Chapter 25
Fin
Red rage simmered behind my eyelids as I hurried to the kitchen. On the island sat a large bouquet of amber-colored roses. Clenching my jaw, I turned to Vee. Her happy demeanor of seconds ago was gone. Anxiety radiated from her being as she wrapped her arms around her midsection.
“What does the card say?” Vee asked.
Mom and Dad stood silently as I reached for the small envelope.
My mother stepped forward. “Is something wrong?”
“We don’t know,” I replied. On the front of the envelope, Maeve Hubbard was written in swirling penmanship. On the back was the name of the florist—Mishler Florist. I opened the flap and pulled out the small card. The message was typed.
I began to read aloud. “Congratulations on another win. That spotlight feels warm today. The temperature will rise. How hot is too hot? What will happen when the truth comes out? Even your daddy couldn’t stop it.” I looked up from the card to Vee. “I’m calling Ethan or Jacob.”
Vee nodded. “You could go talk in person to whoever is on duty.” She tipped her head toward the flowers. “Take those with you. They can use them in the lobby or throw them away. I don’t care.”
Mom wrapped her arm around Vee’s shoulders. “Honey, you’re shaking. I don’t understand.”
Swallowing, Vee inhaled. “We don’t either.”
I looked at the envelope lying on the counter. “They came from Mishler Florist.”
“That’s the same one as the last bouquet,” Vee said. “They’re local.”
“Last time the Coopers played on Sunday, and the flowers were delivered the following Monday afternoon. I’ve wired flowers. There’s no way that someone wired these flowers on a Saturday night. Our game ended only a few hours ago.”
Vee pressed her lips together and shook her head. Blinking, she forced a smile. “Hey, let’s turn on the game, and then I’ll show you to your room. Actually, we walked past it.”
I lifted the vase. “I’ll be right back.”
The guest room was toward the door across the hallway from Vee’s office. I heard the locking mechanism in the door engage as I entered the main hallway.
After exiting the elevator on the first floor, I made my way to the concierge desk.
The restaurant and bar were hopping. From the archway, I saw Coopers jerseys, shirts, and sweatshirts.
As I approached the concierge desk, Jacob came into view.
I recalled the times he came to escort Vee down to her car following Reid’s accident and the swarm of reporters.
Both he and Ethan were incredibly helpful.
Jacob looked up from whatever he was doing. “Mr. Graham.” He looked at the flowers and then back to me. “May I help you with something?”
“Did you take my parents’ luggage up to 706?”
“No, sir. Ethan worked until I came on at six. He must have taken it up there.”
I extended my hands with the vase. “What about these?”
Jacob’s smile grew. “Yes, I took those upstairs. I didn’t want anything to happen to them before Ms. Hubbard saw them.”
Setting the vase on the counter, I asked, “Who brought them here?”
Small lines appeared between his eyebrows. “A delivery person. Is there a problem?”
“When did they arrive?”
He pressed his lips together. “It was after the Coopers won. I don’t recall the exact time.”
“Did you recognize the person or company?”
“No.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t there the name of a florist on the card?”
“Mishler Florist.”
Jacob’s grin was back. “I know that place. It’s near the campus. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. I will call the florist on Monday if you’d like?”
“I’ll take care of it.” I jutted my chin toward the bouquet. “Decorate the lobby with those, take them home to your wife or mother. Ms. Hubbard doesn’t want them.”
“I’d love to take them home to my mom, but it could get me fired.”
Reaching in my back pocket, I pulled out my wallet. The only bill I had was a fifty. That was the problem with not using cash. I laid the bill on the counter. “For your mom. Thanks for all your help.”
“Aw, Mr. Graham, thank you.”
“Let others enjoy the flowers.”
“I will.”
As the elevator reached the seventh floor, I was ready to call the police. This was the second bouquet and the second threatening card. Whoever was fucking with Vee was fucking with the wrong woman.
Unlocking the door to the condo, I stepped in, locked the door, and turned on the security system. It was unusual to see the light coming from beneath the guest-room door. Down the hallway, the flicker of flames reflecting in the windows let me know Vee had turned on the fireplace.
“What’s the score?” I asked Dad when I stepped into the living area.
“Still tied. Both defenses have tightened up for the second half. This is the Seahawks’ third down. Third and three,” he clarified.
“Do you want a beer?”
“Vee and your mom opened a bottle of wine.” He pointed to the glass of red wine at his side.
“Good. I’ll be back out in a minute. I want to check on Vee.
” I walked toward the primary bedroom and opened the door.
A trail of clothing led me to the en suite bathroom.
I followed boots, socks, a skirt, and a blouse.
I scanned Vee from her bare feet up her sexy bare legs, over her panty-covered ass, the black tank-top blouse, all the way to her untethered hair.
Our eyes met in the mirror over the vanity. “How are you?”
She turned to face me. “Mad.”
My lips curled. “Good.”
“Good?”
We walked toward one another, meeting on the tile floor. I snaked my arm around her waist. “I anticipated scared or sad.”
“No, I’m angry.” Her voice was fierce with determination. “Today was a great day. The Coopers won. Our injuries were few. You totally demolished the Bills. Your parents are here. And then someone sucked the light out of the day.”
I shook my head. “No. You’re the light, Vee. The beaming beacon the entire world sees.”
“Someone said that the spotlight will grow hotter.”
“Someone is fucking with the wrong woman. Not only isn’t she frightened, but she’s also mad as hell.
