Foolish Games (An Out of Bounds Novel)

by Solheim, Tracy

  “In the car. I’ll tell you everything when we’re on our way. Just hurry up and get dressed.”

  Hank was silent for a long moment. “Where are you?” he finally asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

  Annabeth crossed her fingers. “Outside. On your front porch.”

  She heard the sound of feet clamoring down the stairs, and suddenly one of the ornate oak doors was being pulled open. Turning to face Hank, Annabeth had to bite her bottom lip to keep her mouth from falling open as her gaze traveled up a pair of bare feet and well-defined legs, to slim hips wrapped in nothing but a black towel. Hank’s sculpted abs and chest were bare, his fifty-year-old muscles rivaling anything she’d seen at the Ship’s Iron Gym. His hair was still damp; a dab of shaving cream lingered behind his left ear. He hadn’t even bothered to put his glasses on.

  “Hi,” she managed to push out as her entire body sang with joy at the sight of him.

  “Get in here,” Hank hissed.

  Easier said than done—Annabeth’s knees had turned to Jell-O—but she managed to scramble off the porch and into his foyer. She placed her purse on the beautiful Chippendale table in the entryway, quickly calculating the amount of weight it could bear before sharply reminding herself that they needed to get to New Jersey right away. Spinning on her heel, she turned to find Hank leaning against the massive front doors, arms over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles. Apparently, he was not as affected by his near-nudity as she was.

  “Look, Annabeth, if you came here about Will, I can’t help you . . .”

  “I didn’t come here about Will.” She took two steps toward him. “New Jersey is about Will. I came here, to you, because you were right. Because I want to be more,” she whispered as she tentatively placed a hand on his heart. Immediately, his hand covered hers, cocooning it in the warmth of his skin. “I came here because I’m done hiding.”

  Moving her body closer to his, she stretched up on her toes and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, one in which she tried to apologize for the way she’d hurt him the other day. But Hank would have none of it. His hands went to her hair as he delved deeper into her mouth, their tongues sliding against one another. She moaned as his mouth left hers, finding its way to her sensitive neck.

  “God, Annabeth, I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmured against her skin. “I’ve missed you.”

  She pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him with a slow hunger that threatened to completely obliterate her plans. Somehow, the backs of her thighs had come in contact with the Chippendale table and her dress was now bunched up at her waist. Hank’s hands squeezed her bottom as he lifted her onto the table. When she wrapped a leg around him, her calf came in contact with his bare ass. Annabeth drew her hands over his sides, and then his back, reveling in the muscles bunched beneath her fingertips.

  With a soft moan, she pulled out of the kiss. Hank rested his forehead on her shoulder as both of them struggled for breath.

  “We can’t do this right now.” She traced her finger down his rib cage. “We have to go to New Jersey first.”

  “The Jersey Turnpike will be a parking lot at this hour.” He stroked a thumb over her pebbled nipple.

  “We have to. For Will.”

  Hank let out a long-suffering groan in protest. She felt his erection jump between their bodies. He took a step back, reaching down to the floor to retrieve his towel.

  “I’m not going to New Jersey for Will.” He tied the towel around his waist as Annabeth’s heart stopped in panic. “I’m going for you.”

  She sucked in a relieved breath. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And if you still want me after what I have to do there . . .”

  Hank closed the space between them, bracketing her face in his hands. “Annabeth, I’ve wanted you since long before the morning I saw you standing in my library.” He placed a tender kiss on one side of her mouth. “I’ve adored you since you first stuck up for Sophie.” Gently his lips brushed her mouth’s other corner. “I fell in love with you on a ferryboat. Nothing you can do could make me want you, adore you, or love you less.” He kissed her fully this time with the promise of wicked things to come later, while totally annihilating any brain cell activity Annabeth had left. When his mouth reluctantly left hers, her lips nearly whimpered in protest.

  “But we’ll do it your way. We’ll go to New Jersey.” He pinned her with an arresting glance. “But afterward, you’re mine.”

