Winner Takes All (29 page)

Had Annabelle become that person? The one who didn't know how to unwind or have fun or let loose?

You certainly let loose with Blake in the bedroom.

Yeah, and it had been the best time she'd had in forever. Maybe that ought to tell her something. That she needed to let loose more often. That she was better as that person than the one who liked everything just so.

Annabelle pushed aside the curtain and slid the screen door open with one hand, holding her smoothie with the other.

“Annabelle?” her mother called out. “Is that you?”

She plastered a smile for her mom and sister. “Yeah, it's me. I had some time before my first appointment and thought I'd stop by for a minute.”

“Want some coffee?” Naomi asked.

Annabelle held up her Styrofoam cup and took a seat at the table. “Thanks, but I've got this. Where's the pit bull?” she asked her mom.

Ruth lowered a hand to her lap. “Right here, being a good boy.”

As though sensing the conversation was about him, Charlie lifted his head and pinned his black eyes on Annabelle. She supposed he thought his throaty growl was meant to be intimidating. Despite how annoying the dog could be, he was kind of cute. In a demonic sort of way.

“Your sister and I were just talking about the possibility of her moving back to the States,” Ruth commented with a warm grin directed at her youngest daughter.

Annabelle tossed a surprised look at Naomi. “Are you serious?”

Naomi lifted a shoulder. “Just something I've been thinking about.”

“But you said you love Peru,” Annabelle reminded her sister. “What about your business?”

“I can always sell it,” Naomi answered. “Hostels do really well down there, so I'd have no problem finding a buyer.”

“But…” Annabelle shifted in her seat. “Why would you leave a place you love and move back here?”

Naomi sipped her coffee, slowly, then set the mug back down. She turned the cup around in circles, as though she herself didn't understand her own reasoning. “Because you and Mom are the only family I have. And that's more important.”

“Stop discouraging her, Annabelle,” Ruth chimed in with a swat to Annabelle's arm. “If she wants to move back home, then we should be encouraging her.”

“I'm not discouraging her, Mom,” Annabelle responded. “I'm just trying to understand where this is coming from.” She placed her attention on her sister. “Every time we talk, you go on and on about how much you love South America and how well your business is doing. And now you want to walk away from it?”

“I figured this would make you happy,” Naomi countered, instead of responding to Annabelle's questions. “Don't the two of you want me closer?”

“Of course we do,” Ruth said before Annabelle had a chance to respond.

“We both would love having you back home,” she told her sister. “I guess I just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons and not because you think that's what we want. Don't live your life for us.”

“But that's the problem, Tansie,” Naomi argued. “I've spent too much time living for myself. Only thinking about what makes me happy and focusing too much on my life in Peru. And not enough time thinking about you and Mom back home.” She placed a comforting hand on Annabelle's arm. “About how much you've sacrificed and picked up the slack that I haven't been able to carry. Or wanted to carry, I guess you could say.”

Annabelle shook her head. “That's not entirely true.”

“No, it is. I liked not having responsibilities. I liked not having to think about anyone but myself. I took off and did my own thing and didn't stop to think about what I was leaving you with.”

“Can you please not talk about me like I'm a child?” Ruth demanded. “I'm right here, and I am still your mother. Don't think the both of you are too old for a good whooping.”

“I'm not talking about next week, or anything,” Naomi went on, brushing aside their mother's non-threatening promise. “Just sometime in the near future. Maybe within the next year. In the meantime, tell me more about this hot coach you've been seeing.”

The change of subject was so abrupt that Annabelle had to take a minute before answering. Plus, she didn't know how to answer. “Why does everyone keep assuming we're seeing each other?”

Naomi exchanged a glance with their mother. “Uh, because you keep spending time with the guy? And when you're not, you're either thinking about him or ogling him.”

“What your sister is trying to say,” Ruth butted in, “is that we want to know more about the man who's captured your attention.”

“You've never been this secretive about a guy before,” Naomi added.

Annabelle shook her head. “That's not true.”

“Name one,” her sister challenged.

They wanted an actual name? As in a real guy? Annabelle opened her mouth, then snapped it shut because her brain had decided to shut down on her. Also, her sister was right. She couldn't come up with one man who'd turned her so upside down.

“See?” Naomi prodded. “I'm right,” she whispered.

“Okay, whatever,” Annabelle responded with a flip of her hand. “So I'm a little tight-lipped about him.”

Naomi waved her hand in a “continue” gesture. “Which means?”

