Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your sense of humor, Paxton,” Cilla said. She gripped his hand even tighter.

  “I haven’t, Priscilla.”

  Cilla rolled her eyes at him, then looked back at Anita. With a false whisper, she said to her, “Don’t worry. I may be a little rusty, but I’ve practically got a high school diploma in handling this big guy.”

  Anita’s laughter again grated over his ears. Pax needed to get away from her—from here—before he really lost it. He pulled his hand from Cilla’s and stepped away from both women.

  “I’ve actually got to get going. Can we wrap this up for today? This was a great introduction and, um ...” He looked from Anita to Cilla. “Maybe one of you could email me the itinerary for the events and what you need from me?”

  “From here on out, Cilla will be handling you. But if you need anything, I’m here. Anything at all.”

  He backed away. “Great. Thanks.”

  “And don’t worry, Pax. I’ve got your number.” Cilla expertly spun her chair around and wheeled toward a cubicle at the back. That left him standing with Anita, so Pax practically ran out of the office building and out to his truck.

  He had to find a way out of this. There was no way that he could spend the rest of the week working with Cilla. He headed back to the twins’ house. He wanted to change his clothes and go for a long run. He had to burn off some of these emotions.

  But before he could even think about how to handle this, a phone call came through the Bluetooth. He tried to hit the button to turn it off but answered instead.

  “Pax!”

  He groaned. “Hello, Lawrence.”

  Lawrence chuckled. “Color me surprised. You not only did what I asked but one-upped me. Nice work.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the new story that’s taken over—almost—from last night’s. The one where you reconnected with a high school sweetheart. I told you to smile, but I didn’t expect this. It’s gold, Pax.”

  “I didn’t—I’m not—what are you saying?”

  “I just texted you a link. Look—I know it’s too much to expect social media from you. But if she happens to post pictures or even if the Wheels Up page would put more up of you together, the press is loving this. I guess this is what happens when you’ve never been publicly linked with a woman. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up! Gotta run!”

  The call disconnected, and Pax let his truck drift to a stop, pulling over into a parking lot. He pulled his phone out and opened up the link in Lawrence’s message. It was a photo of Pax, holding Cilla in the office. Her arms around her neck, his hands under her thighs. What shocked him was the way they were looking at each other. He remembered only his surprise as she launched herself at him.

  But he was smiling. The kind of big, genuine smile he hadn’t seen on himself since photos in high school. Cilla, looking every bit as beautiful as she ever had, reflected that same smile right back at him. They looked like they had traveled through a time warp to the years before the accident.

  They looked like a couple in love.

  Pax had been so anxious to see the images that he had scrolled right past the headline. When he went back up, the words hit him straight in the gut: Hometown Hero and His High School Sweetheart!

  Not since after the accident when he saw Cilla in the hospital bed had Pax felt such a surge of emotion. He was surprised he didn’t crush the phone clutched in his hand.

  Whether it was seeing the illusion of himself and Cilla, happy together, or the headline, he wasn’t sure. But the media had gotten it wrong on all counts. Pax was no hero. He wondered how long it would be before they dug up the real story.

  Chapter Seven

  Cilla grabbed her car keys and purse, hoping no one would stop to talk to her on the way out of the office. People had been acting strangely since Pax stopped in.

  Heck, she had been acting strangely. It felt like her brain had short-circuited. Of course today was the day she needed to call and speak with donors. Vendors had been dropping by items for the swag bags and the conference table was full of items needing to be bagged.

  Cilla had been useless. Calling people by the wrong name, leaving bags empty, and even sending an invoice that had already been paid. The kicker was when she made a pot of coffee without putting coffee in the filter.

  When she finally wheeled through the office, people gave her furtive glances and she even heard a few whispers. Okay, so maybe launching herself at Pax wasn’t the best plan.

  Why had she even done it? Her anger fueled a big part of it. After avoiding her for six years, it seemed like the most in-your-face greeting she could give him. Despite his very public profile, Pax didn’t love the spotlight and had always hated public displays of affection. Throwing herself into his arms seemed like the best passive-aggressive hello she could manage.

  What Cilla didn’t expect was how good it would feel to be in his arms again. It felt like the huge tear in the fabric of her life had been folded over and sewn right back up, hiding the seam. This was where she belonged.

  Only, judging by the way he practically ran from the office, he didn’t feel the same way. Of course he didn’t. That’s why he left in the first place. He didn’t want her.

  All of this took place in front of all her co-workers, hence the whispering and the way everyone had been avoiding her. Her shoulders sagged with relief just feeling the cool December air on her skin. Her whole body felt like it had been smoldering since Pax touched her.

  Adele was leaning against the hood of a car right in front of the building, arranging herself for a selfie. “New car?” Cilla asked, making Adele jump.

  Adele tucked the phone in the back pocket of her jeans and smoothed down her wild copper hair. “Psh. As if. I just needed a picture for Instagram.”

  Cilla did her best not to make a comment. Adele’s “job” was being an Instagram influencer and beauty blogger focusing on fashion and tips for curvy girls.

