Authors: Jami Davenport
Instead Rachel endured two hours of emotional torture, unable find the courage to insist he tell her what was wrong. Unable to take it any longer, she donned her ice princess facade and waded into the frigid waters.
"Derek, what's wrong?” she croaked. The lump lodged halfway down her throat stayed where it was. Perhaps he was just uptight about the upcoming game.
He faced her, his gaze accusing in its intensity and grief-stricken in its misery. Her heart sank even deeper. This had nothing to do with football and everything to do with them. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. As if the words he needed to say were too painful to be uttered.
"How could you do this to me?” The sheer agony in his voice cut right down to her soul.
"I didn't do anything.” Rachel gripped the seat cushion and looked into his eyes, at the devastation reflected there. She could think of only one thing that could make him look at her with such disillusionment. He knew. Somehow he knew.
His eyes narrowed. “I met with your dad and Mitch last night."
Rachel's heart stalled; fear coursed through her veins. “About what?” The ice princess ran for cover and left her with no armor, no backup plan.
"About you and me.” He laughed a cynical, dry laugh. “I was stupid enough to think we had a future."
"A future?” She echoed his words, hanging on to them like a life raft in stormy seas.
He rolled his eyes. “Give me the idiot award. I didn't see it coming. I thought you loved me too."
"Too?” She gripped harder, savoring the meaning behind his words, and ignored the contradiction in his eyes.
"Yeah, too. I was in love with you, Rachel."
She ignored the past tense and clung to the words. “I do. I love you."
"Yeah, right. Love isn't a four-letter word for nothing."
She cringed at the disgust in his voice. “I love you, Derek Ramsey, with all my heart and soul.” She laid it all out on the table and reached for him. He jerked to his feet and paced the floor in front of her. Helpless, she stared up at him.
"You thought I was involved in the points shaving.” His cold, emotionless voice scared the crap out of her.
"No, not anymore.” Her answer rang true. She'd known it in her heart for months, and her words only reinforced the truth.
"Then you think I let your dad hang out to dry to cover for Tyler."
"I wasn't sure at first, but now I don't think it's possible."
"You don't
think
it's possible?” His anger and hurt slammed into her, leaving her breathless. “Get this straight, Rachel. I'd never make your dad pay for someone else's mistake, not even Tyler's. You don't know me very well if you'd think so little of me."
"I don't believe Tyler did it either. Not anymore."
"You played me for a fool. You took what I had to offer and used it to your advantage, all the while probing for weakness. You betrayed me."
"No, it's not like that."
His pacing grew more determined, his turns sharp and crisp. His long legs ate up the length of his living room in a few furious strides. He whipped around in front of her and stopped, hands on hips. Raising his head, he regarded her with indifference, which alarmed her more than the anger.
"Let me tell you something about that game. Something I've never told anyone. That night, last play of the game. We were behind by four points. The other team had our number on the running game, but your dad kept running the ball. Coach called a sucker play, one he'd called several times with no success. I couldn't figure out why the hell he kept going back to it."
Rachel held her stomach, sick with dread. Derek resumed his pacing. “Ty didn't call the play your dad wanted. He called a pass into the end zone instead. Lantz and I went for it. I swear to God he batted it out of my hands. Pissed me off, but I figured he'd just gotten taken in by the moment and didn't realize he was fighting his own teammate for the ball. Yet when all this came out, I wondered about the whole weird-assed night. Mostly I wondered about the plays your dad called. Tyler trusted him, kept running them until the very end."
"But my father wouldn't have sold out his team. Football is his passion. His life."
"They say every person has a price."
"Do they? What's yours?” Rachel challenged him.
"Nothing money can buy.” Sadness flickered in his dark eyes.
She winced as if he'd slugged her in the stomach.
"Who do you believe?” He threw the challenge back in her face.
"I believe you.” She stood and moved toward him.
"The real question is, do I believe you?” He backed away and crossed his arms over his chest, creating a concrete wall with his body.
"Only you can answer that question."
