His father had poured money on them after that, as if money could make up for the loss of their mother. Or maybe, he had done it in an effort to assuage his guilt for being gone so often. Either way, Tucker had hated that money. That money had replaced the one thing he really needed at the time — a parent. His anger had started about that time. Anger at the loss of his mother, anger at his father, and anger at the money his father had doled out instead of time.
Yes, the money had been the main target of his anger. Until it started opening doors for him. He had talent, but he was pretty sure it was his father’s sizable donation that had earned him a role on the varsity football team as a freshman. Perhaps, he had attained the title of captain of the team in his junior year (a title normally reserved for seniors and, most often, quarterbacks and not running backs) on his own, but it could have also been the new sports equipment his father had provided even though he never attended a game. Then, there was the full ride scholarship to a prestigious university that might have been based upon his talent or the amount of money his father had thrown to the program.
Either way, Tucker had enjoyed the benefits and the title of star running back for four years until he’d been picked up in the draft. His father’s money had certainly paved the way for a cushy ride that may or may not have existed without it, and so Tucker had swallowed his angry feelings not realizing he was fostering their growth with his denial. It was only once he was on the Rebels’ roster that things had begun to change.
Being chosen in the draft had been a dream — one that he’d been pretty sure would happen — but a dream nonetheless. However, when he’d arrived in the Rebels’ locker room the first day, he’d realized it wasn’t the dream he had thought it would be. His father’s money meant nothing here. Almost all of the players had come from money just like he had. Some even more, and some were legacy football players. Their fathers and grandfathers had played the game, so regardless of talent, they had found their way in.
That had been the hardest pill to swallow. He hadn’t been signed as the main running back or even the backup running back. Instead, as a backup to the backup running back, he rarely got the chance to play in games, but he’d been sure once they saw his talent that would change. Except the Rebels had traded him before he could prove himself, and now he was playing for a team who just couldn’t seem to get their act together. And it was frustrating.
“Hey, you’re Tucker Jackson, aren’t you?”
Tucker glanced up at the man who belonged to the voice. He sat a barstool over and looked out of place in his expensive suit. Clearly a man who normally appeared well put together, he had obviously been served one too many as his voice held the slur of inebriation and red splotches dotted his face.
“No, man. You’ve got the wrong guy.” Normally he enjoyed being recognized, even signing autographs for fans though some players hated it. But today he just wanted to nurse his wounded ego and dwell in the past.
“Yeah, you are.” The man stood, swayed on his feet momentarily, and then grabbed the bar to steady himself. His dress shirt hung out of his pants on one side and held the stain of whatever he’d eaten most recently. Still, he looked like a man who had money or wanted people to think he did. “You cost me a grand today.”
Oh great. This he definitely didn’t need. He knew people bet on sporting events even though it was illegal, but he’d never met anyone who actually did. Tucker imagined this man would be buying his beer had they won the game, but since they hadn’t…. well, the man might be unsteady on his feet, but he looked solid and like an angry bull about to charge. Even as inebriated as he was, he might still be able to do some damage to Tucker. Damage that could keep him from playing in the next game.
“Look, man, I’m sorry you lost money, but betting on football is illegal.” Tucker kept his voice neutral as he spoke and then returned his gaze to his drink. He hoped the man would take the hint and leave him alone. Unfortunately, either the man was stubborn, or his good sense was clouded by liquor. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
An angry snort came out of the man’s mouth, and he shoved a pudgy finger in Tucker’s face. “It wouldn’t be an issue if you hadn’t lost the game. Who taught you how to carry the ball anyway, your sister?”
Tucker tried to remain calm, but he’d never liked fingers shoved in his face; and he certainly didn’t allow anyone to talk badly about his sister. He’d had to defend her all through school when her reaction to their mother’s death had been to misbehave. Rumors had often circulated about her, and Tucker had squelched them one by one, usually through a nice payoff but occasionally with his fists when the perpetrator refused to let up. Fighting had been frowned upon in high school, but it was even more taboo in pro-football. A public fight could get you fined or suspended if anyone got hurt. Not to mention jail time if assault charges were filed.
“My sister is actually a pretty impressive running back,” Tucker said in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the man. Maybe he would take the joke and let it go.
“Then maybe they should hire her and let you go,” the man said as he pushed Tucker’s shoulder.
That touch broke the tenuous thread Tucker held on his anger. He slapped the man’s hand away and jumped up from his barstool so quickly that it fell to the floor behind him. The loud bang of metal on the hard floor halted the conversation around them, and Tucker felt the eyes of the strangers on him. His hand shook as he forced it to his side. He couldn’t punch the man now. Not here and certainly not with all these people watching. “I said let it go, man.”
