Authors: Jami Davenport
Derek raised one eyebrow, almost smiled. “I have connections."
"I still don't want you sniffing around my sister.” Mitch looked away, dug in his pocket for some gum, popped it in his mouth, and chewed furiously.
"I don't really give a shit. I told you, I'm not doing it for you."
Derek hung out for the rest of the practice, gave the team some tips, and shot the breeze with Ryan. He talked with the coaches afterward, then finally trudged out to the empty parking lot. Ryan sat in his wheelchair near his truck, talking on his cell. Derek concealed his surprise and approached the kid. He glanced over his shoulder. Mitch hadn't come out of the building yet.
"Need a ride?"
Ryan glanced up at him. “I can get a ride from Coach. My mom can't make it."
"I have time. I'll give you a ride home."
Ryan hesitated. “I don't know."
"Hey, I'm a decent driver. You'll be safe with me. Let's go.” Derek motioned toward the truck, not taking no for an answer.
"Are you sure?” Ryan chewed on his lower lip and looked away.
"I'm not only sure, but I insist."
Ryan was torn. Torn between spending a little private time with his hero and letting him see the squalor and poverty that was part of Ryan's life.
In the end, Derek helped him into his truck and stowed the wheelchair in the truck bed.
"Do your parents come to all your games?” Ryan tilted his head at Derek.
"Never missed a game in high school or a home game in college. They've made it to a few Lumberjacks games. It's hard for Dad to get away from the ranch."
"You have a ranch?"
"Yeah, it's been in my family for a couple of generations."
"So are you a real cowboy?"
Derek chuckled. “Actually I am. My dad put me on a horse before I could walk. I did high school rodeo too."
"Wow. I've never been on a horse."
"Stop by sometime. I'll put you on my old guy. He's real safe."
"Really? You'd do that?"
A slow smile spread across Derek's face. “Absolutely. So, Ryan, where's home?"
Home for Ryan was a single-wide in a trailer park a few miles from the school. With trepidation, Ryan directed Derek and waited for the pity or repulsion that accompanied a visitor's first visit to the dump.
"This is it."
Derek didn't show any indication Ryan's home was a shack. Instead he got out of the truck, grabbed Ryan's wheelchair, and helped him into it.
"I, uh, Derek, I need help getting into the house. We don't have a ramp."
"You don't have a ramp?” Derek's gaze slid to the front door.
"No.” Ryan ducked his head, embarrassed. “My mom can't afford to pay anyone to do it."
"So once you're in there, you're stuck?"
"Yeah, pretty much.” Ryan chewed on his lower lip. He hated this feeling of helplessness. Only a few short months ago, he ran laps with the guys, threw passes, took hits, and bounced right back. Not anymore. This shit invading his body made it damn, fucking hard for a guy not to wallow in self-pity, but Ryan refused to succumb. He was a fighter, not a quitter like his mom and dad.
Derek helped him into the trailer. He glanced around. His face betrayed nothing, no reaction to the dishes piled in the sink, littering the counters, stuff scattered on the floor, laundry slung across the couch, and the numerous cigarettes falling out of various bowls and ashtrays onto the soiled thirty-year-old shag carpet. Turning back to Ryan, he scratched something on a piece of paper, handing it to him.
"What's this?"
"My numbers. You need me, you call me. I don't care what time it is."
"Thanks."
"It's my pleasure. You need anything else, buddy?"
"No, I'm fine."
"You got dinner?"
"I'll find something. My mom's working tonight.” He made excuses for his mother because he didn't know what else to do. No one needed to know he rarely saw his mother. They wouldn't understand. They'd blame her for being a bad mother. He didn't know if she was any better or worse than any other mother. She was the only mother he had.
He looked up to find Derek studying him. “Tell you what, Ryan. I'm free tonight. How about I order us a pizza and we catch a football game on TV?"
Ryan tamped down the hope rising inside him. How cool to not spend another lonely night at home and to spend it with Derek Ramsey. Not that his buddies didn't come by pretty often and hang with him, but they had their girlfriends and their own families.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “That'd be cool."
