Bigger Than Beckham

by V. K. Sykes

  Tony shook his head. “I hear what you’re saying, but you’re asking a hell of a lot, Martha. You have no idea how much.”

  Martha decided now was the time to back off a little. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But this is important enough that I have to do it. Look, you don’t have to push Ginny hard. Just tell her that you know I’m writing a story on her ex, and that she’d get a very sympathetic hearing from me if she thinks it’s time to call Colton to account.”

  He shifted restlessly, then nodded. “All I can tell you is that I’ll think about it. Now, can we please go to my place and have a drink? I sure as hell need one,” he grumbled, reaching for her hand.

  She took his hand and looked him right in the eye as she decided to take the final step. “That’s fine, but let me say just one more thing, Tony. When I said we can’t let Colton keep getting away with it, it’s because I can tell you from firsthand knowledge that he hasn’t changed. Not one little bit. Despite all the bullshit, the man’s still as big a pig as he ever was.”

  Tony’s hand squeezed hers hard. “Firsthand knowledge? What the hell does that mean?”

  She grimaced. “I didn’t want to tell you everything about what happened Friday night because I knew it would just make you crazy. But, yes, Colton couldn’t keep his frigging paws off me then. He even pitched me to go with him on an endorsement trip to Europe, and believe me he made his intentions crystal clear.”

  Tony gazed down at her, eyes blazing. Every line of his face was sharply defined with anger.

  “Of course, I told him where he could shove his ridiculous proposal,” she added quickly.

  “Death is too good for that sodding prick,” Tony growled.

  She half-expected him to start pawing the ground, like a bull readying to charge. Oddly enough, the silly image soothed her wounded pride.

  “Martha, I know you really want to do this article,” he said. “But when you meet the scumbag the next time, I want you to have somebody there with you. That’s how little I trust Colton Butler.”

  Martha figured she could probably hold her own in a wrestling match with Colton if it ever came to that. Still, she had to admit that Tony was probably right. Having a witness made sense, though God only knew how she’d manage to swing that with Colton.

  “Not a bad idea,” she said. “But listen, Tony. I know this is probably one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do, but the stakes are worth it, aren’t they? Help me get some kind of justice for Ginny. Help me try to stop Colton from doing the same thing to even more women.”

  They stood quietly in the shade of one of the plane trees, holding hands as a couple of joggers passed around them on the path. Martha curbed her impatience, waiting for him to work it through.

  “I’ll sleep on it.” He slid an arm around her waist. “You’re a damn persuasive woman, Martha Winston, but you worry the hell out of me with the risks you take.”

  She didn’t resist as he gently squeezed her. Instead, she leaned into him and gratefully accepted the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

  “Now, about that drink,” he prompted.

  She snuggled against him, relishing the feel of the soft Lions jersey that contrasted with his hard body underneath. She was desperately relieved that they’d apparently reached some kind of truce. “You’re on, but my hotel is a lot closer than your place. So, let’s get a move on, Branch.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Exhausted but determined to get the dreaded conversation over and done, Martha paced her living room as she waited for her uncle Geoffrey to arrive. Her flight from London had been on-time and smooth as a baby’s butt, though it still felt like she’d entirely missed the day. The sun had barely risen over London when Tony dropped her at Heathrow and dusk had already fallen by the time the Delta 757 touched down in Jacksonville.

  All through the long transatlantic leg, her mind had flipped back and forth between the divine and the depressing. Every memory she had of the previous day and night with Tony was divine, from the moment they walked hand in hand through Green Park to her hotel until the last passionate kiss as they said a wrenching goodbye at the airport. In between, they’d enjoyed a sumptuous meal at the Ritz-Carlton sandwiched in between the most mind-altering sexual exploits she could imagine. Martha considered herself in prime physical shape—almost as good as in her college basketball days—but she figured only a yoga master could have avoided her day-after sore muscles. Those muscles even now clung to the memories of Tony’s ardent demonstrations of inventive passion.

