Homecoming King

by Jami Albright

  A pointy elbow jabs into my ribs. “You look like a serial killer,” Maggie whispers out the side of her mouth.

  “Don’t give me any ideas,” I whisper back.

  A snort shoots past her lips, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

  “If I could have your attention.” Carmon is talking to us again.

  Maggie swallows and clears her throat. “Of course, Carmon, please continue.”

  “Thank you.” The reply is smeared with sarcasm. “So, we have a few months until the first annual Ryder Days. I think we can all agree that this event was one of Mayor Watson’s best ideas.”

  Maggie’s hand comes down on my knee and she murmurs, “It’s not worth it.”

  She’s right, but everything inside me screams to tell the whole room that Ryder Days was my idea, and that the good Mayor Watson refused to get behind it until we were divorced. I stupidly thought that he’d let me run the project, but he put it to a vote at a city council meeting and threw his support behind Carmon. I was little more than a footnote in the conversation.

  The worst part was the condolences after. It was clear by the comments that no one thought I was capable of handling the job. I only manage million-dollar projects all day long, but a one-day community event is too much to handle.

  Carmon drones on, asking for updates from the committees. I notice that she doesn’t give us an update on her responsibilities like booth setup, entertainment, and food.

  Maggie answers for us when it’s our turn to report. We’re fully staffed with volunteers. That’s probably the only smart thing Carmon did for this whole event, because no one can tell us no.

  “One last thing we have to discuss. Tiger’s billboard.” Carmon could’ve said that piece of shit and it would’ve sounded the same.

  “It’s not my billboard.”

  The nasty woman smooths her short bob behind her ear. “Well, it does have your enormous face on it.”

  “Did someone say something about the billboard?” Sterling Walters, who’s hard of hearing, says from the front row. He turns in his seat to look at me. “It’s a real shame what’s happening with that thing. I sure am sorry, Tiger.” The glee in his eyes betrays his statement.

  “Thank you, Mr. Walters.”

  Loretta Mays pipes up from a few rows behind Sterling. “I heard the graffiti gremlin, that’s what we’re calling him in our book club group, could be Cheryl Mayfield or one of her kin, since you beat her in the Miss Texas pageant. Poor girl’s talent of packing the perfect suitcase couldn’t hold a candle to your fire batons, Tiger, honey. That routine was breathtakin’.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mays, but I doubt it’s Cheryl Mayfield or any of her family. Cheryl’s an attorney now and doesn’t care about a beauty pageant that happened ten years ago.”

  Kill me now.

  I glance up at Carmon, hoping she’ll put a stop to this discussion, but she’s standing back with her arms crossed and a vicious smile on her face. She knows she’s just lit a gigantic bonfire, and now she’s watching it burn.

  Rydale Miller puts his two cents into the conversation while picking his teeth with the ever-present toothpick that he keeps in his mouth. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, dear. And if she’s an attorney, then that just means she knows how to get around the law.” He’s sitting with Sterling and gives the man a slap on the arm to indicate that he and Sterling are a team.

  “It’s not Cheryl.” I try to modulate my tone so that my irritation doesn’t come through, but I must not have accomplished it because Rydale’s cheeks go ruddy. Now I feel horrible. “I’m sorry, Rydale. This whole business with the billboard has me on edge.”

  His hard eyes melt, and his lips turn down at the corners. With a sad nod he says, “I understand, Tiger. I wouldn’t want anyone painting graffiti on my face either.”

  “Yes, well … thank you.”

  Carmon clears her throat into the microphone. “My point is that everyone should be on the lookout for this deviant. We don’t want his graffiti to be the first thing visitors see when they arrive for Ryder Days. That billboard by itself is already an eyesore.” The last part she says away from the microphone, but everyone heard it. However, it may be the only thing that Carmon and I have ever agreed on.

  Our fearless and evil leader closes her notebook, signaling the end of the meeting, but she’s not done piling on me yet. “I want Ryder Days to be the best thing this town has ever seen. It will be the last event held at the community center, since Tiger turned in an incomplete application, and failed to get the funding we needed.” The glee with which Carmon delivers that statement is ridiculous.

  Did I miss the memo about pile on Tiger day?

  I raise my gaze to the podium and notice that everyone is looking at me. Maggie’s grip tightens on my leg, but it doesn’t help. I’ve had it with being thought of as an incompetent airhead. I stand and address the room. “The application was complete when I turned it into the mayor’s office for him to add the information from the city.”

  Carmon cocks her head and pouts like she’s sorry that I’m so stupid. “It’s alright, Tiger.” She shakes her head and her conservative bob barely moves. “I’m sure you did your best with the application. Sometimes we all get in over our heads, no one blames you.”

  The murmurs of agreement are infuriating.

  “I don’t get your meaning, Carmon?” I’m going to make this witch say it.

  “Well …” She peeks at the audience from under her 1980s bangs like they’re all in on the secret. “It’s just that this application might have been outside of the realm of your capabilities, dear.” She holds her hands up in surrender. “No shame. At least you tried.”

