All In (Cedar Mountain University #2)

by Ann Garner

  “Mr. Ross.” His smile is formal, as is the way he shakes Jacob’s hand. “Who is this lovely creature?”

  “Grace Marsh, meet Lawrence McDaniel’s. My father’s lawyer.”

  His hand is warm when it wraps around mine, as is the smile that he sends my way. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Grace Marsh. Jacob has never brought anyone home with him before.”

  “Really?” I arch a brow as I look to Jacob briefly before turning back to Lawrence. “That’s interesting.”

  “Does he know I’m here?” Jacob interrupts before Lawrence can say anything else. “I’d like to do my bit and get Grace the hell out of here.”

  “Of course. Follow me. The press is set up on the side of the house. Your father was, of course, notified of your arrival and will be joining us in a moment. I would suggest you let me take Grace through the house while you meet with the press.” Lawrence frowns a little, the skin around his mouth pulling tight. “You’re father has already had several drinks.”

  “Of course he has.”

  Jacob looks resigned, and it breaks my heart just a little bit. I link my fingers through his, squeezing gently, as I move to stand closer to him. He doesn’t look nearly as relaxed as he did a few moments ago. I’m just about ready to just yank him back into the car, and head back to the airport, when I feel him stiffen even more next to me.

  I look up to see Mark Ross heading our way. There is no denying they are related, though in truth they look more like brothers than father and son. Mostly because Mark Ross doesn’t look a day over thirty, even though I know he has passed forty. He has the same brown hair and arctic blue eyes that Jacob has, along with the same strong jaw and full lips. He carries himself different though. He walks with an arrogance that Jacob doesn’t showcase.

  The smile he shoots my way as he approaches us makes my skin crawl, and the overwhelming scent of bourbon arrives several seconds before he does.

  “Hello, Jake, still not playing football?”

  “Hello, Dad, still an asshole?”

  Mark laughs, shaking Jacob’s hand, a large smile on his face the entire time they’re talking. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  “Gentlemen,” Lawrence speaks softly. “Let’s not do this now. The press is waiting, and we don’t want to make Miss Marsh uncomfortable.”

  Mark looks my way, winking. “Of course we don’t. Does she know what you’ve thrown away, Jake?”

  My mouth opens, ready to defend, but Jacob tightens his hand around mine. When I glance his way he shakes his head. “Go with Lawrence. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

  Seconds later he’s gone, and Lawrence is leading me across the lawn and through the house. He’s talking as we move, but I’m not paying a bit of attention to him.

  Looking over my shoulder I try to find Jacob, but he’s disappeared around the edge of the house. Lawrence leads me up the massive steps at the front of the house. The front doors open before we reach them. There is someone standing on either side of them, holding them open for us. Moving through an entry way, down a long hallway past a set of stairs, through a dining room and eventually into the kitchen where he stops, Lawrence keeps his hand on the small of my back the entire way.

  “We just need to give them a moment to make it through the gauntlet. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He’s pours himself something before coming to stand in front of me again. “How long have you and the young Mr. Ross known each other?”

  “Not long.” I murmur. “Will they be much longer? Should we wait for them outside?”

  Lawrence doesn’t answer me. Instead he just studies me while taking a long drink out of his glass. “He’ll come in here to find you. How much do you know about his relationship with his father?”

  “Apparently not much.”

  The ice clinks against the glass as he lifts it up to take a drink. There’s a window over the sink that looks into the back yard. I can see a large white tent set up several yards away from the house. There is music that I can faintly hear, and the swell of various voices growing together that can be heard just over the music. There are kids of varying ages, running around the grounds, and after a moment I notice they are playing football. And they’re not all kids. I’m pretty sure I just saw the quarterback of last year’s Super Bowl winning team running around among them.

  “Are you all right, Miss Marsh?”

  I glance back over my shoulder to Lawrence, who has drained his glass and it watching me carefully.

  “I’m fine.” I shove a hand through my hair. “I guess I just never realized all this was part of who he is.”

  “A very minor part, I assure you. He attends these events because he likes the cause they support, not the man who supports them.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t help.”

  I hear a door open, then close, followed by footsteps and a few moments later Jacob steps into the room. His father, thankfully, isn’t with him. He nods once to Lawrence who murmurs something I don’t really hear and then leaves us alone in the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, Grace.” Jacob moves across the room, stopping just shy of actually touching me. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “A little heads up would have been nice.” I run my sweaty palms down the thigh of my jeans. “How long do you need to stay?”

  “Another hour, tops. Will you come outside with me? I can have Lawrence take you straight to the hotel if you’d prefer.”

  Thinking quickly, I close the distance between us, setting my hands on his hips. I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “I can handle an hour if you can.” I lift up on my tiptoes and brush my mouth across his. Dropping back down on my feet I say, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jacob and his father stay on opposite ends of the party. Every once in a while the deep sound of his laugh dances a little closer to us, and Jacob stiffens in response. The moment we had stepped outside Jacob had steered us towards the kids running around with footballs in their hands, and was currently talking football stats with a group of them.

  I was perfectly content to people watch.