  Really, Cilla should be proud of her best friend—and she was—because Adele had carved out a career she could do from home. Or at Starbucks. Anywhere, really. She made a legitimate living. An unbelievable amount, honestly. Cilla just worried about the sustainability of doing makeup tutorials on social media as a long-term career.

  Cilla pointed to the license plate on the cherry red Mercedes. It read I NEED A.

  “Is that supposed to be clever? I need a what?”

  Adele rolled her eyes. “Mercedes. Duh. I need a Mercedes.”

  Cilla wrinkled her brow. “But this idiot already has a Mercedes. See exhibit A: the license plate on said Mercedes. That makes no sense.”

  Behind her, the automatic glass door whooshed open. “Priscilla!” The sound of Anita’s voice had grown to be like fingernails dragged slowly down a chalkboard. Not just today, though like everything else, today it had been worse.

  Cilla shivered and managed to force a smile. “Hello. This is my best friend, Adele. Adele, this is …”

  She trailed off as Anita pulled her keys out of her purse and clicked the fob. The red Mercedes chirped. The corners of Cilla’s mouth lifted, and she pressed a hand to her lips together to keep back a laugh.

  Anita. I NEED A.

  Oh, Lord, let me hold it together.

  Anita stepped forward and held out a hand, shaking Adele’s. “I’m Anita.”

  Cilla watched Adele’s face. First, there was a polite smile as they shook hands. Then understanding dawned and she blinked in surprise, looking from Anita to the Mercedes. Finally, amusement moved over her face. She did an admirable job holding it back. “A-nit-a? And this is your car?”

  Anita smiled and stroked the hood. “It is. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Mm.” Adele’s shoulders shook, but she managed to hold the sound back. Anita was buffing the hood with the sleeve of her blouse and didn’t notice.

  “Well, we better go. Have a great day, A-need-a.”

  Anita looked betw
een the two of them, obviously missing the joke. The moment she pulled out of the parking space, both women let loose the laughter they’d been holding in. Adele wiped tears from her eyes. When she could speak again, she said, “That’s your boss?”

  “Piece of work, right? Now. I’ve got some business to attend to before dinner.”

  “That sounds ominous. You driving?” Adele asked.

  Cilla snorted. “How long have we been friends, again?”

  One thing about Adele: she never minded letting Cilla drive. And by now, she knew better than to ask if she needed help breaking the chair down. Frequently strangers in parking lots would stop and offer help. When she said no, they would often stand and watch. Apparently, getting into a car on her own and being able to take her chair apart and stow it was akin to some kind of magic show. Cilla had a few jokes on rotation about taking her show on the road.

  After the accident and her recovery, it took Cilla a year to get behind the wheel of a car. Not because of the chair or her physical ability, but because of the memories. She had been the one behind the wheel that night. The guilt and trauma made opening even the driver’s side door a huge step. For a solid week after her parents had gotten her the Porsche Panamera, Cilla rolled out to the car a few times a day, put her hand on the handle, and had a complete breakdown.

  By the end of the week, she could open the door.

  The next week, she worked on easing herself into the seat. It wasn’t physically difficult. They had chosen the car for how low that she had to raise herself slightly into the chair. The challenge was purely emotional. When she could sit in the driver’s seat without weeping, she learned how to take apart the chair and stow it in the back seat by herself. It took a few tries and a couple of YouTube tutorials, but wasn’t so hard once she got used to it.

  Most people asked questions about how it worked with the pedals and how the car was modified. They didn’t know that working the hand controls was the simplest part for Cilla.

  Now, she hated riding shotgun. She was self-aware enough to know that driving felt like proving something. Every drive she took was a chance for her to say, “See? I can make it without crashing and getting paralyzed.”

  Cilla gave the twins a heads-up before she blew in, calling from the voice-activated Bluetooth in the car. “He there?” she asked when Elton answered.

  “Cills! How lovely to hear from you on this fine day. How can—”

  “Is. He. There.”

  She heard a sigh over the phone. “No. He’s out running.”

  “I’ll be there in five,” she said and disconnected the call.

  “Dang, girl.” Adele rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be good. You think Easton’s there?”

  A flash of guilt burned its way through Cilla’s chest. Adele had been crushing on Easton since high school. Cilla hadn’t mentioned her suspicions about Easton’s feelings to her best friend. How do you go about that? Maybe she was wrong, though. Adele had never noticed. But she was so starry-eyed that she might not.

  I’m not sure, Adele, but I think the guy you’re in love with is in love with me. I don’t have proof, but he built a wheelchair ramp for me at his house and paved part of the driveway, so it’s just a hunch.

  Yeah, not saying that.

  The car lurched over the gravel drive, dust trailing them. “They’ll still be there in two minutes, Cilla. Slow down.”

  Adele clutched the handle above the door as though she really thought it was dangerous. Cilla pressed the gas, just a little. She didn’t speed anymore. But this was a straight shot, an empty driveway. Not a risk. She pulled into the paved parking area by the house, her breath escaping in a sigh when the tires quieted, moving over the cement.

  “Thank God,” Adele said, jumping out.

