Field of Pleasure (17 page)

She wanted to.
God,
did she want to. She went to bed craving the sound of his voice, the touch of his hands upon her skin. She missed him so much.

Liani reached over and gripped her hands. “You really need to, honey. I have never seen you happier than you were this summer. And, I have to tell you, right now, you look like crap.”

“Thanks a lot,” Chyna groused.

“I'm being honest here. You may look like a million
bucks with your snazzy business suit and those absolutely fierce heels that I am so going to borrow.” Liani captured her chin in her fingers. “But from the neck up, I've never seen you so sad. And it breaks my heart. You need to take a serious look at yourself and figure out what it's going to take to make you happy, Chyna. From what I see, you haven't found it.”

Liani leaned in to give her a comforting kiss on the cheek and left her standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a dozen questions swirling in her head.

J
ared's eyes roamed the spacious office, taking in the various plaques and trophies on the walls and shelves. Despite not making it to the Super Bowl, Tom Rutledge had been awarded General Manager of the Year for the past two years in a row. It was a well-deserved honor. Rutledge had worked hard to put together a solid team. Every analyst proclaimed the Sabers were on the precipice of something special. As long as they continued to play well and steer clear of off-the-field drama that could affect the team's morale, the Sabers were destined for greatness.

As he sat in the quiet of the GM's office, the storm that had begun brewing in Jared's gut yesterday when Torrian had caught up to him in the parking lot had whipped up to gale force. The twenty-four-hour reprieve he'd received when Rutledge was called away for an emergency meeting with a group of other GMs hadn't done much
good for Jared's nerves. He'd spent the entire day stressing about what would happen in today's meeting.

He didn't know what he would do if upper management took the hard nose route and released him from his contract for violation of the no-gambling agreement he'd signed.

The door opened and Jared whipped around.

“Sorry about that,” Rutledge said, moving with his signature brisk stride and settling into the chair behind his desk. “This dispute with the player's union is keeping me up at night.”

“You don't think they're going to force a lockout, do you?”

“You tell me,” Rutledge said. “You vote, don't you?”

“I haven't done so yet,” Jared replied. “I still have four years left on my current contract, so the bargaining agreement doesn't affect me the way it does some of the other guys.”

Why were they beating around the bush? He doubted he'd been called in to discuss the potential lockout that had been mumbled about in the locker room. Jared couldn't stomach idle chitchat, not when his career was hanging in the balance.

He decided directness was the best approach. “Sir, Torrian Smallwood told me you know about my visiting Atlantic City.”

Rutledge sat back in his chair, a pained expression flashing across his face.

Jared instantly regretted bringing up the subject. He could have used another minute or two to prepare himself for the blow he sensed was coming. He was about to lose his job.

“Jared, you know the team violated league policy when we decided to keep your gambling problem in-house. If
management had followed protocol and reported that you'd made a bet on a game, you would be banned from ever playing in the NFL again.”

“I know that,” Jared said. “But I haven't made a single bet since then. I don't know who told you about my being at the casino—”

“It was an acquaintance. He was holding a Super Bowl party at the Rio and you were in the background of some of the pictures.”

“I didn't gamble,” Jared said. “I had a few drinks and I watched the game, but I never once laid down a bet. On anything.”

“The agreement you signed with the team stated that you were not to visit any gaming establishments. You violated it just by being there.”

Jared held his hands out, pleading, his heart banging against the walls of his chest. “I was in a really bad place mentally. It seemed as if things were spiraling out of control, and…I don't know…being at that casino was the only thing that felt familiar.” Jared looked his boss in the eye. “I won't lie to you. I thought about it. I circled that craps table more than once, but in the end, I couldn't do it because I knew it was wrong. And since that day I have been kicking my butt trying to get in shape for next season.”

“You had some rough days during the organized team activities.”

“A few,” Jared acknowledged. “Look, I know that I've done some things this off-season that would probably make getting rid of me seem like a practical option, but it would be a mistake. You're not going to find another player who will work harder.”

