Bigger Than Beckham

by V. K. Sykes

  From every way he looked at it, he knew he could take the team—and himself—to the next level. His vision of making it big in America still beckoned with an irresistible siren song. Although he’d rather do it with Martha’s willing participation, if he had to go around her to get what he wanted then that’s exactly what he’d do. He’d given her a golden opportunity for a win-win outcome, so if the worst happened she had no one to blame but herself.

  Rex grunted his agreement. “Then we have to sit back for a few days and see how it plays out in Jacksonville.”

  Tony leaned forward as he shook his head. “No, mate, we keep pushing ahead with the plan. It’s all going to happen next week, and I want to hit the ground running flat out when we win. And we are going to win.” He knew dwelling on the negatives would only make it more difficult to succeed.

  Rex studied him through narrowed eyes. “But at what cost, Tony? Are you prepared for what this might do to Martha? Not to mention to our bottom line.”

  “We’ll see next week, won’t we?”

  With a resigned nod, Rex grabbed his coffee and headed down the hall to his office.

  Finding a decent measure of renewed energy, Tony shifted to his desk and brought up the video of yesterday’s match on his computer screen. Since the Lions had eked out a 2-1 win against a tough side, he figured his review would be mostly pleasurable. Still, he’d missed a hefty chunk of the action due to his blow-up with Martha. And even before that debacle, his thoughts had been so preoccupied with her that he’d paid scant attention to the intricacies of the play on the field.

  Only two minutes into the video his mobile rang. Irritated at the interruption, he let it ring three more times before finally picking it up. “Tony Branch here,” he snapped.

  “Well, good morning to grumpy ol’ you, Mr. B.” Martha’s honeyed voice slid over him with gentle warmth, jerking his body and brain to full alert. “Miss me yet?”

  Jesus, yeah. Do I ever. “Let me think about it,” he said, letting the smile on his face carry over into his voice. Despite his frustration with her behavior yesterday, he missed Martha more than he’d believed possible.

  “Oh, sure, but I can tell you do, hon. You just can’t fool a southern girl on that kind of stuff.”

  Tony had little doubt that almost nothing got by Martha Winston. “Well, then, of course I miss you, you daft woman. Are you still in London, or have you fled home? Tell me it’s the former.”

  “Actually, right now I’m on top of a double-decker tour bus, waving at Her Majesty as we trundle by Buckingham Palace. Oh, I forgot, though. The Queen spends weekends at Windsor Castle, doesn’t she?” Her bantering tone made it crystal clear she was having him on.

  “Give her a wave for me,” he said, playing along. “Seriously, though, Martha, I’m afraid we screwed things up royally yesterday, didn’t we?”

  “Ha! Royally. I call that a nice segue, darlin’.”

  Tony groaned, though it thrilled him that she seemed to be in such a playful mood. “Can we get together once your alleged bus tour is over?”

  “That happens to be exactly what I was thinking,” Martha said. “In fact, let’s make it right now. If you’re free, that is. I know a workaholic like you probably doesn’t even take Sundays off. I bet you’re in your office right now, aren’t you, plotting your next nefarious moves with Rex Daltry?”

  Good guess, babe. “Maybe. But I can sure be free for you.” His libido was already anticipating getting her back into bed, with the predictable results. “I can pick you up right away. We’ll go back to my place and—”

  “I think not, Tony my lad. Let’s go for a walk, instead. I’d rather enjoy the beautiful day out there.”

  Bollocks. He repressed a groan. “Whatever you say, Martha.”

  “Good. Why don’t we meet in Green Park in, say, an hour? I’ll mosey on over and meet you at the Canada Memorial.”

  Tourist-packed Green Park was definitely not what Tony had in mind for a tryst with the sexiest woman in London, but she sounded firm and he wasn’t about to argue with her about details. But what was she up to now? “You’re on, love. See you in an hour.”

  He hung up, more mystified by Martha Winston than ever.

  * * *

  Martha strolled through sedate Mayfair, crossing Piccadilly to enter Green Park at Queen’s Walk. Despite it being early autumn, the plane and lime trees remained in full canopy, giving the smallest of the three royal parks a lush feel. She always enjoyed the tranquility which St. James’s, Green and Hyde Parks managed to maintain despite their location in the heart of one of the world’s busiest tourist cities. Sometimes she enjoyed imaging how picturesque the vista must have been a couple of centuries ago when the opulent carriages of London’s beau monde trundled down the gravel paths as the aristocrats and gentry took in the morning air on the outskirts of Westminster.

  She made her way along the quarter-mile path to the south end of the park at a leisurely pace, stopping at the magnificent Canada Gate that faced the marble and bronze Queen Victoria Memorial and, in behind, glorious Buckingham Palace. An unrepentant devotee of the royal family, Martha always felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale world when she gazed upon the famous part-time home of the British royals.

  Once inside the Canada Gate, she made for the memorial erected to honor the sacrifice of Canadian and British soldiers in the world wars. The heavily-shaded space was the perfect place to hook up with Tony, particularly since she needed to absorb its atmosphere of calm. Though she’d managed to put on a breezy, joking air during the phone call, her heart had pounded the whole time. Just seeing Tony again, much less asking him for a favor she had no right to be asking, made her nerves jangle from the top of her head to the toes that poked out of her sandals.