“Which means…I think I might be in love with him.” As soon as the words were out, because speaking them and having them float around in her brain were not the same thing, a weight lifted off her shoulders. The cobwebs in her mind cleared. Sort of like gray clouds breaking up after a gloomy day and allowing the sunshine to sneak through and warm the ground. Because that's how she felt. Warm and complete and whole. Peaceful.

Naomi slapped a hand on the table, rattling the coffee mugs. “I knew it. I saw it all over your face when you brought him here that one day.” She jabbed a finger toward Annabelle. “That's why you haven't brought him back around, isn't it?”

“Are you ashamed of us, Annabelle?” her mother asked.

“What?” She tossed a look at her mom. “No. Why would you think that?”

Naomi waved a hand in the air. “We don't think that. We think you're so head over heels for this guy that you're terrified for him to be around us.”

“That doesn't make any sense.” She picked up her forgotten smoothie and winced when it had grown too warm.

“It's because we know you,” Naomi went on. “We know you well enough to see right through that indifferent attitude you try having around him.”

Apparently so did Blake.

Apparently, also, her jig was up.

Naomi sipped her coffee, then swallowed. “You should know better than to try and pretend around us.”

“I do know better,” Annabelle commented. “I guess I thought if I denied the feelings long enough, they'd go away.”

Naomi's brows pinched together. “Why would you deny it? If I fell for a man like that, I'd embrace it.”

Because Naomi was uninhibited. She didn't have the fears or trust issues that Annabelle had. She threw herself into everything she did with total abandon. So, yeah, Naomi would be the one to welcome love with open arms. She'd put out an ad in the paper and have shirts made.

“Sounds like love to me,” Naomi stated. “Maybe instead of trying to identify what it is, you should decide what you're going to do about it.”

What could she do about it? Blake had all but said he couldn't give her anything, at least not until the Bobcats' season was over. How much longer would it go? What if they made the championship? Then what after that?

Should she wait for him to make the next move? Or would it be better if she took the reins and exhibited some control over her own life? After all, wasn't it high time she did something for herself for a change?

B
lake eyed the kid sitting across the desk from him, slouched back in the chair, chin lifted in defiance and a screw-you attitude hardening whiskey-colored eyes that should have gleamed with teenage mischief.

Cody Richardson should have been the bane of Blake's existence. A quarterback with a mind of his own who constantly changed plays and challenged coaches left and right was a recipe for a headache. Not to mention conflict and tension between the players, which had already been prevalent throughout the season.

But the thing was, Blake couldn't bring himself to write the kid off. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't remember seeing the kid's mom and stepdad at the game two weeks ago. The one where their boy had played his ass off and had been a major contributor to bringing his team to the play-offs.

“Tell me what's on your mind, Cody,” Blake urged, even though he'd been the one to call him to the office.

Cody bounced his leg up and down and tightened his arms over his chest. “I know you came to my house,” he stated.

“Yeah, I did,” Blake admitted. “Is that something you'd like to talk about?”

“No,” Cody answered immediately. His knee continued its rapid bouncing. “I mean, do you, like, always go to players' houses and talk to their moms?”

Blake paused before answering, because he knew he needed to consider his words carefully. Cody didn't strike him as the type of boy who'd want people prying beyond what he wanted them to see. Another thing he identified with. With everything that had happened to him, Blake had never wanted anyone investigating or forcing him to reveal all the ugliness that churned inside his gut. For years his weaknesses had held him captive, taking over until they had ruled him, telling him how to act, where to go, and who to spend time with.

Only tough love, the act of someone who saw underneath the I-don't-have-any-problems defiance, could break the armor holding in the demons. Someone had done it for him, a woman who'd captured his heart and soul, and Blake wanted to find a way to do it for Cody.

Pay it forward and all that.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Blake answered, not seeing the need to deny it. “When I feel the need to.”

“Why did you feel the need to, Coach?” Cody asked without looking at him.

Blake leaned back in his chair and shoved his baseball cap up his forehead. “I wanted to invite your mom and stepdad to the game. I noticed they don't go that much.”

Cody jerked one shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah, well, they don't really like football, so…”

Blake sat silent and waited for the kid to finish. “So…what?” he urged. “Don't you want them to come and support you?” Cody didn't say anything. Just stared at the ground and continued bouncing that knee. Blake barely suppressed a sigh. “Son, if there's something on your mind, you can tell me. I promise you it'll stay in this room.”

