by Tessa Frank
Monday comes. Then Tuesday. I manage to see Claire every day, working on rebuilding what I destroyed. Wednesday arrives.
The call from Coach comes early, catching me as I’m about to walk into the rehab center with a cup of Claire’s favorite coffee. I know I won’t be able to talk to her. Weekday mornings are crazy at the center. Everyone busy getting their sessions in. My plan was to drop the coffee at her station, knowing she’d appreciate it.
Instead, I barely see my way past the nurse’s station and into my mother’s room. Mom looks up from the paper when I slump into the only chair. “Everything all right, son?”
“Coach is retiring.”
Mom folds the paper. I absentmindedly bring the coffee to my mouth and take a sip. Gag. Mom laughs as I jump up, heading out the door. “Better go drop that off, son. Sure she’s probably looking for it.”
Exactly. Claire stares at me when I hand the cup over. “Sorry. I accidentally took a sip. How can you drink that? It’s so diluted. And sweet.” I swallow to get the overly sweet taste out.
“I can’t handle it black.” Claire tilts her head. “What’s wrong?”
“Coach called.” I reach for her, not realizing I’ve been holding myself stiff until her fingers wrap around mine. “He’s retiring.”
“How soon?”
“Immediately.” The pressure as she squeezes my hand is a balm to my reeling thoughts.
“Will you be okay?”
I stare into her eyes. I didn’t need coach to be a good quarterback, but I knew he could turn me into the best. I don’t have to be the best anymore. I know who I want to be with. Everything else isn’t as important.
Too bad I still can’t tell her yet. But I need to. Soon.
I smile, tugging her close. I drop one quick kiss on her lips. “I will be.”
One kiss. It would have been more had the other nurses standing nearby not cheered. Loudly. I shoot Brooklyn’s smirking face an annoyed glare. She doesn’t even flinch. If anything, her smirk gets bigger.
Claire uses that moment to pull back, straightening her scrubs. Her face is adorably pink.
“I’ll see you after work.”
“You still want to go out for dinner?”
It’s sweet that she’s worried about me. The other women in my life, outside of my mother, were never truly worried about me. I rather like it.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Her smile solidifies my resolve. It’s time to tell Claire how I feel.
9
Claire
Devon’s at the automatic doors again. “Notice you didn’t pick me up inside.” I tease. But I am curious. He’s been waiting at the nurses' station all week.
With a laugh, Devon says that he wanted to avoid the nurses' station tonight. “They have a pool going on us.”
I nearly trip on the sidewalk. “What?”
Devon turns toward me, shaking his head. “You didn’t know.”
“Of course I didn’t know.” I start walking again, eyes glued to the ground. “I should have, I guess.”
“You guess?”
Heat burns in my cheeks. “Julia got in trouble last year for super bowl bets.”
Devon stops to lean against a tree, laughing. I glare at him. Several people have stopped to watch. “Shh.”
Devon clutches his side. “Did the cops get involved?”
I cross my arms, looking away. “No. Of course not.”
“I bet she could have talked herself out of jail time.”
The laugh bubbles up and out. I cough, but the damage is already done. Devon wiggles his brows at me. I’m a goner.
I grab Devon’s arm, hauling him down the street. “Come on. I need to eat.”
“I love a woman who knows how to appreciate food.”
I snort, but my heart flutters. He said the L-word. I really need to have another conversation with myself about not getting my hopes up.
We are nearly to Mack’s when Devon stiffens beside me. Without warning, he pulls me back, shoving me close to the building.
“What?”
“Reporters.”
I glance at Mack’s. Sure enough, the local news affiliate van is in front. “Doesn’t mean anything. It’s local. Could be about Mack.”
Devon presses me against the building’s side. My thoughts wander away from the news van. Fast. I’m reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck.
“Maybe but I doubt it.” He looks at his watch. “Coach’s retirement when public about two hours ago. I’ve been getting requests for comment ever since.”
Another van stops at Mack’s. When the driver gets out, I hear him call to the reporter that Devon has eaten there every night with some female. I wince, arms dropping to my sides.
Devon’s hand closes over mine. “I’m sorry, Claire. I was really hoping to keep things between us private.”
“Private?” Something strange coils within me at the word. It’s almost like being told I am a secret. “Does your mom know about me?”
A grin flashes. “She claims you’re the only reason I come visit her.”
And the butterflies are back. Before I over think it, I say, “I’ve got some stuff at home. We could eat there.”
My throat constricts as soon as the words are out. Did I really invite Devon Parker, star quarterback and heart throb, back to my house? What will I do if he says yes?
“I’d love that.”
I look up into his face but can’t make out his expression. It’s too dark, and the light is behind him. ”That’s settled then.” I lurch away from the wall with false bravado. I have no idea what I’m going to do. Devon will be inside my house in less than ten minutes and I’m on a roller coaster of emotions. Panic and elation fight for prominence. Nerves of steel I do not possess.
Devon walks beside me, hands stuffed in his jean pockets. Goodness, this is awkward.
