All In (Cedar Mountain University #2) (14 page)

I fidget the entire way from the airport to the location of the
charity event. My fingers tap restlessly on my knee, my foot bounced like a
kangaroo hopped up on major drugs. I twirl my hair, which I try desperately to
never do, and I know I’m only steps from chewing on my nails. A habit I gave up
in the sixth grade when a boy told me he thought it was a gross habit.

Jacob is sitting calmly next to me in the back of the black town
car that had been waiting on us the moment we exited the Charleston
International Airport. He’s playing absently on his phone after placing an incredibly
brief and stiff phone call to his father to notify him that he was bringing a
guest.

That he was bringing me.

I should have suddenly remembered a major test I needed to study
for, or faked a heart attack. Anything to keep me from actually having to go
through with this. I’m not normally a nervous person, I can handle myself in
most situations, and I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about talking to
anybody about anything.

But his father plays in the NFL, which means his friends probably
play in the NFL, and those said friends were more than likely going to be at
this event tonight.

So these weren’t regular people. Not like the ones I was used to
anyway.

“Relax.” Jacob lays a large hand on my knee, effectively stopping
my leg from bouncing. “I promise, for the most part, you and I are going to be
totally ignored. I’ll make the appearance, take the photos, we’ll eat some
incredibly good food and then we’ll go to the hotel. In and out in less than
two hours.”

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?”

I glance down at my jeans, tucked neatly into a pair of dark brown
boots that come up to just under my knees. It’s fall, and the event is going to
be outside so I’ve layered a pale blue button up dress shirt with a navy
sweater, the ends of the dress shirt hanging out slightly below the sweater.
I’ve wrapped a pretty red and blue plaid scarf around my neck.

“I feel ridiculously under dressed.”

“You look beautiful, Pix.” He squeezes my knee. “I’m not exactly
rocking a suit here.”

“Guys can get away with being underdressed.” I mutter after taking
in his attire. He’d dressed in jeans, just as I had, along with a pale blue
plaid shirt covered with a light gray sweater. “Which is ridiculously unfair.”

“You look beautiful, Grace.” He says again just as the car rolls to
a stop. I glance out the window and let out a soft gasp of surprise. We’re in
front of a huge house. Like a really fucking huge house. A really fucking huge
plantation house.

“Where in the hell are we?”

Jacob chuckles. “My father’s place.”

My head whips around. “You didn’t tell me we were going to your
dad’s house.” I hiss. “Wait. If the party is here then why are we staying at a
hotel tonight?”

The car door is opened before he can answer. The hand still resting
on my knee squeezes one more time before he slides out.

What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

When I get out of the car I’m greeted by an older man in a dark
navy three
-
piece suit, who I know isn’t
Jacob’s father. Jacob is smiling, shaking his hand. “Hello, Lawrence.”

“Mr. Ross.” His smile is formal, as is the way he shakes Jacob’s
hand. “Who is this lovely creature?”

“Grace Marsh, meet Lawrence McDaniel’s. My father’s lawyer.”

His hand is warm when it wraps around mine, as is the smile that he
sends my way. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Grace Marsh. Jacob has never
brought anyone home with him before.”

“Really?” I arch a brow as I look to Jacob briefly before turning
back to Lawrence. “That’s interesting.”

“Does he know I’m here?” Jacob interrupts before Lawrence can say
anything else. “I’d like to do my bit and get Grace the hell out of here.”

“Of course. Follow me. The press is set up on the side of the
house. Your father was, of course, notified of your arrival and will be joining
us in a moment. I would suggest you let me take Grace through the house while
you meet with the press.” Lawrence frowns a little, the skin around his mouth
pulling tight. “You’re father has already had several drinks.”

“Of course he has.”

Jacob looks resigned, and it breaks my heart just a little bit. I
link my fingers through his, squeezing gently, as I move to stand closer to
him. He doesn’t look nearly as relaxed as he did a few moments ago. I’m just
about ready to just yank him back into the car, and head back to the airport,
when I feel him stiffen even more next to me.

I look up to see Mark Ross heading our way. There is no denying
they are related, though in truth they look more like brothers than father and
son. Mostly because Mark Ross doesn’t look a day over thirty, even though I
know he has passed forty. He has the same brown hair and arctic blue eyes that
Jacob has, along with the same strong jaw and full lips. He carries himself
different though. He walks with an arrogance that Jacob doesn’t showcase.

The smile he shoots my way as he approaches us makes my skin crawl,
and the overwhelming scent of bourbon arrives several seconds before he does.

“Hello, Jake, still not playing football?”

“Hello, Dad, still an asshole?”

Mark laughs, shaking Jacob’s hand, a large smile on his face the
entire time they’re talking. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

“Gentlemen,” Lawrence speaks softly. “Let’s not do this now. The
press is waiting, and we don’t want to make Miss Marsh uncomfortable.”

