Fair Game: A Football Romance (45 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Violet

Plan B

He’s so beautiful when he sleeps. Major is an active, fit man, but I think I may have actually worn him out. I’m lying on my side, curled up with my hands under my pillow, watching him sleep. Even in a California King bed, he looks too tall. Lying on his back with one hand on his chiseled abs and the other on my knee, he occupies most of the bed. He’s always touching me. No matter where we are, no matter what we are doing, he has a hand on me somewhere. It’s like he wants to reassure me that he’s always there for me and he’s got my back, and God, I hope he does.

The weight of having to tell him this news is heavy on my mind. I can’t sleep, so I watch Major sleep. An hour later, a streak of sunlight slices across the foot of our bed where the curtains are separated. Major is on his side now, facing me with his leg stretched across the space between us to touch me with his foot. It’s been fascinating to watch his eyes flutter under his lids while he dreams. And whenever he changes position, it’s like I’m a magnet drawing part of him toward me, a hand a foot, his arm constantly in contact with my body.

He twitches, and I think he’s waking up, but it’s another dream. He seems tense this time though, his muscles are all bunched up, and he has a deep crease on his forehead between his eyes. His eyes begin to dart back and forth rapidly, and I don’t want to scare him but I think I should wake him from this dream that’s looking like a nightmare.

“Major.” I speak softly and nudge his shoulder. He starts to mumble, but I can’t understand a word of what he’s saying. I try again. “Major.” His hand snaps up, grabbing my wrist hard, hard enough to really hurt me. When his eyes open, I know he doesn’t recognize me, but I’m having trouble speaking because of the sharp pain shooting up my arm.

It takes him several seconds that feel like hours to come around and loosen his grip on my wrist. When he does, I cry out and cradle it in my other arm.

“Oh God, Violet, what the hell happened? Are you okay?” He sits up on his knees to reach for my arm. Instinctively, I pull away and protect my arm and try to get into a sitting position using just my elbow.

“You were dreaming, and I thought I should wake you but you grabbed me.” Fuck, my wrist hurts. Could he have broken it with one bare hand? My guess is yes, it’s possible.

“Shit, I was having a bad dream. I’m so sorry, let me see it.” He moves closer, pulling my arm away from my body to assess it.

“Ouch, stop, it’s probably just bruised. Why don’t you go get some ice and a towel?”

He looks at me as if he were trying to read a foreign language that he doesn’t understand. He’s unsure—should he leave me for the ice or stand his ground examining my wrist? When he decides, he is off the bed in one smooth motion, pulling up his jeans to walk down the hall for ice. God help any woman passing him in the hall wearing only a pair of jeans and nothing else. He’s stunning and rugged with his facial hair and smooth muscles. Even in pain, I take a moment to admire his backside walking away.

I hiss when he applies the ice. “That really stings.”

“It’s not broken. The ice should help. Do me a favor, will you?”

He’s asking me for a favor?

“After you almost broke my arm?” I say, moving my hand and the towel full of ice away from him.

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I know. What’s the favor?”

“Don’t try to wake me during a dream. I haven’t had one like that in a long time, but obviously, I’m not myself, and I don’t want to hurt you again.”

He reaches out to stroke the side of my face with the back of his knuckles and I lean into his hand.

“Believe me, I won’t. What do you dream about?”

He lowers his eyes to the mattress and removes his hand from my face. Oh great, he probably dreams about his wife dying. Way to be sensitive, Violet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s none of my business.”

I’d reach out and touch him, but my hands are busy holding ice.

“You’re not nosy, and it’s not what you think, actually. I don’t dream about Katie. I never went to watch them pull her car and her body from the lake. The last time I saw her was when I went flying out the door that morning to work. I gave her a peck on the cheek and waved at Malory in her swing. She didn’t look depressed, she seemed all right, and that’s the way I wanted to remember her.

“So what then?”

“Iraq. I still have some PTSD from that fucking hell hole.”

I forgot all about him going overseas. He’s seen a lot of death and destruction in his life. It’s time he had peace and joy. I’m telling him.

“I’m so sorry, that must have been horrible.”

“It was, but it’s the past. Let’s focus on the present. It doesn’t look like you’re going to be in any shape to golf today. Do you want to ride along in the golf cart with us, or should we figure out new plans?”

“No, we can still go. I don’t mind riding in the cart, but I need to talk to you about something before we go, okay?”

“Sure, baby, what’s on your mind?”

I’m about to open my mouth and say the two scariest words ever,
I’m pregnant
, when his phone rings on the table across the room. He doesn’t move, though. He keeps his eyes trained on me.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?”

“It can wait. You wanted to talk about something. Let’s talk.”

The phone quiets, and no more than a second passes before it starts up again.

“Maybe it’s important?”

He looks at the phone and back at me. “If they call one more time, I’ll answer.”

A third time the phone begins to ring, and he stands from the bed and pads across the room in his bare feet to answer it. When he looks at the screen, he immediately presses the answer button. “What’s wrong, Sam? Calm down, I can’t understand you. You need to stop crying for a second.”

His sister’s name is Samantha, and from the way he’s acting, I’m sure that’s who is on the other end of that call. I stand up, keeping the sheet wrapped around my torso and the ice on my wrist. I move to stand beside him and watch his face morph from confusion into unbridled fury.

“He fucking did what? Did you call the police, Sam?”

He covers the phone with one hand and turns toward me.

“Get your phone and call the police in Oceanside. Tell them to go to 642 Honey Creek Lane, tell them a woman has been assaulted. Hurry.”

“Sam? Sam, help is coming. Are the kids okay? Where is he right now?”

He pauses to listen to her as I make the call to 911.

