Scrimmage Gone South (Crimson Romance) (32 page)

She looked up and tried to look surprised but she wasn’t — at least not in the shocked
I didn’t see that coming way
. If there was any genuine surprise at all, it was that it had been so easy.

“Would you? Really? I would have never thought … ” She turned to her iPad and began to scroll. “Well, if you think you might be … ” She began to show him pages and pages of mock up ads, talking all the while. This one would be shot in Milan, that one on some beach he’d never heard of. Rome. New Orleans. India. Japan. San Francisco. There would be lots of money offered. She named some numbers, crazy numbers. Not that he cared. His needs were simple and he made enough to meet them. What would he spend that kind of money on anyway? Certainly not Tiffany jewelry for Townshend. He banished thoughts of Townshend even if it did mean he had to tune back into Arianna. She was going on about ten page spreads, public appearances, and names of magazines that she seemed to think would impress him.

“What about
Sports Illustrated
?” he interrupted her.

She froze for a minute and then laughed. “Oh, darling, you are funny. You would do well.
If
you
were
interested.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“And what about you, Mother? Would you be interested?”

It was the first time he’d ever called her Mother. She did not react to it, or seem to even notice.

“Well,” she said slowly. “I hadn’t really thought of it. I had never considered.” She tried to pretend like she was still trying to decide if she would be willing. It was small wonder she had never moved on to acting like a lot of supermodels did. Her second career had been marrying and divorcing. “But, yes,” she said with a certainty that was supposed to look newfound. “Yes. Most of all, I would love to do it with you. It would be wonderful to spend that kind of time with you, the traveling, the appearances, the television commercials. But second to that, something like this would make an important statement for older models everywhere. After all, not everyone was as lucky monetarily as I was. And I still get the odd job here and there.”

Sick. He was so sick. She hadn’t come here for him at all. And he hated himself for hoping she had. Oh, he had hidden it deep, but now he understood that underneath all the ranting and railing, he had really hoped she had come here to be his mother.

“Maybe we could set up a telethon for old models,” he said.

Her face froze. She wasn’t sure how to react, didn’t know him well enough to know if he was being sarcastic or he was really that stupid.

“But on second thought, I don’t think so. I’m not the perfume type. And I don’t want to go to New York for Christmas either. Too cold. Why don’t you come here, instead? We’ll look for a place for you to live and I’ll get you set in your new job taking care of the locker room.”

Her face shifted to pure devastation. She turned off the iPad and put it back in that monster bag.

“Really, Nathan. There’s no need to make fun of me.”

He stood up. “For just a little while there, I thought you really had come here for me. I was all set to swallow it too. I guess I even wanted to. You pulled out that iPad too soon.”

“I
did
come here for you.”

“Oh, you did not. You didn’t even call until Jamie changed her story. That panty peddler you used to model for saw my picture and thought it was acceptable. After I was cleared, they decided to capitalize on my fifteen seconds of fame and my connection to you.”

“Acceptable? Nathan, do you have any idea what your face would buy you?”

Well, not a mother and not a truthful Townshend.

Then, in a very clinical way, she set about assessing him with talk of bone structure, eye color, body type, and something about the shape of his mouth.

Finally, he couldn’t stand anymore. “Lou Anne had it right. You’re addicted to the limelight. Now get out of here.”

“Lou Anne! She has no business talking about me. She’s bitter. She turned you against me.”

“Yeah. That’s it. It was all Lou Anne’s doing. Now, you scoot on back to France. I’m sure that private plane and your next ex-husband are waiting for you.” He got up and opened the door.

“This is not over,” she said softly, as she gathered up her things. “You are my son.”

“Arianna, it never even got started.”

She left. If she looked back, he would never know.

He did not want to be in Townshend’s house, smelling her scent, seeing the shoes she’d kicked off by the door and Seven’s backpack cluttering up the coffee table, but even less did he want to walk with Adrianna to where his truck was parked behind her rental car.

He sat down and put his head in his hands. This was finished and he finally knew it. He’d always had trouble knowing when to face that something was done. That’s what he’d been taught in football, what he taught his boys. Never face defeat until the last second is gone. Good football philosophy. It didn’t always translate so well to real life.

