by Mara Jacobs
Oh, God. The dread that rushed through Declan was palpable. The tape had gotten out. But where? He had grabbed every paper he could find, every tabloid, had been on the internet till two in the morning hitting every site that came up in a search for Declan Tate, and he had seen nothing to indicate a copy of the tape had been made.
“Mr. Grant, I don’t understand. Professor Reeves was scheduled to lecture there Friday night.”
“Scheduled and canceled.”
“She canceled her lecture?” Something must really be wrong if Marlee canceled. She must have been dying of shame and couldn’t face the public. Declan’s heart broke to think of him causing Marlee pain.
“She did not cancel. I canceled her. And I don’t mind saying I made some phone calls to my colleagues at other universities with the recommendation that they do the same.” He had a sick sense of pride behind his voice, like he had single-handedly saved academia from the evil that was Marlee Reeves. Declan wanted to reach through the phone line and throttle the guy.
“But she lectured at Duke on Thursday?”
“She did, and I happened to be in attendance. Let us say, she never made it past her opening remarks.” Grant paused; he seemed to be reveling in the memory of Marlee’s apparent debacle. Then, as if realizing he had no idea who he was speaking to, he added, “Is this a journalist?”
“No. My name is Declan Tate. I’m a friend of Professor Reeves and I’m trying to get in touch with her.”
“Aahh, Mr. Tate. The possible co-star in Ms. Reeves’ brilliant acting debut?”
Declan had his answer. The tape was definitely out. He had to talk to Marlee. Now.
“Mr. Grant, do you have any idea where Marlee is?”
“I suspect she has gone back to Boston College with her tail between her legs.”
Declan hung up the phone and started to pack his bags.
Chapter Twenty
Marlee threw her pen down on her desk, unable to concentrate. It was Wednesday afternoon and she was in her office on campus waiting to hear her fate. She didn’t think she’d be fired, but she couldn’t be sure. It all seemed surreal, as if it were some B-movie, not her life.
She had woken up last Thursday morning with Declan’s scarf still wrapped around her in a hotel room in North Carolina. That was the last clear memory she had. The rest was a blur.
Spending the day in her room, feeling blue about Declan. Getting dressed. Putting her laptop, the flash drive with her presentation and video she opened her lecture with, and her notes into her satchel. Arriving at the auditorium. Reaching into the satchel and giving the facility manager the drive, which he would take to the control booth, and her notes, which he would place on the podium for her. He gave her the remote that would allow her to move the PowerPoint presentation along as she spoke.
Waiting backstage. Feeling a few tiny butterflies of nerves even though she was an expert at public speaking. The house lights going down. Marlee stepping to the podium on the darkened stage, where a spotlight would appear on her when the video was over. The tape beginning. A hush like she had never heard falling over the crowd. Her turning to see which image on the video had that kind of effect on the crowd. Her audible gasp as she saw the images, twenty feet high, of her and Declan having sex on a desk. The kid in the booth, transfixed by the images, letting the video play, even though she was motioning wildly for him to cut it and clicking the remote furiously. But the remote was for the PowerPoint, not the video.
It seemed to go on forever, until the kid finally cut the feed to the large screen behind her. It had probably only been twenty or thirty seconds, but it had felt like twenty minutes. Professor Epley came onstage and took her by the arm and led her off. She was too stunned to move.
Marlee was shaken and was led to a soft couch backstage. Professor Epley, a paternal sort, knew that some kind of awful mistake had been made and was very understanding. He ran to the booth and got the flash drive back from the student there and handed it to Marlee. She was grasping in her satchel, coming up with the correct drive, as if that was explanation enough.
There was no way Marlee could face that crowd now. The lecture would be canceled; it was a mutual agreement. There was an announcement made to the audience and the lights went up as the crowd slowly streamed from their seats. The students in the crowd got a little unruly, yelling snarky comments out. Thanks goodness she couldn’t make out what they were saying from where she was sitting.
And also thank God that mostly Declan’s back had been to the camera during those first seconds of the tape. To her knowledge, no one had confirmed that the man bent over Professor Marlee Reeves was NFL MVP Declan Tate. Though she thought she heard some whispering of Declan’s name backstage.
And another saving grace was that it didn’t appear that anybody had pulled out their cell phones and started filming the screen.
Thornton Grant, who was attending her lecture in advance, came backstage and made a scene. A very ugly scene. Words like “immoral” and “unethical” were bandied about, but Marlee could only sit on the couch, clutching the two flash drives—the one that had played, and the one that was supposed to have played.
Professor Epley got her back to her hotel. She waited there until she got the call from the dean of Boston College’s Communications Department telling her to come home, that the entire series had been canceled, thanks mostly to Thornton Grant.
Now the dean was meeting with several of Marlee’s peers from the department to decide what should be done.
The shock of the incident had worn off by now, and there was only anger at herself for being so careless with the drives. It was this anger that had fueled Marlee the past three days as she explained to the committee what had happened, and now waited. And waited. They expected to have some sort of answer for her today, so Marlee was stationed in her office.