  The two of them had carefully avoided the raw subjects of the Jacksonville Thunder and Ginny Cross, and that had been divine, too. Both matters would have to be dealt with soon enough, but in the meantime they’d shared a fierce determination to make their last night together a memorable one.

  The depressing thoughts, of course, focused on the Meeting of Death in store for her tomorrow. On top of that looming confrontation with the bank and the sponsors, she’d decided she had no choice but to get together with Geoffrey as soon as she arrived home. Before she boarded at Heathrow, she’d called him on his cell and asked him to meet her tonight at her father’s house.

  Martha simply had to own up to her uncle about Tony’s proposal for a so-called partnership, even though she’d rejected it. Despite their differences, she and Geoffrey remained partners in the Thunder, and that meant she would continue to do her best to respect Geoffrey’s interests despite his minority status. When she told him over the phone that she’d just spent the weekend in London with Tony, he hadn’t sounded surprised. That lack of reaction had bothered her all day, making her wonder how much her uncle knew, and whether Tony—or more likely Rex—was keeping Geoffrey informed.

  She’d just finished brewing coffee and setting out cups, cream and sugar when the doorbell rang. Martha let her uncle in and, after giving her a perfunctory air kiss, Geoffrey lumbered straight into the living room and plunked his wide butt down on the sofa as if he owned the place.

  As she set the coffee service in front of him, she took in his white shorts and sweat-stained, orange golf shirt. Obviously, he’d come straight from his course in Ponte Vedra or, more likely, straight from the country club bar. Martha often wondered how he managed to wheeze his way through eighteen holes, even with the aid of an electric cart. To say that Uncle Geoffrey wasn’t in good shape was the charitable way to put it.

  “How about a cup of coffee?” she said. “I just made a fresh pot.”

  “My cardiologist doesn’t want me drinking coffee anymore, remember? Damn stuff gives me palpitations,” he said with a scowl. “But I wouldn’t say no to bourbon and soda.”

  She nodded and headed to the kitchen, wondering if bourbon could be much better for a challenged heart than coffee.

  Once his drink and her coffee were organized, she took the armchair that was set at an angle to the sofa. While she certainly didn’t shy from direct eye contact, she’d learned over the years that Geoffrey rarely looked directly at anyone, instead constantly shifting his gaze around the room. The habit unsettled her, and she sure didn’t need to be any more unsettled tonight than she already was.

  “All right, then. What did Branch have to say?” Geoffrey slugged back a hefty swallow of bourbon.

  She repressed sigh. Never much chitchat with her uncle. “Let me start by saying that I went to London to meet with Colton Butler. I wanted to talk to Butler to see if I should to accept an assignment to write a feature article about his comeback. While I was there, Tony insisted I be his guest at the Saturday match at Fenton Park. I had some spare time, so I accepted.” That explanation was pretty bare bones, but she had no intention of going into the details with Geoffrey.

  “I’m sure you enjoyed the match,” he said in a resentful voice. “Fenton Park is a delight, and the Lions are a fine side, nowadays, like every team Tony Branch has ever owned or managed. The man’s a bloody football genius.”

  Martha went onto full alert. Geoffrey Winston as president of the Tony
Branch fan club? When did that happen?

  “If only we had players like Kevin Keenan and Emmanuelle Diarra over here instead of overpaid slackers like Kavanagh and Flores.” Martha let out a sigh. “But we should be so lucky.”

  Geoffrey spun his finger impatiently, as if urging her to get on with it. “Luck has little to do with it, darling. Now, Branch must have told you something you think I need to hear, so let’s have it, shall we, then?”

  Martha met his impatience with a smile. Slowly, she pulled her legs up underneath her and took a couple of sips of coffee, simply to make him pay in small fashion for his rudeness. She examined her black tights and picked at an imaginary piece of lint. Stalling the discussion may have been a bit petty, but Martha had never caved to Geoffrey’s bullying demeanor and she wasn’t about to start tonight.

  “Branch made an offer for the team,” she said at last. “Right out of the blue, in the middle of the match. Darn near bowled me over, I have to tell you.”

