Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Hunter
After almost getting caught making the unforgivable, repeated mistake of taking Cat’s call, of giving into my haunting desire for her—almost, since over the phone was a tease, a tantalizing substitute for real life—I didn’t take her calls anymore.
Texting her shortly after Coach left my room—I have no idea what he said because my head was about to explode, horrified at the close call—I told Cat not to bother calling. Coach’s visit to my room slammed home the risk of having anything to do with her. The stakes were too high.
When I got back to Boston, I made sure I avoided her.
During the week it was easy, staying late after practice watching films with Wyatt and Coach, then to bed in exhaustion every night.
We had to make up for the loss in Seattle.
I’d been back to blocking only, but we’d fallen behind and had to pass more than we’d planned and a key fumble in the end zone by a wide-out had left us four points short of winning.
It was seeing her at the damn charity events that weakened me. But there would be no more of that. Coach’s orders. Only one team appearance at Christmas at the Children’s Hospital. Cat wouldn’t be there. Coach would. And then nothing else until the season was over.
Only six more games to go. Then I’d either be in the money with a decent contract or I’d be fucked. Out looking for a job. I wondered absently how many high schools would take a chance on hiring a coach-punching thug to coach their impressionable boys?
Pushing the trouble from my head, I focused on what I could do now.
The ice bath soothed the thigh but it made me shiver.
I could study. Coach had put in some new plays and a couple of them called for my number.
I would study and run through the routes and moves in my head, visualize.
And then I’d get Wyatt and a couple of defenders to run reps later.
At this stage of the season, tied for first place in the division, no one had a life outside football.
We were fighting to get the number-one seed and home field advantage in the playoffs.
After this week, we had a bye. Which did not translate into rest, not on this team.
We’d have a few days off from practicing with pads, but we would be in the building every day, seeing the trainer, watching film, eating, drinking and living together.
Coach Marini liked to use the bye week to bond the team.
We had only one day off. Next Sunday.
Cat
It was Sunday and a rare day off during football season.
Bye-week Sundays had always been my favorite.
Dad would stay home and take some time with the family.
When they were still together, Mom would cook a regular Sunday dinner, the kind other families ate every week without a second thought.
I was still in my pajamas—I’d resorting to wearing flannel after the humiliating text from Hunter, knowing that my Dad had almost caught him, or so it seemed.
On further reflection, he could have not answered the door, pretended he was sleeping or in the shower and nothing would have happened.
It’s not like Dad had X-ray vision, or like he would have banged down the door. But he might have heard . . .
Swiping the notion from my head, I poured some coffee, picked up my phone, and called Penny. I went into my bedroom to dress while we talked.
“Is he home?” I held my breath.
“Sure. It’s bye-week Sunday. Do birds shit in the woods?”
“I think it’s bears who shit in the woods.”
“What? You think bears have a monopoly?”
I laughed. “I’m coming over. What’s for dinner?”
“Coach requested pot roast, but it won’t be until five.”
“So I’ll wait over there instead of over here.”
Ready to go, I felt less shadowy for the first time all week.
I hadn’t shared my humiliation with anyone.
Not Jason. He was the only one I might have shared it with, but I couldn’t do it.
Didn’t need to. What I needed to do was get over it and stick to doing my job: taking care of Hunter—his professional image only.
Going to the closet, I reached for the leather jacket. But as I drew it around me, the scent of Hunter wafted to my nose. The last time I wore this coat was the night he’d been here, when we kissed. I pulled it off and shoved it back into the closet, taking out my Ralph Lauren puff jacket instead.
Firing up my Mustang, I drove the four miles in Sunday morning traffic—none at all—to Dad’s house, which was purposely close to the stadium.
One of the side effects of working with him was that I was starting to feel like he was more my boss than my dad.
Was I losing ground, whatever special father-daughter bond we had?
I almost felt like I was one of his players.
But that’s what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? To be part of his team?
Could it be that this was a classic case of be careful of what you wish for?
I let myself in the back door and was greeted by Penny, who was pulling cookies from the oven. I had a flashback to my twelve-year-old self and squealed with delight.
“Did I walk onto the set of the Brady Bunch by mistake where you’re playing Alice? When was the last time you baked cookies?”
