Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1) (8 page)

Regret. The six letter word that always shows up late to the damn party. Just like I should have. I have Ray's number. I could have called him. Told him I was running behind. Grabbed a decent dress from Reese’s closet. It would certainly beat showing up to freaking mansion looking like this.
 

I’ve never heard of Woodinville until today and there’s a damn good reason. A girl like me has no business in a place like this. I observe the scene before me. The house stretches so far across I have to swivel my body to take it all in. It looks like an oversized log cabin. I stand in the middle of a gravel driveway, surrounded by red wood chips and shrubs. The grass on either side of the house is as green as a golf course and just as perfect. Behind the house I can see the tips of evergreens and not a single neighbor in site. My comments last night about Ray getting a payday, thanks to my cousin’s skills, seem ridiculously misplaced now. These people clearly don’t need the money. Maybe it really is just about the game.

“Sydney,” Ray's voice breaks into my thoughts. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wow,” I say, side-glancing him before focusing my attention back on the house. “Shouldn’t you say something like ‘welcome to Carlson manor?’”

Ray laughs and I take step forward as he beckons for me to follow him. “Trust me,” he says. “It’s not what you think.”

“I don’t think I’m in Seattle anymore. That’s for damn sure.”

He leads me around the side of the house and I follow along, cautiously. I can’t see anything past his broad frame and, try as I may, I also can’t keep my eyes off the way his ass looks in those jeans. Are guys even supposed to have asses that tight? I mentally picture my own, deciding a diet’s worth of doughnuts and soda and a strong aversion to anything that involves strenuous activity probably aren’t doing me any favors. Then again, he’s a football player, isn’t he pretty much required to have a body like Thor?
 

Wait a minute. Jeans. He’s wearing jeans. Relief washes over me and I turn my attention back to Ray two seconds too late and smash right into his back.
 

“Shit.” It’s not like I’ve screamed it or anything but I’ve apparently said it loud enough to garner a tightened jaw from his aunt and a wide-eyed stare from a girl I’ve never seen before.
 

“Sorry about that,” Ray says, in a low voice. “Sydney’s here, everyone. Let’s eat.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Baker, for having me over today. It’s very kind of you,” I paint on my brightest smile as I trail behind Ray up the steps to the massive cedar deck.
 

She smiles back, probably just as fake. “Actually it’s Carlson, sweetie.”

“Pardon?”

“I kept my last name.” Her gaze shifts to Ray.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I…didn’t realize.”

“Well, we’re not exactly the kind of people who broadcast our lives. Of course a simple search would have revealed as much.” Mr. Baker clears his throat and she smiles a little wider. “But that’s okay. It’s an honest mistake.” She rests a tray of fancy looking cheese and weird looking crackers in the center of a large oak table and tucks a lock of shiny dark hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you sit here, beside Reverend Baker? Ray, I put you over there, beside Kristen.”

I smile at the curly-haired blond in a yellow sundress. She’s either overdressed, or knows her place, because she’s almost a Sheila Carlson doppelganger. Same stiff smile, same manicured nails, uncomfortable looking shoes, Cover Girl makeup. I stick out my hand. “Hey, Kristen. I’m Sydney. Are you Ray’s sister?”

“No she’s—”

“His girlfriend,” Kristen cuts Ray off then taps her hand to her forehead. “Sorry, force of habit. Ex. Ex girlfriend.”

“And friend of the family,” Ray adds. “Didn’t realize you’d be here today, Kris.”

“You know how I love those blue cheese burgers of yours. Couldn’t resist the invite.”
 

Ray casts a look on his aunt. Then he pulls out a chair and smiles at me. “Have a seat.”
 

I comply and he sits down next to me.
 

“How are you, Sydney?” Reverend Baker asks, easing into the spot at the head of the table. The rest of them follow suit, settling down into their chairs. Kristen on the other side of me and Mrs. Carlson on the opposite end.

“I’m good. Thank you. And, you know, thanks for inviting me. You have a lovely home.” I reach for my water, paying close attention to my coordination this time around.
 

“Honey, why don’t you say grace?” Sheila leans across the table and pats Ray on the arm.
 

“Uh, sure.” He clears his throat.