  “Carmon, Tiger’s not the reason that the grant wasn’t approved.” Maggie stands beside me. “She did her job.”

  The woman’s got her lip stuck out again like she’s indulging a fibbing child. “Mm-hmm.”

  “I’m serious, Carmon,” Maggie insists.

  “I’m sure you are.” She claps her hands and surveys the room. “I believe that’s all I have for—”

  “Actually, there is one more thing.” Everyone turns to look my direction. “The town will get the money we requested. Cash told me Friday that he will honor the requested donation.” There’s a niggling concern that he may have changed his mind after our argument today, but I shove it aside.

  The room erupts in applause, and I have the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s face turn a lovely shade of crimson. It’s a small and short-lived vindication.

  Carmon gives a slow clap into the microphone, then leans in to say, “I heard you two were a couple.” She winks and gives me a thumbs-up. “Good job, Tiger.”

  “Sorry?”

  She glances around the room to make sure she has everyone’s attention, then she gives me a conspiratorial look. “Whatever it takes, right?”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Well, if there’s nothing else, we’re adjourned. Thanks for coming.” She gathers her papers and exits out the door off the stage.

  That bitch.

  “Tiger …” Maggie’s generally cheerful voice is full of concern.

  I just shake my head.

  My best friend pulls on my arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here before I go after that conniving beech and kick her thunking asp.”

  I numbly follow Maggie to the car. How did Carmon turn my moment of victory into something ugly and trashy?

  This day just gets better and better.

  Twenty-Five

  Cash

  My run this morning hasn’t done what I hoped it would. Anger still rolls just below the surface of my skin. I still don’t have any answers as to why the crew that was doing a great job on my house was moved to another project.

  I can’t help but think that Donny is blinded by Tiger’s loyalty during Maggie’s illness, and therefore has given her more responsibility than she can handle. What other excuse is there for her to make such an irresponsible deci
sion?

  My temper cools somewhat when I see some unfamiliar vehicles parked in my drive. At least the new workers are here. I half expected them not to show, and I was going to have to find a new construction company to complete the renovations.

  Through the back window, I can see James, the crew chief, along with five men and a woman standing around the kitchen island while Tiger talks to them, probably catching them up on the project. At least she had the good sense to keep James on the job.

  My hand goes to the knob on the back door. I suck in a breath, expel it from my lungs, and ready myself for the fan questions about my shoulder and the playoffs. With my endorsement smile plastered on my face, I enter the kitchen. The first thing I notice are the circles under Tiger’s eyes. My immediate reaction is to make sure she’s all right, but I’m stopped when she raises her tired gaze to me.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there.”

  I shake my head. “No problem. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She addresses the crew. “Guys, this is the owner of the house, Cash. He’ll be in and out for the duration of the project.”

  “Good to meet you all.” My stomach muscles tighten like I’m preparing for a punch, and I wait for their reaction.

  They all murmur a greeting but that’s it. I glance at Tiger, then back to the group. “I’m glad to have you here.”

  Tiger rolls up the house plans. “All right, does anyone have any questions?”

  The six of them shake their heads.

  She nods. “Great. I look forward to working with you all.”

  James claps his big hands together. “Alright, let’s get to work. We’re upstairs today.” He ushers them out of the kitchen.

  I stare after the group, and I’m sure I look like one of those cartoons with the birds flying around his head. What the hell just happened? I can’t say when the last time was that I met someone and didn’t get the whole fan treatment. Not that I’m complaining, but that was peculiar.

  Tiger loops her bag onto her shoulder.

  “What just happened here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I point to the stairs. “That. Did you tell them not to talk to me?”

  She rolls her head on her neck. “Cash, I’m too tired to deal with your ego.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They don’t know or care who you are.”

  “How do you know?”

  Her delicate fingers rub at her eyes. “I made sure they didn’t know who you were when I hired them.” She moves past my stunned ass on her way to the door. “If you need anything, let James or Donny know. I’m taking a personal day.” She leaves me standing with my mouth hanging open like the moron I am.

  My butt hits the counter behind me, and I stare off into space. I pull my phone from my pocket and call Donny.

  “Cash.” The weariness in his tone lets me know what an ass I’ve been, as if I needed any further evidence.

  “I just walked into my house, and the new crew didn’t recognize me.”

  “Huh. I guess she did it. She said she could hire a crew who didn’t know who you were. I told her she was crazy, but she was determined.” He chuckles. “Damn that woman is something else.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  The sound of his exasperated breath whooshes through the phone. “Jesus, King, are you going to complain that she found people who wouldn’t hassle you about that hundred-million-dollar shoulder? Because if you are, I’ll pull my crew out today and give you the name of another construction company.”

  “No, that’s not why I’m asking. I … I just can’t believe she’d do that. I want to know why.”

  “You’ll have to ask her, man. So, are we good?”

  I scrub my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  He disconnects the call, and I’m left to look long and hard at my fool self. I am just as spoiled and arrogant as Tiger and my mom have accused me of being. “Fuuuck.”

  “What’s that?” James sticks his head into the kitchen.