"I thought we had something special going on, Rachel. You. Me. Our history. Our love of football. What you do to me every time I see you smile. How you filled up all the empty spaces and made me look forward to coming home every night. Hell, I even grew fond of your damn cat. I thought with you I could get beyond my mother's abandonment and betrayal. Then here you come and do the same damn thing to me."
"It's not the same.” She pleaded with him, but he glared back, unmoving and emotionally detached.
"It is in my book.” Derek walked to the door and jerked it open.
Rachel fought for control. She felt his eyes on her, but she stared straight ahead. With a Herculean effort, she didn't flinch, didn't soften, didn't show the least bit of emotion. She walked woodenly out the door, hiding her face from him.
A woman had her pride too. She wouldn't beg.
Rachel's heart shattered like a crystal goblet dropped on concrete, irreparable and final.
She glanced back at Derek and almost caved. The stark agony on his face weakened her resolve, yet the determination in his stance pushed her away. Steeling herself against the pain ripping her in half, she hardened her heart. Hiding her agony, she stumbled down the steps and out of his life one last time.
Half blinded by tears, she ran down the driveway to the refuge of her little house. She didn't slow down until she threw herself on her bed. Huge sobs of grief racked her body. Nothing had ever hurt her so much, not even her mother's death, not their long-term estrangement. Nothing.
She'd seen it coming, yet a small part of her had held out hope for a happy ending. Somehow they'd find a way. Well, life wasn't a fairy tale. Derek wasn't Prince Charming, and no way in hell was she Cinderella. He'd fallen in love with her, a dream come true turned to a nightmare. In his eyes she'd betrayed him, mistrusted him, been no better than his mother.
Something cold touched her face. Startled, she turned her head to see Simon nosing at her. She wrapped her arms around him and cried into his fur.
A day later, Derek sat in the easy chair in Mitch's home and watched an old action-adventure movie with Ryan. He'd be damned if he'd let the situation with Rachel and her family keep him away from a dying kid. To Mitch's credit, he didn't say a word when Derek showed up. Instead he left him alone.
Ryan lay on the couch and didn't say much, in as much of a funk as Derek himself. Which suited Derek just fine. Still reeling from confusion and sadness over Rachel, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Her green eyes had haunted his dreams last night. Not seeing her smile dimmed his day. He'd walked through the motions of living, numb and disengaged. His game suffered, and he knew he needed to get it together and soon.
Derek shook his head and pressed his palms against his scalp. His head pounded, and the pain in his heart became unbearable. He knew better than to get attached to a woman. They screwed you over the first chance they got.
She hadn't trusted him. They'd worked and played side by side all these months, not because she cared but because she thought he had information she wanted. He'd opened the gate and let her in, only to be played for a fool.
When Ryan suddenly spoke, Derek jumped half out of his chair. Ryan chuckled at his reaction but immediately sobered. “Did—Did Tyler tell you?"
"Tell me what?” Derek's mind spun in circles in an attempt to decipher Ryan's words.
"I had him do a little research for me."
"What kind of research?” Derek sat up straighter, giving Ryan his full attention.
"I asked him to find my mother."
"Oh. Did he?” Wary of another emotional minefield, Derek trod lightly. Ryan's mother and his shared the same mold.
Silence. Cold, dead silence. Derek craned his neck to see if Ryan had drifted off again. Instead their eyes met, and Derek knew the answer. His own dilemma seemed petty in the wake of this kid's struggles. Ryan's pain became his pain. It choked him, constricted his throat, slid through him like a knife gutting him from the inside out. He waited, giving Ryan time.
"He found her in Vegas.” Ryan stared at the ceiling.
"Is she okay?” Derek leaned forward in his chair.
"Oh yeah, she's a stripper. Again.” The kid's breath hitched.
He didn't have a response to that.
"She's not coming back."
"Ry, I'm sorry.” Derek knelt by the couch and touched the kid's shoulder. Those simple words, powerful in their sincerity, had never contained so much meaning.
"I never thought it would hurt this much.” Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, but a few tears leaked out.
