Sidelined (22 page)

“What?” Her whispered word is barely audible.

“If you don’t know the rules, you don’t play the game,” I rasp. “Now, Mitch? He thinks he knows the rules. He thinks he can come back into your life and dictate shit his way. I think he’s sorely fucking mistaken, because he has no idea who he’s messing with.” My fingers creep around to the back of her neck, and her back flattens against the wall. “I play a game every day of my life, baby. I know more rules than you can ever believe exist. He thinks he can meet you for a half-assed drink and threaten me? He’s a joke. I laugh. Really, I do.”

“What?” she breathes again.

“If your fucking ex thinks he can walk back into your life, into my life, and threaten me with taking something that is inconceivably, irrevocably, indisputably fucking
mine
, he has the shock of
his
life coming to him.” My words are growled into her ear. “Let him play, baby. He has no idea what he’s just done.”

Macey’s fingers twitch at my stomach. “What?” she asks again, her voice wobbling with uncertainty.

I smile with disbelief and cup her jaw. Her eyes fall on mine by force. Though they’re dark in color, their impact is light, nothing like the freight-train weight her stare usually holds.

“M, baby, if he wants to call the play, then that’s cool. But he can bet I’m gonna sack his ass before he’s moved a yard toward you.” I brush my thumb over her cheek. “He compared you to the Super Bowl. Well, here’s a news flash, babe. When I’m challenged, I step up. Someone steps in my way, I dart around them to get the extra yards. But the Super Bowl? Shit, M. I need that trophy. I need to touch and hold that trophy. And you? I feel the same. I need to touch and hold you. I covet you. I desire you. I fucking want you, and I will fight until every part of me is bleeding if it means you’ll be mine in the end.”

Macey breathes deeply. I feel the rise and fall of her chest against mine, my own lungs filling with air crazily. There it is—me laid bare. She can do whatever the fuck she wants with my words. As long as she knows I won’t take Mitch’s shit. As long as she knows I’ll fight to the fucking death for her, then my job here is half done.

She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t fight or struggle or shove at me. Peacefully, slowly, utterly serenely, her hands slide up my body to my shoulders. Her arms wrap around my neck, and I tightly curl my arms around her waist. She buries her face into me, her fingers trembling against me.

“You tell him he has the fight of his motherfucking life on his hands,” I whisper into her neck. “I’m not giving you up for anything.”

Hell, I’m in the fight of my motherfucking life. The Super Bowl seems like peanuts to this. To Macey. To the girl I didn’t even know I gave ten shits about until an hour ago. Until reality smacked me in the face ten minutes ago and I knew it was fight or flight.

“Okay,” she whispers. “But I’m not a pawn, Jack. I won’t be passed between you both when you see fit to attempt to seduce me.”

“Baby, I got it.”

Macey nods and clasps her hands behind my neck. “Now, excuse me for being pushy, but my family is expecting you for dinner tonight.”

“They are, are they?” I pull back and lift my eyebrows.

“My brother mentioned you. Then my mom did and my dad latched on and it got a little crazy,” she rambles.

“How long do we have?”

“Um, half an hour.”

“You reckon you can get another thirty minutes so I can go home and change?”

“Sure. If you let me go.”

“Of course. In a second.” I touch my mouth to hers. And hold it there. Just there. My lips against hers. Her lips against mine. Simple, sweet, scary.

“Okay.” She scoots from my hold and grabs her phone. “Mom, hi! … Yeah, Jack just got out of practice. You think you can give us an extra half hour? … You’re the best. Okay. … See you soon. Bye.” Macey hangs up and puts her phone on the table. “Done.”

“Good. Now, get your shit together and let’s go, gorgeous.”

Macey grabs my hand before she knocks on the door of her parents’ simple, two-story house. “You need to know something about my dad.”

I lift an eyebrow. “All right?”

She briefly looks at the floor before lifting her eyes to mine. “He has Alzheimer’s. He’s not always…here…with us. His mind flicks between his and the disease’s within seconds. So if he asks you to repeat what you just said or suddenly doesn’t recognize you, he’s not being rude.”

I cup her jaw and brush my thumb over the bottom of her lip. That sounds more familiar than she knows. “I got it.”

“Oh, and, um, he’s really into puzzles. It’s his ‘thing’ that keeps him grounded. So if he asks you to look at them, just—”

“M,” I say softly. “Baby, I got it.”

“Okay,” she whispers, covering my hand on her jaw with hers. She pulls it down and links her fingers through mine then tugs me toward the mahogany door. She knocks twice and pushes it open with a, “Hello?”

“Mace!” A woman in her fifties with dark hair streaked with gray appears in the hallway. “You made it.”

“I never miss dinner. You know that. Is Cal here?”

“In the front room with Amy.”

Macey’s face wrinkles. “Great,” she mutters. “Mom, this is Jack. Jack, this is my mom.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kelly,” I say politely, offering her my hand.

“Jack! We’ve heard a lot about you!” Macey’s mom steps forward and embraces me in a tight hug.

“I assure you, ma’am, all the good things are right and the bad ones completely wrong.”

She laughs. “Please call me Georgia.”

“Is that Jack?” Cal calls from the front room.

“Yeah,” Macey calls back.

“Are you bringing him in to say hi?”

“You have legs, you know.”

“So do you two!”

“Don’t be a prick, Cal.” Macey walks into the front room, tugging on my arm. “Here. Are you happy?”

I grin. “All right, Cal?”

“I’ll be better when she lets me arrest that douchebag,” he replies, his grin matching mine.