Tom Rutledge settled back in his chair and rested his lips on his steepled fingers. The Super Bowl ring he'd
won with the Dolphins glistened shiny and bright under the overhead lights.

“You know that Delonte Cannon has impressed the coaching staff,” Rutledge said.

Jared forced himself to keep his voice even. “He's a good player.”

“What would you do if we opened the season with him as a starter?”

Jared shifted in his chair and did his best to bank the fire that roared to life in his gut.

He cleared his throat and said, “I would go along with whatever the team thought was necessary to get to the championship game. If that means stepping back, then that's what I'll do. I can work with Delonte over the remainder of the off-season to make sure he's ready when the season opens.”

Rutledge continued to peer at him. Slowly, one corner of his mouth drew up in a smile. “I requested this meeting alone with you for a reason, Jared. I wanted to see where your head was.” He sat up in his chair and shuffled a couple of things on his desk. “I don't think you're ever going to gamble again.”

“I won't,” Jared agreed. “It's something I continue to fight, but I'm winning the battle, and I'll continue to.”

Rutledge grabbed a stack of papers and tapped them into a neat pile. “Despite this slipup, I don't think it would be in the best interest of the team to dissolve your contract.”

The anxiety that had settled into his shoulders released, and Jared was able to relax for the first time in twenty-four hours. “Thank you,” he said. “I'm sorry for putting you in this position. Like I said, I was in a bad place at the time.”

“I'm not blind to what goes on outside of this
organization, Jared. Everyone has their issues. It's my job to make sure those issues do not affect what happens on the field.”

“They won't,” Jared assured him. “If it means I'm not the starting cornerback, so be it. I'll learn to live with that.”

“That decision is Coach Foster's.”

“I understand.” Jared nodded. He braced his hands on the armrest. “Are we done here?”

“We're done,” Rutledge said. “Jared,” he called, halting Jared as he rose. “You're a good player and one of the most selfless guys on the team. It's time you start understanding your worth. As much as I applaud you for willing to step back and do what you think is best for the team, you need to learn how to be a little more selfish. Don't just give your spot to Delonte Cannon. You earned your starting position. You make sure you keep it.”

As he left the GM's office, the advice his boss had imparted volleyed back and forth in Jared's mind.

He needed to be selfish.

He'd been thinking along those same lines himself these past few weeks. He needed to take care of himself, and stop worrying so much about what others needed. The thought went down as smoothly as fingers down a chalkboard, but the more Jared ruminated on it, the more the words started to sink in.

Since the very first time he'd walk in on his crying mother and offered her the hem of his T-shirt to dry her eyes, he had made it his life's goal to take care of her. The same went for Samantha when she'd told him her sob story about growing up poor. And with Patrick when he'd needed money to get the Red Zone off the ground. His entire self-worth was based on what he did for other people.

What about what
he
needed? Who was there to take care of
him?

A vision of solemn gray eyes blasted through Jared's mind.

Chyna's dogged determination to be self-reliant had inadvertently shown him that he didn't always have to be the one to give in order for a relationship to work. A relationship was about give and take, about two people giving of themselves and accepting what the other offered.

Jared's chest tightened with anticipation, urgency propelling him down the hallways of the Sabers training facility. He needed to get to Chyna.
Now.
He had to tell her he was ready to
let
her take care of
him,
but only if she would let him do the same.

 

Chyna tossed the tattered stuffed dumbbell several yards, laughing as Summer pounced on it and shook her head until more of the stuffing came out. Her puppy trotted back to the patch of grass where Chyna sat and pushed the dumbbell back into her hand. Chyna pitched it again. She knew how this game went, having played it too many times to count.

She leaned her head back and stared at the cloudless sky. She'd been waiting for panic to grip her, but ever since she'd exited the doors of Marlowe and Brown carrying her small box of belongings, she had felt nothing but peace.

Chyna recalled the look on Darla's face when she'd tendered her resignation. Instead of the disappointment—even anger—Chyna had anticipated from her supervisor, there had been admiration and just a small tinge of envy.