  Martha carefully lowered herself to sit on the shallow set of stairs in front of the granite monument. Straight ahead, the memorial’s inset bronze maple leaves appeared to be flowing downward in the streams of water that slid over the surface of the stone. About a dozen tourists milled around the area, most snapping pictures or shooting videos, but no one other than her sat down. Thankfully, everyone maintained a respectful near-silence.

  A few moments later she heard footsteps behind her and turned to spot Tony, hands shoved in the pockets of his tight jeans. He had on a red team jersey that hung loose on his broad shoulders and muscled body. His sunglasses were perched back on top of his slightly disheveled hair. The casual look made him appear younger than his age and as mouth-wateringly sexy as any man she’d ever met.

  “Hey, love,” he said, glancing around. “Good choice—it’s beautiful here. Mind if I sit?”

  She gave him an apologetic smile as she rose. “Why don’t we walk instead? I have to admit to feeling a bit antsy today.”

  Tony reached to hug her, brushing his lips lightly across her cheek in what was more or less an air kiss as she stood awkwardly in his loose embrace. Clearly, he felt as at sea as she did. She noticed a light sheen of sweat on his brow, and his body radiated heat.

  “Did you jog here or something?” she said in a joking voice.

  He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Took the tube to Green Park station, which was a bloody hot ride, and then walked the rest of the way. Parking’s impossible around here, and it’s a bitch to find a cab on Sundays anywhere around Fenton.”

  Martha liked the image of Tony Branch riding the subway with ordinary mortals. “I wanted to tell you I was sorry that things ended up like they did yesterday,” she said as they started to walk.

  Tony stayed close but didn’t touch her. “Me, too.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate, which made sense since she was the one who’d made the overly dramatic exit and ignored his repeated phone calls. “All because we broke our rule not to talk business,” she said. “We both should have known better.”

  In truth, Martha thoroughly blamed Tony for the lapse, but that hardly seemed like a charitable thing to express, espec
ially given her subsequent outburst.

  “I agree, to a point,” he said. “My timing was off, I’ll admit that. But we had to have the discussion sooner or later, Martha.”

  She shot him a wry glance. “Well, later would have worked fine for me.” When he didn’t respond, she mentally sighed and continued, “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to make that offer. The more I thought about it, the more I realized you probably went a lot farther than you wanted to. But here’s the thing, Tony. I really didn’t need you coming at me again when all I can think about is figuring out how I’m going to get my team through the next damn week.”

  She stopped and gazed at the monument, its water flowing in a smooth, mesmerizing stream. “Can you understand that? I needed space, and I needed a break from all of the crap I left behind back home.” She turned to face him head-on. “You didn’t let me have that space, Tony—not enough of it, anyway.”

  “Sure, but…” Tony stopped suddenly, averting his eyes. He seemed to be fighting with himself.

  “But what?” she prompted.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. You’re right. That’s all there is to it.”

  Gratitude and relief flooded her body that he’d so easily agreed. Until that very moment, she’d had no idea how much his admission would mean to her. Going up on tiptoe, she kissed him softly and quickly on the lips. A chaste kiss. A thank you.

  “More, please,” he said with a rakish grin.

  “Men—all they think about is sex,” she said in a mocking tone.

  “You got that right,” he replied in such a husky voice that it made her knees nearly buckle.

  Stay on point, Martha.

  She summoned up more courage, knowing that if she didn’t get what she had to say out now, maybe she never would. “Tony, I need to be honest with you. When I called, it wasn’t to get you to talk about what happened yesterday, or about anything to do with the Thunder. There’s something else.”

  He quirked an eyebrow but fell in step beside her as she started up a narrow path that led toward the side of the park, paralleling Constitution Hill.

  “When you told me about the way Colton had treated Ginny during their marriage—the years of physical and mental abuse and all the covering up—well, it settled deep inside me, Tony. And I haven’t been able to let it go since. Not even for a minute.”

  Well, except for when he’d been taking her to the moon and back in bed, but she was hardly about to acknowledge that fact.

  A puzzled frown pulled his dark eyebrows together, but he nodded for her to continue.

  “Colton suffered a public disgrace,” she said, “but now he’s busting his butt to rehabilitate his reputation and it seems to be working. I suppose people are cutting him a break because they figure he’s paid his dues for his gross stupidity. Some of his major sponsors have come back, he’s going to return to the tour in a month, and my own damn newspaper is practically slavering over the feature he’s offered them.” She gave a little snort. “Even though we both know it’s supposed to be nothing more than a puff piece.”

  Tony’s frown morphed into a nasty scowl. “You know exactly what I’d like to do to the son of a bitch, so why are you telling me something we both already know?”

  “Because I want to bring him down, Tony,” she said earnestly. “For good, this time. And I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to see him pay for what he did to Ginny. Even if he doesn’t do jail time, I want him stone dead in the eyes of the public.”

