Cam hugged the little man, letting him slap him soundly on the back. He hated the circumstances he’d walked in on, but it sure felt good to be back. He’d spent so much time here as a teen, Pop had become a surrogate father to him.
“Glad to see you made it home,” Pop said.
“Glad to be home.”
Cam heard a scoff from someplace behind him. Tanya. But when he turned she was leafing through papers on her father’s desk, looking uninterested in the conversation.
“Can you give my dad and me some time alone, please?” she asked without looking up.
He nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” But as he backed toward the door, he made eye contact with Pop and said again, “I can help … if you let me.”
Tanya glared at him. Woo wee! Ice cold. And it didn’t get warmer until he was back in the gym.
Under the circumstances, he wasn’t surprised by her reaction. He wouldn’t want his dirty laundry being aired in front of anybody. But he wasn’t just anybody—at least he hadn’t been. That’s why he’d walked in and offered to help. Apparently, five years away changed things. Something else that didn’t completely surprise him. He just hadn’t thought it would erase ten years of a friendship so close they were damn near family. With one exception—what had happened beneath the bleachers senior year. Thinking about it still made him smile.
They’d always been willing to go the extra mile for each other back then, and after what he’d overheard standing outside Pop’s office, he wasn’t going to let that change.
When Tanya had time to really talk to him, he’d get her to see he could help.
“Cam Simmons?” A short, chubby guy with moon-shaped sweat marks underneath his man-boobs stood in front of him. “No way! It’s me, Goby Klinker, John-John’s little brother.”
“Holy crap.”
They grabbed hands and bumped opposite shoulders.
“It’s been forever, man,” Goby said.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He looked around the gym. “Is John-John here?”
“Hell no. He’s in worse shape than me. Works three jobs now because of the little ones. Hasn’t been to the gym in years.”
That guy had never made it to a full week of high school classes. How was he holding down three jobs? “Wait. John-John has little ones?”
“Three. Under four.” Goby wrapped his hands around his neck.
Damn. “I didn’t know that.” He’d lost touch with the guys he used to run with too. “What about Joe and Marquis? Are they around?”
“Not around here. Joe’s banned ‘cause Daria thinks it’s a meat market. She don’t trust him.”
Like Cam’s ex-fiancée Sabrina hadn’t trusted him. He rolled his eyes. “That sucks.” Especially when it was unwarranted. “And Marquis?”
“Workin’ in Atlanta. Moved about a year ago. Hear he’s doing real good.”
Now that was something to smile about. Marquis got out. Hopefully Cam would be saying the same thing about his mother at the end of this trip. Boston was where she belonged. With him.
“Bobby, come here!” Goby waved his hand to attract some guy’s attention, and then he shifted back to Cam. “This dude’s the biggest football fan. Browns, of course, but we ain’t winning a Super Bowl anytime soon.” He faced the room and the half-dozen guys who were lifting and practicing footwork. “Listen up, everybody! Super Bowl MVP Cam Simmons is in the house.”
Cam smiled as heads turned and eyes widened. Three weeks after earning the title, and he still got a rush from it.
“What’s up, gentlemen?” He raised his arms in invitation.
Something about the attention stoked his adrenaline. Always had. Like walking into school Monday morning after a big Friday-night win. Everybody knew your name. Everybody wanted a piece of you. Powerful stuff. The kind of stuff that helped a man feel important.
He signed a few autographs and told a few “war” stories, but when Pop’s office door opened and Tanya stepped out, he was too distracted to do much more than listen to the guys rattle on about football. She said something to her father, who returned to his office, and then she walked over to the punching bags and systematically went down the line pounding the hell out of each one.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Gotta take care of something real quick.”
He made his way through the small crowd toward Tanya, who was now whaling on a punching bag out of view from most of the gym.
“Hey,” he said.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled, then shot him a look, but didn’t miss a beat with the bag. “You want the bag, you have to wait, Simmons. Super Bowl MVPs don’t get special treatment ‘round here.”
He almost smiled at the exasperation in her voice.
Tanya Mary Martin. Five feet, nine inches of attitude and curves that would get a guy’s head bit off if his admiration wasn’t discreet. The best female basketball player East High had ever seen. And the most loyal daughter he’d ever seen. This shit with her dad was tearing her up.
“Let me help,” he said.
She cut another glance at him, scornful and pitying like he was the biggest moron she’d ever seen. “He won’t take your money.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s proud.” Boom, her fist connected with the canvas. “And we don’t need your charity.”
“Okay. I respect that. Fine. We’ll figure something else out.”
She pushed the bag into another and straightened. “We won’t be doing anything, Cam. This is my family’s problem. You are not my family.”
“But I’m your friend.”
She narrowed her golden eyes. “Are you? Because I thought friends stayed in touch.”
Fair enough, but she could’ve nudged him when his silence had gone on too long. He was a busy man. But now was probably not the time to point that out, so he simply nodded. “I’m sorry about that, and I’d like to fix it. We can move on from here and not lose touch again. Deal?” He held out a hand.
She ignored his peace offering. “I’ve got a lot to figure out these days, so you’re going to have to get in line.”
Again, he almost laughed, because it had been awhile since he’d been around a woman who was so clearly not anxious to be around him. “Should I take a number?” She didn’t blink at his attempt at humor. “You know, so you can call for me when it’s my turn?”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, Simmons. It could take a while.” She shot him a snotty smile before she turned and headed toward the hallway, then tossed over her shoulder, “Maybe like five years.”
He laughed then. She’d always been a spitfire. And he had a feeling she was just getting started. He was going to be taking a lot of potshots from her over the next month.
The funny part? He kind of couldn’t wait.
Southern Love Page 75
