Playing for Keeps (Texas Scoundrels) (27 page)

Fifteen

GRIFFEN SLOWLY OPENED her eyes, smiling when the morning sun peeked through the draperies of her bedroom. She stretched, then let out a groan when nearly every muscle she could name, and some she couldn’t, screamed in protest. Her body ached, but she’d never felt more fulfilled in her life after a night of making love to Jed.
 

Turning her head on the floral pillow, she looked over at the cause of all her muscle aches. His hair was mussed and hung low over his forehead, shielding his eyes. The heavy shadow covering his strong jaw did little to abate the illusion of strength. In sleep, his chiseled features were somewhat softened, but she didn’t think anything could completely alleviate that dangerous, bad boy appeal. One arm was thrown back over his head, the other cradled against his chest. The sheet slung over his hips exposed his torso for her viewing pleasure.

The night she’d spent with Jed had been glorious. After a brief rest, they’d ventured downstairs for sustenance but ended up continuing their sensual exploration on the kitchen counter. She fully expected a blush to cover her from head to toe as she thought about some of the things she and Jed had done during the night and into the early morning hours, but all she felt was a rush of exhilaration.
 

With a dreamy sigh, she slipped from the bed, drawing the silk robe around her. She headed into the bathroom for a shower, glad that Jed still slept because she didn’t think she had the ability to keep her feelings to herself after the night they’d shared. And she simply wasn’t ready to face him, or the truth, quite yet.
 

Impossible, she chastised herself, picking up the brush and running it through her tangled hair. There was no way he’d know what she felt for him, especially since she wasn’t even ready to put a name to those feelings. Her heart ached for him. Her body ached as well, humming like a well-tuned engine under his expert and gentle touch. He made her feel things she’d never believed possible between a man and woman, and she was a far cry from a blushing virgin.

She turned on the tap and waited for the water to heat. Could she love him? If he walked out her door and never looked back, would her heart shatter into a million tiny pieces? She didn’t want to search for the answer, uncertain she’d like what her heart was trying to tell her.

No, she couldn’t love Jed. No matter how much she wanted him, she would
not
love him. She would never put herself in a position to trust and depend upon a man to be there for her. Never again. Especially not since she’d proven she could take care of herself.

After she finished working out the last of the tangles, she dropped her robe and stepped into the shower. Determination to pretend nothing earthshattering
had
happened between them spurred her, but the truth had her wincing. She’d crossed a line last night. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d given a part of herself, and that frightened her. Wherever she dared to venture from this moment on could determine the outcome for the rest of her life. The stakes had shifted and Austin was no longer their only common ground. Oh, no, what she felt for Jed was more elemental, more basic, and more frightening than anything she’d faced in the past six months.

For their son’s sake, as well as that of her own heart, she prayed she hadn’t made a monumental error. Because deep in her heart, she knew the truth. If Jed walked out her door right now and never looked back, her heart would most definitely shatter into a million tiny pieces.

*

Jed looked up from the Sunday newspaper he’d been reading when Griffen walked into the family room carrying two mugs of coffee. He set the financial section aside and made room for her on the sofa next to him.
 

He took the mug from her, setting it on the table beside him, then slung his arm over the back of the sofa. His shoulder caught and he flinched, then swore.

“I heard your shoulder catch in your sleep this morning. Does that happen often?” she asked, settling in beside him.

“More than it should.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and rubbed, moving his hand to her neck, letting his fingers sift through her silky hair. God, he’d never get tired of touching her.

She leaned forward and set her mug on the table, then scooted back and curled against him, laying her head on his shoulder. She peered up at him, concern filling her eyes. “Can you still play?” she asked quietly.

Could he? He honestly didn’t know any longer. The doctors had never promised him a one hundred percent recovery, but he’d been optimistic. Or was it denial? Denial, he decided. The orthopedic surgeons had been anything but promising when it came to the use of his shoulder as far as his career had been concerned. His rotator cuff was shot, and the clavicle resection hadn’t completely alleviated the pain. He had plenty of strength, but as far as throwing a decent pass, he wouldn’t know until he went out there and tried. He was sure he could play football again, but he began to have serious doubts about his ability to remain on top. And for him, it was an all or nothing proposition.
 

“I don’t know.” A surge of anger rushed forward at the reluctant admission and he tensed. He couldn’t be over the hill. Not him.
 

He set Griffen away from him and stood. Damn her for making him look in places he didn’t care to have uncovered. He started pacing the length of the family room, agitation and anger filling every step he took. The sensation of feeling trapped gripped him hard.
 

“Jed?”

The concern in her voice irritated him. “Don’t.” He didn’t want her concern, and he’d be damned if he’d allow her to pity him like he was some washed up legend.

A spark of fire lit her eyes. “Would it be so terrible if you couldn’t play again?”

He gave her a withering look. “And what do you suggest I do for a living?”

“You could work as a commentator,” she said. “Austin always watches the pre-game shows every week with those old football players, Terry Bradshaw and Howie Long. They don’t look as if they’re starving.”

“
Old
football players?” He cocked a brow. “Thanks a lot, Sister.”

She curled her feet beneath her and clutched the coffee mug in her hands. “You know what I mean.
Retired
pros.”

He turned away, unable to face her, the truth, or his own fear. He didn't know which, or maybe he just wanted to continue to avoid the inevitable. He paced to the fireplace and propped his foot on the hearth, resting his injured arm on his upraised knee. “What if I don’t want to retire?”
 

