Jade's Match, the Jewel Series Book 7

by Hallee Bridgeman

  “That wasn’t your slot on the team. Only Americans should be allowed to play.”

  Davis handed Cora his cup of coffee and stepped in between her and Stan. “Stan, I told you before, I don’t have any problems with you. And right now, I’m telling you to back off. If you want to go, I’m up for it─on the ice.”

  Around them, the busy lobby quieted as people stopped to stare at the disturbance. From near the door, Cora saw two uniformed bellhops head their way. One of them spoke into a radio.

  Stan stepped forward, coming toe to toe with Davis. He looked over at Cora. “What you doin’ with this Korean boy, anyway, Jade? No American boys want you ‘cause you’re a squaw?”

  Cora felt frozen in fear. What was the right thing to do? Engage him or ignore?

  When he called her a name and put his finger in her face, she took a step backward. “You hear me Redskin? I asked you a question!”

  Davis stepped completely between them and put a hand on his chest. “Last warning. Just walk away. I’m not bluffing.”

  “Neither am I, Kimchi.” Without warning, Stan took both fists and punched Davis square in the chest. Davis staggered backward, knocking into Cora, spilling both cups of coffee down the front of her white dress and making her lose her footing. She gasped and leaned forward, trying to regain her balance while also trying to keep the hot liquid from touching too much of her skin. Tears burned her eyes and she looked up as uniformed security made their way through the crowd.

  With a roar, Davis grabbed Stan’s right shoulder with his left hand and punched Stan in the left side of his face with a closed right fist. Stunned, Stan grabbed the front of Davis’ shirt and swung, but Davis brought his fist down hard on the hand holding his shirt. Fabric ripped. The momentum brought Stan closer, close enough that Davis crouched slightly and then sprang upward, using the momentum of his powerful legs to drive an uppercut punch square into Stan’s chin. Stan began to fall backward.

  Davis kept his grip on the man’s right shoulder as he fell to the alabaster floor. Davis didn’t stop. He knelt over the man, straddling him, lifting him into his punches with his left hand and slamming his right fist into the man’s hateful face three more times before the bellmen pulled him off. He had opened a wound on Stan’s forehead and broken his nose. When he let him go, Stan fell against the quartz tile floor, his head making a thudding sound like a dropped melon, and blood spattered over the tile floor.

  Davis struggled against the bellmen’s restraint on his upper arms, his face a mask of focused rage, and Cora stepped in front him.

  “Davis!” He struggled some more and she put a hand on his shoulder. “Davis!”

  When he looked at her, she watched his eyes clear and his face relax from the furious scowl. He looked her up and down. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  She gestured at her dress. “I’m fine. Just a little stained.”

  He lowered his fists and blood dripped from his right knuckles. None of it was his blood. He relaxed and looked at the man on his left. “I’m cool. Sorry guys. It’s good.” Both of them released him as Tampa Police came through the hotel door. A hotel security officer brought them to where they all stood.

  Stan sat in a nearby chair. He held his head cocked backward at an awkward angle and pinched the bridge of his nose with a finger and thumb. It wasn’t doing a lot to stem the blood flowing from his mouth and nose. Two bellmen stood guard over him. Witnesses talked over each other as they tried to defend Davis’ actions to the police.

  As the policemen calmed everyone down and separated witnesses, Cora and Davis sat on a couch together well across the lobby from Stan. Davis sat with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, lacing his fingers behind his head. She could see the bruising on his knuckles. He hadn’t spoken to her since asking if she was okay. She put a hand on his arm, but he jerked away from her and surged to his feet.

  A security officer stood near them and at Davis’ gesture, he walked up to him. “Miss Anderson has a flight in an hour. Is there some way to let her change clothes and have someone get her to the airport?”

  Cora jumped up, a rush of emotion making her talk very fast. “I don’t need to leave.”

  Davis whirled around. She could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Yes, you do. Go home, Cora.”

  “I won’t.” She looked at the guard. “I would love to go change, though. This soggy dress is starting to damage my calm.”

  “Of course, Miss Anderson. Do you want a room?”

  “That would be great.” As she extended the handle of her suitcase, a desk clerk approached, carrying a phone. Cora closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for patience as the woman approached her. From the look of nervous fear on the woman’s face, she could easily guess what words would come out of her mouth. “Miss Anderson, Mr. Viscolli is on the phone for you.”

  She smiled a tight-lipped smile, anger flooding her mind and taking restraint away from her tongue. “Well, of course he is. Because he heard about this by accident, didn’t he?” Snatching the phone from her hands, she turned toward Davis and saw him scowling at her. “Hi, Uncle Tony.”

  “Cora. What happened?”

  “Remember that guy who posted all that racist stuff this summer about Davis and me? He was waiting in the lobby this morning.”

  “He was in my hotel? That’s interesting.”

  “He attacked us. He punched Davis and shoved him into me, and Davis defended me.”

  There was a slight pause. “Very good. Will you be flying to the Keys today?”

  “I don’t think so. I think maybe in a few days.”

