Give a Little (3 page)

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving the game,” Curl said, clapping his hand on Rowdy’s shoulder. “I thought you’d play rugby until they carried you out on a stretcher.”

Fortunately he’d never been hurt badly, but he knew better than to think that he’d escape completely unscathed. Rugby was a physical sport. Hurtling yourself against other massive bodies took a toll. “You gotta know when to fold ’em, dude.”

Shaking his head, Curl took a drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I stopped playing.”

That was the thing: Rowdy had it figured out. He was going to open a rehab center for athletes.

Nursing his buddy Ian MacNiven back to health after a crippling accident had opened Rowdy’s mind to the possibility. He’d
liked
kicking Mac’s ass every day. It’d been satisfying getting his buddy to perform better and be more confident in his injured leg. It’d been even more satisfying seeing Mac play soccer again. He liked knowing he helped someone attain a dream.

He could do that. He wasn’t any sort of doctor, but he was an athlete, and he knew how to win. He’d already talked to a sports physician about partnering with him; with his friend Viola’s real estate person he’d found the perfect facility.

And tonight he’d made the leap: He’d played his last rugby game.

The boys had insisted that they go out for farewell drinks after the game, and they’d dressed appropriately in Harlequin gear for the occasion. He’d spiffied up, too, with his best jester’s hat and a red tutu over boxer shorts.

He put his hand on Curl’s shoulder. “Well, it’s understandable that you aren’t going to quit, because you don’t have a beautiful face like mine to fall back on.”

Curl snorted. “You’re lucky they let you in this posh bar. Who picked it anyway? It’s rather fancy for our likes.”

“True dat.” The place was decorated like a Russian bordello and the bartenders looked like Eastern European mafia. “But the beer’s cold, and there are pretty girls to look at.”

“Like that one.” Curl leaned in. “Is she wearing a dress, or is that a long shirt?”

He looked to where his buddy pointed and choked on his beer. That wasn’t just any girl flashing her long legs. That was Jasmine Hayes, the best friend of Viola’s new husband Finn.

She glanced around, not as though she were looking for someone specific, but as if to figure out where she belonged. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she strutted to the other end of the bar and waited for the bartender to attend to her.

She didn’t have to wait long. She was too hot and too scantily clad.

Curl clanked his empty glass on the counter. “She looks like she needs company.”

“And I’m going to be it.” He gave Curl a look and strode to where Jasmine stood, seemingly oblivious to the stir she was causing among the male population of the bar.

She gave him a disinterested glance as he approached, but she did a double take as she recognized him.

“Interesting outfit,” he said as he joined her.

“I could say the same about you.” Eyebrow raised, she ruffled the edge of his tutu with her fingers. “I imagine you more the silk type than tulle.”

“A man’s gotta try new things.” Grinning, he leaned into the bar. “What brings you here tonight?”

“A woman’s got to try new things,” she repeated with grim determination.

“Uh-oh. I know that tone.” Viola had used it a lot before she went off the deep end and decided to risk everything she had. “What sort of trouble are you looking to get into?”

She pursed her lips, picking up the drink the bartender pushed toward her. “Are you offering?”

He looked her up and down. She kind of looked like that lawyer George Clooney married, all lanky curves and luscious hair, with eyes that were intelligent. But Jasmine had some bad girl in her—it was apparent in every saucy bit of her.

“Well?” She took a sip of her drink, all the while watching him. “Having second thoughts?”

“Sugar, you inspire all the thoughts.” He bracketed her with his body. He liked that she didn’t back up. “What do you have in mind?”

She looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected him to ask what she wanted. An adorable frown appeared between her eyes.

He had the urge to kiss it. He smiled, liking this.

Someone walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder. “Rowdy.”

He’d been about to tell whoever it was to buzz off, but he recognized Ian’s voice. Turning, he smiled happily. “Mac! Someone was smart enough to call you to join us?”

His best friend, Ian MacNiven, shook his head, glancing at Jasmine. “I got a call from your father.”

The gravity in his buddy’s expression plus his tone made Rowdy take his arm. “What happened?”

“It’s your grandfather.”

