The Rogue

by Jennifer Bernard

  The contractor, a black man in his early forties, was taking notes on an iPad and snapping pictures as they talked. “We can put in an air exchange system, but there’s a good chance that smell won’t go away completely. It’s not a bad smell, kind of fits the lodge. You could bottle it up and sell it if you wanted.”

  “Eau de sweaty ski gear?” Kai, who always radiated a kind of fiery vibrant energy, grinned. “I like it.”

  The contractor closed his iPad. “I have to go pick up my son, but I have enough to start with.” He stuck out his hand to shake Griffin’s. “John Derrick, pleased to meet you. Saw your last race, you killed it.”

  “Thanks, man.” They shook hands. Griffin gave him his most genuine smile, since he hadn’t said a word about his retirement and he appreciated that. “And thanks for taking on this old hulk. Takes a brave man.”

  “Nah, I love it. This lodge is the reason I moved here. I worked here right out of high school. Bussed tables at the restaurant, fell in love with a waitress, and here I am.”

  Griffin cocked his head at the man. “I thought you looked familiar.”

  “You were just a kid. Probably ten or so.”

  “Yeah, but I remember you. We played cards, didn’t we?”

  John tilted his head back with a laugh. “We did. You won ten bucks off me in five-card stud. Yep. You had that competitive fire even back then.”

  “He beat me at everything after the age of twelve, even though I was two years older,” said Kai. “Good thing I have a healthy ego.”

  Griffin’s smile slipped. He’d always loved competing with his older brother. But then Kai had left and things had never been the same between them since. That automatic trust was gone. For instance, he still hadn’t told Kai the truth about his sudden retirement.

  He shifted the focus back to the contractor. “You said you had a son?”

  “Yeah, Marley. He’s in high school now. When he hears that I saw you, he’s going to go nuts. Huge fan. He even snagged your jersey number on the team.”

  Griffin went cold. “My what?”

  “Your jersey number, 16. On the Eagles, the high school football team. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

  Oh, Griffin remembered all right. He remembered too well.

  “Marley’s the starting quarterback this year.” John’s voice shone with pride in his son.

  “Good for him.” He hesitated, not sure how to ask what he wanted to know. “How does he like playing for Coach Ambrose?”

  “Ambrose retired two years ago. Artie Nelson is head coach now. And…” John shrugged as he slipped his iPad into his messenger bag. “He doesn’t say much about Coach Nelson, but I guess results speak for themselves. The team’s off to a four to zero start.”

  Numbly, Griffin shook hands with John again, and he strode off toward his job truck.

  “You okay?” Kai asked after the contractor had disappeared down the front drive toward the looming forest.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  No. Not at all. Coach Nelson was head coach? How had Coach Ambrose let that happen?

  After he’d quit the team, he’d told Ambrose—well, not everything. But enough.

  “You gotta give me a good reason, Griffin. You love football, you love the team, you’re playing great. What gives?”

  “I just…I can’t really explain it.” Because Nelson had threatened him if he said a word. “I like playing for you, but—”

  Coach Ambrose’s gaze had sharpened. “But not for someone else? One of the assistant coaches?”

  Griffin nodded—even that felt dangerous. “I don’t trust him,” he said in a low voice. “He’s not trustworthy.”

  “Who? Why? You need to give me a little more than that, Griff.”

  “Just watch Coach Nelson, that’s all.”

  And he’d bolted out of the coach’s office and never gone back. Never played football again.

  “Fuck,” he said out loud. Coach Nelson was now the head coach? In charge of so many kids? That couldn’t stand. He couldn’t let it stand.

  “Sorry, something John Derrick told me kind of threw me for a loop.”

  Kai cocked his head, obviously waiting for more, but Griffin shifted the subject.

  “Aren’t we late for one of the famous Rockwell family meetings?”

  “Yeah. Come on.”