Rachel pushed Derek's hand away from her crotch. “Not tonight, big boy."
His puzzled expression said it all. “What?"
"No, you're dead on your feet."
"If I'm not buried six feet under, I'm not that dead."
"Derek.” She put her hands on both sides of his face and forced him to look her in the eyes. He avoided the subject with sex. Not tonight. She refused to play into it. He wanted to play the invincible macho man. Not happening.
"Come on, Rae.” He reached for her again, but halfheartedly.
"Dare, stop. I know how tired you are, the hours you're keeping. You can't say no to anyone.” It was as if he felt guilty because his life had turned out so well. Or was he making up for past transgressions?
"Saying no doesn't work for me. I won't disappoint people or let them down."
Derek went out of his way to make people like him, always had. Even as a teenager, he'd liked everyone, been kind to the nerdiest geek and defended the weak kids from harassment. He couldn't handle rejection from anyone. It didn't take a psychologist to know Derek's mother played a large role in this particular insecurity.
"I thought you were having an early night tonight?"
"I was. I stopped by your brother's football practice to check on Ryan. I ended up driving him home and ordering pizza and watching a football game with him."
"Oh, Derek.” No wonder he'd seemed so drained and lost when he'd shown up on her doorstep at eleven.
"Do you know he lives in a dump of a trailer? He doesn't even have a wheelchair ramp, so once he's in the house, he can't get out. I'm going to get a couple of the guys together, and we'll head over there after practice and build one. It shouldn't take too long."
Tyler slumped in the backseat and pouted. Derek ignored him. Rachel slid into the passenger seat and squeezed his arm. He smiled down at her and wondered how the hell he ever got so lucky as to have her in his life, even if it was a temporary situation. He looked in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the highway. Behind him were a half dozen teammates in two trucks.
"Hey, no fucking touching while I'm fucking stuck being celibate.” Tyler leaned between the seats and tapped Derek on the shoulder.
"If you're being celibate, it's your choice, so don't take it out on us. How long has it been—twenty-four hours?” Derek laughed out loud.
Tyler growled and flopped back against the seat. “You don't want to know."
"You're probably right. Your sex life isn't a particular interest of mine."
"How the fuck long is this going to fucking take?” Tyler kicked the back of Derek's seat like an impatient little kid.
"However long it takes."
"I don't know why the fuck I let you talk me into this shit."
"So you can impress me with your command of four-letter words?"
"Fuck off and go to hell. You know I don't do this charity crap unless the press is there to record what a good guy I am."
"Whoa. You're losing your touch, Ty. You just said one sentence without the F word.” Derek snorted and winked at Rachel. She shoved her knuckles in her mouth to keep from cracking up. Derek reached over and put his hand on her thigh.
"Fuck you,” Tyler grumbled.
"That's more like it."
Tyler muttered several choice four-letter words and stuffed earphones in his ears, cranked up his mp3 player and ignored them.
Two hours later, they finished the wheelchair ramp, which actually looked much better than the ratty mobile home it serviced. Rachel, with the punter's help, cleaned the small trailer.
Embarrassed by his living conditions, Ryan had been reluctant to have them there at first. But the group's nonjudgmental attitude coaxed him out of his funk, and he had the time of his life, hosting an impromptu party. Whether he called his buddies or they happened to show up, pretty soon about two dozen kids, mostly teammates, milled around the porch.
Ryan's eyes sparkled with excitement as he posed with his friends for pictures with the Jacks players. Even Tyler roused himself from his grouchy slump. He didn't do much work, but he did amuse Ryan and the group with outrageous stories of his
heroic
exploits on and off the field.
Afterward they ate pizza and drank soft drinks, then cleaned up their mess.
It was close to midnight by the time Derek and Rachel fell into bed. Derek didn't remember much after that until his alarm woke him at five thirty.
The next evening, Derek sat across from Rachel at a restaurant. He'd accepted her dinner invitation, sensing something was up. She wore her usual black power suit with a narrow skirt and fitted jacket. A half-empty bottle of red wine sat on the table between them. He watched her with amusement. She treated their night out like a business meeting. He had a feeling it might well be one. The waiter served the main course at the same time Rachel served her proposal.