  Annabeth was grateful to be still sitting on the small table as she met Hank’s azure eyes, now blazing with passion. She gnawed on her bruised lip before nodding.

  “Coffee’s in the kitchen. You’ll find the travel mugs in the cabinet. I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”

  Annabeth watched him disappear up the long staircase as she tried to calm her thundering heart. Her body felt slightly bereft and a little agitated that they hadn’t finished what they started. But she was still grappling with the heady concept that he loved her. Adjusting her dress as she slid off the table, she had trouble holding back her grin. Hank Osbourne loved her. Her. Annabeth Connelly. The thought made her giddy. She wandered to the kitchen for the promised coffee, thinking her day was starting off better than she hoped. Now all she needed was for the rest of it to go as well.

  • • •

  “Okay.” Hank slipped his cell phone into its charger. “The two NFL attorneys are going to meet us there. Since you’ve asked for witnesses, I assume you aren’t taking me to a mafia hit. Or are you, Annabeth?”

  She laughed at him. They’d ended up taking Hank’s car, a sleek little Audi that slipped easily through the rush hour traffic. Hank drove like he did everything else, with authority. Annabeth curled up on the leather seat, her legs tucked beneath her, her torso turned to face Hank’s profile.

  “Nothing that nefarious. Although I can’t rule anything out.”

  “Just tell me this, are we expected?”

  “No. I’m counting on the element of surprise.”

  Hank took Exit 18W toward Fort Lee. They traveled through the center of town before finally entering a suburban neighborhood of tree-lined streets and quaint Craftsman houses. He parked along the curb across from their destination, the car purring to a halt as he killed the engine. Leaning his head against the headrest, Hank took a swallow of his coffee.

  “This is Coach Zevalos’s house,” he said without preamble.

  Annabeth tried to hide her surprise. “You’ve been here?”

  Hank turned his head to face her. “Of course I have. When the whispers started to include Will’s name, I came here to try to make sense of all of it. Will wouldn’t talk to me, so I tried to get Zevalos to tell me. Obviously, I wasn’t successful.”

  “Well, maybe you didn’t have the right incentive to make him talk.” She undid a button on the bodice of her sundress.

  Hank sat up in his seat. “What the hell are you planning on doing here, Annabeth?”

  She made note of the fact that the tops of Hank’s ears got red when he was angry. Or jealous, whichever the case might be. Annabeth pressed a hand to his chest. “Relax. He wouldn’t talk to you because you wear pants. Trust me. He’ll talk to me.” She leaned across the console and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see.”

  A blue American-made sedan pulled up and parked behind them.

  “Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” Annabeth said as she grabbed her purse and hopped out of the car.

  Standing on the sidewalk outside Coach Zevalos’s house, Hank made the introductions, but Annabeth wasn’t paying attention. There wasn’t time to waste if she was going to preserve her son’s name. Smoothing down the skirt to her dress, she marched past the pots of carefully planted zinnias and geraniums up the concrete steps. The door opened before she knocked, startling her.

  “Mrs. Connelly?”

  Annabeth had met Marie Zevalos several times
during the years Will had played at Yale. In her late sixties, the woman was a throwback to the housewives of the mid-1900s, treating her husband with deference, acquiescing to his every whim. With her big, overbleached hair and round body, she was the perfect foil to the arrogant, macho coach whose ego knew no bounds.

  “It’s Miss Connelly,” Hank clarified from where he stood beside her.

  Annabeth brought her elbow back, slightly making contact with his ribs. He took the hint and stepped back, the message received that she was running the show.

  “Mrs. Zevalos, how nice to see you again,” Annabeth began. “I believe you’ve already met Mr. Osbourne?”

  Marie broke out into a bright smile at the sight of Hank before her face registered her confusion. “Yes, he came to visit Paul a few weeks ago. But Paul told him not to come back.”

  “We’re actually here to see you, Mrs. Zevalos.” Annabeth answered with a grin of her own, hoping that behind her, Hank was treating the woman to one of his more charming smiles.