Having already paid for his beer, Tucker turned to leave. Regret that he hadn’t been able to finish the drink in peace circled him like a cloud, but it paled in comparison to the regret he would face if he got suspended. His body still burned with anger, and he hoped the cool outside air would calm him down, but he never got the chance to see. Before he was halfway to the door, the force of something, or someone, knocked into him from behind and sent him careening into a table before forcing him to the floor. His breath rushed out in one gust as his ribs collided first with the sharp edge of the table and then with the hard floor. Then, he felt the pain as punches landed on his sides.
He rolled over, unsurprised to see the drunk man bending over him, but determined not to let the man beat him to a pulp. When his fist came close again, Tucker grabbed it and pulled. The sudden shift sent the man collapsing to the floor beside him, and Tucker let his own fists fly. He only meant to incapacitate the man long enough to get out of the bar, but once the first punch landed, he couldn’t seem to stop the next one. Or the next.
It was only the presence of an arm grabbing his, and the pressure of a knee in his back forcing him to the floor that cleared his hazy red fog. “That’s enough.”
The voice was deep and unfamiliar, and Tucker twisted his head to see who it belonged to. The lone bartender stared back at him. He hadn’t appeared threatening, but Tucker could feel the man’s strength as he pinned Tucker’s arms behind his back.
“It wasn’t my fault. I tried to leave,” Tucker said.
“I know. I saw it happen. Still had to call the police though. Have to report all fights that happen and file a report for the damages.”
Tucker scanned the area and saw a broken chair and an upended table. “I can cover the damages.”
“Sorry, it’s the owner’s rule, but I’ll make sure they know you didn’t start it.”
Tucker wasn’t sure that would matter to the team. It might keep him from getting officially charged, but he doubted the coach would just let this slide. Especially after his outburst at Blaine earlier.
Defeated, Tucker relaxed and waited for the cops to arrive, but when the cold metal snapped around his wrist, he knew his worst fears had come true.
* * *
As Shelby watched a kid on a bicycle ride by outside the window, her thoughts turned again to the center. What could she do to raise money and awareness? The annual Christmas party often helped, but it wasn
’t enough, and it certainly wouldn’t help this year if they couldn’t find the money to host it. Could they do a fundraiser? Possibly, but what kind? It couldn’t be anything that would cost the families of the kids though. They were the ones struggling already. It would have to be something to reach the other members of the community — either the ones who had stopped coming or perhaps those who didn’t even have kids but could see the value of the place. The question was what would that be?
“Shelby, can you come set the table?”
The voice of her mother calling from the kitchen pulled her away from her plotting. With a sigh, she rose from the couch and walked to the kitchen to grab plates and silverware.
“Mom, do you know of any kind of fundraiser that would get the community involved in donating to the center?” Shelby asked as she pulled out the solid black plates they used for everyday occasions. Her mother owned China, beautiful china that she had been willed when Shelby’s grandmother died, but she only pulled it out at Thanksgiving and Christmas. That gene of practicality had trickled into Shelby as well, although it had morphed. She saw no use for the china even at holiday dinners. Why have a set of plates you only used once or twice a year? In her modest apartment, she had only one set of plates and silverware, and they had been purchased on sale at Walmart. Of course, she also had no current need for china. Not with being a single woman who ate most dinners at her parents’ house.
“Is money still an issue?”
Shelby chuffed out a breath. “When isn’t it? The trampoline park stole most of our clients, and the ones we have left can’t afford a rate increase. I haven’t even heard from the normal donors about the Christmas party yet, and at this point, I’m not even sure we’ll have the money to have one.”
“Hmm.” Her mother wasn’t a businesswoman. She was a nurse, but she was still the smartest woman Shelby knew and she often had ideas that no one else thought of. “I assume you’re thinking larger than a bake sale.”
Shelby managed a slight chuckle as she pulled the silverware from the drawer and laid it on the top plate. “Yeah, I don’t think baked goods are going to pull the kind of money we need.”
“What about a celebrity? Someone who would draw in a different crowd.” Her mother crossed to the island and retrieved a potholder from the drawer.
“That’s a great idea, but I don’t know any celebrities. Kenzi might though. She’s much more outgoing, and maybe she has some connections. I could ask her tomorrow. What kind of celebrity are you thinking?”
Her mother shrugged. “I’m not sure it matters, but isn’t there a pro-sports team housed around here somewhere?”
Shelby didn’t watch sports, but it was her job to know the local businesses when she was canvassing for donations; and she knew there was a football team housed in Southlake. “There is a pro-football team. The Tornadoes I think, but what would a football player do at the center?”
Her mother picked up one of the pots and led the way to the dining room. “Well, he could talk to the kids about football, maybe teach them a few plays. Think of it like a learning clinic maybe or a gym class. People could pay to workout with him and possibly get an autographed ball or something.”
Shelby’s mother knew as much about football as Shelby did, but what she was saying made sense. The wheels began turning in her head. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Even just having one of the players signing merchandise for a small fee would bring in some money. I’ll call tomorrow and see if any of them would like to come out and help. Hopefully, at least one of them has a good heart and some time because I have nothing to offer them in return.”