As if someone sensed she was about to burst if she didn’t get some answers, there was a knock on her door. Robert Curtis came in and sat down in front of Marlee.
“Robert, you’re the messenger?” It was sort of appropriate. The only person other than her family that had seen Declan and her together was the one bringing her the outcome.
“Yes. The dean was going to call you in, but I asked if I could talk to you alone instead.”
“Thank you, Robert. I think.”
He had a soft smile. “It’s not so bad, Marlee. You’re off the lecture series, permanently. Because you represent BC, it was best felt that you not lecture anymore on this topic. But all else remains the same. Because the semester doesn’t start until next week, they’re going to try to rush and get you a few classes to teach. If not, you will just have office hours this semester.”
A sigh of obvious relief escaped Marlee. She would miss being able to crusade on behalf of bringing awareness to the decline of public speaking, but was elated that she’d still be able to teach.
Robert got up to leave, then sat back down. “Marlee, I hope you don’t mind me asking, are you and Declan serious?”
She looked down at her hands clasped together on her desk. How did she answer that? Did the fact that she loved Declan more than she ever thought possible mean it was serious? “No, Robert. It was just a…fling, I guess you’d call it.”
Robert seemed taken aback. No one that knew Marlee very well thought of her as the fling type. “I hope it was worth it, Marlee. You’re little fling with Declan cost you a lot of respect amongst your peers, and the chance to make a name for yourself in the academic world.” He got up and left, giving Marlee’s hands a comforting pat as he left. He didn’t even hear her as she answered him in a soft whisper.
“It cost me more than that.”
It had cost her her heart.
Three weeks into the new semester, Marlee was able to get through the day of classes with her mind turning to Declan only five or six times. She considered that a marked improvement.
The department was able to squeeze a full load of classes for her to teach, and she w
as grateful to have the diversion. They were all classes she had taught many times before, so she had all the prep work done.
She was eternally grateful that the reason for the canceled lecture series never became public knowledge. Only a few people at Boston College knew, or cared, and they were peers of Marlee’s and so kept their mouths shut.
Anna had commiserated with Marlee over her loss on the phone while they both drank margaritas. It had taken all her willpower not to call Declan that night after she came home from work, so she’d called her friend instead.
After she hung up with Anna, a drunken Marlee rationalized that she just wanted to see how Declan was doing. If he had wowed the networks? If he had accepted a position? If he was already living in New York? The truth of it was that Marlee just wanted to hear his voice. That sexy, husky Declan Tate voice.
In the end, she didn’t call. Even through the tequila-induced haze she knew it was a bad idea. She wasn’t even sure where he was.
She’d gotten several voicemails from him one day, and then nothing since. It’d been right after the Duke incident and Marlee had been too raw to return his calls. It occurred to her later that she should have given him a heads-up that he’d been a star at Duke for about twenty seconds.
Now Marlee replayed the night she’d gotten drunk on the phone with Anna. It was so out of character for her, and she shivered as she remembered the day-long hangover she’d had the next morning. It would be a long time before she drank another margarita.
Her stomach turned from just thinking about the drink as she pulled into her garage after a full day. She grabbed her mail from the box and entered the kitchen. Not even her beloved kitchen gave her the same joy it did before Declan.
Was that how she would view life from now on? In measurements of before Declan and after Declan?
There was the usual junk mail, a few bills, and a package. She opened the package first and saw it was a flash drive. Trepidation rippled through Marlee. Oh, God. Not the tape. She turned it over and was not surprised to find a note taped to it, just like she had found before. Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Watch the tape, Marlee.
It’s not the one you think it is.
The handwriting was Declan’s. She was frozen in the kitchen. She slid her glasses up her nose and read the note again. And again. She slowly made her way to the den and connected the drive to her computer, and setting it so it would play on the TV. She took the remote with her to the recliner. At the last moment, she bypassed the recliner, thinking of another time, and another tape, and instead settled herself on the couch. She steeled herself and hit play.
It was the studio where she and Declan had worked. She almost hit the stop button, thinking it was the tape of her and Declan, but she waited. Something was a little different. And then Declan came into view, walking from behind where the camera was, to the set with the armchairs. The set only had one chair this time (that was what was different), and Declan went straight to it and sat down. The camera was zoomed in tight on Declan in the chair, only able to see his upper body and face.
That face. A feeling of loss ripped through Marlee. Even now, just seeing his face, she felt as though she’d been tackled. He hadn’t changed—still the same drop-dead gorgeous Declan she knew. And loved.
Marlee watched intently as Declan hung his head, trying to compose himself, then looked straight into the camera and began speaking.
“Marlee, I tried like hell to get a hold of you those first few days after your Duke lecture.”
So he did know about Duke. She was filled with shame. Here she had gotten on her high horse to him about trust and she’d let it be played to a room of two thousand. She was mortified, but Declan’s voice brought her attention back to the screen.