  “I understand. I’m sure your parents will be in touch. You will be missed at Christmas dinner. The staff at the hotel will see to any of your needs. You can call me or your Aunt Robin if you need anything at all. Cora? I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Davis raised an eyebrow and stared at her. Unwilling to be bullied, she lifted her chin. “I am going to check back in and change clothes. Would you like to come to my room with me?”

  “No, Cora. Of course not. When have I ever…? Just, no.”

  He turned his back on her and she realized that his blood was up. She didn’t know what to do other than give him space. “Great. I’ll be back here after a while.” She turned to the desk clerk. “I’ll take the keys back to my suite, please.”

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  Davis stood against the wall of the lobby and kept his hands fisted in the pockets of his jeans. He couldn’t believe that he’d lost his temper so easily. It had taken two grown men to pull him off of Stan Denney, and if they hadn’t, he knew that he would have killed him. He would have pounded him with his fists until the man died.

  He knew he’d done it under the umbrella of protecting Cora. But that didn’t excuse the red-hot rage that had flooded him and forced all cognitive thinking away.

  The phone in his pocket vibrated and he pulled it out, seeing a call coming in from his coach. “Coach,” he said as a greeting.

  “Bad day, Mr. Elliot?”

  “You could say that, Coach.”

  “I just did. Let’s see if I can make it any better. Police have cleared you of any wrongdoing. We’ll see you back here this evening. Five o’clock roll call.”

  He released a pent-up breath as the worry that he’d just punched his Olympic chances away fled him. His limbs felt weak. “I’ll be there.”

  “Merry Christmas, Davis.” The line went dead.

  He hung the phone up and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. He thought he’d learned how to temper that explosion. He thought he could channel all of his rage through his hockey stick and remove it entirely from his day-to-day life. When Stan punched him, then pushed him into Cora, his entire world started to move in slow motion. He’d seen the fear cross her face, watched the arc of the coffee as it sloshed out of the cups, watched her nearly fall to the tile floor, and saw the look of smug satisfaction settle on Stan’s face. His res
ponse had less to do with protecting Cora and more to do with wanting to wipe that look clean off the other man’s face.

  He’d admit that. Yes, he was protecting Cora. But, he was also reacting. Reacting was never ever good. He was supposed to harness his anger. He was never supposed to let it harness him.

  The elevator door opened, and Cora walked out, now wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with her volleyball association’s logo screen printed on the front. When she saw him, she stopped moving for a fraction of a second, then approached him.

  “Everything resolved?”

  He pursed his lips. “Seems that way. Police cleared me, arrested Stan Denney, and contacted my coach who called and said I’m still on the team.” He gestured toward the hotel exit. “Reporters are everywhere. There are two videos of the altercation that have gone viral in the last ten minutes or so.

  Cora held up a room key. “The entire top floor of this hotel can be converted into a suite of rooms. There are connecting doors, sliding doors, and partitions. A lot of stars that travel with entourages rent it. Here’s the key to the first door. It’s four doors from the one that I use to enter my room. I also have all connecting rooms and have opened them up.” She spoke with authority, matter-of-factly, and didn’t wait for him to respond when she walked over to the elevator. “I’ll see you up there, and our reputations can remain intact.”

  When the doors slid shut behind her, he laughed. She certainly knew how to take care of matters of impression versus reality. Five minutes later, he followed her up and used the key card to access his “room”.

  He walked into a living room with a big marble fireplace and white leather furniture. The open curtains exposed a view of the downtown and the bay in the distance. A door across from the fireplace stood open, and he walked through that into a billiard room with a big marble bar and kitchen area. Another door at the end of that room stood open, so he crossed the expanse of Spanish tile floor and into Cora’s suite.

  She stood next to the window holding a steaming cup of coffee. She looked at him and immediately asked, “Why did you ask me to leave?”

  He had anticipated that as her first question and knew he would answer honestly. “Because I need to process this morning and I’ll process it way better if I’m alone.”

  “Then go be alone. That doesn’t mean I can’t be here for when you’re done processing.” She set the cup on a nearby table and crossed her arms over her chest. “I realize that men and women are different, but if I had to process something, I’d want you available to me.”

  He relived the incident, feeling his fist come in contact with Stan Denney’s face, so he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You should be processing, Cora. You should process what you saw today.”

  “And what is that?”

  He let out a huff of breath. “That would be me losing control and wanting to kill that man. And you know what? I would have done it.”

  “Davis—”

  “No!” he walked through the room so he could stand next to her. “He went down with the first punch, Cora. Aside from the fact that what I should have done was pushed him against a wall and physically restrained him until security could get there, I punched him. I’m in the best shape I will ever be and I intentionally punched him as hard as I could. And once he went down, I followed him. That’s not normal behavior. That’s not a controlled person.” He put his hands behind his neck and spun away from her. “That’s not a person filled with the Holy Spirit, using the patience, love, or self-control imbued by Him. It’s me turning all of that aside and trying to destroy a man’s face.”

  He turned back around and he could see the tears sliding down her cheeks. She started toward him, but he held a hand up. “No.” Even he could see the tremble in his hand. “Just leave me alone.”

  “I’ll be here—”

  “Stay or go. Just leave me alone.”