  Geoffrey’s brows shot up, signaling to her that his surprise wasn’t feigned. She figured word hadn’t got back to him from anybody in London after all, and that gave her sense of control a little boost.

  “Ah, he took the informal approach,” Geoffrey mused. “A little cheeky, though, wasn’t he?”

  If you only knew the half of it.

  Martha managed a tiny smile. “Branch actually proposed a partnership rather than an outright sale, which I found surprising to say the least. His deal would see me, or the two of us, sell him a controlling share—fifty point one percent, to be precise. And, before you ask, he didn’t throw out any dollar figures. He was pretty much just sounding me out on the concept.”

  Geoffrey’s mouth sagged open. “Good God, he wants a partnership? Why in heaven would the man want to be partners with us? That makes no bloody sense.”

  “I expect it’s because he knew it would be the only way that I’d even think for one moment about selling part of my share. Unfortunately, for some reason he seemed to be under the silly illusion that I might actually cede control to him.”

  Her uncle lurched forward to the edge of the sofa. “You’re you telling me you blew him off? Without even discussing the offer with me first? Good God, how dare you!”

  “I’m discussing it with you now,” Martha said sharply, trying to ignore her thudding heart. “But even without talking to you, I had no trouble making it clear to Branch that I wasn’t interested. There’s no way I’m going to sell him a controlling share, Geoffrey, and you know why. I made Daddy a solemn promise to keep the Thunder in our family, and I have every intention of honoring that vow.”

  Geoffrey’s face had quickly turned from pasty to beet red. “Great. You’d rather go bankrupt, then? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen, and you’re a damned idiot if you don’t see it. The bank’s going to cut us off any day now. And after that we won’t be able to pay our players, much less our creditors. We’ll be left with no choice but to sell or go into receivership, and who knows whether anyone will even want to buy the team then.” He pulled out a white handkerchief and dabbed at his sweat-covered brow. He looked ill, and that made Martha start to worry.

  “Martha, listen to me,” he continued in a wheeze. “It’s time you got serious. You know very well that we’d get more if we sell now rather than when our backs are pinned to the wall. You must come to your senses and forget that nonsensical promise. Will should never have put that terrible burden on your shoulders. He was wrong, and you shouldn’t have to pay for his stupid mistake.” He put up a hand to cut off her objection. “I loved Will too, but you know he didn’t have a lick of sense when it came to this damn team.”

  As much as she hated to admit it, her uncle wasn’t entirely wrong. She certainly hadn’t welcomed her father’s somewhat bizarre insistence on her taking over the Thunder and keeping it in the Winston family in perpetuity. When she was really feeling blue, she even thought it might have been his way of punishing her for rejecting the family business for a journalism career. But she’d always whacked those stupid thoughts down the second they popped up their ungrateful heads, because her daddy had been the kindest, most generous soul on the planet.

  No, there was guilt to be had involving Winston Papers, all right, but it wasn’t her father’s doing. It was hers. As much as she told herself she was being foolish, Martha couldn’t let go of the fact that she’d let him down when it counted. Her rational mind told her that she’d made the right decision not to take over as CEO of Winston Papers all those years ago. Nevertheless, when her father had begged her on his deathbed to take responsibility for the Thunder, she’d been incapable of saying no to him again. Whether he should have even asked her or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that she didn’t fail him again. Rightly or wrongly, she’d promised to take the team and keep it in the family.

  Unfortunately, the latter promise to her father no longer squared with her uncle’s best interests.

  “Geoffrey, we’re never going to agree on that, so I wish you’d keep those opinions to yourself,” she said firmly. “Look, I understand you might do better if we sold to Tony now. And maybe in the end we’ll wind up with no choice, like you say. But I’m sure not ready to give up the fight.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Be sensible, girl. The team is dead in everything but name,” Geoffrey lectured. “My poor, misguided brother created this mess and then stuck you with it. Well, I for one think it’s high time you started thinking about yourself, Martha—not about a dead man’s fancy. And it’s high time, too, that you started thinking about me. You may not need the money. Hell, you’ve told me a dozen times you don’t care about that. But I damn well do.”

