The Passion Play (22 page)

Seeing
Dan’s obliviously grinning face crinkle up a dozen times, curl and blacked and collapse into ash, felt like liberation.

So.
It was done. She was not married.

The divorce papers would come through in their own time, but here was the moment where she truly surrendered the marriage that had once meant so much to her. It was no more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Luke was summoned to Daniel King's office again. This time he went with a determined stride, his jaw set and a hard glint in his eye. He was ready.

The older man leaned back in his chair, elbows propped on the armrests, hands steepled in front of him. He was looking out the window but when Luke walked in he lifted his head an inch higher and slanted him a cold look. All the false cheer of their last meeting was gone.

"Sit down, boy," he said grimly, and Luke stopped where he was and stayed there, feet spread wide, hands by his sides, a gun-fighter's stance,
ready for the draw.

Daniel King's lips thinned as he pressed them together.

"I said 'sit down,'" he repeated.

Luke didn't move a muscle.

Daniel King narrowed his eyes, but short of physical violence or threats there was nothing he could do. He gave up on the small point and went for the big one. "It's obvious to me you're not thinking straight, Barrett, and I'll give you one last chance to set things right. One last chance or we're done. I don't have room on my team for loners: for boys who can't follow orders. You can do as you're told or you can go, and believe me, once I'm done talking to every other manager in the NFL about you, no one will want you."

"So it's an order, then? It's an order that I stop seeing Felicity, your ex-wife? Otherwise you'll drop me from the team? You'll destroy my career?"  

"You understood me."

"And if I leave her alone, you'll let me stay? There's nothing wrong with me or my performance?"

"I'll be generous. I can't say it's likely we'll ever see eye to eye, but I'll let you keep your place."

"I don't like your suggestion. I think mine's better." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone, pressed the screen to end the record function. "
Here's mine: you leave Felicity completely alone. You don't come near her or near me. You give her the divorce she deserves without delaying it one second. And you remember always if anything unpleasant happens to her or me – anything at all, even if it looks like you weren't involved – a certain recording will go straight to the your boss, the police and the NFL Regulatory Board."

Daniel King stared at the flat black rectangle of the phone,
then raised his eyebrows incredulously. "You think you can control me with that?" he scoffed. "You think that's any sort of weapon? You're dreaming."

"I think it would be an embarrassment. I think it would look very bad to your boss to know you were using membership on the team to blackmail a player.
A good, solid player with a great reputation." Daniel King sneered at this, but Luke continue without pause. "More than that, I know how easy it is," and he tapped the phone significantly, "to record evidence of someone doing the wrong thing. The wrong thing like encouraging team members to dope up, like telling Steve to hand it out to your players." 

"I don't believe you," said Daniel King, but he had gone white.

"You know I'm against the dope. You know I've been against it all along. I've been collecting evidence all this time, waiting for the right moment to break the story, to get the team cleaned up. Carlos was my plant, to get the whole thing recorded. He did it. He got it. It's a thing of beauty," Luke let a smug grin ride his face. "Perfect. But I'll hang on to it. I'll hang on to it for now, and for as long as you behave yourself. Carlos will too. But if Felicity gets a dirty phone call, or either of us get tires slashed or a rock through the windscreen or someone messes with her house or any one of a thousand other cowardly things a person might do when they're angry and scared, then I'll go right ahead with the original plan and when the shit settles we'll see who still has a job: you or me."

"No one would want to hire a
whistleblower," Daniel King blustered. "Every team dopes. No one will want you."

"Maybe so," Luke shrugged. "What you don't understand about me is I have a life beyond this team. I've got plans. It's been hard enough standing by and saying nothing all this time." Luke heard the conviction in his voice, felt it all the way down to the soles of his shoes: the pain of pragmatism when you were part of something simply because you didn't act to prevent it; something you knew was wrong, and a cheat. He had chosen to look away, for the sake of the individual men who were his friends, who would be damaged if he spoke out. It had hurt him every day, and soured his love for the game, a subtle toxin. He hated the drugs and he wished this were true - that he had in fact made those recordings, had them ready to send to the right people. He allowed that
fervor to show in his eyes, the light of zealotry. "I'll happily see you go down, and my career's not too big a price. You give me a reason and I'll do it." He bared his teeth, a feral grin, the challenge of a big, strong, confident man with right on his side.

Let Daniel King make it physical and he'd lay him out right now, gladly, with a solid blow to the jaw. For everything he'd done to Felicity. For everything he'd done to a team that should have been great, to a career that should have been a triumph.
Right down to making Luke out to be a mid-range player because he stayed clean, dammit, in a world where doping was rife. Men like Daniel King made him sick, and Luke – usually a peaceful man – would still love the chance to hit this symbol of everything that was wrong with his world.

Daniel King clenched his hands on the arms of his chair, his face a mottled red. He glared, but he did not get up. He did not take the challenge. After an endless moment he looked away, then back. With the break in eye contact Luke knew he had won.

"Don't think this is finished, you scum. There's a word for blackmailers like you-" Daniel King began, but Luke cut him off, now he with scorn audible in his voice.