  I wave him off. “Nothing. I’m a fool.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Seriously, do any of you know how to coddle a professional athlete?”

  “Not one little bit. You should probably apologize.”

  “I will.” My hands go to my hips, and I drop my head. “Any suggestions?”

  “Treat her like the amazing person she is, and don’t bullshit her.”

  I raise my head and meet his dark eyes. This man is not a fan of mine, but he has plenty of reasons not to be. “I will.”

  He nods. “Good.”

  I watch him stalk back up the stairs and struggle to find a place for all of my emotions. No one has ever done anything like this for me before, and instead of being grateful or letting her explain, I acted like a dick.

  I head to the pool house to try and make this right. It’s still early, and a low fog hovers close to the ground in the yard beyond the patio. The flowers I sent are still on the café table and look a little worse for wear. They’re another reminder of what an absolute ass I’ve been to her.

  I raise my fist to knock and notice my hand is trembling slightly. I face 350-pound defensive linemen, all out for my head, for sixteen weeks a year, and this slip of a woman’s the one who’s got my hands shaking.

  It’s not that I’m too proud to say I’m sorry, it’s that I don’t know if she’ll accept my apology or throw it in my face. I deserve the latter. I’ve got a pattern of assuming the worst of her.

  I extend and flex my fingers, then make a fist again and knock.

  “Who is it?” Her voice is muffled through the door.

  “Cash.”

  “If this is about the house, then James or Donny can answer your question.”

  “It’s not about the house.”

  The volume on the TV grows louder, and I know there’s no way she can hear me if I yell.

  Another knock, and the volume increases.

  Damn it. I make my way around the front of the building to the big picture windows that look out on the lawn below. The curtains are open, so I stand in front of the windows until she notices me.

  She slowly rises and comes to the window, a bit of wonder in her eyes.

  That’s right, sweetheart. I didn’t get to be a Super Bowl MVP by giving up easily.

  I push the button for her number on my phone and bring it to my ear.

  She glances at her phone screen, then to me.

  I smile.

  She smiles.

  Then she grabs both sides of the curtains and yanks them shut.

  Leaving me standing in the fog with my phone and my ass in my hand.

  Twenty-Six

  Tiger

  I swear that grin of Cash’s should be certified as a dirty weapon. And how dare he flash it after how he’s treated me? I need time away from him. Maybe I should rent a hotel room.

  My phone rings again. I ignore the call without looking at the screen.

  Then a text comes through. It’s from Cash.

  I was a jerk, a dick, and a complete ass. Please let me apologize in person.

  I move to the entrance of my safe place. Never has a man sincerely apologized to me for anything without a qualifier. So, this I’ve got to see.

  He’s standing there when I swing open the door, big hands splayed across his hip bones, head hanging between his shoulders. After a moment, he peers up at me from under his bangs. The raw shame in his eyes is a physical thing, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook.

  We stand and stare at each other for several long seconds. One hand on the door and the other on my hip, I’m not going to make this easy for him.

  “Can I come in?”

  I step back and hold my hand toward the inside of the house.

  “Thanks.” His steps are slow and measured like he might have to defend his life at any moment.

  Smart man.

  I close the door but don’t move away from it. My a
rms go across my chest on their own. I’m really not trying to be a bitch, but I’ve been conned by the best. I know that people can appear sorry one minute and cut you to the core the next. “Well?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  That’s it? My brows raise when that’s all he says.

  He rubs the toe of his running shoe on the rug. “I was rude and disrespectful. I treated you terribly, and I’m very sorry.”

  I wait because I know there has to be an excuse coming for why he behaved badly—he was tired, he was stressed, I was unreasonable—but one never falls from his mouth. I’m not exactly sure how to respond, so I nod.

  Evidently, he’s not done, because he continues. “Especially after you did one of the nicest things that anyone’s ever done for me.” He moves to me and places those big hands on my upper arms. “Seriously, Tiger, thank you. Please say you forgive me.”

  I try to keep my spine straight, but the sincerity painted on his face melts my defenses like ice cream on a hot summer day. “I forgive you.” I can only hold his intense gaze for a few seconds, then I drop my eyes to the space above the neck of his T-shirt.

  He bends his knees slightly to snare my attention. “Why did you do it?”

  I shrug as best I can with his hands still on my arms. “Nobody should be hassled like that every day, especially in his own home. I only did what anyone else would do.”

  “No, you didn’t. Take the compliment and my gratitude. You deserve it.”

  He’s right. I do. Why is it so hard to accept his praise? “Thank you.”

  His big arms encircle me. “No, thank you.”

  My arms are still folded over my chest. I’m not outwardly participating in the hug, but inwardly, I’m wallowing in the feel of him. Sprawled and luxuriating in the warmth of his arms around me, the brush of his breath against my hair, and the musky scent of man that surrounds and drowns me.

  I’m caught. His willing prisoner, paddling to keep my head above the effect he has on me. My reaction is so fierce that I need to step away. It’s too dangerous to allow this version of us to take hold. We’re not a couple. He’s not mine. And I’m not his.