“Fuck! All right, listen, stay in there, don’t—no matter what he says—do not open the door. I’m on my way, Sam. I’m in San Diego for the weekend, but I’m leaving right now.”

He’s packing while he’s talking, and when I hang up with 911, I dress and start to do the same. He continues to talk and reassure her that everything’s going to be all right, but clearly it’s not. My phone rings, and it’s Kimber asking when we want to go for breakfast, and I tell her Major has a family emergency he has to go home for. She says she will relay the information to Garcia and wishes me luck before hanging up.

While he cradles the phone between his shoulder and the side of his head, I call the front desk and tell them we will be checking out right away for a family emergency. They say not to worry about the bill. It’s already been taken care of. Thank God. I think he might scare the front desk person to death right now if he had to wait for them to process our bill.

I’ve haphazardly thrown everything I brought into my duffle. I try to help Major with his things, but he moves me away and touches my cheek briefly as if to say thanks, but no thanks. Even in the middle of a crisis, he’s placing things into his bag in perfect order. In fact, I think the stress is making him even more OCD. He’s folding his socks, for heaven’s sake.

“Sam, put Mal on the phone. I don’t care if she’s crying, put her on.”

We’re out the door making our way to the elevator when Malory takes the phone from Sam. Like a professional actor, Major’s demeanor changes and the
I’m gonna strangle someone rage
leaves his voice.

“Hey, Boo, I hear Uncle Craig got angry. Are you okay, honey?”

As we step into the elevator, he holds the phone down by his waist and squeezes his eyes shut tight before returning it to his ear.

“I’m coming, just hang on and don’t open the door for Uncle Craig. Just stay in there with Sam, okay?”

They must be barricaded in the bathroom. Shit, what has this man done to Major’s sister?

“Give Aunt Sam the phone back, honey. Sam? Can you tell me what happened? What did he do?”

“Open your recording app on your phone,” he says to me.

When it’s ready, he takes it from me, and as we walk through the lobby, he holds it up to his phone to record whatever she’s saying.

“Just start at the beginning. Tell me what started it.” Halfway across the lobby, he stops abruptly, and I’m afraid he might crush both of our phones in his bare hands.

He continues to stay quiet, listening to his sister’s account of the attack.

Kimber and Garcia rush to meet us, and I hold up my hand so they won’t speak. I mouth to them
just a minute
and Kimber clings to Garcia’s arm with a look of terror in her eyes.

Major begins to speak soothingly to Sam when she’s finished talking.

I take a step away with Garcia and Kimber. “Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?” Kimber says.

“Yeah, it’s his sister, and I think she and his daughter are hiding in the bathroom from his brother-in-law. I have no idea what’s going on, but he’s furious and we’re leaving.”

“His sister? Sam? Why the hell would they be hiding from Craig? I thought he was a good guy,” Garcia says.

“I don’t know what all’s going on. That’s what I can tell from his end of the conversation.”

“Okay, well you two get going and let me know if he needs any help kicking some ass when you get there,” Garcia says.

“Yeah, text me when you get there,” Kimber says.

“I will.” I hug them both and run to catch up with Major, who just started toward the doors again.”

“Have a great day, thank you for staying at the Fairmont Grand Del—”

Major all but pushes the concierge out of the way when he storms through the doors. He’s in no condition to drive, and I’m worried his sister isn’t going to get help in time. When Major snaps at a limo driver in the circle drive outside, he hurries over and Major says something to him quietly, and the driver begins to load our bags into the back of his limo.

“Call the airport and book us a flight to Oceanside,” he says when he opens the door for me.

“Won’t it take just as long to fly?” I ask because the flight is about thirty minutes and in a car, it’s only forty-five.

“I can’t drive like this. We need to fly.”

He’s not thinking straight. I motion to the driver and tell him there’s been a change in plans. Major doesn’t argue because he’s talking to Sam again. He’s categorizing her injuries. It sounds really serious. We have to get there fast. I wave at the valet and fish in Major’s pocket for the keys. I hand them over, and within five minutes, the Lexus is pulling up in front of us.

I tip the valet and give him something for the concierge that Major trampled and ask him to please give it to him. The kid is more than happy to get away from Major. The fury rolling off his body is palpable.

The bags are transferred from the limo to the Lexus, and I open the door for Major.

“Get in, I’m driving.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue. He just slides into my seat and I go around to the driver’s seat. When we’re on the road, I concentrate on what he’s saying to Sam and try to sort out what’s happened.

“The police are there? Wait until they tell you it’s safe to open the door. Are you sure it’s the police and not Craig trying to get you to come out? Okay, good. Do they have Craig? Yes, go ahead and open the door now. Sam, I’m on the way. I’ll come straight to the hospital. Is there anyone who can get the other kids from school?”

Straight to the hospital? God, she must be in bad shape. I can hear my pulse whooshing in my ears as I grip the steering wheel. What the hell happened?

“All right, that’s good. Put the paramedic on the phone. I don’t care, shove the phone in his face. I want to talk to him. Who am I talking to? Ok, Dan, I’m that woman’s brother and the little girl’s father, and I need to know what the hell is going on there. But first, you need to know that Samantha has early stage MS and Malory has trouble communicating when she’s stressed. Did they arrest her husband?”

He is quiet for a long time while the paramedic fills him in. He never told me his sister had MS. Her poor kids, that poor family. I feel bad that he’s so far away from them when they need him. If he weren’t in San Diego messing around with me, he would be there for them.

“Take them to Crossroads. I’ll be there soon.”

He disconnects the call and hands me the phone. “Take this before I smash it against the fucking dash.”

I take the phone from him and plug it into the charger between the seats. We drive in silence for about twenty minutes before he speaks.