  I’d seen no less than five football players who I could name in the last twenty minutes. I’d also seen more silicone breasts in the last twenty minutes than I think I ever had before in my life. Despite the fact that this was a charity event, for a ridiculously good cause, the bimbos bouncing around reminded me more of the frat party I’d left last night.

  And Mark Ross looked like the ultimate frat boy.

  He had a girl on each side of him, you couldn’t call them women because they barely looked of age, and there was a small group of girls off to the side waiting to take their place the moment one of them moved. He was dressed like a frat boy too, wearing khaki cargo pants, and a button down dress shirt that was spread open across a white shirt. He’d also had no less than three different drinks in his hand since Jacob and I had joined the party.

  Lawrence was moving around the edges of the party, never quite joining in, though he stopped and spoke with several different people. He kept an eye on Mark though, and Jacob as well, and I had no doubt that he was prepped to step in the moment the tension I felt earlier started to bubble over in the slightest.

  “Just one throw.”

  Blinking, I look over to the kid that Jacob had been talking to. He’s tall, coming up to Jacob’s shoulders, but he’s rail thin, and the clothes he’s wearing have obviously seen better days. He’s about three weeks past due for a haircut, and the dirty blond hair keeps falling in his eyes.

  “Come on, Jake.” The kid begs. “Show us what you’ve got.”

  “Not today, kid.” Jacob has a tense smile on his face. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Ah, come on, Jake.”

  Jacob looks like he wants to throw up, so of course I open my big fat mouth. “I’ll do it.”

  The kid smirks. “You?”

  “Yes, me.” I hold my han
d out for the football the kid is holding. “Come on.” I say when he doesn’t immediately hand it over. “Chicken?”

  “I ain’t scared of no girl.” The kid huffs.

  “I’m not scared of any girl.” I can’t help but correct him. I can just picture my teacher mother cringing at his lack of proper grammar.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Sure it is.” I say cheerfully. “I just said it better. Now, give me the ball.”

  I hear Jacob cough to try and smother a laugh. The kid drops the ball in my hands before heading further away. Some of the other kids who’d been watching us, are now laughing as they follow behind him. The word ‘girl’ gets tossed around quite a bit. Tossing the football back and forth between my hands I smile up to Jacob.

  “You don’t have to do this, Grace.”

  “Do what?”

  He eyes the football in my hand. “He’d have given up eventually. They always do.”

  I spring up on my tiptoes, laying a brief kiss on his mouth. “Do you doubt my skill?” The kids have stopped several yards away spread out across the yard. They are still several yards shy of where I suspect they would have stopped had Jacob been throwing the ball.

  I shift the ball around in my hand until I have the laces where I want them. My fingers flex over the ball. I haven’t thrown a football in quite some time, so hopefully I haven’t forgotten everything that Cole taught me.

  My form may not be the best, but thankfully the ball spins out of my hands in a spiral, landing neatly in the hands of the shaggy haired kid who’d been bugging Jacob.

  “Damn, Pix. That’s one hell of an arm you’ve got.”

  “Two older brothers.” I remind him, amidst the sounds of the kids hooting and hollering. “Any chance we’ve been here long enough?”

  “God, yes. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Thirty minutes later we’re walking into the hotel room. The hotel had been booked solid, a fact that he’d failed to mention until we were pulling up in front of it, so we’re sharing a room. Which, let’s face it, I slept in his bed the first night we met, and it’s not like I hadn’t made my attraction to him perfectly clear that morning.

  I’d smiled and played nice throughout the entire hour that we’d stayed at his father’s house. Feeling the tension rolling off of him in waves whenever his father got close to us. Which Mark Ross had done every chance he got, and it hadn’t taken me long to realize that he was doing it on purpose. Because he obviously knew how it affected Jacob. The man had made some sort of snarky comment about Jacob no longer playing football nearly every chance he got.

  But now I wasn’t going to be put off, and I was going to ask the question that I’d wanted him to answer from the moment we’d met. The question everybody wanted an answer to.

  “Tell me why you quit.”

  Jacob flinches at my question. He kicks off his shoes before turning to me, and his eyes are dull as they meet mine. The look in his eyes makes me want to take back my question, but after this evening I feel like I deserve to know.

  “Jacob,” I say softly as I reach up and tuck a strand of hair back behind my ear. “Tell me why you quit football. It’s obvious you still love it.”

  I’d watched him talk about it tonight with the kids, and with the other players from his father’s old team, who had been in attendance. His entire demeanor changed when he talked about it, his happiness had been evident on his face.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says simply. I’m afraid the moment has shattered as he moves across the room to stand in front of the window. His back is to me, and I can see the tense line of muscles across his shoulder through the shirt he’s wearing. His arms are crossed over his chest, and as I watch him I can see the faint rise and fall of his chest and back with each breath he takes.

  “My parents were never married,” he starts without turning around. His voice is hollow, just like his eyes are, and I nearly bite my tongue in half to keep from telling him to stop. That he doesn’t owe me any explanation. “My father’s a real jackass, clearly. He met my mother a party, strung her along long enough to get in her pants, and then dropped her like a bad habit. He never thought of her again. She told me once that he had no idea who she was when she finally got in touch with him to tell him she was pregnant.” He snorts, “She had been nothing but an easy lay, and I was the nasty little by product of a failed condom.”