  “Oh . . . well . . . I can’t imagine what you want with me.” Flustered, Marie stepped back from the doorway.

  Not wasting the opportunity, Annabeth stepped across the threshold. “I wanted to speak with you, woman-to-woman,” she said, letting her voice carry throughout the small house.

  “Oh!” Marie wrung her hands as the three men behind Annabeth crowded into the foyer.

  “This will only take a minute,” Annabeth reassured her. The last thing she needed was a panicked Marie Zevalos. Her plan wouldn’t work if the woman collapsed on the floor. Gently taking the woman’s elbow, she steered her toward the airy kitchen at the back of the house. “We have so much to catch up on,” she said loudly.

  A spasm of coughing from a nearby room grabbed Marie’s attention.

  “Marie!”

  Annabeth’s knees nearly buckled with relief at the sound of the raspy bellow. Coach Zevalos had heard her, just as she’d planned.

  “Oh!” Marie reached for a tray with a can of ginger ale and an empty glass on it. “Just let me give this to Paul and we can have some tea.”

  “Tea would be lovely. And please tell Coach Zevalos I said hello.” Annabeth poured on the saccharin.

  As soon as Marie disappeared with the tray, Hank gestured for the two league representatives to sit on the sofa in the living room. He turned to Annabeth, a sly smile on his face. “Well played,” he mouthed.

  She beamed under his praise but silently worried what he’d think of her after the second act. Marie shuffled back to the kitchen, flustered once again.

  “Paul said he’d like to see you. Right now. Before we have tea.” The poor woman clearly didn’t like the idea of anyone upsetting her ill husband, and Annabeth wondered what it was like to love someone so blindly.

  “Sure, but I’ll only keep him a minute. Then we girls can chat.” She patted Marie’s shoulder. “Mr. Osbourne is going to go with me to apologize for upsetting Coach during his last visit.”

  Before Marie could protest, Annabeth grabbed Hank’s hand, towing him behind her as she made her way into the small sitting room where Coach Zevalos was holed up. The sight before her nearly stole the wind from her sails. The man in the oversized recliner looked nothing like the one she’d met thirteen years ago. Coach Zevalos was now a haggard shell of himself, lung cancer from his pack-a-day habit diminishing what had been a tall, robust, athletically built man. His ashen skin sagged at his jowls and his once-haughty dark eyes were now just angry; whether it was from the sight of her or the fact that his time on this earth was short, she wasn’t sure. Nor did she care.

  When he spied Hank, his eyes grew wide and he grabbed the mask from the portable oxygen tank beside him. “Get out!” he gasped, pointing at Hank.

  “He stays.”

  Annabeth’s tone forced the coach to pull several puffs on his oxygen.

  “What do you want?” he asked around the mask.

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “For you to do the right thing.”

  He wheezed into the mask. A television droned quietly behind her and the cloying smell of sickness teased her nostrils. Annabeth felt a swell of nausea roll through her stomach, but she willed it down. This had to be done.

  “I told him,” he gasped, leveling a finger at Hank. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “Fine.” Annabeth held her ground. “If you won’t talk, I will.”

  The coach struggled in the chair, but it was no use. He no longer had the strength to stand and intimidate her with his dominance. He took another frustrated pull of oxygen.

  “I’ll tell your wife about the day you came to the trailer park to discuss Will’s college potential privately with me. And when I refused your disgusting requirements for the advancement of my son’s career, you found another willing participant in the trailer next door.”

  Her hands were trembling. She felt Hank’s body draw up to full alertness beside her.

  “I took what she offered!” he spat out. “I had no idea how old she was.”

  “She was fifteen!” Annabeth cried. “With the body of a twenty-five-year-old and the morals of an alley cat. But that didn’t mean you were allowed to touch her. “

  “Jesus,” she heard Hank whisper.

  “Someone should have been watching her,” the coach wheezed before a coughing spasm overtook him.

