Fair Game: A Football Romance (4 page)

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. We aren’t going to have fun, Adam. I’m here to help you get back on the field, and I’m gonna kick your ass while I do it. Now, you can treat me like the professional that I am, or I can call the agency and have them send someone else, someone less qualified. Is that what you want?”

His face clouds over momentarily. I know he doesn’t want that. What I can’t figure out is why. Why me after all these years? I’m known for what I do, but according to Coach, Adam put me in his contract years ago, probably before I was even a nurse.

His heavy eyelids slowly slide shut, but he snaps them open, trying to fight the drugs that are keeping his pain at bay. Right away, they droop again and with half shut eyes, he inches his hand off the mattress. He reaches out and finds my hand on my hip and gently takes it in his. He moves our joined hands to the bed, surrendering to the medication flowing through his veins with me still in his grip.

His hand feels so right in mine, so familiar and comfortable. Tears begin to prick at the back of my eyes when memories of all the beautiful moments we spent together flood my mind.

Adam pushing me on the swings on the playground at school so high into the blue sky that I thought I could fly. Hot sticky summer days jumping off the high dive at the local swimming pool hand in hand. Swimming to the surface, I remember his smile when we burst from the deep water and his laugh when the lifeguard yelled at us to “go one at a time.”

We didn’t do anything without the other, like I said; I spent my life glued to his side. He was the bread to my butter, the other side of my coin. We went on a million picnics, fishing expeditions, and hikes through the woods. We roller-skated at the Roller Hut and hung out at the local mall with our friends. We ate at each other’s houses. Thursday night was dinner with the Silver crew and Tuesday nights were spent in the quieter Amero household. Every Friday night was date night. He took me to the movies and to every party. And when we went to college, he even snuck into my sorority house after our Friday night dates to make love to me.

It never occurred to me that we might not spend the rest of our lives together. It was a total give in, people didn’t associate one of us without the other. Adam and I were a package deal. If you invited Adam, it was assumed that I would be there too and vice versa. Our friends were as stunned as I was when we
broke up
, or whatever you call it. I call it abandonment, because to me that is what happened, he up and left.

My memories come full circle from warm and sweet to cold and depressing. I slip my hand from his as Coach and Star return to the room. A glimmer of hope in Star’s eye says she saw us holding hands. I’ll have to set her straight; right about the time I corner her to ask why she shut me out when Adam left.

“He’s asleep. Do you have the address where I’ll be staying? I’d like to get settled and shower so I can come back this evening and discuss Adam’s plan of care with Dr. Moto.”

I take my coat off of the chair and drape it over my arm. I want to get out of here, away from the memories—away from Adam.

“Star? Would you like me to take her back to Adam’s so you can stay with him? I’ve got to get to the afternoon practice anyway. I’ll be going right by his house.”

“Yes please, that would be great. If it’s okay with you, of course.” She reaches out to touch my arm, and I recoil. I didn’t mean to do it; it was more instinctual. I protect my body the same way I protect my heart. These people destroyed me once with their fake love and tenderness. I will not let it happen again.

Her face pales, and she removes her hand, holding it against her chest.

“Yes, it’s fine.” Coach and Star exchange looks as I locate my bags and move to the door.

Coach jumps to attention when he realizes I’m leaving without a goodbye. He probably thinks I’m a bitch, but right now I don’t give a damn. If he knew the real story, he would consider me a saint.

I have to get through this job with my mind, body, and soul intact. It’s as if the company I work for has my back with its name alone: MBS, mind, body and soul.

I’d like to keep all three, so I shoot a quick prayer to the big guy asking for that. I want to get on with my life, go to Florida, and help anyone other than Adam Silver.

If I can make it through the next few weeks, I’m confident MBS will make me a partner. I’ve been with them since they opened their doors four years ago. I have worked hard to make MBS a common household name among professional athletes and their coaches. I need this. I deserve it. He is not taking it from me. I won’t let him.

Chapter Six

Adam

It wasn’t nice to deceive her, but after all I’ve put her through, I was positive she would tell me to go to hell if I asked her to come. Now, I know I was right.

It’s amazing to listen to her voice in person again and to touch her soft brown skin. I’ve dreamt every night for four long years of her arms around my neck and her heels digging into my ass. That woman is good at everything she does, but in the bedroom, she’s phenomenal. No woman, and there have been a lot of them, has ever come close to equaling her passion or her skills.

