Making the Play (8 page)

It was hard to keep herself from slipping into the fantasy—­the one where this was just another ordinary day in her life—­when a husband and children were all she'd ever wanted. She'd always pictured herself a mother with several children, the white picket fence and, maybe, a dog. She'd imagined dinners and birthday parties and vacations as a family. Never, before or after she and Matthew married, had she dreamed she'd be barely scraping by as a single mother, worrying about things like toilets and car repairs . . . or dating.

She looked at her son, basking in the attention from Grant. It could be far worse.

James was well adjusted and bright. They had a home in a beautiful town. And even though she rarely let ­people get close, they had a few friends. Melissa and . . .

Bethany paused, realizing there was no one else. She had never let anyone else close enough for more than a casual greeting. She didn't let anyone see inside her world because then no one could make judgments, about James or about her.

Suddenly, her life felt lonely and pitiable. And that was something Bethany refused to be—­pitied. She turned around and slid the chicken into the oven.

“Are you okay?”

Bethany stood and saw Grant watching her, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to figure her out, while James climbed into one of the chairs and waited for them to finish in the kitchen.

“Yeah, why?”

She wasn't okay, but she wasn't about to admit it. These little white lies were just another part of keeping walls up and pretenses in place. Of not letting anyone see her need for protection from others.

Grant shrugged. “I don't know, the way you sighed.” He took a step closer, making her want to retreat but she had nowhere to go. “The way your shoulders are all bunched around your ears.” He moved even closer, lowering his voice so that James couldn't hear. “The way your eyes looked all sad again.”

He reached up a finger and brushed a strand of hair from where it caught in her eyelashes. Her heart immediately began pounding against the inside of her chest, heat flooding her body. He didn't touch her, didn't have to, but she felt the warmth emanate from his body to hers. She licked her lips, unable to speak, and saw his eyes darken even more.

“You can talk to me, Bethany.” The corner of his mouth curved up in a beguiling half-­smile. “My sister says I'm a great listener and I'm a great guy to have as a friend.”

Friend?
It was what she had told him she wanted, more than once.

Longing and disappointment crashed through her simultaneously, like two conflicting waves of the emotional spectrum and threatened to drag her into the undertow. She reached her hands behind her, gripping the rolled edge of the counter top to regain her balance and returned his smile, glancing over his shoulder at James, watching them intently.

“I guess we could probably use another friend. Right, James?”

“Yes,” he agreed, jumping down and hurrying to where they stood, wiggling his way into the small space between them. Bethany breathed a little easier and ran her hand over James' head, feeling the strength of her willpower return. “Mom says it's good to have lots of friends.”

Grant's gaze flicked from James' back to hers. “Your mother is a very smart woman, buddy.” He took a step backward, leaning his hip against the island but not breaking eye contact with her. “She knows that friends are important. They are the ­people you can count on to help you.”

“Like you, fixing our toilet.”

Grant laughed, looking back down at James. “Exactly like that.”

 

Chapter Eight

G
RANT LEANED
AGAINST
the back of the couch and looked down at the little blond head curled against his stomach as the end credits played on the Disney movie. They weren't even twenty minutes into it when he'd crawled over his mother and planted himself firmly between them on the couch, leaning against Grant's side. He'd never seen a movie about talking cars before but James had loved every minute. Bethany leaned forward and reached for the remote on the table before turning off the television and rising from the couch. She looked down at James, curled against Grant.

“I should probably get him to bed.” She bent down, her dark ponytail swinging toward his face as she tried several times to scoop James from his lap without touching him. Grant could smell vanilla and sunshine with just a hint of wildflowers. It was just too damn tempting for him not to inhale deeply.

“I'll do it.” Grant stood, effortlessly lifting the boy to his shoulder.

“Wait, I need to take these off.” She leaned against his arm and unplugged the microphones over each ear from the battery pack, slipping the packs from where they were held with Velcro strips around his upper arms. With her body pressed against him, Grant felt every muscle in his body clench with need. He willed parts of his body straining against his jeans to settle down before he embarrassed them both.

“There,” she said, stepping back. “Just follow me upstairs and I'll turn down his bed.”

Grant felt his chest constrict as he watched her lead the way to the stairs, her hips swaying gently as she walked. “Pajamas?”

“He can just sleep in his clothes tonight.” She plugged his batteries into the charger and tucked the microphones into their case before tugging down the blankets on his twin bed. Grant felt her eyes on him as he settled James on the mattress and pulled the covers over him. “Thank you for bringing him up.”

“My pleasure,” he murmured, his voice husky even to his own ears.

His words held far more impact than they should have and he wondered if she would read too much into them. They'd come to a sort of truce today—­friendship and nothing more—­and he didn't want to destroy the headway he was making at getting to know her, to know them both.

