Kick It Up

by Carol Ericson

  And if Jessica proved to be her father’s Pinocchio, he was screwed.

  ***

  On the way upstairs, Gemma pressed the talk button and whispered, “Jessica?”

  “I don’t have much time to talk, Gem. I just pulled up in my parents’ driveway for a meeting, but I wanted to give you the good news.”

  “You have good news about the video?” Gemma’s heart pounded as she paced a hole in the throw rug at the foot of her bed. When Jessica told her those assholes had made a DVD of the events in that room, Gemma almost fainted. She’d been anxiously searching the web every day, terrified she’d stumble across her naked body on some website.

  “I got it and destroyed it. You don’t have to stress any more.”

  “Oh my God. Thank you.” The relief weakened her knees, and she fell backward onto the bed, ready tears, real ones this time, springing to her eyes. “D-did you see the video?”

  “I watched it, and you have nothing to worry about. Trust me?”

  “Trust you? I worship at your feet. You’re a goddess.” Jessica laughed. “Don’t get melodramatic on me. Is Simon around? We had a meeting scheduled for this afternoon, and he missed it.”

  Gemma plumped her pillows against her headboard and scooted back to prop her head up. Simon and Jessica had been spending lots of time together the past few weeks, and despite the ridiculous slurs against him, she’d never seen her brother happier. And that made her happy.

  She’d love having Jessica for a sister-in-law. The woman could do anything.

  “He had gym clothes on, so he must’ve gone running or something. I’d put him on, but I don’t want him wondering why you called me on my cell.”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I have to bow before the altar of my parents anyway. I’ll talk to you later.” Gemma snuggled against her pillows and hugged herself. She could put that ugly incident behind her now, and she owed it all to Jessica. She congratulated herself once again for trusting her. She had faith that Jessica could make it right.

  Her growling stomach propelled her off the bed and downstairs where she smelled one of Milla’s dishes heating up in the microwave.

  She hopped off the last step, frowning. She just couldn’t imagine Jessica bowing at anyone’s altar. Goddesses didn’t bow.

  Chapter Twenty

  “We’re going to suspend Simon tomorrow.” Dad’s words barreled into her chest like a threehundred pound linebacker, or six three-hundred pound linebackers. Jessica loosened her death-grip on the arms of the chair, pulling her fingernails out of the leather. She took a deep, measured breath. She hadn’t told Dad the good news yet, that she and Simon had been working overtime, and the accountants, Jerry and Phil, liked what they saw.

  “We don’t have to do that, Dad.” She took a sip of water from the bottle she’d placed on the edge of his desk and swished it around her dry mouth.

  “Simon and I have been working like a couple of peanut sellers on the opening day of the World Series, or better yet, the opening day of the Waves home season.

  Jerry and Phil of McKenzie and Zucker are confident Simon can beat this thing. They can’t find any irregularities in Simon’s finances, other than his atrocious accounting habits.” She grinned, recalling some of the stuff they pulled out of those boxes.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He lifted a polo shirt-clad shoulder. “I don’t want him starting with the Waves next week with this cloud hanging over him.”

  Her leg started bouncing and her eyelid twitched. He couldn’t do this, not now. Simon had been working so hard, both on and off the soccer pitch, to prove himself. He needed this chance.

  “His teammates don’t believe it.” She pressed her hand against her thigh and took another sip of water. “Have you talked to Franco lately? Simon’s doing a great job with the team. Franco said they’ve never played better, and that’s because of Simon, his leadership, his skills.”

  “I talked to Franco today to tell him to give Simon the news tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow morning?” She slammed the water bottle on the desk. “You’re suspending Simon tomorrow morning?”

  “That’s right.” Dad slicked back his hair, releasing the scent of his hair gel. “As of tomorrow, Simon Bosford will be suspended from the Waves until further notice. If McKenzie and Zucker and those high-priced attorneys you hired can see him through this, he’ll be back.”

  “It won’t be the same. Something like this can take months to resolve. He could miss half the season.”

  “I’m sure his slick agent will find something to fill his time. He won’t miss out on any money-making opportunities, and we’ll still owe him on his contract.” Oh yeah, Evan had plenty of money-making activities lined up for Simon–a stupid reality TV show, shilling for products, nothing that Simon needed right now...like his pride and confidence.

  She braced her feet against the floor and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re forgetting something, Dad.

  You gave me fifty-one percent of the Waves. I’m the controlling partner.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I did that so you’d pull your head out of your ass and start behaving like an adult. Here’s your chance. Put aside your feelings for a change and do what’s right.”

  “Like riding in that competition?”

  “Goddamnit!” Dad swept a pile of books off his desk, and they hit the wall, one breaking a vase on its way. His brows collided over his nose. “We agreed never to mention that unfortunate incident again.”

  “What’s going on?” Mom rushed through the office door and clamped a hand over her mouth when she spotted the mess on the floor.

  Dad’s red-hot anger triggered a cool, calm assurance that spread beneath the surface of Jessica’s skin. She folded her hands and raised one eyebrow.