I always had a hard time believing I was her first and only. Some people must be born with those talents. She could turn me on from across the room with a look. One flash of her ever-changing green-blue eyes, and I was hard and searching for a private place to bend her over and take her. Or a semi-private place, as it usually was. She was wild and loved the idea of being caught. And I loved the idea of being inside of her, wherever we were, so it didn’t matter to me.

God, I’m hard just thinking about her. Even doped up on morphine, I want her. I can’t wait to get out of this place and into my own bed, and hopefully not alone. I can think of a lot of things to do with Ame even with my leg in a brace, if she forgives me that is.

I need to sleep, but I can’t stop worrying about her. The only people who know she’s here are her boss, my mom, and Coach along with Casey, Ame’s friend Brea, and Cherry.

I also hope Cherry was able to get all of her stuff out of there in time for Casey to clean the place up.

Cherry and I have a complicated association. We met at a bar one night three years ago and hooked up. She’s the proverbial bad penny that kept turning up.

My first mistake was feeling bad for her. No wait, make that my second mistake, the first was fucking her. I got sucked into her web of lies and in a moment of weakness, I let her move into my guesthouse.

She gave me a big sob story about not having any family or a home. She intentionally preyed on my weaknesses. Cherry may be a street rat, but she knows how to do her research. I never told her I had a shitty home life, but she knew. I never mentioned that my dad was a gambling addict or that my brother had a problem with drugs and alcohol, but she baited me. I fell hook, line, and sinker. She went in for the kill with a story about being down on her luck, abused and alone. I know how it feels to be floating around in life, untethered, so I helped her. Well, you know the story; you give a mouse a cookie, and he wants a glass of milk.

The damn morphine in my IV is pulling me under. I won’t be capable of worrying soon. That’s why I need to get off this shit and take some pills. I can control the dose that way, and I need to be in control as much as possible over the next few weeks.

The soft beep of the IV lulls me into another drug-induced sleep. I relax and take comfort in knowing that when I wake up, she will be back …

Amethyst will be here …

Chapter Seven

Amethyst

Coach turns into a small, short drive that leads to a ridiculously large showy house. I catch him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch my reaction. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of being impressed, because honestly, I’m not. In fact, the grand sprawling lawn and columns on either side of his front door are obnoxious, like him. I’m used to the mansions and swimming pools that professional athletes only occupy a few months a year. It didn’t take me long to learn that it’s all for show—bragging rights, a trophy to prove they’ve made it big. Seems like a waste of money to me. All that upkeep, the gardeners, the cleaning crew, and for what? Thousands of unoccupied square feet collecting dust while the owner flies all over the country, getting concussions and brain damage to pay for it.

“I’ll drop you off here,” he says, parking in the circle driveway directly in front of the massive wrought iron front doors. “The door’s open. Casey is the housekeeper. She’s expecting you. She can show you where everything is. Adam wanted me to give you these.” He hands me a key ring with two keys on it. One looks like a house key, and the other is a car fob.

“What’s this?” I ask. Cars and personal access to the athlete’s home aren’t in my contract. I usually use an Uber or a cab and go in and out of a private entrance. Unless it’s a really long-term assignment, then I rent.

“He wants you to be able to get around while you’re here. This is the key to his car. It’s in the garage on the side of the house. Again, Casey will show you where everything is. And the other key is to the guest house out back; he wanted you to have some privacy.”

How thoughtful.

“How does he have this all planned? He couldn’t have known he was going to injure himself this morning. He seems to have gotten all the bases covered, which is impressive for a man who spent the day on an operating table.” I don’t care if I sound suspicious. This is all too weird.

“He’s had this planned down to the smallest detail for years in the contract he signed with the Redkings. He made it clear that no one was to have access to his home, car, or his body—other than you—in the instance that he was injured or unconscious. As I’m sure you know, most players in the NFA suffer an injury at some point in their career.”

Now that bit of news surprises me. He’s been expecting an injury, counting on it actually. I wonder if he counted on it happening earlier in his career. Did he ever stop and think that it could be years before he would need medical attention? Like six long-ass years?

I snatch the keys and hop out of Coach’s truck. He starts to get out to help me with my bags, but I hold up a hand to tell him not to bother. I’ve got this. I’m used to taking care of myself. I do feel a little bit like the prostitute in
Pretty Woman
what with the car, the house key, and I suspect that’s not where the spoiling ends. If any of my Adam, the old Adam, is left inside the Silver Snake, the spoiling has just begun.

He loved to pamper me. Even when we were broke, he did sweet, thoughtful little things for me. Once he texted me in the middle of my econ class in college and told me there was an emergency at his aunt’s house. We were living in Iowa City, and his aunt lived right off campus in a little bungalow.

