Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (33 page)

His face was still bleeding. He pressed a towel against it, but the cut wasn’t closing up. His phone could double as a sex toy, judging by the non-stop vibration since he pulled it out of his pocket and left it on the bedside table. Drinking himself blind would not solve his most immediate problems, but it was a hell of a lot better solution than facing what he would be greeted with if and when he left the friendly confines of a luxurious hotel suite.

Samantha wasn’t talking to him. Laura asked him why he thought punching someone else was going to make Amy reconsider. Amy wasn’t returning his calls. He was fresh out of the women in his life. Actually, there was one left still speaking to him, and he dialed her number.

She didn’t even say hello.

“You’d better have a goddamn good explanation, Matthew Thomas Stephens. My phone’s ringing off the hook,” his mother said.

“Hey, Mom, nice to talk to you, too.” He watched sunlight reflect off the crystal rocks glass on the table in front of him.

She let out a long sigh. Matt would bet the deed to his house she would kill for a cigarette right now. She hadn’t smoked for twenty years, but even his mom had her limit.

“You started a brawl at work. Maybe you’d better tell me what the hell happened. Sounds like someone’s going to plead “exhaustion” pretty soon here, and check his ass into rehab.”

“I don’t need rehab. Plus, I need to find out why my daughter is no longer speaking to me.”

“Your stock may be improving. Samantha just called. She wants to know why you got in a fight with Harry McCord.”

“McCord’s a dick.” Matt took a long swallow from his glass. “How did Samantha hear about that, anyway?”

“She still likes him from when you brought her with you during last year’s Super Bowl broadcast. Maybe you should tell me what happened.”

“Harry made some comments about Amy that I took exception to.”

“And there was no other way to handle it?”

“Mom, you would have punched him for what he said about her, too.”

“Samantha is the least of your problems right now. I suggest you get on the horn with that highly paid publicist of yours. Son, you’re in some trouble, according to the Twitter. The LA police evidently want to have a conversation with you, and so does the brass at PSN.”

He couldn’t figure out what was worse: the fact his mother had discovered Twitter, or dealing with the big bosses over what happened this morning. It wasn’t the first time a fistfight had broken out at the
NFL Today
set, and he was betting it wouldn’t be the last, either. The police were a bit worrisome. He’d have to call his lawyer.

Someone started banging on the door to his room. “Ma. I’ll call you back.” He hit the “end” button on his phone and got out of the chair to investigate. Good thing the room had a peephole.

His publicist stormed into the room as he pulled the door open.

“Goddamnit, Stephens, you must think I’m a miracle worker. Harry McCord has facial contusions. He’s seen a plastic surgeon and is talking about suing you. PSN wants to terminate your contract, too. As of right now, you’re on suspension until further notice.” She glanced at the open bottle of tequila, grabbed a clean glass off the tray below the flat-screen TV, and splashed a healthy amount into it. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

“Want some ice?”

“Hell, no. You might want to get that cut stitched up.” She slung what he knew was a costly handbag onto his bed. “You’re still bleeding. That’s going to scar.”

Matt dropped into a chair. “Suspension. That makes it all easy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Candice the publicist sat down on the foot of his bed. “I can’t believe this. You torched your brand in one afternoon. Hell, not even an afternoon.” She gulped more alcohol. “Maybe you could explain to me what you were thinking.”

“McCord told me—
shit
.” He reached for his own glass, and swallowed another gulp. It burned all the way down. Candice’s phone rang. Matt slung his feet up on the table again. His face was really starting to hurt. He’d patched it up with a few Band-Aids the front desk sent up, but his handiwork wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped.

She got up off the bed and thrust the phone out to him. “Someone you’ll want to talk to.”

He tried to shove the phone back into her hand. “I have nothing to say to PSN or the police right now.”

“Just answer it.”

“Stephens.”

“Dad?”

T
WO HOURS AFTER
he hung up with Samantha, the cut on Matt’s face was being stitched up by a plastic surgeon. At least they managed to stop the bleeding; facial wounds bled like crazy. His pain level went from
Sweet Jesus, that hurts
to a string of every obscenity he knew.

