“Tyler.” She jabbed him in the ribs to get his attention.
“Hmmm?” He frowned. Not liking the tone of her voice.
“What are you thinking?”
He mulled the answer over for a minute. “Actually, I’m thinking about all the Harrises who lay in this room and stared at this very ceiling. I wonder what they thought about? This house could tell some good stories.”
“If your ancestors were anything like you, I’m guessing it could.” Her small hands curled in his chest hair. “Twin Cedars is your family’s legacy. What are you going to do with this place?”
Ty stiffened. “I might hang onto it until things turn around, but I am selling it eventually.”
“If a developer sank his claws into this property, the first thing he’d do is raze this mansion. Could you live with that?”
The idea of the Harris mansion being reduced to a pile of rubble disturbed him. He’d grown a little fond of the proud old lady, which is how he came to think of the mansion. Yet, he wouldn’t get sentimental when it came to his bank account. “Do you have any effing idea how much this place will be worth once the economy recovers? I’ll make a shitload of money.”
“Is that why Artie left this place to you? So you could make money off it?” Lavender raised up. Even in the darkness, he felt her accusing gaze on him. Tyler knew what Twin Cedars meant to his father and grandfather. To his family. Yet, Uncle Artie had left it to him with no stipulations on what he could do with it, other than his ninety-day banishment from civilization. Obviously, the old coot trusted his judgment, though Tyler couldn’t fathom Artie’s rationale when it came to requiring Tyler live here.
“It’s all about the money with you, isn’t it?” Lavender’s disapproving voice bothered him more than he cared to admit.
“Damn right. You can’t be surprised.” If she only knew.
“I’m not, but I am disappointed. Your uncle must be tossing in his grave.” She plucked at his chest hairs until he captured her small hands in one big hand and held them away from his body.
“He’s not in a grave. He’s in Hazard Channel.”
“Smart ass.” Annoyed, she slapped at his chest. He tucked her hands against his warm body. She was trying to have a serious discussion, and assumed he just wanted to screw. Let her think that. He wore his asshole costume well, no reason to take it off now.
“Me? I’m just a dumb, over-sexed jock. I haven’t a clue what you mean.”
Lavender sighed. “Artie used to talk about giving something back. He wanted to make an affordable retreat here on the island for veterans, soldiers, and their families.”
“Why the fu—fudge would he want to do something like that?”
“Because most veterans and soldiers can’t afford a vacation in the San Juans. He wanted them to feel the peace he felt here. To heal a little.”
“Whatever.” Tyler mumbled. “And you mean to tell me the Brotherhood could afford to fix this place up and rent out rooms for less than they were worth to needy veterans?”
“No, they can’t.”
“If this veterans’ home was so important to Uncle Art, why’d he will the place to me? He knew me. I’m a selfish, greedy bastard.”
Lavender rose up to look him in the eyes. Her brown eyes challenged him—to what he didn’t have a clue. “Maybe he does know you. Maybe that was the point. Maybe you don’t know yourself.”
Tyler groaned and rolled his eyes. He shifted his body underneath her. “Oh, crap, I know where this is headed.”
“Do you? Where is it headed?”
“You want me to hand this place over to you and a bunch of goofballs. No way in hell. I’m not giving up millions of dollars.”
“Is that all this place means to you? Just dollars? What about the heritage, the history behind it? You don’t even know a thing about the people who built this place, even though they’re your damn ancestors.”
“You’re starting to piss me off. If we’re going to get personal and discuss long-lost relatives, why don’t we discuss your dad?” He braced himself for the explosion.
Lavender shot to her feet and evaded the arm that snaked out to grab her. “So you can dish it out but you can’t take it, can you? If Twin Cedars means nothing to you, why are you restoring the banister?” His look of surprise seemed to give her confidence. “You care, Tyler. About a lot of things. The question is why do you spend so much time pretending you don’t?”
Before he had a chance to mount a counter-attack, she grabbed her clothes and ran for the door, slamming it behind her. A rush of cold air swirled around him, like a cold hand on his shoulder. He shivered and sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
Being a jerk had never affected him before.