  They hurried to the solarium, where everyone else was already assembled. The solarium had been Amanda Rockwell’s favorite spot, and they all still gathered there when they needed to discuss something serious.

  Kai went immediately to his fiancee, Nicole, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. With her happy, open smile, she leaned her head against his chest. They looked so natural together, as if they’d been a couple all their lives. Amazing how they could fall in love so quickly, despite so many obstacles.

  But that was Kai—when he did something, he did it passionately, and falling in love was no different. Griffin couldn’t quite imagine something like that happening to him. When it came to women, he was both wary and easy-come-easy-go.

  Max sat in his big leather armchair, his gnarled cane propped against it. Even seated, he was a giant of a man, with a thick head of wavy white hair and a bushy beard that moved when he talked. As a kid, Griffin had been more than a little terrified by him. Whereas Kai had fought with Dad, Griffin had fled, mostly into the woods where he perfected all his mountain bike and skateboarding skills.

  Gracie, their youngest sister, sat crosslegged on the window seat, gazing toward the forest through a set of binoculars. At twenty-three, she was the only Rockwell kid who had never left home, and none of them quite knew why.

  Kai clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “We have some decisions to make about the lodge. Jake’s out of town, but he gave his proxy vote to Griffin. Izzy gave hers to Jake, so that means Griffin is worth three people right now. Of course, he used to be worth even more back in his pro days, so there’s that.”

  Griffin rolled his eyes. The Rockwells had a saying, something about laughing so you can get through all the crap. They all lived by it, and that often added up to a lot of teasing and a morbid sense of humor.

  But right now, he wasn’t really in the mood. His head was still stuck on the news about Coach Nelson.

  “Glad you brought that up.” Max thumped his cane on the floor to get everyone’s attention. “This retirement crap. Let’s get that out of the way first.”

  “Out of the way of what?” Griffin leaned his shoulders against the doorframe, poised for escape. “It’s not in the way. It just is.”

  “Why?” Max demanded. “You’re at the top of the heap. What’d you end the season at, number four?“

  “It’s a good note to leave on. I’m thirty. It’s a reasonable age to hang it up. Motocross is a young person’s sport.”

  Gracie aimed her binoculars his direction. “You still look young to me.”

  Griffin twisted his face into a monster expression that made her lower the binoculars with a yelp.

  “I can’t race forever. I’d rather choose my moment, and I choose this one.”

  “But why?” Max nearly shouted.

  “Because—” He broke off. He had no idea how to say the real reason. Because for medically unknown reasons I went deaf in one ear and can’t hear a fucking thing from my left side and it’s freaking me the fuck out? Fuck no.“Because I am.”

  “Well, the timing makes sense to me,” said Nicole, her pretty heart-shaped face breaking into a smile. “Actually, whatever time you choose is the right time.” She elbowed Kai in the ribs, making him jump.

  “Yes. What she said. Exactly,” muttered his older brother. He looked as if he was biting his tongue to keep from saying anything more.

  Max jammed a cigar into his mouth—probably for the same reason.

  “Good. Glad we’re all on board. Good meeting, Rockwell family.” He gave in to the impulse to escape and rolled past the door frame, out the door.

  “Where are you goi
ng?” Gracie called after him. “You’re worth three people, we can’t make any decisions without you.”

  “Quitting again?” Max shouted.

  He pretended he didn’t hear and kept going. Usually he had to pretend that he could hear. With his family, he was fine. Their voices were familiar and it was a small group. It was bigger crowds that could be a nightmare.

  Lately, everything felt like a nightmare.

  Too restless to stay inside, he took his phone out to the bench that overlooked the road he’d just driven up. It was a good spot for cell service, and away from family.

  His sponsor—the energy drink Blast Off—had called during the meeting with John Derrick. He listened to the message, which was a whole new level of nightmare.

  Blast Off had a big event coming up in a couple of weeks and by contract he had to attend, despite his retirement.