  Shoving his hands through his hair, he turns away from the window and faces me, but his eyes don’t meet mine. “He didn’t want anything to do with me, and he paid her to go away. Or he tried to. My mom had grown up without a father, and she didn’t want that for me. She didn’t think it mattered that he was a terrible father or that he really didn’t love anyone but himself, she thought I was better off with him in my life. I spent more time with his housekeeper than him when I was at his house. I’m pretty sure he forgot who I was most the time, or forgot that I existed. Then I started to play football. And everything changed.”

  “Because you were good.”

  “I was fucking great.” He corrects me. “A natural. And of course, my father took all the credit. Obviously I got my talent from him. Rookie of the year, MVP three years running. He’s taken his team to the Super Bowl a handful of times. No matter how big of an asshole he might be, I can’t deny the man can play ball. My mother was thrilled. She thought our mutual love of the game would bring us together. And it did, or I let her think it did, because it made her happy. Watching me play made her happy. Because I loved playing, and she knew that. She understood how much I loved to play the game.”

  He couldn’t stop pacing, moving from one side of the small room to the other, and then back again. His hands went through his hair, up the back of his neck, crossing over his chest before starting the process all over again. He was incredibly uncomfortable, that much was obvious.

  “She’d met someone else, a great guy who really loved her. They’d gotten married, and he treated me okay. Never made me feel like I didn’t belong, but it was tough for him having Mark Ross as the father of his wife’s son. Eventually they had a baby of their own.” His eyes flick over to me and then back out the window. “Lacey was the prettiest baby in the world. You couldn’t help but love her. She had me wrapped around her little fingers from the moment they brought her home. I wasn’t like other kids my age, I didn’t mind her tagging along, getting in the way. We were close, even with all the years between us, we were close.”

  “Jacob,”

  “No, you asked,” he snaps harshly. “You wanted to know why I don’t play anymore. It’s because of them, because of Lacey, and my mother, and how I let them down. I chose football, and my asshole of a father, over them, even though I’d made a promise to them. I’d told them I’d come home early that weekend and we’d hang out, watch movies, do whatever.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Only I broke my promise so I could stay and practice with him some more. Mom decided to take Lacey out for ice cream to cheer her up. So I was playing football when the drunk driver ran through the four-way stop, plowing straight into them, killing both of them.”

  Oh. Oh poor Jacob. “It wasn’t your fault.” I whisper, tears in my eyes. “You aren’t to blame.”

  “They wouldn’t have been in the car, if I’d been there like I was supposed to be. They would have been at home, safe. Alive.”

  “Jacob, no. You don’t know that. It could have been any number of things that might have happened.”

  “I remember my stepfather calling me. He was crying, and I’d never seen him cry before. He was sobbing like a baby, and it was hard to understand exactly what had happened, only that it was bad. I haven’t been able to touch a football since the call came in.” He shrugs those big shoulders, “So I quit.”

  I’m still afraid to reach out and touch him, still afraid that he’ll shatter under my hands. He doesn’t look anything like the self-assured guy I’ve come to know in the last few months. “I don’t think that’s what they would have wanted, Ja
cob.” I say softly. “They loved you, and they would want you to be happy.”

  He gives a short laugh. “I can’t throw anymore, Grace, so it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I wanted to play or not, I can’t.”

  I hate not knowing what to say or do next.

  The silence stretches between us like an invisible barrier that I’m not sure how to breach. I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing.

  God knows I probably will.

  “You feel guilty.”

  “Hell yes, I feel guilty.” Shoving a hand through his hair he stalks back and forth across the room. “I should feel guilty. I was playing fucking football while they died, Grace. How am I not supposed to feel guilty about that?”

  “I don’t know.” I whisper. “I don’t know, Jacob.” I watch him for another moment, unsure. Finally I stand up, closing the distance between us, wrapping my arms around him. He shudders once, but makes no other sound. I rub my hand up and down his back. “Let’s go to bed, okay? We don’t need to talk about this anymore tonight.”

  “It doesn’t make it go away. Talking about it, not talking about it. They’re still gone, and I still can’t play ball.”

  I tuck my head against his chest, closing my eyes against the burn of tears. I squeeze tighter against him, trying to move my strength over to him. We stand there for a long time, the silence of the room wrapping around us like a cocoon.

  I’m glad he told me, even though it hurt him to say the words. I want to take care of him, even though I don’t know what moves to make to make him feel better.

  I don’t know if he can feel better.

  When I finally unwrap my arms, I grasp one of his hands in mine so I can lead him across the room. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I bend down to take off his shoes. I pull mine off as well, setting them down together at the foot of the bed. I stand up, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth before reaching down and pulling the sweater up and over his body.

  He just sits there, watching me closely, but not saying a word. I carefully start unbuttoning his dress shirt, pushing it down and over his shoulders. I fold the shirt up and lay it on top of the sweater, making a neat pile on one of the chairs in the room.