  “No, I believe you agreed never to mention that incident. I didn’t agree to anything.”

  “Oh God, we’re not talking about that...situation...are we?” Mom’s hand turned into a fist as she bit the end of her knuckle.

  “Situation?” Jessica rose from the chair, flicking an imaginary speck of lint from her sleeve. “You mean my miscarriage?”

  “Stop it, Jessie. It’s in the past.” Her mother tripped to Dad’s side and put her hand on the tight cords of muscle bunching in his forearm.

  Her Chanel Number Five mingled with Dad’s hair gel, but it didn’t smell like power anymore. It had the stench of desperation, the desperation of two people frantically trying to hold together an image of perfection wrought from control, not love. Because love wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t have to be.

  Jessica smiled. “You’re right, Mom. It is in the past, but now we’re standing in the present, and I have the opportunity to do what’s right.”

  She placed her palms on the smooth surface of Dad’s polished desk and leaned forward. “The Waves are not suspending Simon Bosford.”

  She looked over her shoulder where clapping came from the office door. R.C., a big grin spreading across his face, leaned against the doorjamb.

  “That’s enough of this nonsense.” Dad waved his arms like a traffic cop at the intersection of Highland and Franklin. “Get lost, R.C. Your sister and I have business to discuss.”

  “No we don’t.” Jessica screwed the lid on her water bottle and tossed it into her purse. “The controlling owner has spoken, and I have a phone call to make to Franco.

  Forgive me if I don’t trust you to do it, Dad.” She strode to the door and hooked her arm in R.C.’s.

  “Do you want to have dinner with me?” He nodded, and she turned her head over her shoulder. “Oh, and Dad? Thank you. I finally have my head out of my ass.”

  ***

  After sharing a meal with Gemma, who left with her acting friends to run lines for tomorrow’s class, Simon kicked back on the sofa and creased the spine of his book.

  His mobile phone rang for the tenth time that evening and Simon glared at the display. What the bloody hell did Evan want? Simon had already made the deci
sion to fire his ass. Evan obviously had no faith in Simon’s abilities as a footballer, and he already figured he could make more money off Simon if he signed onto this idiotic reality TV

  show than if he played through his contract with the Waves.

  He was finished with people who had no faith in him, including that part of himself that kept echoing Dad’s predictions of failure, including...Jessica. Did she really believe he threw those games? Even if she didn’t, by suspending him, she proved she wasn’t willing to stand by him. He couldn’t afford to keep people like that in his life anymore. He didn’t have room for them.

  He jabbed the talk button. “What is it, Evan?”

  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”

  “I have a game tomorrow, remember?” He stretched out on the uncomfortable sofa and scrunched a pillow behind his back. “First game of the season.”

  “Even if the Bretts allow you to play that game, it’ll be your last for a while. Did you have time to think over my proposal?”

  Simon closed his eyes. The bloke never gave up. “I told you, Evan, I’m not interested in doing a reality TV show, whether I get suspended or not. Obviously, you’re not hearing what I’m saying, so I think it’s time we part company. I’ll have my attorney draw up a formal letter of separation.”

  Evan drew in a sharp breath. “I’ll give you one more chance, Simon. Do this show, or you’ll be very sorry.” Simon sat up and planted his feet on the floor. That sounded more like a threat than a friendly word of advice.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Are you going to do the show?”

  “No.” Simon held his breath, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Evan sighed. “Do you know where your sister, Gemma, has been hanging out lately and with whom?”

  A vise pinched the back of Simon’s neck, and he reached back to squeeze it. He knew where Gemma had been this past week, but before then? He hadn’t a clue. Too busy with his own problems.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Evan clicked his tongue. “Because I’m sure you wouldn’t have approved.”

  “Get to the point.” Simon forced the words out through clenched teeth, his stomach churning around the first meal he’d shared with Gemma in a long time.

  “Gemma’s been running with a wild crowd, sort of like her brother, but while you can handle yourself, Gemma’s a babe in the woods.”

  “What did you do to her, you slimy bastard?”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything to her. She got into trouble all by herself. Seems she and a few friends indulged in an orgy in some hotel room.”

  Simon jumped up, banging his shin against the sharp, metal edge of the coffee table. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Someone recorded the event for posterity.”

  “Are you telling me you have a videotape of this, this...?”

  “A DVD, and I don’t have it on me, but I just have to place a phone call and your sister can take her place beside Pamela and Paris on the Internet.” Simon choked back his rage, his eyes darting around the room looking for something to smash against the wall.

  He made do with the pillow and chucked it at the fake fireplace where it bounced back and hit him in the face.

  “Your sister’s acting debut doesn’t have to wind up on the web if you agree to do the reality TV series.”

  “To quote another reality TV show, you’re fired. And to quote...myself, fuck you.”

  Simon threw the phone at the mirror over the fireplace.

  Shards of glass cracked, separated from the mirror like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and fell to the floor.

  He roared, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill her.” His distorted reflection stared back, the cracks in the mirror twisting his mouth into a hideous smile that mocked his famous grin.