“Matt, you know I can’t give you anything due to the tequila.” The doctor adjusted his microsurgery goggles. “You had worse than this in the NFL. Just two more.”

“Fucking hurts,” Matt said through clenched teeth.

“Uh-huh.” The doctor finished closing Matt’s wound, and two nurses cleaned up around him. “The bandages need to stay on your face for the next seventy-two hours. We’ll send you home with some replacements. It might also be good if you don’t get in another fight. The best thing would be to go back to the hotel, order room service, and take it easy tonight. Lay off the booze, too.”

“Whatever.”

“You’ll need to be back for stitch removal in a week.”

“Thanks. I’d like to leave now.”

Matt shoved himself off the table. One of the nurses handed him a plastic bag full of gauze, cloth tape, alcohol wipes, and he was betting, her phone number. He didn’t think the medical establishment encouraged cleavage at the office, or flirting with the patients. Maybe this was something unique to California.

“Here’s some supplies. If you need more, give us a call,” she said. She winked at him.

He nodded his thanks, shoved the door open, and walked into the waiting room.

“Dad!”

Samantha sprang to her feet, crossed the room on a run, and threw herself into his arms. The side of her head smacked him in the cheek. It hurt so much tears rose in his eyes.

His mother’s face swam into his vision. “Hey, Sam, take it easy. He’s not as young as he used to be.”

He reminded himself he was not twelve, and tried to formulate a response that would not get his mouth washed out with soap.

“I can’t
believe
you had to have an operation. I was so
worried
.” Samantha’s words tumbled out. “We came to bring you home with us.” She clung to him. “Grandma Pauline says that maybe you should leave before you have to go to jail. You won’t have to go to jail, will you? I can’t believe you
hit
someone. You—”

“Princess. Listen. Everything will be fine. Why don’t you let me pay my bill, and we’ll be on our way.”

“I’m scared. Mom said you might lose your job. What will we do?” He felt tell-tale tears against his cheek. Her voice quavered. “Morgan said it took her dad almost a year to find another job.” She stopped long enough to take a breath. “You can have my college fund if you need it.”

Matt pulled Samantha toward one of the waiting room chairs, yanked the wallet out of his back pocket with one hand, and held it out to his mother. She took it without comment and made her way to the reception desk. Samantha was still clinging to him and parked herself in the chair next to him. He tucked her head under his chin while she sobbed against his chest.

She was at the age where physical displays weren’t appropriate. Right now, though, she wasn’t going to let go of him long enough to have a discussion about it.

“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t need to raid your college fund. Even if I lost my job, I can still take care of you. It’s all going to be fine,” he soothed.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He kissed the top of her head and leaned back in the chair. “Plus, I owe you an apology.”

She stopped crying. She brushed the tears off her face with one hand and tried to sit up. He didn’t let her. He held her against his chest.

“It was wrong to do what I did. There were other ways to handle what happened besides punching Harry, and I will apologize to him. Mostly, I want to say I’m sorry to you, too.”

“Maybe you were just mad.”

“I was wrong. I scared you and Grandma. I know better than to do stuff like that.”

He glanced down and saw the edges of her mouth curl up.

“When I get in trouble, I get a punishment.”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe Grandma will take away your laptop for a week. Or, maybe she’ll ground you.”

This was going nowhere good. Fast. He saw a mischievous sparkle in Samantha’s eyes. She shoved herself off him. “I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, Pauline and Samantha reappeared in the waiting room. “Let’s go, slugger,” his mother said. “We’ll see if you can stay out of trouble long enough to get back to the hotel.”

The cab ride was ominously quiet. The elevator up to his room was silent. He tossed his room key on the table next to the still-open bottle of tequila, picked up the bottle to pour himself another drink, and heard his mother’s voice.

“I don’t think so. Give me that.” She took it out of his hand, re-stoppered it, and gave him a glare he hadn’t seen since he tried backing her car out of their driveway at age twelve. “Samantha and I discussed this, and you need a punishment for your behavior. No alcohol for a week.”

