Forward Passes (Seattle Lumberjacks) (18 page)

Straightening, he smacked her ass, and she yelped. “Get ready for dinner.”

On that note, he exited the shower and left her alone to get ready. Lavender slid down the wall and buried her face in her hands. She’d given him something tonight, and he hadn’t a clue regarding the significance of her actions, the kind of trust it invoked.

But Lavender knew.

Chapter 20

Turned over on Downs

Tyler glared at Jim, but the old man didn’t blink through his coke-bottle glasses. Obviously, he needed new spectacles because Tyler had used his best you’re-in-deep-shit-glare. Jim sipped his drink and studied the cards in his hand, as if he could see them. The rest of the Brothers ignored him. Nothing interrupted their poker games, not even a two-time Super Bowl quarterback.

“You fucking—” Five pairs of eyes looked up at him. “—frigging can’t force me to miss mini-camp. The rumor sluts everywhere will be certain I’m in rehab or about to be traded or just don’t give a shit.”

Jim raised one bushy eyebrow. “No one’s stopping you from going.”

“Yeah, and you and your buddies will be taking over my mansion—as if you haven’t already.” Tyler couldn’t help notice Jim held a full-house in his hand.

“Nah. It’s not worth much beyond bull-dozing. No one has the money to restore that place.” Homer muttered. “If you’d just let me sell it for you. I have several—”

“—potential buyers lined up. I know. I know.” Tyler bristled and rose to their unintentional challenge. Maybe he’d restore the damn dump to its former splendor if it took every penny he had just to spite them all. With a few more prime endorsements, he’d garner a chunk of change and just might earmark the cash for mansion rehab. He snorted to himself. Easier said than done. To keep those endorsements coming in, he’d need to win.

“It’s not just mini-camp; the awards ceremony for the Pacific Northwest Athletic Association is that evening.” Missing mini-camp and the awards would send the national media into a feeding frenzy, especially since he’d most likely get Northwest Athlete of the Year for the second straight year.

“Go for it. The last ferry back to the Island sails at eleven p.m., you’ll need to be on it each night. No overnighters on the mainland.”

“How will you know if I come back or not?”

The Brothers looked at him as a unit and glanced at Lavender hustling between the tables.

“Fine. I’ll charter a seaplane.” Tyler downed the last of his beer and snapped his fingers at Lavender for another. She rewarded him with an eff-you scowl. He grinned, pleased that he’d managed to get under her skin with his little display of chauvinism. Hopefully, his surliness wouldn’t backfire, or he’d end up wearing the beer instead of drinking it.

“Fine, as long as your feet are on the island by midnight.” Jim held the cards six inches from his nose. The man really was blind.

“Midnight? Are you fucking kidding me? What’s up with that? Will I turn into a damn pumpkin?” Tyler’s sarcastic tone didn’t faze the guys either. Lavender appeared by his side, the tip jar in one hand and his beer in another. He dug in his pocket and stuck a twenty in the jar. He grabbed the beer and chugged it. The stuff tasted like crap, absolute crap, He choked on it and turned his irritation on purple lady. “What the fuck is this garbage?”

“Light beer. You’re getting a little pudgy.”

“I am not.” Tyler frowned and looked down at his waist. Lavender laughed at his reaction. Her sassy humor turned him on even when he happened to be the brunt of it. Maybe he could goad her into a good argument later. Fighting made him hornier than hell for make-up sex.

“Clean up your potty mouth. I bet your mamma didn’t raise you to talk like that.”

Tyler didn’t have a comeback for that. His mother sure as hell didn’t allow cussing in her presence. “Hey, I’ve been working on it. I’m wounded that you haven’t noticed.”

“Work harder. When you get pissed, your swearing comes back with a vengeance. It’s as much a part of you as your throwing arm and insufferable personality.”

Stupidly, he took the bait. “I went cold turkey for a week. Remember?”

“One whole week. Impressive. You use the ‘F’ word so much it’s lost its effect.”

“Whatever.”

“You can’t stop, can he, guys?” The old geezers nodded, not about to cross the Sergeant-Major.

“You want me to quit. No problem.” Tyler regretted rising to her challenge. “We’re just talking the ‘F’ word, right? No other swear word?”