But now it did.
Lavender saw through him. Just like Ryan had. Tyler swallowed the lump in this throat as he pictured Ryan looking like a skeleton in that hospital bed. He’d hugged the kid’s fragile body one last time. As he turned to leave the last words Ryan ever said to him were: Ty, I was wrong. You do care. About people.
Those words ripped his gut apart. He’d cared, alright, cared that for all his blustery confidence, he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about the cancer destroying Ryan’s body or convince Ryan’s mother to leave her stripper job in Vegas for one last goodbye to her son. As dysfunctional as families were, they were still family, no matter what. If only Lavender got the importance of mending those fences. Any moment might be the last moment she’d ever have.
After that, there’d be nothing but a lifetime of regrets.
Chapter 16
Picked Off
The pounding on the door roused Tyler from his stupor. He bolted upright in his chair, sending Coug flying off his lap. Coug stood, shook himself off, and shot the offender an indignant look. The tabby marched over to the fireplace hearth and proceeded to groom himself—his third favorite thing to do next to eating and sleeping.
Ever since Lavender ran out at sunrise, Tyler worked on the woodwork in the grand entryway, but the painstaking physical labor did nothing to alleviate his bad mood.
Taking a lunch break, he’d sat down in his favorite chair and drifted off, something he rarely, if ever, did. Yet given his lack of sleep in the past twenty-four hours, not a surprise. The more he screwed Lavender the more he wanted, and not just her body. This thing was getting out of control. At first, he’d wanted nothing but sex. Yet he kept pushing the limits of their relationship beyond the physical and so did she by meddling in his personal life. Her interference pissed him off. What he did with Twin Cedars was none of her business, any more than her relationship with her father was his. So why did he keeping pushing her? What did it matter to him if she ever reconciled with her father?
Tyler didn’t relinquish control to anyone, but he had to her—physically and emotionally—and enjoyed every effing minute of it. Literally. Despite claiming indifference toward her on an emotional level, he kept sliding into his personal no-man’s land by caring about her as a person, granted an annoying, irritating person. Stepping over that line had to stop. Their relationship was about their bodies, nothing else.
The pounding started again and snapped him back to the present. Irritated, he glanced at his watch. Late afternoon. He wasn’t expecting anyone except for his truant carpenters, and they’d never show up for work this late in the day.
Walking into the two-story foyer, Tyler peeked out the side window and frowned. Well, crap. Three vehicles littered his driveway. He recognized at least one of them and seriously considered a lights-out, no-one’s-home strategy, but only a coward retreated. Besides with limited hiding spots on the island, the assholes would hunt him down.
More pounding. The big double doors rattled in their frame.
Heaving a sigh of resignation, Tyler yanked on one side of the solid oak front door. The damn thing stuck as usual. Grabbing the antique door handle with both hands, he wrenched on it. On shrieking hinges, the door gave way and slammed against the opposite wall. In
the process, the force catapulted him across the room on his ass.
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
His unwanted guests’ hearty laughter bounced off the walls of the entry. Cussing a blue streak, Tyler shot to his feet with his ego bruised and his butt stinging. Sacked by a door. How fu—frigging embarrassing.
A half dozen members of the Seattle Lumberjacks loitered on his front porch.
“Well, are you gonna let us in or roll around on the floor all afternoon? Not much fun I might add unless you’ve got a woman with you.” Derek Ramsey, his best buddy, cousin, and the Jacks’ all-pro wide receiver didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, he pushed past Tyler.
“Who the hell invited you dickheads?” Rubbing his ass, Tyler stood back to allow them in, as if he could stop a couple tons of muscle.
Derek smacked him on the back. “Don’t need an invitation. You missed the Super Bowl parties so we thought we’d bring the party to you.”
“About two months too late.” Tyler pointed out the obvious, but none of his teammates seemed to give a shit. “You’re really here to mooch off me and get a free vacation on the island.”
“Fuck, yeah.” Bruiser Mackay, the team’s starting running back and a bigger party boy than Tyler, followed Derek through the door.