“I knew you were coming and I know your weakness for my peanut butter cookies.”
I gave her a big hug.
“Something smells damn good in this kitchen.” Dad came in, dressed in his house sweats, and I grinned. It felt like home. Like a real home, with Dad and my big sister Penny. I sighed. Not quite the perfect picture of my imagination, but creeping closer.
He took a cookie from the platter and, with one hand on his hip, he took stock of me. I maintained my giddy smile.
“So how’s work going, kiddo?”
I wasn’t sure he really wanted to know or if he was trying for idle chitchat, but I decided on an honest answer. My unfortunate default.
“So far, so good. The charity appearances for Hunter and the team have been well received, according to social media feedback and our ceaseless market polling. And Hunter and Gabe seem to be working out as roommates.” I wavered on whether to trudge on.
Dad munched on his cookie while he watched me, seeming to listen.
“I’ve been invited to go to dinner with the Wyatt family and Hunter.”
“Why the hell would you be invited to Wyatt’s family dinner?” He scowled. I sat straight. I might not be a rebel, but I wasn’t a cowering wimp either. My mother had taught me well, at least in this one thing.
“Because we’re friends.” It was true. I didn’t see a need to mention that Gabe had a mischievous streak and enjoyed watching Hunter struggle in my company.
Gabe knew about the forbidden attraction, but he had no idea how far it had gone.
As far as he knew we were two adults who had sufficient self-control to behave.
Shamefully, he would be one hundred percent wrong. Until now.
It was time I grew up and behaved like a mature woman.
No one ever said a girl would always get the guy of her dreams. In fact, I’m pretty sure my mother said the opposite.
Some of her favorite words of wisdom were to the effect that love is hell, quickly followed by men are pigs at heart.
But I at least knew better than to put all the blame on Hunter for our remarkable lack of self-restraint.
I was, to use my mother’s term, a little hussy, provoking and seducing for my own gratification.
I don’t know why—maybe I was sick—but this ownership of guilt gave me some satisfaction.
After all, at least I wasn’t na?ve, foolishly allowing myself to be manipulated as Hunter’s puppet.
I was just as much the puppeteer. A sick thing to find solace in.
“I don’t like it,” Dad said.
“It looks good, Dad. A family dinner at a great Italian restaurant in East Boston, our team’s hometown. Hunter gets good optics and I’m the chaperone. What’s not to like?”
“Chaperone? What does he need a chaperone for at a family dinner?”
It was a good question. I was used to being paranoid about Hunter going anywhere in public for fear of fan animosity and his reaction to it, but that paranoia was no longer justified, on either the fans’ part or his. I thought up a reason for my father anyway.
“It’s not out of the question that a drunk female fan might throw herself at him whenever he goes out to a restaurant and they could easily take advantage of him.”
Dad scoffed. Penny choked on a cookie. I stared her down. Then I doubled down.
“It’s possible, even likely, that if Hunter was out unchaperoned some drunk girl might make a move. He’d be too much of a gentleman to—”
“A gentleman? Are we talking about the same Hunter Quintanna who punched a coach? Not that I ever liked Nutter. He’s an ass and it’s entirely possible he had it coming. But still.”
“You gave Hunter the benefit of the doubt, Dad.”
“For the team. I can take a chance having him on the team. But I wouldn’t take the same chance at having him with you. You’re my daughter. You’re too good for him, too good for any of them.”
I was too touched into speechlessness to wonder much at why he thought these things.
Penny said, “Whoever said anything about Hunter being with Cat? Stay on track, Coach.”
Trying not to, I choked up. He cared so much about me, held me as more important than the team. I threw myself into a hug. Dad was surprised, but he quickly opened his arms.
“Don’t worry, Daddy. The Wyatts will protect me. There’s half a dozen of them. Plenty of protection.”
“What about that boyfriend of yours? Jason? I can’t imagine he’s okay with you going to dinner with Wyatt and Quintanna. Will he be there?”
“No.” I couldn’t think what to say. I should’ve been prepared for this, but I wasn’t thinking. I’d had a lot of these mental lapses lately.
“Why the hell not? You invite him along. Take care of your relationships, Cat. Don’t be like me. Don’t make your life all about football and the job.”