“Pop.” Rowdy deflated, not needing to be told. His grandpa had been sick for a while. He’d visited Pop in Boston a few weeks ago, because his parents didn’t think the old man would make it much longer. If he had to guess, he knew why his dad had called Mac.

Damn
. He rubbed his eyes and then turned to Jasmine. “I need to go.”

She looked between them with concern. “Of course. Is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t touch any of my teammates.” He didn’t wait for her response. It was her decision. If she wanted him, she wouldn’t mess with any of the other guys. But if she was a wandering woman, then he’d know right off, because none of the men would keep quiet about getting with such a stunning woman.

He clapped a hand on Ian’s shoulder and called out to his brethren as he walked out.

Ian gave him space on the way home, and they went up the elevator to the condo in silence. Mac was a knucklehead, but he wasn’t stupid. He obviously knew that Rowdy didn’t have any spare thoughts at the moment.

Rowdy usually stayed with Ian whenever he was in town, but now that he’d decided to live in London he was looking for his own place. The condo was enormous, and Ian and his lady, Titania, didn’t mind having him around, but a man needed his own pad.

They walked inside. Titania was pacing in the kitchen. She stopped and studied him, her photographer’s gaze sharp.

He smiled sadly. “It’s all good, Goldie. Pop was an old codger, and sick to boot.”

“It doesn’t change that you’re sad.” She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head to hers. She was a swell kid. Ian had done good with this one. He patted her back and held her away from him, frowning. “Have you lost weight? You’re all bones.”

She rolled her eyes.

Ian grabbed Titania by the sweatshirt and pulled her back. “Come on. His dad is waiting for his call.”

She pursed her lips, obviously not sure about leaving him alone. But then she nodded. “Let us know if you want to talk, or drink whiskey, or whatever would make you feel better.”

Thinking of what would make him feel better got him picturing Jasmine in that little shirt dress. He shook his head. “I’m good, Goldie. Thanks.”

He went into his room and fished the cell phone out of his rugby bag. Sure enough, there were a dozen missed calls from his parents.

He called his dad back. “My teammates took me out to celebrate my last game, and I didn’t take my phone.”

“Pop passed away,” his dad said without preamble. Hank Stimson was a straightforward man. He wasn’t flowery, and he didn’t waste words.

“I figured.” Rowdy sighed. “You okay, Dad?”

“He wasn’t doing well. He’s going to be happier in heaven with Mom.” Hank cleared his throat. “I think he knew his time was coming up, because apparently he prepped for it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

“He made videos for all of us.” His dad chuckled. “Somehow the old man figured out how to upload them to a private channel on YouTube. Can you believe it?”

Rowdy chuckled too. “Old dog, new tricks.”

“He loved technology.” His dad’s voice sobered. “He loved
you
. He was so proud of you, Gary. He would have loved being there to celebrate with you and your mates.”

Rowdy went to his bedside table. He had a picture of his parents on their fortieth anniversary and one from his sister’s wedding. He had one of his grandmother, who’d died twenty years ago. The last one was of his grandfather at a rugby game, wearing a white feather wig and an Elvis onesie in front of a bunch of people in banana suits.

He picked it up. This was his Pop in a nutshell. Pop had cheered him on when he’d played football in college, supported him when he decided to play rugby professionally, and encouraged him to live life to the fullest by example. “I’m going to miss him.”

“Yeah,” his dad said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “I’ll send you the link to your video.”

Nodding, he pressed his fingers to his eyes. He was both happy and sad to see his Pop one last time.

“He left us money. A lot of money,” his dad emphasized.

“What?” He lifted his head. “Pop didn’t have money.”

“Apparently he’d been day trading since he got bedridden. He seems to have made a lot of money, and he divided it between us all.” His father paused, and then named a sum.

Rowdy’s mouth fell open. “We’re dividing
that much
between us?”

“No, that’s how much we each get. Can you believe it?”

He really couldn’t. “That crafty codger.”

“There are stipulations, though,” Hank warned.

“Of course there are.” Rowdy shook his head. “What’s the old man asking us to do? Parade in chicken costumes?”