Mark looks my way, winking. “Of course we don’t. Does she know what
you’ve thrown away, Jake?”

My mouth opens, ready to defend, but Jacob tightens his hand around
mine. When I glance his way he shakes his head. “Go with Lawrence. I’ll meet
you on the other side.”

Seconds later he’s gone, and Lawrence is leading me across the lawn
and through the house. He’s talking as we move, but I’m not paying a bit of
attention to him.

Looking over my shoulder I try to find Jacob, but he’s disappeared around
the edge of the house. Lawrence leads me up the massive steps at the front of
the house. The front doors open before we reach them. There is someone standing
on either side of them, holding them open for us. Moving through an entry way,
down a long hallway past a set of stairs, through a dining room and eventually
into the kitchen where he stops, Lawrence keeps his hand on the small of my
back the entire way.

“We just need to give them a moment to make it through the
gauntlet. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

He’s pours himself something before coming to stand in front of me
again. “How long have you and the young Mr. Ross known each other?”

“Not long.” I murmur. “Will they be much longer? Should we wait for
them outside?”

Lawrence doesn’t answer me. Instead he just studies me while taking
a long drink out of his glass. “He’ll come in here to find you. How much do you
know about his relationship with his father?”

“Apparently not much.”

The ice clinks against the glass as he lifts it up to take a drink.
There’s a window over the sink that looks into the back yard. I can see a large
white tent set up several yards away from the house. There is music that I can
faintly hear, and the swell of various voices growing together that can be heard
just over the music. There are kids of varying ages, running around the
grounds, and after a moment I notice they are playing football. And they’re not
all kids. I’m pretty sure I just saw the quarterback of last year’s Super Bowl
winning team running around among them.

“Are you all right, Miss Marsh?”

I glance back over my shoulder to Lawrence, who has drained his
glass and it watching me carefully.

“I’m fine.” I shove a hand through my hair. “I guess I just never
realized all this was part of who he is.”

“A very minor part, I assure you. He attends these events because
he likes the cause they support, not the man who supports them.”

“Somehow that doesn’t help.”

I hear a door open, then close, followed by footsteps and a few moments
later Jacob steps into the room. His father, thankfully, isn’t with him. He
nods once to Lawrence who murmurs something I don’t really hear and then leaves
us alone in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Grace.” Jacob moves across the room, stopping just shy
of actually touching me. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“A little heads up would have been nice.” I run my sweaty palms
down the thigh of my jeans. “How long do you need to stay?”

“Another hour, tops. Will you come outside with me? I can have
Lawrence take you straight to the hotel if you’d prefer.”

Thinking quickly, I close the distance between us, setting my hands
on his hips. I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “I can handle an hour
if you can.” I lift up on my tiptoes and brush my mouth across his. Dropping
back down on my feet I say, “Let’s go.”

Jacob and his father stay on opposite ends of the party. Every once
in a while the deep sound of his laugh dances a little closer to us, and Jacob
stiffens in response. The moment we had stepped outside Jacob had steered us
towards the kids running around with footballs in their hands, and was
currently talking football stats with a group of them.

I was perfectly content to people watch.

I’d seen no less than five football players who I could name in the
last twenty minutes. I’d also seen more silicone breasts in the last twenty
minutes than I think I ever had before in my life. Despite the fact that this
was a charity event, for a ridiculously good cause, the bimbos bouncing around
reminded me more of the frat party I’d left last night.

And Mark Ross looked like the ultimate frat boy.

He had a girl on each side of him, you couldn’t call them women
because they barely looked of age, and there was a small group of girls off to
the side waiting to take their place the moment one of them moved. He was
dressed
like a frat boy
too, wearing khaki cargo
pants, and a button down dress shirt that was spread open across a white shirt.
He’d also had no less than three different drinks in his hand since Jacob and I
had joined the party.

Lawrence was moving around the edges of the party, never quite
joining in, though he stopped and spoke with several different people. He kept
an eye on Mark though, and Jacob as well, and I had no doubt that he was
prepped to step in the moment the tension I felt earlier started to bubble over
in the slightest.

“Just one throw.”

Blinking, I look over to the kid that Jacob had been talking to.
He’s tall, coming up to Jacob’s shoulders, but he’s rail thin, and the clothes
he’s wearing have obviously seen better days. He’s about three weeks past due
for a haircut, and the dirty blond hair keeps falling in his eyes.

“Come on, Jake.” The kid begs. “Show us what you’ve got.”

“Not today, kid.” Jacob has a tense smile on his face. “Maybe some
other time.”

“Ah, come on, Jake.”