Beside me Kristen clears her throat, but it sounds more like a snicker. I rest my glass down, wishing the stupid ground would open up. Right now.

I barely register Ray's words and join quietly in the chorus of Amens, a few seconds too late. For the first ten minutes, dishes of corn on the cob, barbecued steak, ribs, chicken wings, burgers and grilled veggies are passed around the table. I don’t want to be rude, so I take a little bit of everything. But, by the end, my plate is filled so high I don’t know what to do with it. I’m the only one with that dilemma, it seems, because everyone else just digs right in.
 

Dainty little Kristen has twice the amount of food as me and inhales her chicken wings in five minutes flat without a single stray drop of sauce. Why I was brave enough to put those in my plate in the first place, I don’t know. I’m not even going to attempt it. I’ve made a fool of myself around these people enough in the first few encounters.
 

“How old are you, Sydney?” Ray’s aunt asks, as she leans over my shoulder and fills my glass with tea.

“Uh, twenty-two. Twenty-three in June.”

“Oh, my. Don’t you look young for your age.”

I force a smile. “Get that all the time. Good genes, I guess.”

I glance at Ray and he offers an encouraging smile.
 

“And, you never mentioned, what’s your alma mater again?” She asks as she serves Kristen.

“My what?”

“You’re school, dear. Where did you get your certification?”

“Oh…I didn’t. I’m, I guess you could say, home-trained.”

She stares hard at Ray, over the Reverend’s head. “Any plans for the future?”

“School?” I ask. “Not unless I win the lottery.”

I laugh. Ray and Reverend Baker join in, as Kristen and Sheila exchange glances.
 

“Or, if your poor cousin wakes up, you can sign Ray,” Kristen says. “I’m sure that’ll come with a nice bonus.”

“No doubt,” I reply.

“So,” Reverend Baker’s voice booms across the table, just as I’ve finally managed to cut a piece of steak and pop it in my mouth. “Why don’t you tell us more about Miss Clarke’s work at Baldwin & Mahr, Sydney. Why should my boy take your deal?”

I wash the chewy piece of meat down with a several swigs of sweet tea and pat the corners of my mouth with a red-and-white -checkered napkin. “Reese has worked with the best,” I reply. “Rick Jones, Farley Stuart, Joey Nichols. Those are some of the top guys in the league. Not to mention Lamar Carmichael, Reggie Wilder and Shanice Richards. The biggest NBA and WNBA contracts in years. She makes sure every deal is airtight, matches every client with the right endorsement—you never have to worry about compromising your integrity. Like she always says, if she has to sew a gold star on your ass, she will.”

Shit.

Mrs. Carlson lets out a dry cough and Kristen stiffens beside me. When I catch a glimpse of Ray, he’s doing his best to hide a smile behind an ear of corn.

“I apologize,” I lick my lips and turn to Mrs. Carlson. “It’s just a thing she says. That was rude. I’m very sorry.”

“See what concerns us, Sydney,” Reverend Baker continues, seemingly unaffected by my guffaw. “Is Reese’s inability to preform at all right now. I’ve met her and I’ll be the first to tell you I like her style. I think she’s great for Ray, here. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s…unresponsive.”

“She’ll get better.” It comes out sounding more like a plea. “I know she will. She’s been improving everyday and the doctors say—”

“While I appreciate your confidence in her recovery,” his mom cuts in. “There are no guarantees. William Mahr has already begun to dissolve her roster. He sees the importance of ensuring B and M clients get the best they have to offer. While she may have maintained that position for quite sometime, Miss Clarke simply isn’t the best right now. She’s nothing.”

There is heaviness in my chest that I can’t push away. I am quickly growing tired of a fight I cannot seem to win. And truth be told, when I put myself in their shoes, when I hear things from that perspective, I can’t help but agree. From where she lies, Reese can’t do a thing. No matter how good she is, no matter what she promised. She can’t. I believe she’ll wake up. I believe deep in my heart she’ll bounce back but, like she said, there are no guarantees.
 

I stare down at my barely touched plate, then back up at Ray. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I know how much this means to you. Guys like you work very hard to get to where you are and your family’s right. Jeopardizing it, based on a gut feeling, isn’t worth it.” I push my chair back and rise to my feet. “If I could just use your washroom first, I’ll let myself out.”

