared, Rence jumps up and paces the living room, then walks into the bathroom. “I’m going to fucking kill him!” His voice booms from the small room.
My heart pounding, I’m worried I may have sent him over the edge. Because my brother’s temper isn’t something to tamper with, I wait until he returns to the couch.
When he walks back in, he nods toward the envelope sitting next to me, seemingly a little calmer. “What’s in the envelope?”
“Evidence of the horrible, disgusting actions of an adolescent. These sealed documents reveal the insidious mind and transgressions of a predator who, because of his age at the time, was protected by the court system…unlike the two little girls he preyed upon.”
Rence reads and scrutinizes the papers. With each turn of the page, his scowl deepens, hardening the planes of his face. “He’s an animal.”
I nod slowly. “When he was eighteen, he legally changed his name. I guess he thought none of this would ever be revealed because he was a minor and no one knew about it…except his family.”
“And you met his uncle in LA?” he asks skeptically.
Again, I nod.
“What a coincidence,” he sighs, shoving the papers back into the envelope.
“I don’t think it was. Everything happens for a reason. You know I believe that with all my heart.
“I’m going to stop animals like him and Ed Asher from hurting another woman, Rence.”
“Vicious, rabid animals should be put down,” my brother mumbles.
Horrible guilt creeps in. Perhaps I should share this with Julian, but I know him. He’ll get angry, blame himself, then plead for me to quit my job, claiming his need to protect me. But what he fails to understand is that I’m strong. I don’t need someone to walk ahead and protect me from danger. I need someone to walk beside me so we can protect each other.
Resolved to do this on my own, I look at my brother. “He’ll be here this weekend, and I’m going to confront him.”
Rence exhales sharply. “I’ve got your back, AJ.”
§
I spend most of Friday morning at the stadium, watching as the team runs drills. I try my best to focus, but my gaze constantly wanders to Julian, who wears gray shorts, a blue, nylon jacket with the team logo and a blue baseball cap.
My eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses, I shift them back to the center, who is bent over the ball on the field. The quarterback calls the play and the center snaps the ball, but my brother is too quick. He breaks through the line of scrimmage and runs past the quarterback, touching him on the way by.
“No! No! No!” Julian yells, tossing his clipboard down and rotating his hat backward. “Let’s go, offense! We’ve practiced this a million times!”
After a quick exchange between Julian and his offensive coordinator, the men on offense line up against their counterparts on defense and attempt to run the same play.
I slowly walk closer to Julian.
Still focusing on the field, he mumbles, “Hey.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask quietly, keeping my eyes forward, scanning the vast arena that holds nearly seventy-two thousand spectators on game days.
“Sure.”
“Have Heinz go down low and roll up to the top. That should hold Rence long enough for your QB to get the ball down the field.”
He shrugs. “It’s worth a shot.”
Julian walks out onto the turf, calling a stop. He pulls his offense into a huddle while I pick up his clipboard.
The adjustment works flawlessly, the ball sailing through the air and into the waiting hands of his wide receiver. Julian claps enthusiastically.
“There you go! That’s it!”
He walks back over to me and returns to his prior position, his eyes on the field. “Thanks, babe. And I thought I was the play maker in the family.”
Pressing the clipboard into his chest, I smile and whisper as I walk away, “Anytime, baby. Anytime.”
A
fter practice, I head through the tunnel and follow the players back to the locker room. I’m not here as Julian’s wife. I’m here for work.
“Hey,” Julian calls as he jogs up beside me.
I smile in return. “So, think your guys are ready, Coach?”
“You can’t ask me questions now. You have to wait for the pre-game interview,” he murmurs, reaching out to pinch my ass.
I slap his hand away as a low rumble of laughter slips from my lips. “Julian…” I turned narrowed eyes on him. “I’m working.”
He scoffs playfully. “I don’t care. You’re my wife first, reporter second.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
I continue toward the locker room while he heads toward his office. I stop to admire his backside and whistle softly.