Jacob looks like he wants to throw up, so of course I open my big
fat mouth. “I’ll do it.”

The kid smirks. “You?”

“Yes, me.” I hold my hand out for the football the kid is holding.
“Come on.” I say when he doesn’t immediately hand it over. “Chicken?”

“I ain’t scared of no girl.” The kid huffs.

“I’m not scared of any girl.” I can’t help but correct him. I can
just picture my teacher mother cringing at his lack of proper grammar.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure it is.” I say cheerfully. “I just said it better. Now, give
me the ball.”

I hear Jacob cough to try and smother a laugh. The kid drops the
ball in my hands before heading further away. Some of the other kids who’d been
watching us, are now laughing as they follow behind him. The word ‘girl’ gets
tossed around quite a bit.
Tossing
the
football back and forth between my hands I smile up to Jacob.

“You don’t have to do this, Grace.”

“Do what?”

He eyes the football in my hand. “He’d have given up eventually.
They always do.”

I spring up on my tiptoes, laying a brief kiss on his mouth. “Do
you doubt my skill?” The kids have stopped several yards away spread out across
the yard. They are still several yards shy of where I suspect they would have
stopped had Jacob been throwing the ball.

I shift the ball around in my hand until I have the laces where I
want them. My fingers flex over the ball. I haven’t thrown a football in quite
some time, so hopefully I haven’t forgotten everything that Cole taught me.

My form may not be the best, but thankfully the ball spins out of
my hands in a spiral, landing neatly in the hands of the shaggy haired kid
who’d been bugging Jacob.

“Damn, Pix. That’s one hell of an arm you’ve got.”

“Two older brothers.” I remind him, amidst the sounds of the kids
hooting and hollering. “Any chance we’ve been here long enough?”

“God, yes. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Thirty minutes later we’re walking into the hotel room. The hotel
had been booked solid, a fact that he’d failed to mention until we were pulling
up in front of it, so we’re sharing a room. Which, let’s face it, I slept in
his bed the first night we met, and it’s not like I hadn’t made my attraction
to him perfectly clear that morning.

I’d smiled and played nice throughout the entire hour that we’d
stayed at his father’s house. Feeling the tension rolling off of him in waves
whenever his father got close to us. Which Mark Ross had done every chance he
got, and it hadn’t taken me long to realize that he was doing it on purpose.
Because he obviously knew how it affected Jacob. The man had made some sort of
snarky comment about Jacob no longer playing football nearly every chance he
got.

But now I wasn’t going to be put off, and I was going to ask the
question that I’d wanted him to answer from the moment we’d met. The question
everybody wanted an answer to.

“Tell me why you quit.”

Jacob flinches at my question. He kicks off his shoes before
turning to me, and his eyes are dull as they meet mine. The look in his eyes
makes me want to take back my question, but after this evening I feel like I
deserve to know.

“Jacob,” I say softly as I reach up and tuck a strand of hair back
behind my ear. “Tell me why you quit football. It’s obvious you still love it.”

I’d watched him talk about it tonight with the kids, and with the
other players from his father’s old team, who had been in attendance. His
entire demeanor changed when he talked about it, his happiness had been evident
on his face.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says simply. I’m afraid the moment has
shattered as he moves across the room to stand in front of the window. His back
is to me, and I can see the tense line of muscles across his shoulder through
the shirt he’s wearing. His arms are crossed over his chest, and as I watch him
I can see the faint rise and fall of his chest and back with each breath he
takes.

“My parents were never married,” he starts without turning around. His
voice is hollow, just like his eyes are, and I nearly bite my tongue in half to
keep from telling him to stop. That he doesn’t owe me any explanation. “My
father’s a real jackass, clearly. He met my mother a party, strung her along
long enough to get in her pants, and then dropped her like a bad habit. He
never thought of her again. She told me once that he had no idea who she was
when she finally got in touch with him to tell him she was pregnant.” He snorts,
“She had been nothing but an easy lay, and I was the nasty little by product of
a failed condom.”

Shoving his hands through his hair, he turns away from the window
and faces me, but his eyes don’t meet mine. “He didn’t want anything to do with
me, and he paid her to go away. Or he tried to. My mom had grown up without a
father, and she didn’t want that for me. She didn’t think it mattered that he
was a terrible father or that he really didn’t love anyone but himself, she
thought I was better off with him in my life. I spent more time with his
housekeeper than him when I was at his house. I’m pretty sure he forgot who I
was most the time, or forgot that I existed. Then I started to play football.
And everything changed.”

“Because you were good.”