Mrs. Carlson looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. The worry lines on her forehead are completely smoothed out and a faint smile plays on her lips as she sips her glass of tea, before resting it quietly on the table. “Right through there.” She points to the double glass doors behind me. “Straight down the hallway, third door on your right.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Typical, Sydney. Typical.

I sigh, glancing behind me in search of anything that looks remotely like a hallway. I’m lost already and I’ve only been looking for thirty seconds. The inside of the house is pretty much open concept, like one big studio apartment. There are barely any walls and let alone hallways. There are windows at every corner and everything is covered in the same immaculate cedar as the outside. Every piece of furniture is either oak or leather. There are literal moose heads on the walls and a rifle, which I’m hoping isn’t loaded, rests atop a mantel on proud display.

Off to my side is a set of stairs and I make my way toward it. The plush carpet squishes beneath my feet as I take them one at time, my bladder feeling like it’s about to explode. There is a bathroom at the very top. After I finally relieve myself, I hurry back toward the stairs. I need to get out of here. Now. Then I need to go home and come up with a plan. A way to get myself out of this mess.
 

I suppose there’s always the possibility of going back to Texas. I could agree with Mom and finally sell the house. Or I could just grow some balls and live in it. But selling would be better. That way I’d have money and I could get some actual training. Become legit and take on real clients. There’s always a need for P.I.s in Sweetwater. Or maybe I could go to Dallas. Or come right back here to Seattle. For all I know Reese will need me. If she…

I shake the thought from my head. She will recover. I know it.
 

As I approach the stairs, I catch a glimpse of a room off to my left. There is a license plate hanging on it with the letters R-A-Y, awkwardly spaced out like someone scratched the others off. When I get closer, I realize they’re painted over. It’s an Idaho plate and right beside the words “famous potatoes” there is a sticker of a blue and white hawk head with a bright green eye.
 

“Seahawks.” I brush my fingers over the plate and the door creaks open. “You’re cue, Sydney,” I mutter to myself. “Do not go in there.” I crane my neck to peer through the doorway and throw a glance over my shoulder, my curious nature taking over. “What the hell. Not like I’ll ever get a shot like this again.”

Stepping into Ray's room is like going back in time. The navy blue sheet set, gray carpet, and oak bedroom set remind me of my high school-boyfriend Joshua’s room. Only everything is clean. No pile of dirty clothes in the corner. No empty food containers on the desk. Immaculate. Likely at the hand of his dear auntie. I walk straight toward the floor-to-ceiling window across from me. The view of the side yard makes me instantly homesick. A thick forest meets a field of wild flowers. The sun peaks through the tips of fir trees as it makes its descent.
 

I sigh. Time to go. Back home where I belong.
 

I turn to leave and that’s when I notice a photograph perched on Ray's nightstand. I pick it up and gaze at the girl staring back. Her hair is dark and wavy, her eyes a ghostly gray. With defined cheekbones and full lips even her picture’s got most girls beat.
 

“A little lost?”

I jump at the sounds of Ray's voice. “Oh, God.” I rest the picture back down. “Yes, I fully admit to being the snoop I am. I saw the license plate, the door opened and the view and I…”

Ray chuckles. “The door just opened all by itself?”

“No. I mean I pushed it. But I didn’t mean to.” I cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I feel like that’s all I know how to say to you people. And even that doesn’t sound convincing.”

“It’s cool. I wanted to offer you a drive home. That cab out here couldn’t have been cheap.”

I wasn’t. I consider the void in my wallet. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“So what do you think of my old room?”

“Cute,” I reply, my gaze dropping back down to the photo. “Who’s that?”

“Oh.” Ray shrugs. “It’s…no one.”

“Another girlfriend?” I pick it up again.

Ray chuckles. “Sorry about Kirsten. My parents are convinced I’m only controlled by my…” He gestures toward his crotch. “I guess she was supposed to act as some kind of buffer. Although I’m not exactly sure how that was supposed to work, considering I’ve never had any real feelings for her.”

He steps forward and takes the frame from me. “No. Not a girlfriend.” He stares at it for a long moment before placing back on the nightstand. “No one,” he says again.

“Now you see that sounds suspiciously like she’s someone. Someone important. Like a crush you can’t get over maybe?”