When he glances back, I wink. “See you later, Coach.”
§
Sleep evades me as I think about my upcoming confrontation.
The next morning, while Julian showers, I send two text messages. I confirm the time with Rence and remind him not to be late.
His reply is immediate.
Let’s end this.
My fingers shake as I change contacts and type the next message.
I have a very interesting proposition for you. Meet me @ 12 by entrance 3.
Although he doesn’t reply, I know he’ll be there.
Later that morning, when the Cowboys have finished their practice, caffeine and adrenaline have joined forces. I inhale deeply and enter the locker room, then ask the coach about the team’s decision to start their running back, despite his off-season surgery. My questions continue, eliciting information posed by fans on my social media page, which garnered chuckles from nearly everyone in the room.
As another reporter asks questions, I look out of the corner of my eye and see the bully saunter into the room. I glance over and make eye contact. My palm twitches, wishing it could slap the smug look right off his face.
I drag my eyes back to the QB, interjecting before another reporter speaks.
“I understand you don’t need to be friendly with everyone on the team, but doesn’t there have to be a level a respect and trust?”
“Absolutely! But those are earned. You can’t come into my house and make demands. You’ll get evicted without notice.” His comment draws laughter from the crowd.
Again, my attention shifts, the bully swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
I ask a few more questions of the coaching staff, then quietly duck out, followed by Melody.
“Everything all right?” she asks, handing over my messenger bag she was holding for me.
“I’m okay. Just tired,” I reply, which is the truth. I’m tired of this man’s bullshit. As we part ways, I turn to Entrance 3.
My phone chirps. I look down to see a text from Naomi.
You got this!
“Sup, girl?”
I snap my head up to see him pushing off the wall. How did I ever find him attractive?
“Hey. Good practice today, Doc,” I say, keeping things casual before I drop the bomb.
His eyebrows knit in confusion before smoothing out. “These fuckers ain’t giving me the ball. Do they know who I am?”
I shrug, displaying false sympathy.
“You talk to your husband yet?” he asks. “You need to tell him how good I am. He don’t seem to be listening to me. Maybe he needs a little…incentive.”
Bile rises in my stomach. “Yeah, about that…” I sigh, retrieving the manila folder from my bag. “I’m a little upset with you.”
He smirks.
“So tell me, Demarcus Richardson, why do you think my husband would want a lowlife scumbag like you on his team?”
Stiffening, his jaw ticks in anger. “What the fuck did you call me?”
“Demarcus Alonzo Richardson. That is your name, isn’t it? You know, I never understood where the nickname ‘Doc’ came from, then it hit me. Your initials. D.R. That’s pretty clever.”
His eyes narrow, nostrils flaring. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pulling the court documents from the folder, I glance over them, providing his legal name, date of birth, and the dates of his transgressions. “Seems you were a bit of a bad boy, huh? Preyed on sweet, innocent girls who couldn’t defend themselves, and because you were a minor, you got a slap on the wrist and sent to juvie. That’s where you met Owen Vista, who introduced you to football and helped you change your name when you turned eighteen.”
His eyes dart to the envelope in my hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“Does it matter?” I spit. “See, here’s the thing, Alonzo.” My confident voice surprises me. “The sins of my past aren’t half as bad as yours, but I am guilty of making poor choices, including spending one night with you. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. How you think it’s right to take something so private and exploit it for personal gain.”
“This could ruin me,” he mumbles as his chest rises and falls in fear. Then he pounces, his huge hands wrapping around my neck as he slams me back against the concrete wall. The papers in my hand slip from my grip as I try to pry his fingers from my airway. I struggle to remain conscious, my eyes wide, tears forming.
Please, Rence, just this once, don’t be late.
“You fucking bitch. You’re not going to say another word,” he hisses.
