The Rookie: Book 2 The Last Play Series Page 2

  “Honey?”

  Charity stood from the overstuffed chair she’d been sitting in, pulling in a long, shaky breath. She focused on the quaint, lacey, white curtains that her mom had recently made and hung in the parlor of the Saint’s Bed and Breakfast. The entry room was large and decorated in shabby chic style. Chandeliers that looked like jewelry dangled from them, polished cherry wood flooring, pastel blues and greens and reds colored the rooms. She and her mother had worked so hard to update the whole house. Part of the reason was that Charity had wanted to get it all updated and in good shape before she left for New York this year. She wanted to know her mother wouldn’t have to worry.

  That had been before her mother had, shockingly, met a man at a speed-dating event. Before Charity knew it, her mother was getting married again after seventeen years of widowhood. Charity wouldn’t lie. It had rocked her world. She wasn’t even sure how much she liked Bob Franklin. He seemed nice. He was a retired attorney, so he was pretty well-set financially. Her mother seemed to be taken with him. But, and she knew this was stupid, the little five-year-old girl inside of her wanted to shout ‘you’re not my father and you never will be!’

  It had just been her and her mother for so long—running the Bed and Breakfast and going to Park City for long visits to her grandfather, her father’s dad. She’d never known her paternal grandmother and her mother’s parents had passed away several years ago in a car accident. It had always been the three of them. Now, things had changed.

  Yesterday, as she’d watched Mom and Bob say ‘I do’ at a small get together up Parley’s Canyon, she’d reminded herself that it didn’t matter because she was leaving anyway. Everything was changing, so she’d resigned herself to being happy for her mother.

  Her whole world felt like it was falling apart. She blinked. “Go, Mom. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She would hold it together for her mother. Her mother deserved happiness and love and her dream of travelling to Australia. She did.

  Her mother’s voice wavered. “Sweetie, I know it’s been hard for you since…well since everything that happened with Paul during fall break.”

  Every part of Charity stilled. “I really don’t want to talk about Paul, Mom.”

  “I know he’s been the person you’ve loved since you were kids, but you’re better than that, sweetie. I was glad you ended it. I never thought it was a good idea for you both to be going to New York this year. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.”

  She’d heard this rant one too many times. “Mom, I’m not back together with Paul. Just because I was going to New York didn’t mean I’d get back together with him.”

  “I know you’re not. And you shouldn’t be. Not after what he did to you. But I know you’ve been talking to him. His mother told me so,” she accused.

  “Mother, stop.”

  “O-kay. But, honestly, I know Paul thinks he can say he’s sorry and you’ll forgive him. You’ve always planned on being with him. I just hope you don’t cave. He’s not good for you.”

  “Mom, I can’t do this.” If this conversation had taken place any other day except for today, tears wouldn’t be budding in her eyes over this.

  “Faith, we need to board our flight. We’re already running late,” Bob said in the background.

  “Mom, go get on that plane, okay? Shelia will help me hold down the fort.”

  “Just a second, Bob,” her mother said soothingly. “My baby needs me.”

  “Mom, go…”

  Her mother sighed. “You’re sure you don’t need me?”

  Hearing the pity in her mother’s voice made her want to cry. She gulped back the emotion bubbling in her throat. “I’m fine.”

  “Faith!” She heard Bob say.

  “Last thing, Charity, I want you to imagine all the possibilities that are before you right now and let fate take its course. Take a chance!”

  Oh yes, the trust in fate speech. “I want to go to New York.”

  Her mom scoffed, “Just be open to things, sweetie. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Charity held the phone to her ear, ignoring that last crack. She walked out the front of the Bed and Breakfast and down the charming cobblestone steps, past the roses that lined the pathway to the street. She moved out of the shade of the large willow tree in the front yard that held a white, wooden swing that they’d put up only a few days ago to give the place a feeling of coziness. “Goodbye, mom. I love you.”

  “Oh, one last thing, remember that the car isn’t working. Bob is having a mechanic come tomorrow morning to take a look at it. Ask Shelia if you can borrow her car if you need to go anywhere.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t forget to go see grandpa tomorrow.”

  “Faith!” Bob yelled.

  “Of course I will.” She looked down the street, realizing there was no one and nothing waiting for her today.

  “Okay, baby. I’ll call you in fourteen hours when I get to Sydney.” Her mom suddenly sounded nervous.

  “It’s fine, mom. Have fun!” Charity said, meaning every word.

  “Love you!”

  “You, too!”

  Charity went back to the cobblestone steps and sat, trying to remind herself of how happy she was for her mother. Stupid anecdotes went through her head, the kind her mother would have said to her. ‘When God closes a door, he opens a window.’ ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’ ‘Your attitude determines your altitude.’ Her mother had adopted this practice when her father had passed away when Charity was five. Originally it had been her father’s silly thing. Her mother had continued it after he died. His cancer had been quick, stage four-esophageal cancer. He was gone two months after the initial diagnosis.

  Charity didn’t remember much about her father. Somehow, even though she knew it was silly, the anecdotes did make her feel closer to him. She would imagine him saying them all to her when she was upset about something and how she would have rolled her eyes. Sniff. Then he would have hugged her. Double sniff.

