Losing to Win (4 page)

He smacked his thigh in frustration. “What was the big damn deal? You were safe. I was hanging out with some of the guys; we were talking football.”

“Good for you. I hope that football keeps you warm at night,” I snarled.

“I don't think my nights will be that chilly. I doubt I'll have a problem with that,” he said in a silky voice that set my teeth on edge.

“Oh yeah? Thanks for making this easier.” I decided I needed to just walk away, before we got really nasty with each other and said things we could never take back. Without another word, I turned and walked away from the only man I'd ever loved. I remember walking out to the garage and willing him to come after me. I remember sitting in the car and taking my time putting my key in the ignition and starting the engine. I even backed out slowly thinking he would come after me and fix this. Sitting behind the house, I saw the upstairs lights go out. That was that. I drove away without another look back.

 

 

I was jolted out of my morose walk down memory lane by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. I glanced at the clock on wall. It was past three p.m. Looking out the window, I saw Mal climb out of a blue SUV and stand staring at the bright red Benz that I still drove. The license plate no longer said “1Knight,” but everything else about that car was in the same pristine condition as the day I drove it home from Houston. Like I said, I'd earned it.

Before he could catch me looking, I checked him out. Dammit, he still had that sexy thing going on. He looked good—a little heavier but good. He was in a blue T-shirt with khaki cargo pants. He'd always reminded me of a jungle cat, all coiled energy and deceptive nonchalance. Dangerous and compelling, with the ability to pounce at any time. I was in no mood to be prey to his predator.

With a sigh, I pushed away from the table and looked down. I had changed out of that tragic outfit that was destined to appear on TV. I was in a flattering teal peasant shirt with a colorful broomstick skirt. My hair, though not fully recovered, was down in waves and held off my face with a decorative scarf. I had on bright dangly earrings and cute sandals. I was not sure when and where the cameras would be rolling, but I was determined not to be caught looking quite that raggedy again. It was one thing to be overweight, another to be a sloppy mess about it.

Glancing out the window again, I saw Mal walking around to the back of the property. What was he doing? With no small irritation, I walked through the shotgun-style house to the back patio. Pushing the door open, I leaned out. “Are you casing the joint?”

He was kneeling near the entrance to my gazebo where my roses grew. He looked up from the fragrant blooms. “Are these my mother's roses?”

“Yes.” Val Knight was a renowned gardener. Just because her son had turned into an idiot was no reason I couldn't stay friendly with her. Two summers ago when I'd bought the house, she came over with some bare root roses from her garden. They were the first things I planted in the yard. The rest of the backyard might have morphed into an overgrown jungle, but my rose garden around the newly painted gazebo was perfection. There was charm and fragrance and color in abundance.

He stood slowly, brushing off his pants. “So you still speak to my mother.”

I nodded. “Your father and Meshach as well.”

“Just me that you ignore?”

“Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I do.”

“I've been right here, if you were really looking.”

“Maybe I wasn't ready to have this conversation. You're grown up, you could've called me.”

“Phone works both ways, Mal.”

“Are you being evasive?”

I smiled evilly. “I learned from the best.”

He crossed his arms with a sigh. “Okay, let's have it out.”

“Have it out?”

He dropped his arms and strolled toward the porch. “Clearly you have some issues to work through. Some beef with me. Let's work it out before the cameras start rolling.”

I laughed. “I don't have any issues. I said what needed to be said five years ago. If you'd like to discuss this show you've hoodwinked me into doing, then by all means. Please come in.”

“Hoodwinked? Really? So you're still just the victim and I'm the evil puppet master, huh?”

“Mal, seriously. You don't have that kind of power over me anymore. Clearly, you want to do this show for some reason and I'm your ticket to making it work. So if you want to make nice, now's your time to do it.”

He brushed against me as he entered the house and looked down as he walked past. “Oh, I think we have quite a bit of unfinished business, Ris. And one thing I've always been good at? Making nice.”

Watching him walk into my home as if he owned it gave me a moment of unease. Was I really ready to take on Mal Knight?

“Scared?” he teased as he stood in my kitchen looking around.

“Cautious. There's a difference.” I straightened my shoulders and slammed the door shut behind me before heading toward him.

 

 

I
caught the bottled water Carissa tossed my way and decided not to wonder if she was aiming at my head. I began to study the house she'd made her own. When we were seventeen, driving past this place to get to the lake, she declared her intention to buy this house and bring it back to life. It had belonged to the Somers family, who had helped found Belle Haven in the 1800s. The last surviving Somers had moved away years ago and the house had stood in decay until Carissa bought it a few years ago.

It was a tall, skinny house with the traditional shotgun style on the ground floor, which meant you walked through each room to get to the next. There had been additions and a second floor added over the years and I found myself curious to see how she'd fixed them up. The kitchen was an eclectic mix of old South and classy, sleek contemporary. Much like the owner. The subtle blend of colorful vintage pieces and classic mission-style pieces suited the bright, sun-filled space.