  He collapsed on the sofa and dug his fingers into his scalp, but he couldn’t massage away the guilt. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders. Dad was right. He had no business taking charge of his twenty-one year old sister.

  Shit, his own life was spinning out of control. He faced suspension before his first game with the Waves, his agent had used him for his own purposes, his sister had gotten naked in front of a camera, and the woman he loved had deceived him.

  He groaned and clutched his hair. Unbelievable. He’d done it again. Only this time he’d fallen for a woman ten times more complicated than Fiona, and he’d never get her out of his system.

  Maybe he should just hop onboard that sell-out train, take Evan up on his offer. Evan already had the deal lined up, and the seductive lure of easy money called out to Simon like a Siren’s song. No more battling age and fatigue. No more trying to keep up with the younger guys.

  No more staring into the eyes of defeat and failure.

  If Jessica had given up on him and didn’t care about helping him clear his name, what did he have to lose?

  When the Waves suspended him, they’d keep him under contract so he couldn’t jump to another team. And what team would want him? He’d most likely start losing his endorsement deals too, or at least the respectable ones.

  The reality TV series might be his only hope at this point, and it had the added bonus of saving his sister from embarrassment, not to mention Dad would eventually find out about Gemma’s acting debut.

  Simon stared at the ceiling, hearing Dad’s voice in his head. “You need an education, something to fall back on.”

  “Playing football is no decent, respectable career for a man.” “There’s no stability in playing football. Your body breaks down, your fans desert you, and then what are you good for?”

  Apparently, Dad never dreamed of reality TV shows.

  Simon sat up and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. Did he want to validate Dad’s warnings? Did he want to let himself down again? The events of the past few weeks hovered at the edge of the dark cloud encompassing him, piercing the gloom with streaks of light.

  He’d never felt better about playing football. If his skills weren’t quite as sharp as a twenty-year old’s, his command of the game exceeded his expectations. He not only saw awe in the eyes of his teammates, he saw...respect. To a man, nobody on his team believed the charges against him. He didn’t even have to prove anything to them. They just believed him.

  Despite the mess he and Jessica handed the accountants and solicitors every day, they believed him too.

  They assured him the UEFA would need more evidence than a couple of big mouths to bring any formal charges against him.

  For the first time in a long time, Simon believed in himself. Why couldn’t Jessica?

  He paced the floor. Who was he kidding? Roger Brett had obviously turned his daughter into a quivering mass of acquiescence and fear in his presence. Simon couldn’t blame her for that. He saw with his own eyes how the Jones-Brett machine worked. Even R.C., who seemed to be doing his own thing on the surface, gorged himself in response to his parents’ control. What chance did a lightweight like Jessica have?

  She should’ve at least told him about the suspension so he didn’t have to hear it from Franco the morning of the first game.

  He set his jaw. If had to stoop to do some god-awful reality TV show, he didn’t plan to go down without a fight.

  He checked his watch–six AM in Germany–late enough.

  He squatted down to retrieve his phone, careful to avoid the sprinkles of glass littering the carpet. A crack across the face of the phone and a couple of missing buttons rendered it useless, and he tossed it into the fireplace.

  He crossed the room to grab the phone in the kitchen, flipped through an address book to find Coach Heinrich’s number, and placed an international call to Germany.

  He got an answering machine message in German and waited for the beep or piepen. “Coach, this is Simon. I want to know what the hell’s going on with this investigation.

  You know damn well I didn
’t throw any games. I tried my hardest for you when I first came to Mannschaft. It wasn’t good enough, but I didn’t intentionally throw any games. I’m clearing my name and when I’m done, I’m going after the people who implicated me.”

  He ended the call and chewed his lip. Right, then. His first step away from reality TV show hell. He’d try to help Gemma out of her reality-video hell, but if he couldn’t she’d just have to accept the consequences of her behavior.

  He left a light on for Gemma and trudged up the stairs.

  Suspension or no suspension, he had a game tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jessica clutched her cell phone against her ear and almost chucked it across the room when she heard Simon’s voicemail. Where was he? Didn’t answer his home phone or his cell. They’d made a date for a carboloading breakfast before Simon’s appointment with a masseuse and his warm-up with the team. He never even called to explain why he missed their accounting session yesterday. He never missed an accounting session.

  Maybe a case of opening game jitters got the best of him and sent him on a wild bender. The thought appeared and then vaporized. Simon was so beyond that. He’d been working his ass off to stay in shape and couldn’t wait to get back on the pitch for a real match.

  She smiled. Okay, his ass was very much intact, and she couldn’t wait to get her hands back on it.

  Her fingertip traced the buttons on her cell. If she couldn’t reach Simon, at least she’d reached Franco after her confrontation with Dad. She still had a silly grin plastered on her face after that one. She actually stood her ground and had him throwing things.

  Franco’s voice had dripped with relief when she told him she had no intention of suspending Simon from the Waves. “I was counting on you to do the right thing, Jessica.