I was in such a hurry to leave, I dropped my purse, and the contents went tumbling down the steps of the auditorium, interrupting the class. It was so embarrassing, but a couple of people took pity on me and helped me chase down the crap from my purse when I said I had an emergency.

When I arrived at his aunt’s house, he calmly opened the door, wearing only a towel around his trim hips and a sexy-as-hell smile. His hair was longer then; he looked more like a California surfer than a Midwestern college kid. Every defined muscle on his athletic body was on display, working to distract me from the so-called emergency.

He pulled me inside and guided me to the bathroom where he had a hundred little tea light candles lit. His aunt’s claw foot tub was filled with warm water, bubbles, and rose petals. The florist near his frat house gave him the petals for free. The tea lights were courtesy of the dollar store, and his aunt was out of town for the weekend. Our favorite song was playing on his phone. He hummed along with the music while he undressed me and set about burning a memory so deep into my mind that there was no hope of me ever forgetting it. And when he left, I tried. God, did I try.

I raise my hand to ring the bell, and the door swings open.

“Hello Amethyst, I’m Casey. Welcome to Mr. Silver’s home. I’ve been instructed to show you around. Can I take your coat?” Casey says, bursting at the seams.

Her enthusiastic greeting reminds me of the greeters at Target. “Welcome to Target, is there anything I can help you find?”

“Hi Casey, thanks.” I hand her my coat, and the tiny pixie-haired girl hurries to hang it in a coat closet in the foyer.

“I’ll give you a tour of the house and then take you to the guest house. I’m so excited to have somebody staying here. Mr. Silver doesn’t have much company, and he’s gone a lot. So we … I … don’t get to talk to anybody.”

Casey’s body is vibrating with excitement. She sounds like she’s had one too many doses of Adderall today.

“Oh my gosh, sorry, I’m babbling. Come with me down this hall here.” Casey gestures toward one of the three exits in the foyer. This poor girl is desperate for a friend, or she needs some human contact … something.

I always imagined Adam’s house being full of half-dressed women, running around giggling, drugs and alcohol on every flat surface, strangers milling around the pool outside with music blasting. The media portrays him as such a bad boy, a man whore, but this house is nothing like I pictured it.

The short hall leads to a kitchen fit for a king. No surprise there, Adam loves to cook. Being the oldest of six kids, he helped his mom cook a lot, but he enjoyed it. I think if he hadn’t gone into football, he would have been a chef.

As we tour the house, Casey chatting incessantly all the while, I notice little things that remind me of the years we spent growing up together. I recognize a stone statue of a cat that his grandmother gave him when we were eleven on the breakfront in the dining room. He wanted a cat so bad, but his sister Leslie was allergic, so they couldn’t have one. This was Grandma Silver’s solution. Family photos line the mantel in the living room over the fireplace. I can name every person in all of them, including myself. I stop in front of a large photograph of Adam and me with his parents on his graduation day. Why does he have this displayed in his house? Astonished, I stare at the photo and then the one next to it, another of him and me at the St. Louis zoo when we were in high school. And behind that one is a picture of us with all of his brothers and sisters in the back yard posing by the privacy fence making silly faces.

My heart clenches and I’m aware of a familiar, hollow sensation in my belly. That old sense of being discarded and forgotten returns in waves at seeing our past laid out in front of me. 

“That’s you huh? I always wondered who that girl was in those pictures whenever I dusted in here. You must have known Mr. Silver for a long time. You two were a cute couple. You were a couple, weren’t you? I make up little stories in my head sometimes about the two of you holding hands in the halls of your high school or making out in the back seat of his car.”

She stops sharing when she catches herself going too far with her fantasies. Her mouth forms a small O and her eyes pop open.

“I talk too much. I’m sorry, don’t mind me,” she says, turning to lead me out of the room. She wants me to follow her, but I’m still stuck looking at the pictures with cement in my belly. When she realizes I’m not with her, she pokes her head around the corner and lifts her eyebrows in expectation.

“How long has he had these pictures out there?” I ask.

“Uh, well always, I guess. I’ve worked here since he bought the house three years ago. So yeah, always.”

Huh. I close my eyes and shake my head. I don’t understand.

“How about I show you to your house. We can do all this later, that okay?” she asks, and I nod. Casey leads me back through the house to the kitchen and out through a set of French doors onto the patio. There is a pool of course. Adam loves to swim, and a house that I would hardly call a guesthouse was about a hundred feet from the pool.