10
Devon
Do not mess this up. The litany is screams in my head. Somehow I’ve been invited into Claire’s house and I do not want to blow it. Especially knowing that I will be dealing with reporters and leaving for Indiana on Saturday — a full week early.
Thinking about what could happen pulls me back to age seventeen, praying I am going to get laid. Stop thinking like a teenage idiot, Devon. Keep your brain in the game.
Claire smiles up at me as she puts the key in the lock. She pushes the door open. “Home sweet home.” Her voice edges up an octave. She’s as nervous as me.
Claire’s house is a little bungalow rental near downtown. I am less than a foot inside the front door, and everything says quiet and cozy. Nothing like the sterile rooms of my Indiana apartment or the magazine ready rooms of the women I’d dated. Nope. Claire’s house is all about comfort. Quiet nights snuggled up… with a good book.
I stare at the wall of bookcases in her living room. Bookcases crammed full of books. Each shelf has more books than what it was designed to hold. “I guess you like to read.”
Claire’s voice floats over from the doorway into the kitchen. “I do.”
Keeping my hands in my pockets, I peruse the titles on those shelves. Books are good, easy topics of conversation. Plus, no matter what, I am learning about Claire.
“Um, peanut butter and jelly with apple slices ok?”
I look over my shoulder at her.
Claire raises a shoulder. “It's shopping day tomorrow.”
“Ah. PB and J it is then.” I turn back to the bookcase, eyes fixed on a particular shelf. I check to be sure Claire isn’t watching, then ease a book out. Romance. I put the book back. “You sure have a lot of books by Karen Heart. Favorite of yours?”
I lean against the kitchen entryway. Claire’s cheeks are bright pink. “Maybe.” A hedge if ever I saw one.
I grin, shooting my thumb in the direction of the bookcases. “You’ve got quite a few of her books.”
The pink turns redder. “Technically, I have every one of her books.”
Well, that
is interesting news. Julia wouldn’t give up Claire’s pen name, but I think I may have figured it out. I’ll have to look this Karen Heart up. Later. Right now, a hunger of a different kind is racing through my veins. I walk up to Claire, letting my hands circle her waist. “Is she any good?”
Claire’s lips tip up. “I think she’s pretty good.”
“I guess so, if you own all of her books.” My head dips down. My lips press against her’s. Claire turns her head. All thoughts of authors and books fade away. I take full advantage.
The kiss grows hot.
Molten.
I revel in it.
I pick Claire up, setting her on the counter. Not once do my lips leave her. My hand slides down her leg, bringing it up to wrap around me. Her other leg follows. I feel her ankles link behind me.
“Are you sure you want this,” I whisper against her neck.
Claire stretches up, angling her chest into my face. I pray she says yes.
“I’m sure.”
I haul her off the counter. “Great. Dinner can wait then.”
Claire laughs. She points behind me. “The bedroom is…”
I don’t let her finish. Directions are utterly overrated in this moment.
11
Claire
My eyes snap open. I’m staring at my window instead of my bathroom door. What happened last night? Then I notice the heat.
Devon.
I slide out of bed, doing my best to keep quiet. Devon lays curled on my normal side of the bed.
Sound asleep.
Blankets pulled up to his waist. His chest, which I remember running my hands over several times last night, is gloriously on display.
I have to get out of here. I push my hands through my hair. Get out, Claire. Before you climb back in bed and wake him up in a most inappropriate way. I swallow the lust that rises in my mind and mouth. All those fantasies I wrote into my Karen Heart novels are doing me no good now.
The blush stealing up my face is brilliant. Devon saw those titles on my shelves. I may not have told him I write romance novels as a side business. If we stay together…
Gulp.
If we stay together. I shouldn’t let myself even think those words. Sudden pain stabs through my stomach. I need to get out of here. Away from Devon’s sleeping form. Away from my own head.
I slip into the hallway, donning exercise clothes as I go. Sneakers in hand, I ease the front door open and slip out.
“Did you spend the night with Devon Parker?”
I jump with a squawk of surprise. A microphone in my face is all I can see for a moment.
“Is he good in bed?”
A man wedges the female reporter aside. “How is he dealing with the sudden retirement of Coach Smith?”
The female reporter pushes back. “Is sleeping with you his coping method?”
I. Am. Frozen. My back plastered against my door. The questions keep coming, several reporters behind the front two yelling to be heard.
The door swings open. Devon’s arm wraps around me, hauling me back into my house. “No comment.” He slams the door in the reporters’ faces.
I stare at Devon in horror. The reporters bang on my door, yelling questions.
“I’m really sorry, Claire. I should have guessed they would figure out where I disappeared to.”
“What are you talking about?”
Devon looks at me. There’s this hollowness in his eyes. I break out in a sweat.
“Coach Smith announced his retirement yesterday.”
I nod, remembering he’d mentioned that.
“Well, as the team quarterback, it means I have to leave sooner than I planned.”
“Leave?” I stagger back.