But he had been thinking about it. A lot. Hadn’t that been part of the reason he’d spent three days in Dallas in meeting after meeting? He didn’t have to continue with the game. He didn’t need the money. But he didn’t want to give it all up, either. Or was it the fame he wasn’t willing to let go?

“Can you honestly compete to the best of your ability?”

“I don’t know any more,” he said.

She stood and came to stand beside him. “I’ve seen you play, Jed. It’s impossible not to since Austin never misses a game. Can you still create that same magic, or whatever it is you do out there on the football field?”

He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t bear to see the truth in her eyes. Hearing it in her words was hard enough for him to face. “What if someone told you that you could no longer do what you wanted?”

She laughed, a caustic little sound that had him looking at her. The expression in her eyes was chilling in its intensity. “I just lost my business, remember? I know what you’re feeling. You don’t know what you’re going to do with your life. I have skills to fall back on. Surely you majored in something useful in college.”

He ignored her sarcasm and straightened. “I made sure I earned my degree. I have a bachelors in history with a teaching credential.”

She propped her slender backside against the Queen Anne desk and wrapped her long slim fingers around the edge. “What had you planned on doing before you went pro?”

“Get my master’s, maybe my Ph.D., and teach.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and he tried not to take offense.
 

“Then do it,” she said.

 
She made it sound so easy. Only it wasn’t. “It’s a little late to be starting a new career.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Griff, I’m thirty-five years old.”

“Wait, I’ll alert the nursing home.”

He really didn’t appreciate her sass, but he got the point. There older than average college students embarking on new career fields, especially in the current economic climate. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been considering retirement. “I don’t know.”

She pushed off the desk and crossed the room to pick up her mug. “What can you do now? Can you stay involved somehow?” she asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“I can coach and work the sidelines, or ride the bench until my existing contract ends in two years,” he said, wondering where she was headed. She should have been a lawyer. She had interrogation down to an art. “They want me to train the new draft pick.”

“Training is teaching,” she said, moving back to the desk to sit in the chair. “Even working the sidelines would put you—”

“No,” he said more sharply than he intended. “If I go anywhere near a stadium, it's going to be leading my team.”

She set her mug on the desk. “And if you can’t?”

“Then to
hell
with all of them,” he said. “Let the advertisers sue me, I no longer give a damn. The owners can go to hell, too.” He felt like a jerk for raising his voice and yelling at her. This was not her fault, but dammit, she was probing an open wound. And using a damned sharp stick.

“Jed, that’s not true.” Her voice was calm, reasonable and understanding, and set his teeth on edge. “You do care,” she said. “You care too much. This has been your life. I know how hard it is to give up something you love so much.”

“Love?” He gave a bitter laugh. “It’s all I know. Believe me, it’s not all fame and glory, either. They’ll suck every bit of life out of you, then toss you aside when you’re so broken you can’t even hold the ball in your hands.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

“The hell I don’t,” he countered. “Remember Linc Monroe? We were drafted together.”

At her nod, he continued. “The sport bled him dry. Sucked the life right out of him. Used him until there was nothing left for him to give.”

Memories rushed in, and there was nothing Jed could do to stop them, or from telling Griffen his most painful secret. He dropped onto the stone hearth, propped his elbows on his knees and looked at her.
 

“He had a pretty bad knee injury early in his career that flared up from time to time. In taking the edge off the constant pain, he’d gotten addicted to painkillers. It got to the point where he thought he couldn’t function without them. When his knee finally did blow, you know what the owners did for him? They cut him loose. They dumped Linc Monroe like he was some nobody walk-on. He was the best fucking wide receiver who ever played the game, and they treated him like he was nothing.”

He shifted his gaze away from her. He remembered the doctors shaking their heads, the solemnity that had surrounded the locker room that horrible day. The whispers, the rumors, and finally the truth. Linc’s career was over.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

“New Orleans, Louisiana—in the Monroe family crypt.”

More memories. Linc’s fiancée crying softly, each tear a twist to his gut. The pain on Linc’s father’s face and his mother’s quiet tears. Most of the team had gathered beneath the sweltering heat of the bayou sun.
 
Even the head coach had been there, but no sign of the owners.

“What happened?” she asked.

He turned his attention back to Griffen. “I killed him.”

She stood and came to sit beside him on the hearth. “You’re not serious,” she said, resting her hand on his arm.

Oh, yeah, he was serious. Dead serious. “Linc was broke. I wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t take my money. His damned pride wouldn’t let him. He knew he needed to retire, but he was getting married. His future bride was two months pregnant. One last season, that’s all he wanted. Marilee was good for him and she’d helped him get clean. But his knee was hurting and he begged me to get him something for the pain, so I did.”

He looked down at Griffen, at the patience and understanding in her gaze. In another minute, she’d have nothing but contempt for him. “Don’t go getting any noble ideas about me. I didn’t do it because he was my friend. I did it because he made me look good. No matter where I threw the ball, Linc could pull it out of the sky and put it in the end zone. Maitland to Monroe. We were one hell of a combination.”

“But the pills didn’t kill him.”
 

“No, they didn’t,” he said. “But he’d had taken a bad hit in the third quarter and never said a word to anyone about being hurt. Halfway through the fourth quarter, he could barely walk. The damage to his knee could be repaired, but he’d never play again. They could’ve placed him on injured reserve, but instead, the bastards cut him.”

“How is that your fault?”

“Linc was desperate. If I hadn’t give him those goddamn pills, he would have recognized his limits and stopped before so much damage had been done.”