She smiled slightly. “You do realize you don't have to whisper now, right? He can't hear you.”

Grant dropped his head sheepishly. “I didn't even think about it. Sorry.”

She laid her hand on his arm and he felt the skin ignite under her fingers, heat sizzling up to his chest. “Don't apologize for being considerate, Grant. Come on.”

She stopped to turn on a night light in the bathroom across from James' room before heading back down, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “Did you want something to drink? I don't really keep anything stronger than coffee in the house with James but I'm sure I could find something if I look hard enough.”

His gaze skimmed over her. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to pull her into his arms, drag her up against his body and give in to the temptation to taste those perfect, plump lips. Instead, Grant shook his head.

“I should really get going.” He glanced at the door to his left but didn't make a move toward it. “Thanks for dinner, Bethany.”

“It was my pleasure.”

His own words repeated back to him made the yearning ricochet through him and he felt his body clench again with longing. How in the world could she affect him this way when he'd only known her a few days? Bethany cleared her throat and he wondered if she could see the hunger in his eyes, if he was making her uncomfortable.

“I mean . . . after how nice you've been to James and helping me with the toilet, it was the least I could do.”

Grant sighed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was a good reminder for himself.
Hands off.

“That's what friends are for.”

As attracted as he was to Bethany, they were two different ­people wanting completely different things from life. She was stubborn and slightly skittish when it came to men, but he suspected it had more to do with her past than anything he'd done. She'd been on her own with James for some time and that had made her autonomous and almost too self-­reliant. But he'd seen the loneliness and sorrow reflected in her face, especially when she watched him with James. She deserved a man in her life to treat her—­to treat them both—­with the devotion they deserved.

Unfortunately, he couldn't be that man.

He was leaving, heading out of town and back to Memphis as soon as the doctors gave him his medical clearance to go. He had a job to get back to, a team waiting for him to help them get to the playoffs again next year. He'd already seen the toll that football wrought on relationships, tearing them to pieces and leaving broken hearts and shattered marriages. He'd made a vow early on that he would never do that. Not until he'd finished his career. But, staring into Bethany's eyes, he felt the ache of loneliness.

Would it be so bad if the doctors didn't clear him and he could stay here, with someone like her? Someday be a father to a kid like James?

Grant clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands into fists in his pockets. Yes, it would.

Bethany needed a man who would stick around this town, and love every moment. Not a guy who had no interest in being tied down in the sticks when he really wanted to hear the rest of the world chanting his name while he strode onto the field. They were heading in two different directions in life. He could be her friend, but that was all. And that meant keeping his hands off her, regardless of how drawn he was to her.

“So, I guess we'll see you around.” Her voice trembled slightly, hesitantly, reminding him again of that vulnerability she tried so hard to disguise.

He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Tomorrow. Remember, I promised James I'd take him for a ride at my parents' ranch.”

Her brows dipped in a frown. “Wait, you did? When?”

“When we were setting the table. You don't remember us talking about it?” He moved toward the front door. “We have a picnic planned, football with my brothers, swimming in the pond, the works.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You didn't ask me about this. I would have remembered.” Bethany shook her finger at him, looking every inch the scolding mother. “You and James cooked this whole plan up and you were going to spring it on me, but he fell asleep first.”

Grant could barely hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, guilty as charged.” He opened the door, prepared to escape. “But, Bethany, he really wants to come and I told him I'd ask you. I don't know how you didn't hear him jabbering about it.”

Grant wasn't sure how to broach the importance of James coming over without making her feel inadequate. But he had to try. He'd seen the longing in James' eyes.

“You're an amazing mother and you're doing so many things perfectly, but James needs guys in his life, even if it's just a male friend, especially when your father is so far away. He needs someone who can show him how to do ‘guy' things.”

He saw the light in her eyes doused by his comment, but he didn't see anger there and thanked his lucky stars. He'd been worried she'd take it as criticism. What he saw instead was disenchantment, concern, perhaps even a little regret. Her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat as she chewed at the corner of her lip. She might be a skittish spitfire when it came to men, but she was also a realist who loved her son.

“You mean like fixing a toilet.”

Grant chuckled. “Yeah, or a car or spitting or peeing standing up.”

She arched a playful brow at him but wouldn't meet his gaze. “I'd better not catch my son spitting.” He dipped his head toward her, forcing her to look up at him. “Okay, I get what you're saying. James needs some male bonding time.”

“So you'll bring him?” Bethany held the door frame, looking thoughtful as she pursed her lips, twisting them to the side as he stood on the front porch, waiting for her answer. “We'll have a good time.”