  He crumpled his handkerchief and mopped at his brow, red-faced and angry. “I do need the bloody money. I’ve got loans that are backed up by my share of the equity in the team. What do you think is going to happen when the value of that equity plummets even more than it already has? I’ll be screwed, that’s what’s going to happen. Personal bankruptcy. Ruin.”

  Martha stared at her uncle, torn between outrage at his insulting remarks and worry about his situation. Her father had done his best to take care of Geoffrey all his life. He’d given Geoffrey various jobs at Winston Papers, and helped on numerous occasions to extract him from financial calamity. Her uncle had been a source of lifelong frustration for her father, but Will Winston had remained patient and kind to the end. He’d even given Geoffrey twenty percent of the Thunder for absolutely nothing in return, because the boys shared a lifelong love of soccer and because he hoped it would provide something of a nest egg for his brother’s future. It was a testament to the depth of his love for Geoffrey, despite the fact that her uncle had never accepted responsibility for anything.

  It was simply no contest. Her father’s wishes came first for Martha, even more so since she knew her uncle’s financial problems stemmed from his lamentable, long-standing gambling habits, not just his poor business judgment.

  She struggled to tamp down her frustration. “Geoffrey, I’ve never understood how Daddy’s wishes can mean so little to you. You wouldn’t even have a penny stake in the Thunder if it wasn’t for his generosity. As far as I’m concerned, you owe him—you’ll always owe him—and you need to show respect for what he wanted for the team.”

  Geoffrey’s face wrinkled into an ugly sneer. “Respect? I wish my sainted brother had shown some for me. How do you think it felt to have everyone gushing over the handsome, fair-haired boy when they had nothing but the backs of their hands for me? Yes, your father swept me the crumbs off his damn table, but it was always out of some sense of obligation, certainly not out of love.” His voice started to break. “God, not even affection, I dare say.”

  His face crumpled as he turned away from Martha’s astonished gaze.

  Her uncle’s sudden, wrenching admission froze her in place. Those few words represented the first heartfelt, honest emotions she could ever recall seeing in him. In her childhood and youth, everyone had
viewed Geoffrey as the anchor around her father’s neck, the family trial, the garrulous and shallow man who drifted through a purposeless life. Martha’s daddy and mama had looked after him the best way they knew how, but she knew it had never been easy for them. Because no matter how much they did for Geoffrey, it never seemed to make him happy.

  “I’m truly sorry you feel that way, Uncle,” she finally said past the lump in her throat. “But Daddy did love you. You must know that.”

  Geoffrey waved off her sentiment, looking embarrassed and angry. The brief bout of melancholic honesty had been replaced by renewed hostility. “All that matters right now is the situation we find ourselves in and how pig-headed you’re acting. What do you think Tony Branch is going to do now? Sit on his arse in London while we go bankrupt and the team shuts down?” He glared at her with naked resentment. “If that’s what your think, Martha, you’re not just naive, you’re tragically stupid. As stupid as your father could be.”

  Martha’s brief sympathy for him vanished. She rose slowly to her feet, practically choking on her efforts to control her skyrocketing anger. “On that particular note, it’s time for you to leave, Geoffrey.”

  He hoisted himself awkwardly to his feet. “Very well, but don’t be surprised if word of Branch’s offer gets out in the press. And if that happens, my dear niece, I suggest you dig yourself a very deep hole to hide in because the fans and the media are going to be all over you. They’re going to be mystified by what you’re doing, and outraged that you’ve rejected a man who could actually save the team instead of driving it off the cliff.”

  Her chest seized at the barely-veiled threat. Would her uncle really leak all this to the press?

  She clamped down hard on the anxiety crawling up her throat because she had no choice except to smile and tough it out. “Maybe, but if that scenario should ever come to pass, I’ll deny any such an offer was made.” Tony would back her up on that, she was certain.