  Tony stopped in the middle of the path and studied her, as if measuring the intent behind her words. Then he let out a low whistle. “Nice. I like it. And the deader, the better, if I have anything to say about it.”

  She loved his response, but he didn’t seem to twig to what she was about to ask him. That was about to change.

  “You can definitely have something to say about it, Tony, because there’s only one way it can happen,” she said, her stomach clenching in anticipation of his reaction. “Ginny has to tell me everything Colton did to her, and then let me run with the story.”

  When Tony took a step back, obviously shocked, Martha knew she was in trouble.

  “I told you,” he said in a cool voice after a moment’s hesitation, “Ginny would never do that. As far as I know, she’s never told a soul other than me.” His eyes burned into her. “So, why in bloody hell would you think she’d start blabbing to a reporter?”

  A reporter.

  Martha repressed the instinct to flinch under the weight of his apparent contempt. She raised her chin, fighting the nerves that were making flight a more attractive option than fight. “Because I have to believe she’d do it if you asked her to, Tony.”

  He threw up his hands, disbelief pulling hard at his lean features. “Even if that were true, which I sodding well doubt, why in hell would I do that? Why, after she made me promise I’d never tell anybody? A promise I was a bloody fool to ever have broken, it seems.”

  The anger and hurt lacing his voice ripped her in half. One half still felt righteous indignation and the burning desire to bring Colton down, while the other half felt only guilt at putting Tony, and no doubt Ginny, in a situation they clearly wanted no part of. Tony might have been right that he should never have spilled the beans to her. But he had, and now Martha couldn’t back away. Yes, she was prepared to admit that part of her zeal was due to the personal acclaim that her surgical dissection of Colton would bring. But it wasn’t simply the prospect of journalistic glory that drove her. No, she wanted justice for Ginny and for every other woman Colton Butler had ever abused—a justice that would ensure no other woman or girl would have to suffer from his cruelty.

  Tony turned his back on her and, for a moment, Martha feared he would simply walk away. “Tony, surely you can’t be naïve enough to think Ginny is the only woman Colton has ever abused,” she said quietly.

  He went still at that.

  Martha shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Men like him don’t beat the hell out of one woman and put others up on pedestals. You can bet he’s abused other women. Maybe not as badly as he hurt Ginny, but you can be damn sure it’s happened.”

  “Nobody’s ever come forward,” Tony said in a weary voice, still not facing her.

  “Oh, hell, most women never will in those circumstances. They’re either too intimidated, or rich guys like Colton pay them to keep their mouths shut.” She lowered her voice. “Or, they’re like Ginny.”

  When Tony said nothing, she moved around to face him directly. “I’ll bet Colton gave her a hell of a divorce settlement, didn’t he?”

  A dark flush swept across his cheekbones as he glared at her. “Are you implying that her settlement was hush money?”

  “I don’t know, Tony. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “Colton is rich as an oil sheikh,” he said, shaking his head. “She could have taken him to the cleaners in divorce court. What she did damn well wasn’t about money.”

  “Okay, I get that,” Martha said softly. “She wanted to make a clean break and get on with her life. But it can’t stop there, Tony. What also matters is whether or not Ginny thinks Colton is still doing it—doing to other women what he did to her. And how far will he go? He might even kill a woman someday. Sure, he probably wouldn’t mean to, but it happens all the time,” she finished in a firm voice.

  Now he seemed to flinch. “Colton? That’s a bit of a stretch, Martha.”

  “Really? Would you like me to give you some statistics on wife beaters?” she said, trying not to raise her voice. “About how many of them go on to kill or maim their women? This shit goes on all the time, and with the rich and famous, too.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave her a baffled stare. Lord, she wanted to shake him for being so dense, or so defensive—so whatever it was that was holding him back from acknowledging her point.

  “Even if I thought your idea made sense,” he finally said, “what would I sa
y to her? Ginny, girl, I just happened to mention your situation the other day while I was in the sack with an American reporter, and now she’s asking me to twist your arm and get you to spill your guts so she can write a really juicy story? Does that sound about right?”

  Put like that, it did sound utterly crass. But that wasn’t the way she had to look at it.

  “Actually, hon, I assumed you could be a little more subtle than that,” she said, gentling her voice. “I won’t deny that this would be a great story for me to write. But it’s way bigger than just that. I need you to see if Ginny has any interest in coming forward, both for the sake of stopping Colton and for making him pay for what he’s done. My suggestion is that you tell her a friend of yours is writing a feature on Colton, and that you think it would be a hell of a fine place for her to reveal some long overdue truths about the man.”

  Tony squeezed his eyes as if a bolt of pain had fired through his brain. For the first time, Martha noticed that it looked like he’d had a rough night.

  “Honest to God, Martha,” he said after a few seconds, “it feels like you’re asking me to choose between you and my friendship with Ginny.”

  Martha reeled, mentally staggered and flummoxed. How was she supposed to respond to such a devastating, out-of-the-blue declaration?

  “Tony, that is so not true,” she managed to get out. “Heck, I’m still talking to you even after that awful scene we had yesterday at the stadium, aren’t I? This isn’t any different,” she said, forcing a smile.