Her mother set the pot on a heating pad in the middle of the table and turned to Shelby. “You have your amazing smile and a heart for those kids. Any man should find that enough.”
Shelby knew her mother was just being an encouraging mother, but the words reminded her instead of how she was still single. She knew it was just that she hadn’t found the right man yet, but that didn’t make her heartache any less real, especially when it seemed like someone from her high school was getting engaged every week. “Thanks, Mom. We’ll see if you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Didn’t you know that?” her mother said with a teasing smile. “Now, while I get the rest of the table ready, why don’t you find everyone else and tell them dinner is ready?”
“Sure thing.”
Dinner had always been family time in the Doll household. While other families around them appeared to be drifting further apart, doing their own things, lost in their tablets and smartphones, Shelby’s parents had been determined to keep their family together. Because of that, dinner had always been a sit-down family affair when the family lived together, even if they had often been passing each other at breakfast and eating lunch at different places altogether.
After Sam and Scott and finally Shelby moved out, the family still tried to eat dinner together as often as possible. And when Sam had married Iris, she had joined them as well. They couldn’t come every night since they lived about an hour away, but they came as often as they could and always at least once a week.
Shelby enjoyed the nights they came over. Not just because she loved seeing Sam, but she and Iris had formed a bond. Neither had a sister growing up; and like kindred spirits do, they had sensed that longing in each other and become fast friends.
Scott, like Shelby, was still single, but he would occasionally bring his flavor of the month over to meet the family. Their mother said he was just picky and that’s why he dated so many different women, but Shelby was pretty sure Scott liked being single. Unlike herself.
She couldn’t wait to start a family of her own, but being the quiet introvert that she was, meeting men was hard and carrying on a conversation even harder. Forget asking a man out on a date; she’d rather have a root canal. So, she continued to pray about it, and every time she did, she felt God telling her to wait — that He had someone for her. She just wondered when her mystery man might show up.
Shelby found her father, brothers, and Iris in the main living room. The boys were arguing about some game on the TV, and Iris was working a crossword puzzle. “Dinner’s ready, guys. Mom made chicken alfredo.”
Shelby wasn’t sure they had Italian anywhere in their family, but somehow Italian dishes had always been the family’s favorites and chicken alfredo topped that list. Especially when her mother made the alfredo sauce from scratch.
“Mmm, I do love Mom’s chicken alfredo,” Scott said as he and Sam rose from the couch. Iris stuck a pencil in her book, closed it, and set it on the table before joining them.
The savory smell of parmesan, cream, and chicken was strong as they entered the dining room. Shelby inhaled deeply and let the scent fill her nose and comfort her. There was something about Italian food that always made her feel... safe? She wasn’t sure “safe” was the right way to describe how she felt, but it was as close as she could get.
For some reason, Italian food reminded her of simpler times. Times when her biggest worry was finding time to finish reading the new novel she had started or studying for the science test she hated, instead of how to fund a community center and worrying about what would happen to the kids who needed the center if she couldn’t get the money.
“Does anyone have anything we should pray over?” her father asked as he took his seat. His eyes travelled from one adult to the next.
“Shelby does. Go ahead and share, baby girl.”
With a smile, Shelby squeezed her mother’s hand. Though she was twenty-four and no longer a little girl, she didn’t mind the nickname. Her mother had called her that for as long as she could remember.
“I could use prayer for the center. We’re struggling financially right now, and I really need a miracle to keep the doors open.”
“One miracle coming up.” Her father’s words held a teasing note, but Shelby knew he was serious. He had always believed in the power of prayer and always held on to the notion that God still provided mirac
les. When Shelby had asked one time why her prayer didn’t get answered, he’d told her it had — just not in the way she’d expected. Shelby knew that if God didn’t provide the funding for the center that her father would tell her perhaps God had something different planned for her. While she would accept that, she hoped that wasn’t going to happen because the center wasn’t just about her. It was about all those kids who needed a place to stay as well.
She closed her eyes and listened to her father’s prayer, but even though she said “amen” it didn’t lessen the worry in her heart.
3
“Tucker Jackson?”
Tucker lifted his head at the sound of his name. The guard, a lithe man with a shaved head and more than a few tattoos who went by the name Mike, stood at the door of the jail cell. He looked much fiercer than he’d turned out to be. He’d checked on Tucker every half hour for the first few hours — but Tucker would still be glad when he was released and able to return home.
Sitting in a holding cell with three other men, one who reeked of alcohol and snored louder than a freight train, was not his idea of a good way to spend the night. Thankfully, the other two men hadn’t seemed to know who he was and had left him alone. Even better, the man from the bar had been placed in a different holding cell, but Tucker was still very relieved to hear his name.
Run With My Heart (Texas Tornadoes Sports Romance Book 1) Page 2