  “What happened—”

  He cut her off. “What happened has happened before. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? Maybe one day you’ll push the right button and I lose it. Huh? Does that not occur to you?”

  The look of confusion on her face was almost comical. “I seriously think you’re overthinking that.”

  He fisted his hand and brought it up to his forehead, closing his eyes and praying for some emotional balance. “Cora, I can’t process this with you near me. I have to be back at the barracks at five, anyway, and this conversation isn’t helping anything. I’m leaving. Goodbye.”

  Cora continued forward. “Davis, stop.”

  He stopped and felt her hand touch the back of his shoulder. With his eyes closed, he listened to her. “I love you, Davis.” Her breath hitched on his name.

  His chest clenched at her words. As much as he had longed to hear them before, now they were exactly the last thing he needed. “You shouldn’t.” He never turned around as he walked back through the rooms, closing doors behind him as he went.

  For a moment, back in the room for which he had a key, he contemplated staying. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to get back to the barracks so he could get his head back in the game. He stormed across the room and put his hand on the door handle. For a moment, he paused and looked over at the closed doors of the suite. Finally, he shook his head and walked out of the room, leaving the key on the coffee table.

  When he got down to the lobby, he walked over to the concierge’s desk. The man looked up and smiled. “How may I help you, Mr. Elliott?”

  “Can you get me out of here away from the reporters? I’ll need a cab.”

  “No, sir. But the hotel has a town car for use by our special guests and it has dark Florida tinted windows. We have a special exit as well. If you’ll just follow me.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Cora chose a lime green pencil and colored in the stem of a daisy. When she finished, she tossed the pencil down and sat back, studying the drawing she’d done of Psalm 147:3. The words, “He heals the brokenhearted,” flowed over the page. An intricate design of flowers, scrolls, hearts, and crosses covered all the white spaces between the letters. Using the side of her hand, she brushed the paper clean and pushed away from her table.

  Instead of coloring a Bible verse, she should have her Philosophy of Law paper open on her laptop. Instead of focusing on the fact that Davis rejected her declaration of love, she should have her fingers on the keyboard typing as fast as she could so that she could turn in the paper before the midnight deadline.

  She scrubbed her face with both hands and paced her little living room. A week into the semester, and she already faced trouble. She had to finish this paper. But all she could think about was the look on Davis’ face before he left her in the hotel suite.

  She’d heard from him, of course. They still had a contract to fulfill. But as his training schedule intensified and he readied to leave for Korea, the time they had to communicate became incrementally smaller─as they knew it would. However, Cora felt like he hid behind that so he didn’t have to discuss anything deeper with her other than asking about her day and her classes and regaling her with his adventures on the ice. They didn’t discuss Stan Denney. They didn’t discuss seeing each other again. Everything stayed very happy and polite and she was, quite frankly, ready for all of the nice polite conversation to go away.

  The only thing that kept her from jumping on the topic the second he called was the fact that he had something far more pressing on his mind. As an athlete, she knew the importance of a concentrated focus on nothing but the sport. She would not sabotage that for him.

  It didn’t make her days any easier.

  The fact that she realized just how deeply in love with him she was didn’t make the days go by any faster, either. Obviously, she couldn’t overload him with that.

  Her phone buzzed, and she rushed forward, expecting to see his number. Instead, a number she didn’t recognize lit her screen. “Hello?” she answered.

  “Jade? This is Grant Elliott.” The deep voice said. She recogn
ized Davis’ dad’s name.

  “Oh, hello!” Nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Was something wrong with Davis? “Please, call me Cora. That’s what Davis calls me.”

  “Cora, Davis gave us your number. We’re really looking forward to meeting you in person. We’re already in Korea visiting family, but wanted to touch base with you and see about spending a couple days with you if you can make the time. My wife, Song, would love to show you around this beautiful country.”

  Unexpected tears filled her eyes. Davis arranged this. Maybe he still cared.

  She cleared her throat, hoping he couldn’t hear the depth of emotion in her voice. “I would like that very much, sir.” She paced into the kitchen and fingered the sticky note hanging on the refrigerator. “I fly out on the fifth, but I don’t arrive until the evening of the sixth.”

  She could hear muffled voices, then Grant said, “Good. If it’s okay with you, we’ll pick you up for dinner on the evening of the seventh. That should give you a little bit of time to adjust to the jet lag. The ceremonies are at eight on the ninth. We’ll be able to enjoy some time before we have to travel up-country to Olympic Stadium.”

  Realizing that in just two weeks, she’d board a plane bound for Korea made her stomach fill with nervous, excited butterflies. “I am looking forward to meeting you.”

  “I have your email, too. I’m going to send you a note so you have mine. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me. Song is our expert, and she’s excited to share her country with you.”

  “Thank you,” Cora whispered.

  As she left the kitchen, she tossed her phone on the desk near her computer and went into her room. Kneeling on the soft carpet by her bed, she closed her eyes and felt the tears stream down her face. “God,” she said, “please touch Davis’ heart. Heal the pain and uncertainty inside of him. Help me help him and love him the way You designed.”

  An hour later, a fresh cup of tea steaming at her elbow, she started writing her paper, primed and focused, ready to get this paper turned in before the deadline.