  He cringed just thinking about it. Parties were the worst. Noise bouncing everywhere, voices colliding, disappearing. The fact that he didn’t drink made it even more excruciating.

  He called his rep to confirm that he would be attending the party in Santa Barbara.

  Then he looked up the web page for the Eagles Regional football team.

  Yup, there it was. Head Coach Artie Nelson. Photo and all. Big, jowly, misleadingly hearty smile. The sight made Griffin sick to his stomach. He scrolled through the names of the players and spotted Marley Derrick.

  Shit. What should he do about this? Had Nelson changed since Griffin’s time? Why had he gotten promoted to head coach?

  He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and stretched out his legs, hands clasped behind his head. For most people, it would be slightly nuts to be sitting outside this time of year—October, with the temperature right around freezing. He could see his breath, and his hands were red with cold. He had to start remembering things like gloves and hats if he was really going to stay here this winter.

  Big “if.” He wanted to help out with the lodge renovations. He wanted to be around his brothers, and Gracie. But he didn’t want to talk about his retirement, or what came next.

  Because right now, he didn’t know shit. About anything.

  Well, there was one thing. Jake had asked him to watch out for Serena and he intended to do that, whether or not she called him. He’d start by hanging out at the bar tonight. He’d spend the evening drinking club soda and leaving big tips that would annoy her.

  5

  “Honestly, Griffin, I’m starting to think you’re the one who needs a bodyguard.” Serena was only half-teasing. For the past few nights, since Jake had left, Griffin had planted himself at the bar and kept a close eye on every stranger who came in.

  She had to admit that it felt good to know he was there. She could relax and focus on her job instead of checking out each new person who walked through the door. Not even Jake did such a thorough job because he was busy working right alongside her.

  But the flip side of Griffin’s presence was that everyone in town wanted to come say ‘hello,’ or ‘what the hell are you thinking’ or …most often…’what are you doing later?’

  Every single female in a one hundred mile radius seemed to have a sudden urge to have a white wine at the Last Chance. Maybe her imagination was exaggerating, but she didn’t think so. Even though he’d quit racing—and everyone had something to say about that—Griffin was the closest thing Rocky Peak had to a celebrity and everyone wanted a piece of him.

  He was such a good sport about it, very patient, shaking hands, signing autographs and declining offers of beers. But she could see the exhaustion behind his smile.

  “You might be right about that,” he said as he accepted another pour of club soda from her. “I feel like a sitting duck here.”

  “I know, and it’s all because of me.” She pulled a guilty face and put the cap back on the bottle. For the first time this evening, he was alone, although she’d noticed that even when he was surrounded by people, he had an air of aloneness about him. If she painted him, that was what she’d bring out. Space around him in all directions. “I feel terrible about it. I hereby release you from—”

  “No.” Griffin cut her off. “I promised Jake. You can stop trying to get rid of me because there’s no point. Ain’t gonna happen, babe.”

  She sighed, since she’d already come to that conclusion herself. “You’re kind of freakishly persistent, you know that?”

  “It’s one of my best qualities,” he agreed, as if deciding to take her words as a compliment no matter what.

  “One of? That’s a very confident statement. Name some more of those best qualities.”

  “Damn, you got me. Maybe there’s only one after all.”

  She laughed. “I doubt that. I can probably name a few others. For instance, you’re a good tipper. Too good, actually. I’m putting aside all your tips in a cooke tin so I can afford to pay my bodyguard.”

  He laughed. “You earned those tips. You’re a good bartender.”

  “Believe me, I’m as amazed as you are. My service industry career only started a month ago. Want to know my secret?” She wiped the bar with a quick swipe.

  “I do. I might be looking for a new career myself.”

  She leaned over the bar to speak to him more intimately. “Here it is. It might look like I’m a humble server, but I’m actually the authority figure around here. Nothing happens that I don’t permit. And if I see something I don’t like? Boom, they’re out of here.” She snapped her fingers, making him jump.