Devon moves toward me, a hand shooting out. I bat it away. “Not forever.”
“For how long?”
“A few weeks.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. I realize, belatedly, that he’s mostly dressed. I suppose that’s a blessing, considering there are reporters camped on my doorstep. But, for some reason, it annoys me.
“You knew.”
Devon stares at me. “Knew?”
I point at him. “You knew you were leaving.”
His brow wrinkles. “Yeah. Training season starts in two weeks. But now—“
“You never told me,” I accuse. That was the issue. He knew. I didn’t. This is just like before.
“I—“
“Get out.” My words are harsh. My voice brittle with pain. I want so badly to hide how much he’s hurting me right now.
“Claire…” Devon tries to hug me. I push him away.
“No. You need to leave.” He moves toward me, but I lunge passed him. “I can’t, Devon. Not right now.”
His fingers rake through his hair. It sticks out in several directions. It’s so delicious, I want to cry. “When?”
“Excuse me?”
“When can we talk about it because this isn’t like last time, Claire. I swear it.”
I don’t believe him, not for a bleeding heart second — and those go fast. “Call me later.”
“I’d rather talk in person.”
So what? He already got what he wanted. “You’ll be in Indiana though, right?” My arms cross. Protection mode. He winces with a nod. “So call me.”
Devon’s eyes search my face. I come close to meeting his eyes but manage not to. “Fine. I’ll call you.” My body sags. I didn’t want him to agree. I wanted him to fight. I wanted this to NOT be the same as last time.
“I’ve got to deal with that.” He indicates the reporters outside.
I nod, silently agreeing but fighting tears. Devon gathers the rest of his clothes, pulling them on. He stops in front of me, taking both of my hands in his. My fingers tremble.
“I will call you later, Claire.”
I look down at our hands, recognizing this as our goodbye no matter how much he claims otherwise. “I promise this isn’t like last time.”
He hugs me close, pressing a kiss to my hair. I let him. It’s my last chance to be with him. Then he’s out the door, reporters yelling questions at him as he walks down and away from me.
I slide to the floor, tears spilling down my cheeks. I knew it was too good to be true.
12
Devon
Tessa’s Gossip Column
My, oh my, oh my. Claire Reynolds was caught sneaking Devon Parker out of her house!
Squeeeeek!
But this reporter heard the two aren’t talking now.
“Why won’t she answer?” growling, I stab my finger against my phone to end the call. No point in leaving yet another message. Claire isn’t returning them.
“Girl problems?” Clint Fontaine asks, smug grin firmly in place. I shoot him the middle finger. Half the locker room bursts into laughter. “Yep. Girl problems. What’s not happening?”
“She’s not answering my calls.”
“Got that. Leave a message.” Clint unwinds from the bench like a snake. We aren’t friends. We also aren’t enemies. Our relationship is difficult because when I go down, Clint steps in. Backup quarterback. And he hates not being first string.
Done it. More than once. I look up at the ceiling. Why Claire? I told you this wasn’t like last time. Not that my asking the powers that be helps.
Coach Morris enters the locker room, barking orders and yelling insults. My teeth gnash together. I hate this guy. He’s utterly full of himself. And I have to work for him.
Quarterbacks make good money. I certainly do. But I am still an employee — a fact Coach Smith had been good at smoothing over by creating a kind of team family. Coach Morris isn’t about to do that. If anything, I’d say he has his eye on Clint to advance. Soon.
I’m starting to dislike football. No, that’s not true. I shake my head. Missing Claire is messing with my mind. Dang it. I need to get my head back in the game. My heart is a lost cause.
I leave the locker room with the rest of the team. Play a few scrimmages. Get focused.
>
Forty minutes later and three times through the newest play, I glance left at the safety. “This one feels off somehow.”
He snaps a sharp nod. “Timings not quite there yet.”
Coach Morris hollers from the sidelines. “One more time.”
I adjust my pads, approaching the line of scrimmage. “Last time through felt off by—“
“Like three freaking seconds.” The safety yells at our team, “Let’s get that down to half a second this time. Yeah!”
“Yeah,” the team calls back.
I love my safety. He’s always got my back, and the team rallies more to him than to me. Gotta use it.
The play begins. They snap the ball. I step back four paces, ball in hand. I look for my receiver. He’s got guys all over him. Drat. Never gonna work.
I turn my body, knowing the opposing players are zeroing in on me. On the other side of the field, my other receiver is hauling into open territory. I set up to throw. He shoots a look over his shoulder. I release the football.
The hit comes from behind. My knees buckle. Astroturf grounds passed my face guard.
Yuck. Stuff tastes like dirty socks smell. Can’t hardly stand it.
Then someone trips over my arm.
Snap.
I hear the sound right before the pain plows into me.
Blackness swallows me next. I don’t even get a thought past it.
13
Claire
“You. Are. Pathetic.” I fold the newspaper, then slide it back onto the tray.
Brooklyn sneaks around the corner. “Still looking at the sports page, I see.” She pulls the newspaper out of my hand.