“Fine, but I don't want him on a horse.” She smiled up at him as if she knew that would be a deal breaker.

Tricky woman. He wasn't about to play into her hand that easily. He made an X over his heart with a finger. “I won't put him on a horse.”

He might not do it, but he knew Jackson would, not that he'd tell her that. Not when the opportunity to see her in a bathing suit hung in the forefront of his mind, tempting as all hell. She squinted her eyes at him in distrust and he wasn't about to wait around for her to read his intention.

“I'll pick you guys up in the morning at eight.” He turned and jogged down the driveway to his car. He opened the driver's side door and turned back to her, folding his arms over the top. “And, Bethany, be prepared. The whole family will be there.”

Before she could change her mind, he climbed into the car and sped away. He was probably making a mistake, but thinking about the smile James would have on his face when he got to sit on a horse was enough to curb any second thoughts.

G
RANT JAMMED HIS
cell phone back into his pocket. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered, looking at the morning paper his father had left on the kitchen table.

“Language,” his mother warned as she flipped a pancake on her griddle. “You might be grown, but this is still my house.”

“Sorry, Mom.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. She might be small but his mother had run their home with the discipline of an army general and they all knew to obey immediately, even if it was just to humor her into thinking she was still in charge.

“You were home late last night,” Andrew pointed out. “Did it have something to do with this?” His brother spun the paper on the table so that Grant could clearly see the picture of his car parked outside Bethany's house last night.

Didn't reporters have anything better to do than to keep following him around? What kind of news was a parked car? But he knew it was more than that. He was a local celebrity, a
single
local celebrity. For some reason, reporters took great pleasure and went to incredible lengths to report on his love life. All of the starters on the team complained of the same thing. Most of the time, it wasn't an issue because Grant made sure to steer clear of romantic entanglements and there had always been other players who fed the media fodder mill. Grant didn't have room in his life for relationships when he spent most of his time playing or training. But now, here in his hometown, there were no other players to draw the media's attention. His injury left him with too much time on his hands, and a certain teacher wouldn't stay out of his mind—­he'd slipped up.

He prayed Bethany didn't read the paper.

“Nothing happened. We watched a cartoon with her kid on the couch, I carried him to bed for her and then I left.”

Andrew laughed. “Sure it wasn't her that you carried to bed?”

“Andrew,” his mother scolded. “Leave your brother alone. I certainly don't want to hear about him carrying
anyone
to bed over the breakfast table.”

Grant ignored his brother's taunting as he grabbed a plate and piled pancakes high, smothering them with butter and maple syrup. He reached for several slices of bacon as his mother set the plate on the table.

“You'd better start watching what you eat unless you want to get that middle-­age spread,” Andrew warned. “You
are
getting up there now, old man.”

Grant didn't want to think about his age, or what he hadn't accomplished yet in his thirty-­two years. “Mom, come sit and eat.”

She slid a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “I will when your father and Jackson come in.” She glanced his way. “They were up helping pull a calf early this morning while you two were sleeping.”

Grant and his brother recognized a guilt trip when they heard one. Before either of them could say anything, Andrew pushed back his chair. “Okay, I get it, I'm heading out to help.”

His mother pressed a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “They are heading in right now.” She jerked her chin toward the back door where they could hear his father banging the dirt from his boots. “But next time, it would be nice if either of you at least offered to take a shift.”

His father came through the doorway with Jackson on his heels. “Oh, look, the girls are up,” he teased. “Did you two get enough beauty sleep?”

Andrew rolled his eyes and Grant shook his head. Their father had always been an early riser and expected all of his sons to follow suit. It was part of the reason each and every one of the boys had decided to move into the bunkhouse on their eighteenth birthday. Even now, they stayed there together, dorm-­style, in order to maintain some sense of independence.

It didn't stop their father though. He had no problem popping his head in at the crack of dawn, claiming to be looking for the twins, Jackson and Jefferson, and waking everyone else in the process.

“Dad, I have to get down to the station, but I'd be happy to feed tonight when I get home.” Andrew shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth before heading for the door.

“Hey,” their mother called, holding her cheek toward him. “Don't forget.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and grabbed the lunch she'd packed him from the counter. “Maybe by the time your birthday rolls around next month, you'll learn to fix your own lunches, huh?” Grant teased.

“Says the guy whose laundry Mom just put into the dryer.” Grant rolled his eyes as his brother scooted out the door.

“Mom, I told you I'd switch it.”

His father gave him the evil eye. “Sarah, this boy is plenty old enough—­”

“I know and it's fine. I was doing our sheets anyway, Travis.” She ruffled Grant's hair the way she used to when he was growing up and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You might be a grown man, but you'll always be my boy.”