With those last words, Cody's hard-as-nails exterior cracked and he shifted his stormy gaze to Blake's. The contact was minimal, just a touch, and then his attention was back on the ground. A tremor of hope lit through Blake's system, knowing he'd crossed the most major hurdle.

“I just want to play football, sir,” Cody answered, instead of taking the bait.

Blake nodded, trying to communicate to Cody that the two of them were on the same side. “I understand that. In fact”—Blake leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk—“no one will understand that better than me.” Blake studied the kid, taking in his too-long brown hair and not-quite-there teenager fuzz coating his jaw. “Cody…” With a long sigh, Blake debated just how much to share with Cody. “Do you know why I left the NFL?”

Cody tilted his head and lifted his chin once more. “I know you retired because of drugs.”

Okay, but not quite. That was pretty much the watered-down, condensed version of what had really happened.

Blake decided not to go into all the details of that part, because it was simply too complex. Instead he focused on the story most people didn't know. The darker side that had sent him spiraling down the rocky path of addiction and dependence. And might have eventually killed him.

“Yeah, but did you know I was probably already on my way out?”

Cody gazed back at him. “I remember you blowing out your knee and missing an entire season.”

Blake nodded. “That's right,” he admitted. “But I bet you didn't know that because of my injury, I became addicted to OxyContin.”

Cody's brows lifted a fraction, surprise flashing across his face. And then the look was gone, but tension in his jaw had lessened a fraction. Not by much, but enough to know Blake was cracking through.

“Bet you didn't know that, did you?” Blake went on. “That your coach was addicted to painkillers.” He kept using past tense, as though he were over his addiction. But he wasn't, he still craved the stuff every day. Each morning he woke up with trembling fingers and sweat coating his skin. He wanted his pills when he showered or went jogging with Brandon. He craved them when he drank his morning coffee and when he called plays to his team. All the time. Day and night, it never stopped.

A line of tension appeared between Cody's brows. “No, sir, I didn't.”

“My point is I had a problem that I tried to hide from everyone. I thought I had it handled on my own, but I didn't.”

“So how'd you get over it?” Cody asked.

I'm not over it.

The confession was right there, aching to get out, to tell everyone that it hadn't gone away. That it wouldn't go away for a long time. At least on its own. But Cody wasn't the one to share that burden with, and it was beside Blake's point anyway.

“Someone saw through me,” Blake told him.

“Was it Ms. Turner?” Cody asked, staring back at Blake with no apology in his eyes for stating something so bold. When Blake cracked a smile, Cody shifted his shoulders. “I mean, she just seems like that type of person. She's always, like, trying to help people and stuff.”

Yeah, she was that. And so much more.

Blake waited before answering, debating on how deep he should go, how much was appropriate to tell a kid, not to mention a kid who was one of his players. “Yeah, it was Ms. Turner.” Why should he hold that back? Why not be honest with Cody and give him an incentive to display the same honesty?

“So you two are, like, a thing, then? Because some of the other guys think you've hooked up.”

Blake knew what the guys thought. He wasn't about to reveal that part of his relationship with Annabelle. “My relationship with Ms. Turner isn't anyone's business but mine and Ms. Turner's,” Blake told him. “It's beside the point anyway. What I'm trying to tell is you that I know what it feels like to push everyone away. I know what it feels like to keep secrets bottled up and pretend there's no problem or that no one cares.” Blake paused and watched Cody. “Do you understand what I'm saying, son?”

Cody didn't move for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” Blake said. “Good. So then you'll also understand that you, too, have people who care. That if there's something going on that's troubling you, this would be a safe place to unload.”

The muscles in Cody's jaw tightened, relaxed, then tightened again. His hands ran up and down his thighs, then curved over his knees, fingers relaxed. “I don't like it here,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Blake should have been surprised by the admission, but he wasn't. Cody probably hadn't been happy from the moment he'd crossed the Colorado state line. In fact, the kid most likely hadn't known happiness since his father had breathed his last breath.

“I know you've had a hard time, Cody,” Blake told him. “I've never lost a parent, so I can't say I know what that's like. And no one would blame you for struggling to adjust here.”

“I don't want to adjust here, Coach,” Cody told him. “I want to go back to Texas.”

“Well, I'd like to have my knee back,” Blake argued. “I'd like to go back to the NFL and erase all the scandals. But we can't always have what we want. That's part of life and growing up—”

“And maturing and all that,” Cody finished. “My mom's told me this already.”

Cody didn't want to hear it again. Message received loud and clear. But Blake wasn't about to give up so easily.

“You know,” he urged, “no one's forcing you to play on this team. You're free to walk anytime you want.”