“I’m over 21—”

“You are damn lucky you’re not in jail right now. By the way, your lawyer called. Harry McCord isn’t pressing charges, but there’s now an agreement between Harry and the ambulance chaser. You’ll be donating the equivalent of this week’s paycheck to the charity of Harry’s choice. PSN says the only way you’re getting your job back is to complete an anger management course with an approved instructor, too.”

“That’s unfair. You know exactly why I hit that asshole—”

“Language,” his mother snapped. Samantha’s head moved back and forth as if she were watching a tennis match. “No alcohol for a week, Matty, or I send those bearskin rug photos of you to ESPN.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” she said.

He noticed Samantha edging toward the second bedroom in the suite. Candice the publicist had “errands to run.” He was fairly sure she was outside having more than one cigarette. His mother put the tequila bottle back down on the computer table and settled herself into the easy chair next to the couch he was currently lounging on.

“Um, Dad?”

“Let me guess. You want to play video games.” He’d like to play video games, too, but right now he needed to relax for a few minutes on the couch. He was wondering if he needed to brace for incoming. His mom had the determined look on her face he knew meant he was about to get a lecture for some damn thing.

“There’s an Xbox in here with two controllers.”

“Maybe you can teach your grandma how to play a driving game or something later.” He pulled on the drawer knob in the end table next to him and grabbed out the room service menu. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll order you some food.”

Samantha looked panicked. “Please tell me you’re not getting tofu, kale, or that awful green juice . . .”

“It’s good for you.” Maybe it wasn’t nice to tease her this way, but he had to admit it was a little funny to watch the horrified expressions flit across her face. He held out the menu to her. “Well, okay. You did come all the way here to see me. Go ahead.”

“Really? Thank you!” She crossed the room on a run, grabbed the menu out of his hand, and vanished inside the second bedroom. The door shut with a
click
.

“No R-rated movies,” he called out. “No
Grand Theft Auto
.”

It was very sweet that she managed to stifle her groans.

“I’m hungry, too,” Pauline said.

Matt picked up the remote for the flat screen across from them. “I have the technology. The room service menu’s on the hotel channel, or we can ask to have some food picked up.”

His mom took care of the food order. He stretched out on the couch again, and wondered if it would be a good time to take a nap. His eyelids drifted closed. He heard his mother’s voice.

“Not so fast, Matty. You and I have a few things to talk about.”

“Mom, let me get a nap, and we’ll talk when the food gets here.”

“I don’t think so. You’ll be asleep ten minutes after you polish off that thirty-dollar piece of steak the size of a postage stamp.” She reached out to shake his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He forced himself into a seated position. She kicked off her high heels and tucked her feet beneath her in the chair; she was settling in for a mother-son chat, and he could just guess what was first on her agenda.

“Samantha tells me you and Amy broke up. What happened, son?”

The sick, shaky feeling was back, as well as the knot in his stomach. He did his best to pretend like it didn’t matter. “It wasn’t working, so we ended it.”

“You’re going to have to try that with someone who actually believes you, Matty. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

He’d just gotten busted for lying, and now he was trying it with a woman who had a built-in and flawless BS detector. He let out a long breath. “She needed money for her business. I offered her some, and she turned me down. Instead of letting her find an investor on her own, I talked one of my golfing buddies into giving her a “loan” that I actually funded.” Matt made air quotes with hands he realized were shaking. He hoped his mom didn’t notice. “Needless to say, she found out about it.”

He didn’t like the look on his mom’s face, or the lifted eyebrow. “And how did
that
go?”

“Not well.”

“I wonder why.”

Anger swelled inside him again. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay. It wasn’t that much money in the first place! I offered her a contract and everything. She was too stubborn to take it. Plus, she threw it in my face. Why would she think I—”

“So you lied about arranging the loan, too?”

“It wasn’t exactly a
lie
. I just didn’t tell her the entire truth.”