  Taking the bottom of her cotton t-shirt, she used it to wipe the flow of tears that wouldn’t stop. She did know that it would work out. That life would work out. That you didn’t have to look very far to see someone that had it worse off. She knew that. But losing her dream of The New York Times when it’d been right there, in the palm of her hand…stung. And her mother had no right to judge her love life. Did Charity miss Paul? Of course she did. But let’s face it. He was a rat.

  Out of nowhere a red convertible Mustang roared up next to the curb.

  Before she could stop her jaw from dropping open, Legend James hopped out and stormed towards her.

  Chapter 3

  Strength, speed, and adrenaline shot through Legend’s veins. That morning he’d gotten up determined to do one thing—enjoy his life. Yeah. That’s right.

  Buying a red Mustang had always been a dream of his, and wouldn’t you know it, the dealership hadn’t hesitated in extending a line of credit to him. He figured they considered him a pretty good credit bet.

  Like a king. That’s how they’d treated him, giving him a ton of free stuff, complimentary toaster, two tickets to a ski lift in Park City, not to mention the best interest rate he could have imagined.

  He wasn’t going to lie. It felt good. Dang good.

  As he drove away from the dealership, he knew there was one other thing he had to do before he got on with ‘enjoying’ his life this week.

  H wanted justice. Getting Charity Saint to squirm and admit that she’d lied would be a sweet victory. He was already three quarters down the cobblestone path before he noticed the fierce, angry blue-eyed redhead huffing toward him as if sent on some insane David and Goliath mission to take him down.

  Without thinking, he stopped short.

  “You son of a…”

  He caught her hand before it connected to his face. “I don’t think so. Ms. Saint, is it?”

  The only word he could think of to describe her face at the moment was splotchy. It wa
s clear she’d been crying.

  “You dare show your face here?” She yanked her wrist out of his grip.

  “My face?” He puffed out. “My face? You think I shouldn’t show my face when you’re the one that printed lies!?”

  “That was the truth!” She shouted.

  This moment when he was supposed to get some justice, to at least have some pleasure in shaming this woman, had just turned upside down. She didn’t look like a shamed woman. Oh no…she looked scorned.

  She shoved him in the chest. “Do you realizeThe New York Times fired me?” She shoved him again.

  Even though her shoving didn’t budge him, he put his hand to his chest because he didn’t want her to do it again. “You deserved to be fired, and they better be printing a retraction.”

  She let out a shaky laugh and used both hands to shove him above where his hand was meant to block her.

  “Stop it!” He didn’t know why she was acting so crazy, but she couldn’t keep shoving him.

  “You idiot! Do you know how hard I’ve worked for that? All the planning, all the research!”

  Shaking his head, he took a step back. She was clearly not in her right mind. “You never interviewed me!” He threw at her as proof. “Not once did you come to me and ask me about all those girls or about…what did you call it…my cold-hearted snake of a character,” he scoffed. “Not original, by the way, using an old Paula Abdul song.”

  Her eyes widened, and the look she gave him was akin to a line backer ready to take his head off. “I asked you.” Her voice was low through her clenched jaw.

  For a second, he doubted himself, trying to remember ever seeing her before. He hadn’t. He would have remembered that hair. “No, you’re lying.”

  “December fourteenth. Outside of the library. It was ten pm. You had just come out wearing your Destroyers coat with a matching beanie cap, and that stupid army duffel bag was slung over your shoulder. I approached you and asked if I could do an interview with you for an article I was writing. I further told you that I wanted it to be accurate.” Tears bubbled into her eyes. “You wouldn’t even look at me. You told me to write, ‘whatever I wanted,’ and then you walked away.” Tears fell down her cheeks, and she swiped at them like they were traitors. She shook her finger at him. “You declined an interview. That is the TRUTH!” she roared.

  He stumbled back, shocked and surprised by the detail of her memory. December fourteenth. December fourteenth. December fourteenth. He tried to think of why he’d been at the library, what final he’d been trying to prepare for. Of course he’d been wearing a Destroyer’s jacket and beanie cap. That was his standard attire. He wracked his brain trying to remember her. The conversation.

  Then he remembered. He’d just read that email from his father. The email told him his father wouldn’t be home for Christmas. That’s why he’d been so distracted. That’s why he hadn’t remembered at first. He’d been upset. He stumbled back. “Oh my gosh.”

  The look that crossed her face reminded him of a shark sniffing for the scent of blood. She took two quick steps and pushed him in the chest again. “Remember now, Rookie? Number one draft pick Legend James finally remembers that he failed to comment on an article, an article that I wanted to be correct. But, no, no, no. You were distracted, probably by one of your dates that night. Is that it, Rookie? Did you have a date that distracted you?”

  “Stop,” he commanded.

  But she was clearly just getting started. “Oh, that’s what it was. Hmm. Maybe my article was wrong after all? Maybe you’re here because big man Legend James is mad that I didn’t report more women.” She put up a finger. “Did I miss a secret rendezvous, maybe a girl you flew to Vegas to marry?”