I’ll tell you something else.” I didn’t wait for her to speak.
“You have a roommate, boyfriend, lover…whatever title I get to wear, who is also fucking pissed. We’re going to get to the bottom of this even if it means I need to kick ass. ”
Vee’s smile lifted her cheeks. “I don’t want to risk your scholarship.”
Pulling her closer, I held her tight and rested my chin on the top of her head. “Fuck my scholarship. This is where I want to keep you, wrapped in my arms.”
She sighed and laid her cheek against my shirt-covered chest. “I like being here.”
A loud curse came from the living room.
Vee looked up. “That doesn’t sound good for the Vikings.”
Cupping her cheek, I brought my lips to hers. “Are you coming out?”
“Yeah.” She stepped back. “I’m just getting comfortable. I opened a bottle of wine.”
“Dad told me.”
She inhaled and nodded. “I’m all right, Fin. Let’s enjoy tonight with your parents.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “I like enjoying the night without my parents.”
Unbuttoning the cuffs of my button-down shirt, I rolled them up as I walked back to the living room. Mom was now with Dad. She had also made herself comfortable, changing from her earlier clothes into exercise pants and a sweatshirt. I turned my attention to the television screen. “What happened?”
Dad was the one to answer. “Vikings had it at the one-yard line. Damn referees called the Vikings for offensive holding. Took the ball back to the eleven-yard line and had to settle for a field goal.”
The score flashed at the bottom of the screen. Vikings were ahead 20–17.
I went into the kitchen and poured a glass from the open bottle of wine and joined my parents in the living room, taking a seat on the couch.
Mom spoke softly. “What’s happening? What was with those flowers?”
“Vee received a similar bouquet and message after the Coopers secured the No. 1 seed. I don’t know who’s messing with her. Tomorrow, I’m going to convince her to contact the police.”
“Maybe the florist knows the name of the sender,” Mom replied.
“The last time, they said the order came through a nationwide network.”
“The name,” Vee said, entering the living room and the conversation, “on the last order was Jack Sparrow.”
Mom laughed. “I wonder which pirate it will be this time. Captain Hook?”
“Blackbeard,” Dad offered.
Vee reached for her wine glass and curled her legs under her as she sat at my side. Her gaze went to the television. “The Vikings are up. I thought after I heard you out here, Theo, that they’d be down.”
“They’re up by three,” he said. “It should have been seven.”
By the two-minute warning, we had another bottle of wine opened. The Seahawks were up by one, with a score of 24–23.
“This is why I like watching with the delay,” Mom said. “At this point, we can fast forward.”
Vee smiled, her head leaning on my shoulder.
“Are you tired?” I whispered.
Her gorgeous green eyes were open wide. “I’m exhausted. I’m also not moving until this game is over.”
“No matter the outcome,” Dad said, “the Vikings beat the spread. Oddsmakers had Seattle by fourteen.”
I spent the last week studying the Buffalo Bills. I hadn’t looked at the prognosticators’ predictions. “What was the spread on the Coopers?”
“Coopers by seven.”
“Well, damn,” I said. “We only won by three.”
“Hey,” Vee said, looking up at me, “we won. That’s all that matters.”
The Vikings’ kicker hit a fifty-eight-yard field goal to take the Vikings up by two. With a minute to go, one of the best teams in the NFL needed a field goal. Vee was no longer leaning against my shoulder. We were all staring intently at the television screen.
Zane was on the sidelines. The Vikings’ punter sent the ball to the four-yard line, where a group of Vikings surrounded it. We held our breath.
The ball didn’t go out of bounds.
This game was down to the Seahawks’ offense and the Vikings’ defense. Seattle had terrible field position. The referee spotted the ball at the Vikings’ five-yard line.
“Would you rather your team has the last offensive or defensive charge?” Vee asked.
“Offensive,” I answered without hesitation. Watching the defense as the final seconds tick away is maddening.
The Seahawks’ quarterback sent a long pass. Whistles blew and flags flew.
“Don’t call it,” Dad yelled.
Pass interference.
Shit. Seattle was now at their own forty-nine-yard line, and there was too much time left on the clock.
A shovel pass for a gain of three yards, and a running play for five yards had Seattle at third and two at the forty-one-yard line. My nerves were as taut as if I were watching the Coopers.
Minnesota used their last time-out.
On the sideline the cameras showed Seattle’s kicker practicing.
I wanted this win for Zane.
The two teams lined up, ball snapped, and Minnesota’s defense surged.
“They held them,” Mom yelled.
While I thought she was right, we watched as the officials measured with the chains. With six seconds on the clock, Seattle was six inches away from a first down. The Seahawks’ coach called a time-out.
The announcers discussed the range of Seattle’s kicker. Near the forty-yard line, this would be a fifty-seven-yard attempt—one yard less than the Vikings’ last play. The end zone was ten yards deep and the holder lined up seven yards behind the center.
Vee reached for my hand and squeezed.
The snap and hold looked good.
It was a solid kick.
Not one of us was breathing.
My heart sank. The kick looked good.
The referees signaled no good. “What?”
The cameras showed the ball in slow motion, end over end, missing the upright, barely wide right.
We all jumped to our feet and Vee hugged me and then Mom and finally Dad.
Tears were glistening in Mom’s eyes as she looked at Dad. “Both our boys.”
Vee’s grin was spectacular. “Boys,” she whispered.