“I didn’t know what happened at first. I thought…” He seemed to struggle with his next words. “I thought my copy of the tape had gotten out and ruined your reputation.”
Why would he think that? Then she listened as Declan explained what had happened to him in New York. She didn’t know whether to be furious or laugh. How could she be furious when the same thing had happened to her? At least Declan had gotten the tapes back before anybody but a few network people had seen it.
“Anyway, after I got the tapes back I knew I had to let you know about it, in case somebody had made a copy of it or put it on the internet or some dumb-ass thing. You needed to be warned. But I couldn’t find you. I called all around and finally this idiot Thornton something-or-other told me about Duke. I tried you at home but you didn’t pick up, and I didn’t want to say what I had to say to your machine.”
Declan paused, taking a breath, his strong shoulders quaking, then looked at the camera again and went on. “I finally remembered Robert Curtis and got his number through Boston College information. By this time they’d had their meetings and he’d talked with you. He told me the whole story.
“I’m so sorry, Marlee, that all this happened. That the tape we made caused all of this. I told you I wanted to make the tape so you could see how beautiful you are to me, Marlee, and that’s true. But there was another reason.”
Again, Declan put his head down, this time clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. Marlee got the feeling he was trying to get his courage up for the next part, and she felt a darkness fall over her. She couldn’t imagine what he needed to say now? They were over, done. Did he really need to reiterate that on video? Did she really need to watch it?
She fingered the stop button on the remote, then took her finger off, letting the video play on. Declan, his green eyes shining, looked straight at her.
“I love you, Marlee. And I will always love you. I was hoping the tape would make you see that, and make you see that you love me too. That’s why I wanted to make it.”
On the couch, the remote fell from Marlee’s hands as she raised them to her mouth, stunned by Declan’s declaration.
“But somewhere along the line I realized that you could never love me. Not after what Justin did to you. You didn’t seem able to see that not all ball players were the same.” He spat that out with an exaggerated contempt, and Marlee felt shame rush through her. “And so the tape became something else to me. It was just a little piece of you that I could take with me. To have something of you forever, Marlee.
“It didn’t work, though, having the tape. It’s not enough. It will never be enough. I couldn’t live with the thought that I never told you I love you, so, I’m telling you now. I love you, Marlee, and I want a future with you. And I don’t want to wait until I have everything in my life figured out. Hell, that may never happen.
“I want to marry you, Professor Marlee Reeves, and have babies with you and Friday night dinners with your family and to cook with you every night in the kitchen…”
He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, while Marlee waited, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m not sure which day you’ll get this tape in the mail, probably Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll be at Gino’s place every night this week waiting for you. If you can see yourself with me for the long haul, Marlee—and that means no dropping hands, no embarrassment over your husband’s former profession—then meet me there. I’ll be at our table, in the back, waiting. If I don’t see you by Saturday night, I’ll know the answer is no, and I’ll just have to live with only seeing you on tape.”
He paused. Marlee was sure it was for dramatic effect. Damn him—it was dramatic enough, just get on with it!
“The ball is in your possession, Marlee. It’s first down, baby, and it’s your play to call.”
She could see the movement of his arm as he reached for the remote and then the screen went black.
She didn’t even bother turning off the TV. She was already running through the house to the kitchen, where she gathered up her coat, keys, and purse, and then on to the garage.
And to Declan.
Epilogue
In the end, they found they had a major issu
e that they had totally opposing views on.
The size of their wedding.
Marlee wanted something small, just close friends and family. Declan wanted to announce to the world that he was marrying Marlee.
One week after their tearful reunion at Gino’s, with Gino himself crying the loudest as Declan got down on one knee and properly proposed to an accepting Marlee, the football coach at Boston College called Declan.
Boyd Parson and Declan had been teammates at Ohio State and had kept in touch over the years, especially once Declan had moved to Boston. Boyd offered Declan a position as offensive coordinator with Boston College. He was almost apologetic in his offering, assuming that someone of Declan’s stature would never want to stoop as low as an assistant to a near-bottom-of-the-conference team.
Declan was ecstatic and, after discussing it with Marlee, quickly accepted Boyd’s offer. It would still mean being on the road in the fall and during recruiting season, but it would put Declan back in the locker room, back on a team.
Marlee knew this was the right choice for Declan. He was already so happy to be going off to work every morning. And coming home to her every night.
“You know,” Declan began one night as they lay side by side in bed, worn out from an especially exerting lovemaking session where Declan had tried to demonstrate to a very willing Marlee the advantages of a zone defense. “Those tapes falling into the wrong hands was the best thing that ever happened to us.”
Remembering the humiliation she felt at Duke and the chastising from that windbag Thornton Grant, Marlee said, “I wouldn’t go that far.” But she chuckled. He was probably right.
Declan flipped her over to her back and began arousing her all over again, “Well, darlin’,” he drawled. “Just how far would you go?”