  Reflexively, he grabbed the hand that she had lifted to push him again with. She’d struck a chord with the last accusation. “I mean it. Stop it,” his voice was low, quiet even in his own ears.

  She looked down at her hand inside his.

  That’s when he noticed he was shaking. He tugged his hand back, upset with himself. What was he thinking coming here to confront her? He let out a breath and turned away from her, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “No, I’ll tell you what you shouldn’t have done. You shouldn’t have ruined me on national television. Writing that fluff article was simply to get my foot in the door, do you get that? I have stuff, important stuff, that I want to report on!”

  Her voice had gone weepy, and he turned around to see more tears in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have declared that I’d reported lies, and…you shouldn’t have told the Times that they’d never get an exclusive with you.” She shook her head.

  He had softened, but he wasn’t all the way convinced. “You used me. You used my name to get a chance to write for them, didn’t you?”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned away from him.

  He pressed her. “You said you could get a scoop on Legend James, and then you proceeded to interview my roommates, my teammates, all the women I dated. You don’t think there’s something wrong with that? An invasion of privacy?”

  She whirled back, all the tears gone. Her face was sullen. “Grow up. Life’s not fair. You want to be a sport’s legend…Legend.” She winced. “Get used to it. I only did what any journalist looking for a break would do. Okay, yeah, I used your name. Yeah, I did. Should I call you a cheater when you see a hole in the defense and you throw the ball for a touch down? Should I? No, because that’s called playing the game. You think I care about all the princesses you’ve gone out with?” She frowned. “I don’t. But I saw a chance, I saw a hole in the defense, and I took it. I told them I could get them a story on you and I did.”

  “About what a ‘cold-hearted snake’ I am? You had to report it that way?” he shot back with disgust.

  Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. “Maybe I put my spin on it, but if you’d really read the article it was about someone that has commitment issues. About someone that keeps all women at arm’s length. About someone that clearly has abandonment issues.”

  That hit a nerve.

  “And about maybe the most talented quarterback to be recruited to the pro league.”

  Her compliment put him off balance.

  “But all that talent doesn’t matter a fig because you can’t get close to anyone. You have nothing in this world that you care about more than yourself. And, at the end of the day, Legend James, in my professional reporter opinion, the one that thanks to you no one will ever care about again, that’s precisely the definition of living a cold life. With no joy. No giving. No love.”

  Time slowed for a moment. She was right. The reason the article had ticked him off so much was because she was right.

  A loud telephone rang from the open door.

  Their eyes stayed connected in some sort of primal warfare. If she thought she would get an admission out of him, she’d be waiting a long, long time.

  The phone rang again, loud and blaring.

  Without warning, she dashed away from him, taking the steps two at a time. He watched her go. His breath was erratic. The ragged sound was unfamiliar and jarring. He should go. Scurry off like the dog he was. She’d asked him to comment, and he had refused. Not to mention the fact that she’d lost a job because of his statements. Guilt exploded inside his chest. Her football metaphor had actually been quite an effective one for him. He knew what she was talking about. She had found a way to break out. To get a story that would help her break away from the pack, get noticed, and get ahead. She was absolutely right. That is what he did every single game.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Her voice had elevated in pitch, and she didn’t sound happy.

  Without thinking, he moved toward the entrance, glancing around cautiously as if someone might jump out at him any moment. He saw the cute black sign with Saint’s Bed and Breakfast written in a perfect white script.

  “What hospital is he going to?”

  He walked in and saw her hand
shaking, holding the old time kind of dial phone that matched the old fashioned ring. She stood behind a little desk in the foyer.

  “Yes. Yes.” She pressed the phone closer to her head. “I’ll be coming. I…what else can you tell me?”

  He heard a door open down the back hall and saw an older woman wearing a bun and bright red lipstick move down the hall. She had a pleasant smile on her face. “Well, hello, have you been—”

  “A stroke? How did that happen? I just saw him yesterday at my mom’s wedding, and he was fine.”

  The bun woman stopped and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Yes. I’m coming. Thank you. Bye.” Charity slipped the phone into place and took in a long, shaky breath.

  Legend thought her face looked paler than before. Obviously, she was in shock at whatever news she’d just received.

  The bun lady put her hand on Charity’s shoulder. “What’s happened?”

  Drawing in a long breath, Charity looked from Legend and back to her. “It’s my grandpa. He’s had a stroke, and they’re taking him to the hospital in Park City right now.”

  Legend thought the crazy girl from earlier might come out again, but instead he found a cool, calm woman had emerged.

  “Shelia, I need to borrow your car please. Ours isn’t working.”

  The lady shook her head. “Oh no, I let my son take it up to Ogden this morning to go fishing.” She reached for a cell phone in her pocket. “I’ll call him.”

  “No.” Charity searched around the small desk the phone was on. “I’ll have Abby take me.” Then she paused. “Oh but Abby’s not home.”

  Shelia adjusted her bun. “Should you call your mother and have her come home?”

  Charity shook her head, turning to glance at a large clock in the middle of the room. “Her flight left for Australia ten minutes ago.”

  “Oh, dear.” Shelia pulled her in for a hug.

  Before Legend could stop them, the words came tumbling out. “I’ll take you.”