It had taken him months to face that he wasn’t going to play football again. It had taken him decades to face that not everybody gets to have a mother.

People said he had anger issues and that was probably true. But the anger he’d felt before was hot anger, like a silver teapot boiling over to make a mess on the floor of the country club.

The anger that was running the show inside him now started wars and wiped out empires. That was the difference in hot anger and cold anger. Hot anger knew no reason. Cold put on a movie of truth in perfect, cruel, crystal clarity.

Cold anger showed you a town that didn’t care that you’d taken a pay cut to come back and save their football team — at least not enough to take your word for something important.

Cold anger showed you that the only reason you were willing to swallow the betrayal of that town was so you could hang around in hopes you’d be allowed to be a debutante’s lapdog.

Cold anger showed you that lying debutantes lived and died that way.

Cold anger showed you that not everyone is fit to be a mother.

Cold anger taught you not to take any prisoners, to do what’s best for yourself, to get the hell away from ungrateful towns and, even more important, conniving spoiled brat lawyer girls who were never going to grow up.

He was making changes, starting now.

He picked up his phone and placed a call.

Skip Lowery didn’t even say hello. “Well, Nathan Scott. Since
you
are calling
me
— and that’s a first, can I assume you are ready to talk a little ESPN?”

“There you are!” a familiar voice rang out when Tolly entered Lou Anne’s. She looked past many heads until she found the head attached to the voice. Harris was motioning her to their usual table in the back. Luke was also on his feet scouting about for an extra chair — which was no small task. The diner was full of people eating late breakfasts and early lunches. Missy, Lanie, Lucy, and the kids were scooting around to make room for the chair Luke had unearthed — the chair that they were going to expect her to sit in.

This was not what she had signed up for. She had intended an in and out trip. Order food. Gone.

Harris settled her into the chair just like their grandmother had taught him.

“I guess you got my text, after all,” Missy said.

“Uh, no.” Tolly patted her pocket. “Oh. I left my phone.” Her phone, her heart, her good sense — all left. At least she could retrieve the phone later.

“Ok,” Missy said in her cruise director voice. “We met up with the guys when they got through playing golf. When we’re done here, they’re going to take the kids and go back to our house to watch football. Lanie, Lucy, and I are going to Birmingham shopping. Then we’ll all go back to my house to watch the Alabama game. Kickoff’s at six. I’ve got chili in the Crockpot and we’ll pick up some cupcakes at Edgar’s. That’s our day. We can stop by and get your phone.”

“I tried to call Nathan,” Harris said. “I’ll try again later.”

Tolly ignored Harris. Even if it wasn’t common knowledge, she thought they all understood that she was no longer Nathan’s keeper — as if she ever had been.

Instead she turned to Missy. “I can’t go shopping. I really came in to order food for tonight. Kirby’s with some of his teammates at the Walters’ house watching football and I have to contribute to tonight’s meal.”

“Oh, come on and go with us,” Lanie said. “Order the food. Emma can stay with Harris and Luke will pick it up and take it over there.”

“I will.” Luke nodded. “Be glad to. Just tell me when.”

“Great! Perfect!” Missy said. “I need to buy some Christmas gifts for the Lee/Bragg contingent. I’ve got to have your input.”

Not great. Certainly not perfect. She needed out of here. Everything was closing in — bacon, coffee, noise. And Daryl Grayson was sliding onto a stool at the counter.

“Do you want some food?” Harris asked, but didn’t wait for her to answer. He was already out of his chair. “I’ll save Lou Anne a trip back here. I know what you want.”

“Harris! No. I don’t want — ”

But Lou Anne was already headed their way, looking all smug. “Unless I miss my guess, this is breakfast for you!” And she set down a bowl of cheese grits and a cup of coffee in front of Tolly. “Now.” She turned to the rest of them. “A big pan of cinnamon rolls just came out of the oven. Any takers before word gets out?” She motioned to the standing room only crowd around her.