Then he suddenly releases me. I gasp, welcoming the burn of air in my lungs as I collapse to the floor.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” Rence bellows as Alonzo crashes into the opposite wall. My brother’s fists connect with his face several times as his former teammate cowers on the floor. “I told you once before if you touched my sister, I would break your fingers.”
Two more punches.
“Those are for the little girls who couldn’t defend themselves.”
Normally, I would intervene when Rence became out of control, but not today. I sit and stare, watching Alonzo beg for mercy. My thoughts shift to the helpless, defenseless girls who had no one to protect them.
Breathing hard, Rence reaches for my hand and pulls me to my feet, closing his arms around me.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I look into his eyes and nod.
Grasping my chin and turning my head slowly, he inspects the marks on my neck, which are already starting to bruise, and snarls.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looks down at Alonzo on the floor–bloody, dazed and confused. “Come anywhere near my sister again, and I will kill you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Julian says, wrapping his arms around me and placing a kiss on the bare skin of my shoulder. His voice is smooth, but I detect a hint of curiosity. Our eyes connect in the mirror, and I offer a small smile.
“I’m tired. It was an eventful day.” I distract myself by applying moisturizer to my skin.
“You can say that again.” He reaches into the top drawer of the vanity and takes out the electric razor.
My eyes grow wide and I spin around. “You’re not shaving this off, are you?” I ask, tugging at his beard.
“Nope. Just trimming it.” His hand glides along the hair covering the lower half of his face.
“You look older with a beard.”
He grins. “You don’t like it?”
I roll my eyes and purse my lips. “You know I do! But I like just a bit of sexy scruff, too.” I kiss the side of his mouth. “You’re going to be a sexy silver fox someday.”
He laughs. “Whatever that means.”
I continue my nightly ritual while he trims his facial hair.
“Speaking of old men, what’s up with your brother?”
My fingers freeze on my chin. “What do you mean?”
“He seemed a little…unfocused today.”
I shrug. “Maybe he’s worried about getting through the line of scrimmage now that you’ve made the adjustment to your offense.”
He nods. “Could be. Let’s hope he, and everything else, is ready for tomorrow.”
I grab my toothbrush. “What do you mean?”
“I guess the electricians were doing some rewiring. Both the cameras and scoreboard were offline for a couple hours.”
Shoving my toothbrush into my mouth, I avoid the need for a response.
Quickly completing my task, I head into the bedroom and step into the walk-in closet. I rifle through the clothes on hangers.
“Are you going to try on ten outfits again?” Julian asks as he walks into the bedroom.
“I want to look good tomorrow. It’s a big game.”
He chuckles. “They’re all big games.”
“I know, but this is the first time I’m covering one of yours.” I reach for a navy blue shift dress, then quickly hang it back the rod.
“You should wear this.”
I stride back into the room. “What?”
Julian stands there, holding up a dark blue team jersey. I suppress a smile when I notice Roman numerals stitched where traditional numbers should be.
“That’s your number,” I murmur.
“It is.” He turns it around, showing me MacIntyre sewn on the back. “But when I look at it in the mirror, I see your number.”
I rush over and grab the shirt, sliding it on over my camisole. “I love it!”
Julian reaches for my wrist and glides his finger over the black ink. “I love you.”
§
Rising before Julian, I climb out of bed and throw on my running gear.
“Where are you going so early?” his sleepy voice asks.
“I have a lot of energy. I’ve got to burn some off before work today.”
“Are you running a marathon this morning?” he teases, rolling onto his back, exposing his bare chest. I fight the urge to climb back into bed with him.
“That’s tomorrow morning. I’ll only be gone for an hour. Wanna come?”
“I would love to.” His gorgeous eyes crinkle with mischief.
“Julian!” I fling a decorative pillow in his direction before walking into the kitchen to refill my water bottle. “I’ll compromise! Come run with me for half an hour, and I’ll make you come when we get back.”
I don’t really expect him to take my offer seriously. I know he’s got a game this afternoon and will want to be at the stadium early.