  He was right; someone should have been watching over Bethany, but her mother worked two jobs and her father had been a long-haul truck driver. The teen was left on her own more than she should have been, wandering the trailer park looking for anyone who’d pay attention to her. She probably thought a man like Paul Zevalos was her ticket out.

  Annabeth’s knees were shaking now. She felt Hank take a step closer, his warm hand settling on the small of her back. He was breathing forcefully beside her as if it were taking all the strength he had to contain himself.

  His coughing subsided, the coach narrowed his eyes at her. “Why bring this up now? Will got his scholarship. I even hooked him up in the pros.”

  She swayed slightly in shock, but Hank’s steady hand propped her up. Annabeth had long suspected that her rebuff of the coach all those years ago might have cost her son his scholarship had she not caught the man coming out of Bethany’s trailer later that day. But to hear him confirm that made her sick to her stomach.

  “Except now you’re letting him take the fall for you,” she said, amazed her voice sounded so steady.

  “I’m a dying man. He owes me.”

  “You’re not worth him destroying his good name.”

  “He took the money.”

  “He didn’t know what it was for and he tried to return it!” she shot back.

  He coughed again before taking another puff of oxygen. “It’s too late to erase the past.”

  Annabeth stiffened her spine. “Yes, and it’s too late to erase your past.” She pulled a photo out of her purse, flipping it onto the coach’s blanketed lap.

  He wheezed uncontrollably, sucking on the oxygen mask as he caught sight of the picture.

  “Imagine my surprise when the Taylors moved in the dead of the night two months later. Or when I encountered Bethany in a shopping mall in Wilmington a few months after that, her belly swollen with pregnancy.”

  Hank let out a hiss beside her, his fingertips curling into her back as he fought for self-restraint.

  “Tell me this, Coach,” Annabeth asked. “Does your wife know about your son? I met him the other day. He’s quite a boy, as you can see by the photo.”

  The coach was gasping heavily now, dragging air through the mask in deep draughts.

  “Of course she doesn’t know,” Hank said from behind her. “He’d just as soon wait until he dies for her to find out. Because he’s a coward. An honest man, a real man, would own up to his sins before he goes. But this man doesn’t have th
e guts to deal with the mess he’s made.”

  A gurgling sound came through the oxygen mask, where the coach’s tears mixed with the air his body so desperately needed.

  “I didn’t know she was a child,” he croaked out. “I made amends to that family and to the boy. I never laid a hand on a woman other than my wife again.”

  She snorted at his confession. Whether she believed him or not was irrelevant. The damage was already done.

  “What more do you want from me?” he pleaded.

  “I told you. For you to do the right thing,” she repeated.

  The three were silent for several moments as the coach used the oxygen to regulate his breathing.

  Coach Zevalos broke the silence. “Fine. If you’ll leave the boy out of this, I’ll call my lawyers and make a statement.”

  “We conveniently have two NFL counsel here with us,” Hank told him in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Another coughing fit followed. “You . . . you don’t expect me to do it today?” he gasped.

  Annabeth lunged at him. “Yes! You’ll do it now! Today!”

  “Annabeth!” Hank grabbed her arm, but she shook him off.

  “For thirteen years, I’ve lived with the guilt of what you did. I was the reason you came to Seaside Vista in the first place. I was the reason a lecherous man had sex with an underage girl. How do you think that’s felt all these years? God! I should have spoken up sooner, but I didn’t. This isn’t going on one day longer. You’re going to tell them the truth about your stupid bounty scheme before more people get hurt.”

  She felt Hank’s arm wrapped around her waist, gently pulling her back as the coach dissolved into another round of wheezing.

  “Shh,” Hank whispered to her. “It’s over now.”

  Annabeth gulped in a few deep breaths of her own as she pulled out of Hank’s restraint. She anxiously smoothed down her skirt and swiped at her tears. Hank patiently stood by her side, giving her space as she regained her composure.

  “Okay?” he asked, his gentle voice restoring her courage.

  Gnawing on her bottom lip, she gave him a quick nod. He winked at her, nearly making her come undone.