“He told me I had to take your mother on a real honeymoon. I’m taking her to Tahiti,” his dad said with eagerness. “She’s always wanted to swim with tropical fish. I got us one of those huts that’s on stilts over the water. But don’t tell her. She doesn’t know I picked a place yet.”

“What does he want me to do?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I’m going to let you watch the video, but I think you’ll appreciate it.” His father laughed. “Pop was something.”

“He was definitely something,” Rowdy said with a sad smile.

“I’ll text it to you now. Gary?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Pop loved you and was so proud of you. I am, too.”

Rowdy rubbed away the tears that sprung from his eyes. “I had excellent role models.”

Rowdy didn’t watch the video that night. He needed time to process.

The next day, he worked out, went by his new space to oversee the renovations, and then got some green juice. When he ran out of things to keep him busy, he called Viola.

Fortunately, Viola was at home instead of her gallery. “Come over,” she told him. “Chloe will be home soon, too.”

He went over, relieved he had somewhere to go. Viola always had cookies and a smile, and he adored Chloe even though she was a teenager and pretty much a wiseass. They were his family away from home, and he couldn’t think of a better place to be.

Chloe opened the door, her eyes lit and practically bouncing. She still had her school uniform on, and lately she wore less goop around her eyes. She’d blossomed when Vi had decided to blossom, too. Now she was dating a nice boy and set to go off to a fancy writers’ program in the summer.

The teenager grabbed his arm and pulled him in. “We’re having a girl.”

“We are?” He smiled slowly, and then he laughed. “I love girls.”

“Me too!” She threw her arms around him and hugged.

He inhaled the strawberry scent of her hair that reminded him of college and girls trying to be women, which was exactly where Chloe was supposed be. The sense of rightness of everything lifted some of the heaviness that’d been on his chest ever since Ian had told him about Pop, and he squeezed her in appreciation.

“Mum’s in the kitchen.” Chloe took his hand and dragged him down the hall. “You can see the picture of my sister.”

Viola sat at the counter, a cup in her hands and a dreamy smile on her face. “We’re having a girl,” she said, holding out a small piece of paper.

“I heard.” He took the paper and stared at it. He’d seen ultrasound pictures of babies on TV and Facebook but never in person. “You sure it’s a girl and not an alien?”

“Pretty sure.” Viola pointed to the top part of the printout. “No antennae.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He set the picture on the counter. “How did Finn take it?”

“He’s ecstatic.” Viola sobered a little. “I think he’d wanted a boy, but he’s excited about her.”

“Because girls are fabulous,” Chloe said, coming to stand next to her mom with hands on her sassy hips.

Rowdy shrugged as he took a seat. “
I
like ’em.”

“Girls
are
fairly fabulous.” Viola smiled happily, running a hand down Chloe’s hair. Then her smile faded, and she put a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He swallowed back the sadness that welled up out of nowhere. “You can tell?”

“I’m pregnant, not blind.” Viola tugged his sleeve. “Tell me.”

“My grandpa died.”

Chloe gasped, her eyes wide with concern. “Your Pop?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his face. “He went in his sleep.”

“I’m so sorry, Rowdy,” Viola said softly. “I know you loved him.”

“He was a great guy. I went to see him right before you got married, and I talked to him a couple times a week.” He cleared his throat. “He left me a video. The old coot uploaded it to YouTube.”

“What did he say on it?” Viola asked.

“I don’t know.” He reached into his pocket and fiddled with his phone without taking it out. “I haven’t watched it.”

“Why not?” Chloe asked.

He shrugged again. “I guess I feel like if I watch it he’ll be gone forever.”

“He’s already gone,” Chloe pointed out.

“Chloe,” her mother admonished.

Rowdy pursed his lips. “She’s kind of right.”

“Kind of?” the kid said indignantly. “I’m completely right, unless you think your grandfather is coming back as a zombie.”

“Chloe.” Viola put her hands to her face. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s Rowdy.” The teenager frowned at him. “You can’t tell me you’re offended. You’re the most straightforward person ever.”

“True dat.”

Chloe waved her hand. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Let’s watch the video.”

Viola took a cookie from the plate on the counter and shoved it in her daughter’s mouth before smiling apologetically at him. “I promise I’ll do better with the next one.”