"You need a handler.” She removed a folder from her bag and placed it on the table in front of him.
"Okay.” Derek stabbed his steak with his fork, cut a piece, and popped it in his mouth. He glanced at the detailed schedule in front of him.
"Then I'm hired."
"Huh?” He squinted at her. She didn't flinch. Damn, this side of her still knocked him off his game.
"I'm your handler, personal assistant. I'm organized. I have common sense. I'll field the demands on your time, decide which opportunities to accept, graciously turn down the ones you can't, and arrange your schedule. Besides, my fees are reasonable.” She radiated confidence and competence.
"How reasonable?” He chewed another bite of juicy steak.
She pushed a sheet of paper across the table with her rates. He studied it. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” He'd make her work a little for it since she'd gone to the bother of wearing a new suit and planning all this.
"When I worked for the Blockbusters, I scheduled the majority of their community events.” A little tremor in her lower lip betrayed her nervousness.
"What about individual players’ schedules?"
"Not really.” Her face fell as if she thought he might turn her down. Not a chance in hell. “But you're overbooked and running on fumes. You need me."
"Well, yeah.” No-brainer there.
"I mean as a handler."
"I need you as a lot of things.” Derek closed his eyes for a moment. “Baby, handle me any time you want, any way you want."
"Men.” She swatted his arm.
"Oh, baby, do that again. Hurt me.” He grinned, feeling pretty damn pleased with himself for tons of reasons. Most of them centered around the woman across the table.
"You're incorrigible."
"Thanks, sweet cakes, I work hard at it."
"Sweet cakes?"
"Uh-huh."
"You do think I can do it, don't you?” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass and almost toppled it over.
Derek considered what she was saying. “I know you can."
"Anything would be an improvement over what you have now, which is nothing. If you make the play-offs, you'll need someone to fend off the press. By then, I'll be an expert at it."
"I need someone to fend them off now.” He held up his hands. “Rae, I'm sold. You're hired."
She faked a pout. “You don't want to hear the rest of my sell job?"
"You sold me before you opened your mouth.” His eyes roamed over her body.
"Hey, Mr. Ramsey, eyes up here.” Rachel pointed at her face. “This benefits both of us. Your time is more efficiently used. The more experience I have with professional athletes, the better."
His gutter mind considered her words. He grinned but stayed on the straight and narrow. “I bet I can get you a few more guys too."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, we'll start with Ty."
"Do you think he'll bite?"
"I know he will. I won't give him a choice, but he'll thank me later."
Rachel smiled at him. Despite her relief and happiness, a hint of sadness lurked in her eyes, reminding him of how she'd got in this position in the first place. A twinge of guilt for not asking about her father sooner sobered him. He'd been selfish and insensitive.
"How's your dad doing, Rae?"
From her head to her toenails, Rachel's body froze. Her tongue tied in a knot bigger than a Christmas bow, while her stomach churned like an angry sea in a storm. Dumbstruck, she stared at Derek.
"You know, I tried to call him after all this crap happened, offer my support, see if I could help him out, but he never answered my calls.” Sadness filled Derek's eyes. His mouth turned down, and he seemed incredibly sincere.
Rachel pressed her lips together, afraid of screwing things up by saying the wrong thing. Her brother had planted a seed of wariness in Derek's head and almost blown their plans with his impatience.
"I guess it's good charges weren't pressed against him. He won't have to deal with court or anything. I'd like to see him if you think he'd welcome a visit."
"He wouldn't.” She spoke bluntly.
"Okay.” Surprise and hurt dulled his brown eyes.
"No, it's not okay. Dad's a mess. His life's ruined, and all for something he didn't do.” Her words rushed out before she could stop them.
"I'm sorry, Rachel.” Regret flitted across Derek's face, but regret about what exactly?
Rachel should've stayed on the sidelines, but her heart had gotten into the game and kept fumbling the ball. Ignoring her head's warnings, she called her own audibles. “I want to believe that."
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “Get the check, please. This interview is over."