Swinging my gaze back to her, I took my time studying the new Carissa Wayne. Even with the extra weight, she was a beautiful woman. Her face was traditionally lovely: high cheekbones, arched brows over wide oval eyes, and a pink-tinted, bow-shaped mouth that I still had a dream or two about. Her hair was the same silky fall of tawny curls I'd sunk my hands into countless times. She was a bit more round here and there but no less attractive in my eyes. She was lush, curvy, and had clearly grown into a confident, independent woman with no tolerance for nonsense. I still wanted her and I had no idea what to do with that. I held back a sigh. In that instant, I recognized what I'd lost. The weight of my arrogant insensitivity weighed on my conscience.

I didn't have to be told that I'd messed up with her. The thing about Rissa? She was the best person I had ever known. Her heart was the biggest and best part of her. The bitter taste of regret burned in my throat and I swigged some water to choke it down. Maybe this was why I hadn't wanted to see her, hadn't sought her out. I wasn't ready to admit I'd let a good thing go bad.

The fact of the matter was, I had been an idiot. If I could go back and do it again, I would marry Carissa right out of college and encourage her to do whatever the hell she wanted. I would listen instead of dismiss. I would pay attention to things both on and off the field. But from the look on her face, she wasn't trying to hear it. I didn't know whether I was more irritated with her or myself at that moment.

“So . . .” she said, watching me watch her.

“So . . .” I replied, “catch me up. What did you do after you drove away in my brand-new car and left me all alone?” The minute I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. I guess I was still mad that she'd actually left me. Not that I blamed her; I deserved it. But I'd wanted her to stay and fight for me.

Her jaw set and she put her bottle of water down on the quartz countertop with a loud snap. “Really, that's how you remember it and that's truly how you want to play this right now?”

I put my hands up. “Sorry. It came out wrong. I just... Look, there's no way we're going to live in each other's back pockets on camera for the next few months without getting some closure about the past. Can we talk about it?”

She sat down on a wooden barstool, crossed her arms, and gestured me onto the stool across from her. When I settled in, she started talking. “After I pushed past the fact that you weren't coming for me, that you didn't care enough to fight for what we had—”

“Wait a minute, I was supposed to come after you? You weren't supposed to leave!”

“You checked out way before I left,” she accused.

“But you actually left,” I tossed back.

She flung her hands up. “After five years of crap, I wasn't supposed to leave?”

“I wasn't that bad for all five years.” I hedged, “I will admit my head got a little big.”

“A little?!” she interrupted.

“Okay, more than a little, and I lost my way there for a minute. I got caught up in the life. You could've talked to me. You should've made me see instead of just running away.”

Her voice was pain laced when she spoke quietly. “I tried, Mal. I tried and I tried. You didn't listen. You wouldn't listen to me!”

I sat back in defeat. It was worse than I thought. “Wanna hear something funny in a sad way?”

“Sure, I could use a chuckle right now.”

“Well, I actually thought I'd outgrown you,” I said regretfully.

“Outgrown me? In what damn way? You shoved me in the dark, shoveled shit on my head, and wouldn't let me grow! How was that supposed to work out?”

I'd never heard her talk to me in that tone of voice. It was full of disapproval, disgust, and distrust. “I made some mistakes.”

“On that we agree. Anyway, after I got over it—”

Wait. “You're over it? You're over me?”

“Mal, you want to hear this or not?”

I motioned for her to continue, while tucking that question away for a later time.

“I moved back to Belle Haven and into a room at the Idlewild, Sugar's place. As easy as it would have been to live at home or with my friends, I needed to be on my own. When I said I needed to get back to the business of being Carissa Wayne, I also needed to find out who that was and what that meant. In a very short time, I applied to the graduate program at Tulane. I worked part time at a charter school in New Orleans while I got my master's degree in secondary education and teaching. When I graduated, I was offered a position at Havenwood. I took the job, bought the house. Mac and I have been fixing it up ever since. And here we are.”

I asked a question that had been dancing around in the corners of my mind. “So you and Mac?”

“Me and Mac, what?” She arched a brow.

“I always had a feeling he wanted to hook up with you.”

Her head reared back as she crowed with laughter. “This is one of your problems, Mal. You see things that aren't there. If anything, he's half in love with Taylor and hasn't realized it.”

My eyes traced the line of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. Her shirt slid down her arm, revealing a bright pink bra strap. I was nostalgic for the days when I could just reach out and touch what intrigued me. A part of me would always look at her as mine. Slowly, I lifted my eyes back to her face. “Oh. Does that mean there's no husband, fiancé, man?”

“What's it to you?” She glowered.

“I'm just asking, Ris.”

Her spine snapped straight and her voice was clipped when she answered. “The answer is no, not that it's any of your damn business. Where's the next future Mrs. Mal Knight?”

“There is no such woman.” I hadn't dated seriously after Carissa bailed. I didn't have any interest in starting anything serious, so my encounters were mostly causal and short, cards on the table up front, no strings and no drama.

“Mal Knight without a woman? That's got to be a first.” Her voice was waspish.

I sighed. “This isn't going to work if you hate me, Ris.”

“I don't hate you, Mal,” she said tiredly.