“Hey, we should sign that door to a contract. It laid Harris out flat.” Hoss Price, Tyler’s Center and a smartass, grinned with unrestrained amusement. Three more guys pushed through the door, rookie defensive end LaDaniel Crates, tight end Spin Statler, and cornerback Bryson Lewis. Tyler started to shut the door but someone else prevented its closing.
“Not hard to do, considering it’s Harris.” Zach Murphy shoved the door open and strutted past Tyler. The man wore a cloak of attitude that even did Tyler proud, except the jerk was his nemesis.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tyler swung around and blocked the linebacker’s path. Murphy looked him up and down as if to say you and what army? Tyler stood his ground. He couldn’t let a dick like Murphy get even the slightest inkling he might have the upper hand. Sure, he outweighed Tyler by thirty pounds, bench-pressed elephants for fun, and ate rookies for lunch. That didn’t impress Tyler. The Jacks were his team, not this interloper’s.
“Fostering a little team camaraderie.” Murphy dropped his duffle bag near the rookie’s feet and leaned against the banister. He studied Tyler like a poker player sizing up his opponent.
“Foster it by getting the hell out of my house.” Tyler ignored his teammates gathered round, as they waited for bloodshed.
“Is that any way to welcome your new teammate?” Murphy stepped forward, invading Tyler’s personal space until they stood toe-to-toe. No one got in his space. Especially not a washed-up tool like this guy.
“Hey, guys, let’s play nice.” Derek pushed between them, the whimpy-ass assuming the role of peacemaker, as usual.
“How about I spare his life if he gets the fuck out of here in the next five seconds.” So much for curing his potty mouth.
Zach held his hands over his chest. “I’m so fucking scared, I’m shaking.”
The guys snickered, especially the defensive players, who no doubt idolized the asshole. The offensive players traded nervous glances, even as they bit back amused smiles.
Assholes, all of them.
Tyler flexed his fingers, itching to plant a fist in the smug bastard’s face. How the hell could the Lumberjacks sign this guy considering the public knowledge of how much the two hated each other?
Murphy found this way too amusing. “The boys invited me to hang with them for the weekend.” With a smooth, quick move that left Tyler standing flat-footed, the all-pro slipped around him and joined his teammates in the entry. Tyler growled his disgust.
Murphy jumped on it, making Tyler look like an idiot. “Losing your step there, Harris. Along with your killer instinct.”
Derek turned a complete circle in the two-story entryway. “Damn, this is some place.”
Murphy grunted and faked a yawn. Tyler snarled. The rest of the team played dumb and nodded or murmured agreement with Derek.
“Yeah, the advantage to being on an island is it deters unwanted guests.” Ty leaned against the banister, crossed his arms over his chest, and ignored Murphy, pissed he’d let the guy get under his skin and in front of his team.
“Where the hell have you been?” LaDaniel, the stupid rookie, couldn’t keep his trap shut.
“The rumor going around the league is that you’re in rehab.” Bruiser ran a hand over the sanded banister. “We had to see for ourselves.”
“I might be a lot of things, but I don’t do drugs.”
“I knew better, unless there’s an ego rehab.” His chickenshit cousin stepped between Tyler and Murphy, keeping a wary eye on both of them.
“That’s not what’s been stuck up his ass all season. It’s worse. The word on the street is you’ve lost it.” Murphy’s dark brown eyes glittered with undisguised animosity. Tyler damn well knew what defined it: a guy’s indescribable love of the game, his hunger for the next win, his obsession with all things related to the pigskin. Doubly worse, Tyler was guilty as charged, and Murphy had seen right through his posturing.
“The only thing I’ve lost is my patience—with you. Get the fuck out of my sight, asshole.” Tyler took a step toward Murphy, but Derek put a restraining hand on his arm. Two defensive guys did the same to Murphy. Then there it was, plain as day, the division. The defensive players stood next to Murphy, while the offense gathered around Tyler. Their personal feud had already divided the team, and they were months away from playing their first down.
“You two pussies need to get over it. We’re all on the same team.” Exasperated, Derek squeezed Tyler’s arm so hard he should have left fingerprints.