Her rational side continued to tell her that she'd made
a mistake by giving up the job she'd worked so hard to attain, but her heart refused to hear it. She'd done the right thing. Chyna forced herself to imagine life in two weeks, when she wouldn't get a paycheck. She clutched her stomach against the onslaught of fear.

It never came.

All she experienced was the excited rush of expectation that had washed over her the moment she had decided that life was too short to continue dipping her toe in the water. She was ready to dive in headfirst.

She thought back to the conversation she'd had with her father earlier this morning when she'd told her parents of her decision to quit her job. Sitting on the edge of her father's bed, Chyna had held his hand as tears dampened his cheeks. Barely able to look her in the eye, he had painfully owned up to the shame he'd harbored all these years for never having the courage to do more with his music. He'd admitted that he'd feared rejection and had been certain that if he had been discovered by a record label he wouldn't have been able to live up to people's expectations.

Then her father had confessed the most shocking truth of all, that he had been jealous of her. With tears clogging his words, her father acknowledged that he'd spent years discouraging her from pursing dance because he had been jealous of the way she had never let her dream die.

Chyna had been stunned. And angry. What kind of father could be jealous of his own daughter?

But as she'd stared at his tortured, guilt-laden face, a kinship she'd never felt with her father began to emerge. Remembering the envy she'd felt when Liani had first made the Saberrettes squad, Chyna understood how one could love a person yet still be jealous of their success. In
that moment, she understood her father better than she ever had before, and with a kiss to his weathered cheek, she'd forgiven him.

Forgiving him had been easy, knowing that she was not going to end up like him.

Her father had allowed his fear of failure to paralyze his dream. Chyna refused to succumb to the same fate.

She'd wasted too many years living in fear. Fear that dancing would never provide enough money for her to support herself. Fear that if she allowed herself to pursue her dreams she would end up like her father, bitter, angry and wallowing in what could have been.

She'd lived in fear of…living.

Until Jared.

Jared had shown her what it meant to embrace life. He'd taught her to enjoy the moment. The freedom she'd felt this summer had been like nothing she'd ever experienced.

Chyna was done being afraid. She was ready to stop dreaming, and start
living
.

Whistling for Summer, she scooped the dog into her arms and gathered the chew toys sprinkled around her. Stuffing them into her backpack, along with Summer, Chyna took off for the subway and the only place where she wanted her new life to begin.

 

Jared rested his head against the mirrored wall of his building's elevator. After the grueling day he'd been through, he needed no less than an hour in the hot tub. The first day of practicing in full pads was always the hardest. It reminded him of why no one could play this game forever. The human body was not designed to withstand this kind of pain for an extended period of time.

The elevator dinged its arrival on his floor and the
doors opened. Jared walked out of the elevator and stopped short.

Chyna was sitting on the floor in his private foyer, her legs crossed, Summer in her lap. She looked up at him and hitched up her shoulders in a hapless shrug.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Relief washed over him like rain from heaven. Jared rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and pulling her to her feet. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“A few hours,” she said. “I needed to see you.”

Still holding her hand, Jared opened the door to his condo and pulled her inside. The awkwardness that suffused the air created an uncomfortable ache in his chest. He hated that they were back here, at this stage where neither of them knew what to say.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I quit my job this morning,” she announced.

Jared's head reared back in surprise, but before he could respond, she continued. “Landing that promotion has been my top priority for nearly six months, ever since the job was posted. I took on two extra classes this semester so I could finish my degree in time. I worked like a dog to show them that I was capable of handling all the work that would come with the new position. And for the past two weeks, I've cried myself to sleep at night because I'm so miserable.”

Jared managed to stop himself from reaching for her. But just barely.

“I want to be happy,” she said through the tears that had started to stream down her face. “And there are only two things that have made me happy—dancing and you.”

“Chyna—”

She held her hands up, warding him off. “I have a proposition for you.”