Derek knew how much it hurt. He'd been there. Not even time completely healed the wounds caused by a disinterested mother, and time was something Ryan didn't have. Silence permeated the room, each lost in their own thoughts.
Ryan broke the silence first. “What's your mother like? You never talk about her."
Yeah, for a damn good reason
. “My mother isn't a part of my life."
"Do you miss her?"
"I don't know her. Do I miss having a mother? Yeah, at times, but I miss having a mother like Tyler has, not like the mother I have. I'm lucky to have a great stepmother. She's essentially my mother."
"Did you ever want to contact your real mom?"
"I did once. When I was a teenager, I called her. I thought she'd invite me to visit or tell me how much she missed me and regretted her decision to leave me behind. Yeah, I had this stupid fantasy. The reality of it was something quite different."
"What happened?” Ryan swiped at his face.
"She told me to go to hell and never contact her again."
"Oh. Wow. I'm sorry.” Ryan chewed on Derek's revelation for a moment.
Derek shrugged. “It is what it is."
"That sucks."
"Yeah, it does, buddy. Sometimes it does."
Great teams find a way to win even when they play like shit. Never had that been so true as it was Sunday.
The Jacks won by a field goal in overtime with no help from their star wide receiver.
For the first time all season, the other team got to Derek. They double- and triple-teamed him and disrupted his concentration. He didn't actually screw up, but he played a mediocre four quarters. He caught short passes, didn't make the big plays. His timing was nonexistent. His connection with Tyler severed. Nothing gelled. Nothing felt right.
Their plane landed close to midnight after a rough cross-country flight capped by a frigging snowstorm over the Rockies. All Derek wanted to do was crawl into a warm bed and pass out. His entire body ached. He had bruises on top of bruises; his knees throbbed. His head hurt. At intervals knife-blade pain stabbed him in the back. Yet none of it compared to the pain in his heart.
But the Jacks had won. They'd lived to play another day. He felt no joy in the victory, only numbness and relief, like he'd cheated fate one more time.
Sleep showed Derek no mercy either. He'd give his left nut for some dreamless z's. Instead he lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Random, yet somehow connected thoughts bounced around in his head.
He was so fucking confused.
Sighing, his mind drifted to Rachel. If only she lay next to him right now. He missed her humor, her gentle teasing, her common sense, her ability to pull him from a funk, her football knowledge and insight. Hell, he missed everything about her.
Stupid. Fucking stupid.
They were through, and it was best left that way. He'd gotten too attached, and they had no future.
Even though it hurt like hell, he didn't see another option.
Tyler opened the door and rubbed his bleary eyes. “Aw crap. What the hell do you want?"
Rachel pushed past him into the two-story foyer of his water-view condo. Professionally decorated, the cold, modern interior did nothing to reflect Tyler's personality or tastes.
"Good to see you too, Ty."
"Whatever,” he muttered. Why he'd become everyone's go-to guy, he hadn't a fucking clue. It had to stop. If talk got around, people would think he'd gone soft. He liked being an ass. It fit his lifestyle. Being a nice guy did not.
"Did I wake you up?” She didn't look the least bit contrite.
"Hell, yeah, I was up late partying."
"It's noon.” Her skeptical expression conveyed she didn't buy his bullshit.
"Wow, that early."
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I need a favor."
"Too bad. I'm fresh out. You'll have to find another sucker.” He took her arm to lead her back to the door. She dug in her heels and refused to move. Asshole or not, he didn't muscle women around, though the thought of throwing Rachel over his shoulder and tossing her out on her ass brought a smile to his lips.
"Sorry, you're the only sucker up to this job."
Just what he needed, another tough one. No thank you. “Can't do it.” Tyler released her and shuffled into the kitchen. She dogged his every step.
"You don't know what I'm asking."
"If it has to do with Derek and you, keep me out of it.” Tyler grabbed the milk and drank from the jug.
"I need your help.” The annoying woman wasn't taking no for an answer.
Tyler slumped onto one of the kitchen stools and propped his head up with his hands. A mother of a headache was coming on thanks to Rachel. “If I listen, will you go away and leave me alone?"
"No."