Easily three thousand square feet, the guesthouse is much more than I need, but I do appreciate the offer for privacy. The kitchen is fully stocked, including a bottle of my favorite wine on the counter, indicating that indeed some of
my
Adam is still alive and well and giving gifts. I leave the wine and act like I don’t notice it so I can read the accompanying note when Casey is gone.

The bedroom is open and airy with a cooler feel to it than the main house, which is exactly how I would decorate if I had unlimited funds and professional decorators. 

Adam prefers a warm homey décor mixed with modern furnishings. It’s nice. I like it too. But out here, it feels like he crawled into my brain and hand-picked every one of my favorite paint and material swatches to make me feel at home. I love the cool greys and deep purples with large plants and fuzzy rugs.

When Casey is done explaining the security system, how to open and close the gates around the fenced-in pool and the controls on the Jacuzzi tub in my bathroom, I collapse on my back onto the king-sized canopy bed. Why did she have to tell me all about the swimming pool in January? She was either being thorough or really lonely. I’m going to go with lonely. I should make it a point to befriend her—if I can stand it.

I sit up after a while and decide to unpack and shower. On the counter in the bathroom is a wicker basket as large as a laundry basket. It is filled with plush new towels, shampoos, body wash, bath salts, loofahs, and a multitude of skin care products, cosmetics, perfumes, and even a first aid kit. Really? I’m a nurse, and he thought I might need a first aid kit? I shake my head and lift the heavy basket off of the counter and slide it into a corner, grabbing one of the fat towels.

What kind of game is Adam playing here? Not a fair game for sure. Is he messing with my head and my heart intentionally? He’s kissing some serious ass, but for what? He’s got everything a man could want: a macho career, money, women, big house, fast cars. What could he possibly want from me?

I open the shower door and turn the knob to hot. The water falls straight down from a rainfall showerhead, and within seconds, steam is billowing over the top of the door. I peel off my clothes and place the towel on a stool next to the shower. I’m about to step in when I remember the wine and the note.

The shower can wait. I wrap the towel around my body and pad through the house to the kitchen and grab the envelope under the bottle. I tilt back the bottle and sigh. Yep, he remembers what I like.

Press the blue button.

I look around and find a remote that looks more like the inside of the cockpit of a 747. I locate the only blue button and hesitate before pressing it. A woman’s voice startles me from behind before I can make up my mind to press or not to press.

“So, you’re the physical therapist ex-girlfriend?” a woman says, her voice thick with jealousy and resentment. I whip around and find a beautiful leggy blonde standing next to the French doors that open onto the patio.

“I was wondering why I had to get my shit and split so quick. Guess he’s gonna take a little trip down old memory lane while he’s laid up in bed, huh?”

She’s eyeing me from head to toe as if she were taking in the competition. How the hell did she get in here? I blow out a breath. I’ll bet half the East Coast has keys to Adam’s house and guesthouse.

“I’m a Nurse Practitioner, and I haven’t dated Adam in over six years. I haven’t even seen him, not that it’s any of your business. Who exactly are you anyway, and how did you get into this house?” I ask.

I’m annoyed and maybe a little scared. She could be some psycho with an unhealthy attachment to Adam. She could actually be his flavor of the week. Who knows? Either way, I’m being cautious.

“I’m Cherry, Adam’s girlfriend, or I was until I got kicked out on my ass this morning. I’ve seen your pictures on the fireplace, figured I’d find ya in here. He bought you a gift, huh? He never did that for me. Didn’t do much of anything but fuck me. He’s real good at fuckin though, no complaints there. He let me stay here when I didn’t have no place to go.”

She may be beautiful, but she’d do well to keep her mouth shut. She sounds like an illiterate, white-trash birdbrain, exactly the type of woman I’d imagined Adam with.

“Well, Cherry,” I say deliberately, pausing after her awful name. Who the hell goes by Cherry unless she’s a stripper? That’s got to be it.

“I don’t know what your living arrangements are or what your relationship with Adam consists of, but I am living here for a while to help Adam with his recovery. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t barge in unannounced and uninvited. And as for Adam’s fucking, yes, I’d have to agree with you. He’s a proficient fucker in more ways than one, but I don’t plan on exploring that avenue with him ever again. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like your key to the house. I have to shower and get back to the hospital.”

I bravely step closer to the bimbo and hold out my hand for the key. She looks at me with a newfound respect and makes a sucking sound through her teeth before handing it over. I’m not delusional enough to think that’s all it will take to keep her out, but it’s a symbolic get-the-fuck-out-and-don’t-come-back gesture. I’ll have the locks changed and a new code for the security panel set.