“Just remember, dick, how many Super Bowl rings I have.” Tyler flipped him off with both hands. “And you have? What is it? Zero?”
“I’m going to have one by the end of next season, or I’ll hold you personally responsible.” Zach looked him up and down, a sneer on his ugly mug. “You’re right about one thing. I don’t have a ring. This is probably my last year. Twelve years in the NFL and not one ring. I took fifty percent of what I could get anywhere else to win that ring. There’s no way in hell an asshole like you is going to ruin it for me.”
“It’ll be tough to win three in a row.” Bryson the wiry little cornerback stared at Murphy like he was the second coming.
“Depends on Harris. A QB without a killer instinct might was well take up knitting and leave the game to us real men.” Murphy turned back to Tyler, straining against his teammates’ hands on his arms. “I’m going to make your life a living hell.”
“Yeah, bring it on, asshole. That just scares me shitless.” Tyler leaned into Murphy, ready to smash in the jerk’s face, but Bruiser and Derek held him back.
Murphy hesitated then flipped Tyler off and strutted from the room like a frigging turkey the day after Thanksgiving, having survived another year.
It was going to be a damn long football season.
Breathing hard more from anger than exertion, Tyler glared in the direction Murphy had gone. The rest of his team vacated the area, following Murphy down the hall. Tyler heard the sound of a hockey game going in the den. Obviously, Murphy had found the remote and made himself at home with Tyler’s newly installed satellite service.
Tyler spun around and launched an attack on his idiot cousin. “Why the fuck did you bring that fuckhead here?”
“Because he’ll be our defensive team leader next year. You need to settle your differences if we’re going to do a three-peat. Hell, he’s warming up to you already.”
“I could tell, like a hound dog warms up to fox.”
His cousin glanced over his shoulder, as if eavesdropping could be added to Murphy’s long list of offenses. “He’s a tough nut to crack. Kinda like you.”
“Two assholes on the team is one too many. By the way, where’s your ball and chain?” Ty didn’
t see his cousin’s wife anywhere. Hell, and here he’d thought they’d joined at the hip when they’d said ‘I do.’ Rachel sure as hell castrated the poor bastard. She’d pussy-whipped Derek to the point where he actually believed he enjoyed being married.
“Helping HughJack evaluate talent for the upcoming draft. We’re losing a lot of veterans to free agency this year.”
HughJack was the Seattle Lumberjacks fiery young coach, who’d led the team to two Super Bowls in two years. He’d lead them to a few more, if Tyler could get his game back. At least, Murphy pissed him off, which beat not giving a shit about football.
Tyler made a point of glancing at his watch. “You have plenty of time to make the next ferry.”
“This is a guy weekend. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Fucking fantastic.” Tyler muttered and headed toward the den. He needed a drink, make it a double. His pansy-assed cousin dogged his heels.
“Ah, come on, you love hanging out with the guys, downing some beers, losing your ass at poker.”
Tyler didn’t need the team to do that. The Brothers kicked his ass almost every week. He grabbed a couple beers from the den refrigerator and popped the tops.
Derek snagged the beer offered to him. Murphy stole the other without even a grunt of thanks. The rest of the guys jostled for the remaining beers in the fridge or dug into his hard liquor in the bar cabinet. Bruiser, who ate like he had a hollow leg, opened a couple bags of chips. Seconds later, the entire group of uninvited guests sprawled all over his couch and chairs, eating his food and drinking his booze. Each one talked louder to be heard over the din of the conversations.
Obviously annoyed by the noise, Murphy cranked up the sound on the hockey game. His brother played on that particular hockey team.
Pure chaos reigned. Usually Tyler instigated any bedlam related to his team. Today he stood off to one side, an observer instead of a participant, and way too reminiscent of how he felt after winning this last Super Bowl.
These guys weren’t leaving anytime soon. With a long-suffering sigh, Tyler took a thirsty gulp and hitched a hip on the corner of the antique bar stool. His cousin studied him, most likely reading his expression pretty damn accurately.
Forward Passes (Seattle Lumberjacks) Page 15