“Yes! And Lou Anne?” This came from Lucy. “Tolly needs some food tonight for a gang of teenagers.”

“Whatever you need, baby. For how many?” Lou Anne pulled a pad out of her pocket.

She had thought fifteen. Now she wasn’t sure. What if it wasn’t enough? They might invite more, and extra kids just had a way of showing up. Her judgment was bad and she was in cinnamon roll, cheese grits, and Run Tolly’s Life Hell.

“Uh. Twenty? By five o’clock?” Better too much than not enough. Was that too much to ask? Didn’t she ask too much of everyone?

“Fried chicken and macaroni and cheese?” Lou Anne asked.

“Perfect. Exactly what I was going to ask for.” At least something was going right.

“You’ll need a couple of chocolate pies and some peach cobbler too.” Lou Anne was writing on her pad.

No, she didn’t. Someone else was in charge of dessert.

“Better give her some lemon pies too,” Harris said before she could speak. “At least three. These are teenagers.”

“You just leave it to me, baby.” Lou Anne patted her arm.

“And I’m picking it up,” Luke said.

No, he wasn’t. But oh, hell, why not? She didn’t have a car and no one was listening to her anyway.

“Luke,” Lanie said. “Stop by the shop. I’ll call and tell Phillip to box up some candy and you can take that too.”

“Aunt Tolly!” Beau scampered onto the table and proceeded to crawl around dishes and through syrup to get to her. “Take me!” He turned over Lanie’s orange juice.

“Harris!” Missy squealed, reaching.

Tolly had to get out of here. Out. Right now.

“I have to go.”

She began to weave through the crowd, eyes down, pretending not to hear her friends call to her, pretending not to notice people speaking to her.

There was the door — and freedom. Just ten more feet.

Then she could go somewhere and wait for Arianna’s call. Then she could go home and play angel songs and cry — maybe for the rest of her life.

• • •

Nathan had a plan, a good one with no complications. “Get on the first plane you can,” Skip had said to him. “Fly first class. Let me know the particulars, and I’ll send a car for you.”

And that was what he was going to do. He wasn’t even going to pack a bag. Skip said they would talk as soon as he got there, over a meal if feasible. If they didn’t like him in jeans and his game day Crimson Tide shirt, everybody might as well know it now. He would buy a toothbrush when he got there. Hell, he wasn’t even going by his apartment. He might never go there again. He’d hire somebody to pack the place up and ship him what he wanted — which wouldn’t be much.

He was starting new and he’d get new stuff. He would resign his job over the phone when he was damned good and ready. It was more than they deserved. The only thing he planned to see through was negotiating scholarships for Kirby and the two other seniors who stood a chance. Truth be told, he’d be in a better position to do that from some fancy office at ESPN.

And he intended to have a fancy office, devoid of smelly football equipment, a vinyl rolling chair, and teenage boys. Skip had said that he could write his own ticket, up to a point. Nathan had no idea where that point was, nor did he care. He was going to have what he wanted or he wasn’t going to work for them.

He did not care.

He parked his truck in front of the diner. He was going to go inside and tell his news and say goodbye to the only person in town who deserved the consideration.

Head down, eyes on the floor, and she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Tolly had never noticed that Lou Anne’s tile had green specks in it before. She’d never noticed Lou Anne’s tile before.

Then she saw the feet. She knew those feet, knew those shoes, had tripped over them a few times on her way from the bed to the bathroom. White leather Nikes with a scuff on the left toe.

Maybe if she didn’t look up, he would go away. One thing for sure, even if things had gone well with his mother, she didn’t want to hear what he would have to say to her. So she just
wouldn’t
hear it.

“Excuse me,” she muttered without looking up and proceeded to go around him.

“Excuse you? No, I don’t think so. Not this time, Townshend.”

There was nothing to do but raise her head and look at him. There he was. High cheekbones, caramel hair falling in chocolate eyes, and a mouth she knew like her own but wouldn’t get to know again. He didn’t look angry, but how could that be?

She had to know, had to know if any good had come out of what she did.

“Did you see her? Your mother? Are things better with you, maybe?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head the way he did when he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.