Lavender nodded, looking awful damn cute thinking she’d gotten the best of him. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Fine. I’ll stop. No big deal, but what do I get out of it?

“The satisfaction of a job well done.”

“That’s it?” Annoyed, Tyler turned back to Jim. “I can’t even spend one night off this fu—fricking island?”

Unconcerned, Jim continued to stare at him. “Those are the terms of the will. You’re allowed off-island excursions, but you must be on the island by midnight the same day. Oh, and you’ll need to take a chaperone appointed by me.”

“A chaperone? What the fu—fudge do I need a chaperone for?” Tyler’s temper flared, but he reined it in. He gripped the back of a nearby chair, seriously wanting to throw the damn thing across the room. This senior citizen attorney tested his severely strained patience.

“To keep you in compliance. Lavender will go.”

“What?” Lavender sputtered and shook her head. “I’m not going to Seattle with him. We don’t like each other.”

“Except for the sex part, honey. We like that just fine.” Tyler grinned when she smacked his arm.

“Shut up.” Lavender’s glare didn’t faze him. He’d be wearing the next beer, of that he was certain. The old men hooted and slapped their hands on the table. Lavender turned her homicidal glare on them, and they hushed immediately. She faced Tyler. “I’ll miss a few days of work. This’ll cost you.”

He pulled out his wallet and waved a credit card in her face. “Does this help?”

She snatched it from his hand and shoved it in her pocket. “You’ll be sorry.”

“I doubt that.” His dirty mind worked overtime. Flying back and forth to the mainland had its advantages, especially at night. He’d initiate Lavender into the mile-high club—not that they’d be flying quite that high—but it was the spirit of the gesture that mattered the most.

“I’ll see to it.”

Damn, but he loved it when she threatened him like that. Her sexy butt swayed with each step and mesmerized him until one of the brothers cleared his ancient throat.

“It’s settled then.” Jim turned back to his poker game. “I fold, guys.” He tossed his full house on the table.

Tyler shook his head at Jim and walked away with a definite lift to his step. He wandered into the back room where the military museum was housed, avoiding the picture of his father. Instead, he painstakingly looked at each picture and exhibit item, reading each description before moving to the next. His dad’s picture kept calling to him. He felt its invisible pull. No matter where he stood in the room, he was acutely aware of the eight by ten of Jason Harris.

The picture sucked him in until he stood staring down at it. His father stared back. The empty hole inside him grew bigger. Like a physical thing, it hurt like hell. It hurt to breathe, like the time Murphy had sacked him so hard he hadn’t been sure he’d ever get back up.

Damn, he missed his father, missed his sensible guidance, and missed shooting the shit with him. They’d sit up for hours after a game and analyze the hell out of it, giving both wins and losses equal attention. If only his dad had lived to see him play college ball, win the Rose Bowl, and two Super Bowls. If only—

Tyler heard purple lady laugh in the next room, acutely aware of her. His father would’ve enjoyed Lavender, especially her irreverence toward his son’s jock status. His sisters and mother, heaven forbid, would enjoy combining wits with her on how best to take Tyler down a peg. He’d be in deep shit if that ever happened. Of course, it wouldn’t. He kept his fu—sex buddies and his family separated.

His rarely-used conscience smacked him up the side of the head, claiming foul. Tyler disregarded that nagging voice demanding to be heard. If he listened, he might be forced to admit Lavender meant more to him than a willing body. Even worse, he might be forced to examine what he really wanted out of life and why none of his accomplishments to date amounted to more than a pile of crap.

He looked into his father’s blue eyes, so much like his own. Even after all these years, a lump of grief settled in his stomach. “Do you think I’m a failure, or are you proud of me, Dad?” He croaked in a hoarse voice.

The man in the photograph didn’t answer.

* * * * *

“Tyler, who were you talking to?” Lavender stood in the doorway, keeping her distance, emotionally and physically. If she didn’t tread carefully, she’d do something stupid like fall for the obnoxious jock. How she’d survive a couple days flying back and forth crammed into a float plane with him, she couldn’t imagine. The credit card did soften the blow, though.