  It took Cilla just another few minutes to get her chair out and back together so she could lift herself into it. During the time it took her, Elton had wrapped Adele up in a big hug and Easton ambled over from the barn and stood leaning against a fence post. Cilla ignored Easton and rolled right up to Elton, crowding his space as much as she could.

  Adele, always a smart girl, retreated and found her way over to Easton.

  “What were you thinking?”

  Cilla wished that she had planned a more creative opener. But her head had been so filled with anger and also hurt and also, if she was being completely honest, a desire that she hadn’t thought about for too long, that she couldn’t have planned a speech.

  “I’m feeling a little déjà vu. Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

  “On the phone doesn’t count. Not for what you did. I’ve been telling y’all for years to shut down the fights. You aren’t Brad Pitt living some romantic Fight Club fantasy.”

  “I’m definitely better looking than Brad Pitt.”

  Cilla rolled her eyes and ignored his comment. “What do you think this is going to do to his career? Did you consider that?”

  Elton got down on his knees in front of her, spreading his arms wide.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice practically shook with fury and the other emotions that were fighting for their place inside her.

  “Go ahead.” Elton blinked innocently. “You looked like you wanted to poke me in the chest. Made it a little easier for you to reach.”

  Cilla narrowed her eyes, ignoring the snort of laughter she heard from over by the fence. She’d deal with Adele and Easton in a minute. He was right. She did want to poke him.

  Jabbing her finger into Elton’s chest, she shouted, “When are you going to grow up? You can’t keep hosting fights like this. And you shouldn’t be messing with Pax’s career. You know how much trouble he’s in now?”

  “Were you going to ask me if I was raised in a barn? Because, actually, I was.”

  Cilla poked him again and he rocked back a little. It was surprisingly satisfying. “I’m not joking around, El.”

  “Neither am I. We really were raised in a barn.”

  Maybe it was Elton’s serious expression that belied his teasing. Maybe all the competing emotions inside her somehow blended together to give way to a new emotion. But after staring at Elton’s face for a moment, Cilla burst out laughing.

  She laughed as though she were a dying woman and this was her last moment of joy. Tears ran down her face and Elton grasped her shoulders to keep her from falling right out of her chair. She shook in his grip and by the time she was able to breathe again without making inglorious peals of laughter, her stomach ached. Pulling back from Elton, she pressed a hand to it. With the other, she wiped her eyes.

  “I hate you.”

  Getting back to his feet, Elton leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I know. And you know I love you, Cills. But I’m a leopard, baby. You’re stuck with my spots.”

  Cilla scoffed, feeling much more composed. Her anger remained, but now had become something of a controlled burn, not a wildfire. She glanced over to the fence, pinning Easton with a glare. “You’re not off the hook either.”

  “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

  Cilla had to look away, seeing the way his eyes softened. Meanwhile Adele was sidling up to him like a cat, practically rubbing her body up against him.

  “You ladies up for dinner?” Elton said, clapping his hands and then rubbing them together.

  “No,” Cilla said, just as Adele said, “Sure.”

  Elton looked between them, laughter lighting his eyes. “Well, which is it?”

  Cilla felt torn. From the moment she got out of her car, she’d been listening for the sound of tires on gravel, dreading and hoping all at the same time. Ever since Adele called and she knew that Pax was back in town, Cilla’s heart seemed to be beating in whatever direction she imagined him to be in.

  Right now, it beat toward the end of the driveway. The night before, staring up at the ceiling when she should have been sleeping, her heart thumped toward here, where she imagined him in the guest bedroom at the top of the s
teps to the left.

  Adele was looking at her with pleading eyes, tilting her head toward Easton in a way that could hardly be construed as subtle. Sighing, she nodded to Elton, who grabbed her hands. It was funny—he’d known her in this chair since the beginning. Unlike Pax, he hadn’t run off. But still, sometimes, there was a short circuit to the brain. People would say or do something and realize halfway through that it wasn’t possible.

  Like, right now, she knew by the way he grabbed his hands and how his face fell, that he had wanted to spin her around. Which was really awkward in a chair as opposed to on two feet.

  Instead, he shook her hands up and down with a manic smile on his face. “E!” he shouted. “Prepare the fattened calf for the feast!”

  Easton peeled himself off the fence. “I’ll get started on the burgers.” When he passed Cilla, he looked down at her, nodding slightly and tipping his hat, then continued up the back steps and disappeared into the kitchen.

  The slam of the screen door covered the sound at first. But Cilla’s heart knew it. A car was coming down the drive. And her heart knew just who was behind the wheel.

  Chapter Eight

  When Pax pulled his truck around the back of the twins’ house, he jammed his foot on the brake, sending gravel spraying. Through the windshield, his eyes met Cilla’s.

  Lord, she was beautiful. The fiery look in her eyes stoked the kindling in his chest until his body was a solid burn. He wanted to get out and run to her as much as he wanted to run away.

  Elton dragged his attention away from Cilla. With a big smile, he pointed Pax toward his parking spot. As though he was directing a 747 to the jetway, he used grand arm movements.

  The attempt at humor only made Pax tense up. He parked his truck and jumped out.

  “Glad you’re back,” Elton said. “We were just about to have dinner.”