  “So you’re a bartender slash dominatrix?” Amusement quivered in the corner of his mouth. His very firm and attractive mouth. Griffin had a subtle smolder about him that she found very appealing.

  “That’s right. Bow down and obey, beer-swilling peons.”

  “Someone say beer?” one of the regulars called to her from down the bar. “Could use one of those.”

  Griffin stiffened as he caught sight of the customer. “The fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

  Okay then…history with Artie Nelson?

  Wild with curiosity, she pulled Artie a draft of his usual, the local extra-dark brew. Rumor had it that Artie Nelson drank nearly every night, rotating between his favorite watering holes. He wore the familiar Rocky Peak uniform of a hunter’s cap and a canvas jacket.

  When she set his tankard down, she saw that he was returning Griffin’s hostile stare.

  “Why are you wasting time with that quitter?” Nelson muttered to her. “He’ll be gone by Sunday. His type doesn’t stick around.”

  “Wow, Artie, you just won a prize for describing my ideal man.”

  “All the guys you turn down in this joint, you say yes to him?” Nelson shook his head in disgust. “Must be those pretty looks of his. You should tell him to get lost.”

  “Maybe it’s not his looks but the way he doesn’t tell me what to do. Ever think about that?” She gave him a cheeky smile and returned to Griffin’s end of the bar.

  Not that Artie Nelson’s warning was in any way necessary. This town was too damn small to start sleeping with her boss’s brother. No matter how physically compelling he was.

  Griffin was still glaring at Artie Nelson. “What’s he doing here?”

  “The same general thing everyone else is, except you. Why?”

  “Just watch your back around him, that’s all. I played for him in high school and let’s just say it’s a good thing you have a bodyguard.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can handle Artie Nelson.”

  Griffin took a drink of his club soda. He looked like he wanted to say more, but changed the subject instead.

  “What kind of work did you do before you came here? Besides bartender and dominatrix, I mean?”

  “Oh, this and that. I’m a visual artist, so I make money as best I can.”

  “Really, an artist? That’s unusual. Can’t say that I’ve met many artists.”

  “That’s because we normally live in caves known as studios and only come out for torture sess
ions known as show openings.”

  He laughed, a low intimate sound, warm as honey. “Interesting species, these artist types.”

  “Yes, and very often after a brief exposure to the real world we’re sent back to our caves for the good of those around us. Honestly, I’m happy that Jake has been able to tolerate me this long.” She spotted another customer signaling for a refill and whisked herself down the bar.

  When she came back, Griffin was on his phone, but he hung up as soon as she reappeared. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Fake call.”

  She caught a glimpse of three women in their forties settling around a table. “Really? Them?”

  “For some reason I’m catnip for older women. Always have been. Normally I don’t mind—good conversation, usually—but I’m talked out tonight.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone—”

  “No.” He caught her forearm with a light grip. “Not you. Just—everyone else.”

  A flush of surprise swept through her. The way he said it, as if she was in his inner circle, or part of his family, touched her very well-defended heart. “It’s exhausting being the talk of the town, huh?”

  “It’ll die down soon. Then I’ll be just another lump on a barstool.”

  Not likely. There wasn’t anything lumpish about him. Every tendon in his forearms was molded as if from warm marble. If only she was a sculptor. If only she could ask him to pose for her. Would that be awkward?

  “How are things up at the lodge? Jake said there’s a renovation project happening.”

  “It’s going okay. Rockwell style, you know. Lots of harassing each other and laughing. They’re still not over my decision to retire. My father is threatening to bronze my favorite bike and mount it above the front entrance of the lodge. Gracie claims she’s been sleeping with a toy car under her pillow to make me change my mind.”

  “A toy car?”

  “She doesn’t have a toy motorcycle.” He shrugged. “They’re all crazy.”

  It sounded like the kind of crazy she enjoyed. “It sounds fun to me. My family’s nothing like that.”