Tyler stiffened and kept his back to her, a very fine, broad back with incredibly wide shoulders and one fine, fine ass. For a moment, she closed her eyes and time-travelled to last night, and their first “unprotected” sex.

Sure, she was on the pill so in a way she was protected. Regardless, she’d trusted him in ways she’d never trusted a man, jock or not, to be clean. Feeling his penis inside her, skin unguarded by a condom and then his seed filling her boiled her blood, pushed all her hot buttons, and worse of all, labeled her as a sappy fool. She’d gotten in over her head with this boy, and no lifeguard on earth could rescue her.

“Ty?” She touched his shoulder, and he flinched. “Ty, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound okay. In fact, he sounded like a man who’d lost his best friend. Her gaze followed his. He stared at the same picture of the helicopter pilot he’d been fixated on a few weeks ago.

“Who is this man?” She scrutinized the photo. The same intense, deep blue eyes as Tyler’s looked back at her. The chiseled good looks, strong jaw, proud mouth, and dark hair were all mirrored in Tyler’s face.
A relative. A very close relative.
She wrapped her fingers around his bicep. “He means something to you.”

“My father.” His feeble attempt to keep his voice flat and emotionless didn’t succeed in masking the pain.

“Your father?”

“Yeah, I miss him.” His troubled gaze met hers. Pain written clearly on his face. She didn’t see an over-confident jock. She saw a confused, vulnerable little boy. Someone battling his demons and trying hard to make sense of life, just like her.

In that one moment, Tyler wound his way around her heart so completely she’d never be the same. “You look a lot like him.” She slid her arm around his waist and held him close to her. He laid his cheek on top of her head.

“Thank you, but that’s where the resemblance ends. I’m no hero, but he was.”

“Your father was a hero. That’s a fact. But in your own way, you’re a hero, too.” She couldn’t believe her own words, yet she meant them.

He pulled away and shook his head. “What have I ever done? I’m just a dumb jock, a football player.” His upper lip turned up in a sneer of self-loathing.

Lavender reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stared straight ahead. “Ty, you’re not just a dumb, jock football player. First of all, you’re not dumb. Second, you bring a lot of joy to people following the team. You’ve given us regional pride, brought the area together. Perfect strangers stand in line at a grocery store and talk about the Lumberjacks. Third, you do a lot of good for the community.”

Tyler snapped his head downward to glare at her. “Who told you that?”

“Your cousin.”

“He’s full of shit. I’m no hero. To anyone. I’m just a guy gifted with athletic talent. I get paid well to do what I do. Now my dad, he was a hero. He got shot down and managed to stay one step ahead of the enemy and get to safety. He carried his injured buddy on his back and saved his life. That’s a hero. Then Ryan, the kid was dying of cancer, but he was stronger than any of us right to the end. Upbeat, positive, a true fighter.”

“There are different kinds of heroes, Ty.” The revelation dawned on her like the fog lifting on Rosario Straits. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You thought a second Super Bowl win would prove your worth to yourself, but it didn’t change things in your mind, did it?”

“You have no idea how much I hate all the attention showered on me. I don’t deserve it.” He pulled away from her and stared out a window, his face carved in stone.

Lavender absorbed his words and realized how little she really knew Tyler Harris. In fact, how little anyone knew him. “You? You’re an attention slut.”

He looked at her sadly, as if he expected her, of all people, to see the truth. “Not really. It’s all a front. I don’t deserve any of this. The money. The fame. None of it. I’m a fake. A failure.”

Cocky Tyler Harris—a failure? How could he possibly think such a thing? “You’re not a failure. You’re a good guy just doing the best you can.” Her heart fell at his feet over the admission. He’d opened up, let her in, something she suspected didn’t come easily, if ever to him, which moved their relationship beyond casual sex and scared the crap out of her.

“I’m an ass, remember?” He looked at her then. One corner of his mouth twitched in a sad smile.

Encouraged by his attempt at humor, she dared to say more. “You pretend to be an ass so you never have to measure up or be held to the high standards you’ve set for yourself.”

“Is that what you really think, Doctor Vinnie?” He straightened the crease on an American flag folded into a triangle on the table.