Cody snorted. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we both know this team needs me,” Cody answered.

Yeah, that was true, but Blake guessed there was more. “I don't think that's why. I don't think you're really playing for yourself.” Blake gazed back at the kid. “Are you?”

Cody's shoulders jerked. “I don't know what you mean.”

Blake ran a hand along his jaw, knowing he needed to tread delicately. “Your father loved football, didn't he?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, that's why you're here,” Blake guessed. “You're not doing this just to pass the time or because your mom makes you. You're playing because your dad loved the sport and it makes you feel closer to him.” Blake paused to give his words time to soak in. “Do you think I'm right?”

“I think you don't know shit,” Cody answered.

Well, then.

“Maybe I don't,” Blake said with a lift of his shoulders. “Maybe I don't know shit about shit. What I do know is that you need to take whatever anger you have toward whomever you have it for and leave it on the field. Use it as motivation, because this game is the most important one this team has played in, and we need your focus. Do we understand each other?”

Cody's knee resumed its bouncing. “Friday's just another day I get to play football, Coach.”

“Maybe to you, but not to some of the other players,” Blake told him. “Try to remember that it's not all about you.” When Cody only sat there and didn't say anything, Blake jerked his head toward the door. “You're dismissed.”

Without another word, Cody stood from the chair and left the office, with his you-don't-know-shit attitude trailing behind him like a rank stench. Along with frustration for everything left unsaid and unfinished.

Damn, but he thought he'd at least crack that wall of Cody's. Something to say Blake had made some headway, that maybe they'd come to some kind of truce or understanding.

Two steps forward, one step back.

Blake leaned back in his chair and dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. His fingers were still trembling and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

It was way past time he started living with higher standards. To be the better man that Annabelle thought he was. And that was what it really boiled down to.

Annabelle.

She looked at him with hero worship, like she thought he could walk on water or make all her fantasies come true. While he wasn't sure where she got those impressions from, there was no reason why he couldn't at least attempt to fulfill the role.

Cameron appeared in the doorway of his office and tapped his fingers on the frame.

“Doesn't look like it went too well,” his friend commented.

Blake stared up at the ceiling and blew out a breath. “As long as he ditches the attitude when he's on the field, I don't really care.”

Cameron coughed and said “bullshit” at the same time.

Blake lifted his head and pinned his attention on Cameron.

“You care too much,” Cameron explained. “That's your problem.”

“I didn't realize caring could be a problem,” Blake countered.

Cameron plopped into the chair Cody had vacated. “For you it is.” Cam leaned forward, grabbed a handful of M&M's out of a glass dish, and dropped a few in his mouth. “I was going over some game film last night,” Cam told him as he crunched candy between his teeth. “I think we ought to move Matt to right guard.”

Blake thought for a moment, mentally calculating pros and cons.

“Aren't you sure glad one of us is the brains of the operation?” Cam asked with a cocky grin that created little smile lines at the corners of his eyes.

Blake couldn't help but grin back. “Keep on and I'll stick you with laundry duty.”

Cameron downed the last of his candy and pushed out of the chair. “But I'll still have the brains.” He offered a mock salute, then turned to leave and bumped into Annabelle.

Blake just about shot out of his chair when his friend braced his hands on Annabelle's shoulders to steady her.
Hands off, asshole.

The warning flashed through his mind and came
this
close to tumbling out of his mouth. But he shoved it back because it was Cameron, for crying out loud.

“Do us a favor and make some noise when you enter a room,” Cam said with a warm smile.

“Maybe I should put a bell around my neck,” Annabelle offered.

Cameron tugged on Annabelle's hair. “On the other hand, it's kind of nice to see that guy”—Cameron jerked his head toward Blake—“caught off guard.” He leaned over and whispered something in Annabelle's ear, which she answered with a slow smile.

She patted him on the chest. “You're a good friend.”

Then they were alone when Cameron shut the door.

Annabelle sat in the chair and tucked a strand of her rich brown hair behind one ear. She'd left it down today, which, Blake decided, he liked best. Gave him ample opportunity to dive his hands into it and feel the cool strands sifting around his fingers.

“What'd he say to you?” Blake blurted out, just because he was a nosy asshole when it came to this woman.

“He just asked me to give him a call if things between you and me go south,” she answered.

The playful gleam in her eye told him she wasn't serious. And Blake knew Cameron well enough to know he'd never say anything like that to Annabelle. At least not seriously. Because he knew how bad Blake had it and was enjoying the show too much to end it.