I asked the tough question. “What do you feel?”

She waggled her shoulders up and down in a shrug. “Can't say I like you very much, but other than that, I don't have strong feelings one way or the other.”

“You used to love me,” I reminded her.

“
You
used to love
me
,” she countered.

“Can you tell me what you used to love about me?”

“What do you mean?” She looked confused.

“Well, you were one of the few who loved me with or without a football in my hands. I just wondered why.”

“If you really want to know . . . I thought you were sweet.”

“Sweet?” I frowned.

“Yes, sweet.”

“Not hot, sexy, manly?”

She grinned. “You were that too, but underneath all the macho jock bullshit you were a nice Southern gentleman. You protected your own, you put others first, you cared about things. You loved your family, you were kind to children, you were good with your hands, and you accepted me as I was—no conditions. You were driven, but it was a healthy ambition and I admired that about you. You were there for me, you listened to me, you made me feel cherished and important. You were . . . everything.”

Her tone clearly said I wasn't any of those things anymore, in her opinion. “I was all of that, huh?”

“You were. Until you weren't.” She crossed her arms and met my gaze directly.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Mal, for the last time, I did. Over and over again. You quit listening.”

“You should've made me listen.”

“When was the last time anyone made Malachi Knight do anything?”

She had a point. Not knowing what else to say, I sighed again. “I'm sorry. I should've done a lot of things differently and I definitely should've come after you when you left. Will you accept my apology?”

She looked as stunned hearing it as I was saying it. Finally she relaxed and beamed. “I accept your apology.”

“Seriously? Just like that? And you forgive me?”

“Not just like that, but what's the use of holding onto it all, right? Give me a little time to get my head around it, okay? It's a lot of baggage to let go all at once. I mean, yesterday at this time, I was hoping never to see you again. And here you are, in my kitchen.”

“You know, it's the ‘what could have been' that haunts me,” I admitted. What if I'd done things differently, what if she'd stayed, what if I hadn't gotten hurt, what if we'd had the wedding and the kids. What if I'd gone after her at any time over the last five years? What if, what if, what if?

She slashed her hand through the air. “Well, stop it, because you can't live life looking backward.”

A hopeful thought took seed in my brain. “Can we be friends again, at least? I miss my friend.”

She eyed me skeptically as if wondering what my angle was. Finally she shrugged. “I'll try.”

“Fair enough. What do you think? Can we get past it?” I wondered out loud.

Tentatively she started to speak, then stopped. Then she asked, “If I ask you something, Mal, will you answer me honestly?”

“Yes.” I vowed that no matter what she asked, I'd be honest.

“Did you cheat on me?”

Ah shit. I took a deep gulp of water. Knowing my next question was telling in and of itself, I asked, “When, specifically?”

Her stare was a rich brown laser beam of accusation. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms tighter against her chest. “Not while we lived apart. I understood our unspoken agreement. I'm asking about after college, when I moved to Houston. Were you cheating?”

That, I could answer unequivocally while looking directly into her eyes. “No.”

She looked unconvinced to say the least. “Hmm.”

“Swear to God, Rissa. When you were living with me, I never slept with another woman. I flirted, I teased, I was probably way more friendly than I needed to be, but I did not cheat.” I paused a beat and then added, “Not sure if you recall, but you and I were fairly energetic in that department.”

She flushed and squirmed on the seat. “I recall.”

“One area where we had no problem was in making that physical connection.” My voice went a little deeper as I allowed myself to dwell on it. “We were explosive together.”

“Um-hmm.” She cleared her throat and fidgeted a little bit more.

I hid my grin. She remembered as well. “Even when things were bad in other areas, we were always in tune with each other in the bedroom... and the living room... and the garage . . . oh my God, that one time in the press box, ” I teased.

“I said I recall.” It was her turn to take a deep sip of water. Her neck was a little red. Nice to know that part of our chemistry was still there just beneath the surface.

“Even when I wasn't what you needed emotionally, I could always reach you on that physical plane. You know, there were times when I was supposed to be on the field or in a meeting and I'd be distracted by the thought of getting back to you so I could get inside of you—it was all I could think about. Because once I was there, deep and warm with you wrapped around me, I was Superman.”

“Oh,” she said with an unfocused stare into space.

I leaned toward her and continued, “Between what you and I had going on and my dedication—”

“Obsession.”

“—obsession with football, I had no time or interest in other women.”

“The groupies, Mal.”

“I kept them around for appearances' sake. Sounds weak as hell, but it's true. I swear to you, Carissa Melody Wayne, on my mother: I did not cheat. I was an asshole, not a scoundrel.”

She considered for a moment and then nodded.

“Anything else?”

She took a deep breath and it was her turn to look me squarely in the eye. “When are you going back?”

“Where? To Houston?”

She rolled her eyes again. “To the NFL, Mal. When's your tryout?”

I shouldn't have been surprised that she'd connected the dots, but I was. “How did you know?”

“I know you, Mal. And at your core, you're a football player. You can't help but give it one more try. You haven't given up the dream yet.”

She always understood me better than most. “My tryout's in August.”