“I was fucking great.” He corrects me. “A natural. And of course,
my father took all the credit. Obviously I got my talent from him. Rookie of
the year, MVP three years running. He’s taken his team to the Super Bowl a handful
of times. No matter how big of an asshole he might be, I can’t deny the man can
play ball. My mother was thrilled. She thought our mutual love of the game
would bring us together. And it did, or I let her think it did, because it made
her happy. Watching me play made her happy. Because I loved playing, and she knew
that. She understood how much I loved to play the game.”

He couldn’t stop pacing, moving from one side of the small room to
the other, and then back again. His hands went through his hair, up the back of
his neck, crossing over his chest before starting the process all over again.
He was incredibly uncomfortable, that much was obvious.

“She’d met someone else, a great guy who really loved her. They’d
gotten married, and he treated me okay. Never made me feel like I didn’t
belong, but it was tough for him having Mark Ross as the father of his wife’s
son. Eventually they had a baby of their own.” His eyes flick over to me and
then back out the window. “Lacey was the prettiest baby in the world. You
couldn’t help but love her. She had me wrapped around her little fingers from
the moment they brought her home. I wasn’t like other kids my age, I didn’t
mind her tagging along, getting in the way. We were close, even with all the
years between us, we were close.”

“Jacob,”

“No, you asked,” he snaps harshly. “
Y
ou
wanted to know why I don’t play anymore. It’s because of them, because of Lacey,
and my mother, and how I let them down. I chose football, and my asshole of a
father, over them, even though I’d made a promise to them. I’d told them I’d
come home early that weekend and we’d hang out, watch movies, do whatever.” He
shrugs his shoulders. “Only I broke my promise so I could stay and practice
with him some more. Mom decided to take Lacey out for ice cream to cheer her
up. So I was playing football when the drunk driver ran through the four-way
stop, plowing straight into them, killing both of them.”

Oh. Oh poor Jacob. “It wasn’t your fault.” I whisper, tears in my
eyes. “You aren’t to blame.”

“They wouldn’t have been in the car, if I’d been there like I was
supposed to be. They would have been at home, safe. Alive.”

“Jacob, no. You don’t know that. It could have been any number of
things that might have happened.”

“I remember my stepfather calling me. He was crying, and I’d never
seen him cry before. He was sobbing like a baby, and it was hard to understand
exactly what had happened, only that it was bad. I haven’t been able to touch a
football since the call came in.” He shrugs those big shoulders, “So I quit.”

I’m still afraid to reach out and touch him, still afraid that
he’ll shatter under my hands. He doesn’t look anything like the self-assured
guy I’ve come to know in the last few months. “I don’t think that’s what they
would have wanted, Jacob.” I say softly. “They loved you, and they would want
you to be happy.”

He gives a short laugh. “I can’t throw anymore, Grace, so it
doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I wanted to play or not, I can’t.”

I hate not knowing what to say or do next.

The silence stretches between us like an invisible barrier that I’m
not sure how to breach. I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing.

God knows I probably will.

“You feel guilty.”

“Hell yes, I feel guilty.” Shoving a hand through his hair he
stalks back and forth across the room. “I should feel guilty. I was playing
fucking football while they died, Grace. How am I not supposed to feel guilty
about that?”

“I don’t know.” I whisper. “I don’t know, Jacob.” I watch him for
another moment, unsure. Finally I stand up, closing the distance between us,
wrapping my arms around him. He shudders once, but makes no other sound. I rub
my hand up and down his back. “Let’s go to bed, okay? We don’t need to talk
about this anymore tonight.”

“It doesn’t make it go away. Talking about it, not talking about
it. They’re still gone, and I still can’t play ball.”

I tuck my head against his chest, closing my eyes against the burn
of tears. I squeeze tighter against him, trying to move my strength over to
him. We stand there for a long time, the silence of the room wrapping around us
like a cocoon.

I’m glad he told me, even though it hurt him to say the words. I
want to take care of him, even though I don’t know what moves to make to make
him feel better.

I don’t know if he
can
feel better.

When I finally unwrap my arms, I grasp one of his hands in mine so
I can lead him across the room. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I bend down
to take off his shoes. I pull mine off as well, setting them down together at
the foot of the bed. I stand up, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth before
reaching down and pulling the sweater up and over his body.

He just sits there, watching me closely, but not saying a word. I
carefully start unbuttoning his dress shirt, pushing it down and over his
shoulders. I fold the shirt up and lay it on top of the sweater, making a neat
pile on one of the chairs in the room.

“Scoot back. Lay down. I’m going to change, and I’ll be right back.
Okay?”

When I come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he’s sound
asleep on top of the covers. Watching him for a moment, my heart breaks a
little more for him.

That’s a lot to carry around inside of one person.

I move quietly across the room, flipping the lamp off right before
I crawl into the bed next to him.
 
I
scoot up next to him, wrapping my arms around him before pressing a kiss
against his back. I press my forehead against the skin I’d just kissed, closing
my eyes.