The blond girl sitting next to him nudges him and clears her through.

Macey snaps her jaw shut. “Amy,” she grinds out. “This is Jack. Jack, this is Amy, Cal’s girlfriend.”

Amy stands, smiling flirtatiously. “Hi, Jack.” She shakes my hand, holding on for a second too long. “I’m a huge fan of the Vipers. We watch the game every weekend.”

“Really,” I say slowly, my eyes sliding to Macey’s. “Yet you never taught Macey a thing.”

“Oh, she was always busy studying.”

“That’s because I was getting a thing called a degree,” Macey returns with a sweet smile.

“Macey,” Cal warns.

“Oh, bite me,” she snaps. “You’re the one that left the leash at home.”

“Macey!” he repeats, annoyance buzzing in the single word.

“Why is everyone shouting?”

Amy practically falls back into the seat next to Cal. “Hi, Joe.”

I turn to the doorway and my eyes land on a tall man in his late fifties who looks almost exactly like Cal. The only difference is the eyes—the old man’s are dark like Macey’s.

“Dad,” Macey says, stepping in front of me slightly.

He narrows his eyes for a second. “Mace!” He hugs her tight. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you feeling today?”

“I’ve nearly finished the puzzle,” he whispers. “Although I’m not sure why I started it,” he adds slightly louder, his tone riddled with confusion.

“For Mom, remember?” she says quietly. “Her favorite.”

Her dad snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. Good girl. Knew you’d remind me.” He pats her arm and looks up. His head tilts to the side ever so slightly. “Macey? Are you going to introduce us?”

“Oh, sure.” She flicks her eyes to mine. “Dad, this is—”

“It’s Jack Carr from the Vipers!” Amy interrupts.

Macey freezes and takes a visible deep breath. “And, Jack,” she continues, her voice much tighter than a moment ago, “this is my dad, Joe.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I take his offered hand and shake.

“Sir!” he exclaims, clasping his other hand over mine and leaning toward Macey. “Polite, isn’t he?”

I glance at Macey as she lifts her eyebrows, fighting the twitch of her lips. “Yeah. Sure, Dad.”

“Say, Jack!” Joe straightens. “Do you like puzzles?”

“Love ’em,” I say simply.

“Well, come on in here and have a look at my puzzles!” He releases me and turns to the door.

“Oh, Dad—”

I look at Macey and tug on her hair. “I got it, remember?”

She takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah.”

I smile and follow her dad across the hall. He’s standing in the doorway of a room to the side of the staircase. He waves me in enthusiastically, and my lips tug at his evident excitement. He’s like a child hovering over presents beneath the tree on Christmas morning.

“Wow.” I stop in the doorway and look around the room. Vertical and horizontal, there are numerous puzzles framed and hung on the walls in a crazy mosaic pattern. The back wall, particularly, is covered. It’s like walking into a museum. “Did you do all of these?”

“Yep.” Joe stands with his hands on his hips. “Every last one.”

“Impressive.”

“Wait til you see this one.” He waves me over to a large table and stops at the edge. “Don’t tell Georgia, but this is for her,” he whispers conspiratorially. “So Macey says, anyway. I don’t remember starting it.”

I cast my eyes over the vast masterpiece. “Now
this
is impressive. New York?”

“Sure is. Her favorite place. Georgia’s, that is. I’d do one for Macey, but her favorite place is her bed and I don’t think they make those.”

“If I see one, I’ll be sure to let you know, sir.”

Joe turns to me and grins. “You do that.” His attention goes back to the table. “Almost done,” he mutters seemingly to himself. “Almost done. Another week. Then I can glue it. Frame it. Wrap it for Christmas.” He stops and straightens. With his eyes focused on the wall, he says, his voice full of wonder, “I remembered.”

I step to the side as he scrabbles in the drawers to his left and pulls out a pen and paper. He slams the paper down on top of the drawers and uncaps his pen.

“Finish puzzle. Glue pieces. Frame…” he trails off. “Frame… Frame what, dammit?”

A pang hits me in the chest, hovering as an ache, and I move to his side. “Frame the puzzle, sir. After it’s glued.”

He glares at me, his eyes absent. “After it’s glued?”

“Yep.”

“And then… Something else…” he mumbles, scratching his pen against the page. “I’m forgetting. I know. I remember.”

The ache twists into a sharp sting. “For Christmas,” I prompt gently, resting my hand on his upper arm.

“Christmas…” He mutters the word over and over.

“For Georgia.”

“For Georgia…” He jabs the pen against the paper until there are a bunch of tiny dots at the bottom of the sheet. “Wrap it! Wrap it for Christmas!”

The sting subsides at his joy, but the ache remains.

“You’re a genius, Jack!”

He surprises me by remembering my name. “No problem, sir.” I smile.

“Sir! No, you call me Joe.” He claps his hand on my back then rests his arm over my shoulders. “Macey! Mace!”

“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it!” She jumps to her feet. Her eyes widen when she sees her dad leading me into the front room.

Joe chuckles. “You never did. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Makes a change,” Cal butts in.

“Bite me,” Macey snaps.

“You two! I’m talking!”

“I’m sorry!” Her hands clap over her mouth. “Carry on, Dad.”

He grins. “Don’t piss him off. I like him.”

She blinks quickly then looks at Cal. “You heard that, right?”

Cal leans forward. “I did.”

“You definitely heard that?”

“Yep.” Cal’s face turns toward us. “Dad, did Mom slip whiskey into your coffee again?”