"Blackmailers like
you
. And yeah, this is finished. Like I said, it won't take much to put me over the tipping point. I'm already at a crisis of conscience holding back on this evidence. You annoy me even a little and it's all over. So keep your threats to yourself." With that he turned on his heel and left, his last sight the satisfying picture of Daniel King struggling for words.

"Hey, man," said Carlos, coming up beside Luke as they stood on the
side lines watching some of the other guys. Carlos had an intense, unhappy air about him, and his expression was not friendly.

"Hey."

"Listen. That stuff Big Joe told you the other day. Did you say something to Mr King? Now Steve won't give me what he was giving me before and he said the boss told him not to, and looked real angry about it. What did you say to him?"

"What could I say? You never told me you were taking anything."

"What?"

"Until just now.
You never said you were taking anything. Neither did Big Joe."

Carlos frowned. "But you knew, right? You knew and you said something. It must have been you."

"I never told Mr King to take you off the drugs. I let him know you'd talked to me about it. I didn't say he had to change anything. Just said I would talk about it and make a stink if he didn't leave Mrs King alone."

"What the fuck? Why did you do that? Why bring me into it at all? Th
at’s not okay, man." Carlos bared his teeth in agitation.

"Okay. I hear you. I'm sorry I used your name. I wanted him to believe me, believe I knew all about it-"

"You don't just get to screw up my career like that. Asshole. I trusted you."

Luke looked at him sadly, feeling the kid's trust was another casualty of this sorry mess. He did not see it could have played out any other way, but he hated to use Carlos like that.
"It shouldn't affect your career-"

"The hell it won't, if Mr King and Steve don't trust me-"

"Look, it comes down to this. They won't dare to make an overt move against you, because Mr King thinks you recorded the whole thing. That's Steve's career and probably his too, on the line. They're going to treat you with real care like you are a grenade that could go off at any moment. You just let them go on thinking that-"

"The hell with this.
I'm a team player, man. I don't do this shit. You may be okay with screwing everyone over, but I'm not-"

"Watch it," said Luke, very soft and low. "Don't you go
labelling me like that or thinking you know me. You have no idea-"

"Everyone knows," Carlos sneered. "Everyone knows you've been banging Mrs King. So don't pretend this is about anything other than-"

"Stop right there." Luke's voice was a whipcrack. "You say what you were thinking and you'll find yourself in a lot more trouble than you know how to handle-"

"Hey, guys. Settle down. This
ain't the time or place." Big Joe's expression said Luke, at least, should know better. He stopped in front of them, forming a triangle with the other two and partially masking them from the players on the field, some of whom had noticed the argument and were watching with interest, Luke saw now he looked away from Carlos's angry face.

He held the silence for a moment and let it hang in the air, then nodded. "You're right. There's no need to go there."

"Easy for you to say," said Carlos bitterly. "You ain't got issues to deal with like I have, that you put on me."

"That's true," Luke conceded. "You got something you want me to do, to make it up to you?"

Carlos's fists clenched and unclenched, his face twisted. "Nothing you can do. Or tell Mr King you lied. Tell him I'd never cause him trouble, never hurt the team."

"It won't change anything," said Luke quietly. "He'll have made up his mind. Talking won't change it
. Just ride it out. It won't be as big a deal as you imagine right now. Hell, you may even be glad some day-"

"I'm not some kid. You don't get to choose for me, you patronizing son of a bitch." Carlos spun and strode away, body stiff with anger.

Big Joe's face was closed and cool. Slowly he shook his head. "He didn't deserve this, man."

"He didn't deserve to be pumped full of illegal drugs, either."

Big Joe narrowed his eyes. "He chose that. They gave him the choice and he chose it."

"He did it for them, because they made him think he had to."

"He still chose it, and he's right when he says he's not a kid. You can't tell him what to do."

"God damn it, Joe. It's not me telling him. It's the rules of the whole damned game that say he's not allowed."

"You going to be the police, now? You going to tell us all what we should do, like you're above us?"

"Hell, man." Luke lifted his hands and rubbed them over his face then drove them into his hair. "You know I won't. Don't go talking about this, but Mr King put a rock through my windshield for my seeing Mrs King. I needed to give him a reason to leave us alone." For a moment he considered reassuring Big Joe he would never harm the team by talking to an outsider. But he needed the threat against Dan King, and there was no guarantee his words would not reach the man. He would have to carry the weight of their disapproval, as the price for seeing Dan King left Felicity alone. "If he steers clear I keep quiet. It's up to him. If not I'll tell what I know and let the authorities sort it out. Someone's got to blow the whistle on this. You know we're overdue."

"Don't be no goddamn hero," said Big Joe, sounding tired. "Nobody needs that."

"I'm not trying to be. I just want
a quiet-"

"The boss's wife.
Hell of a dumb ass move."

"You're telling me."

"Why'd you do it?" Luke just looked at him, very level, and after a moment Big Joe cracked a tiny smile. "Yeah. Alright. You better take good care of her, though. No messing round on her. She's had enough of that."

"Maybe she needs a hero."

"Maybe she does. But she got you instead. Your sorry ass better treat her right."

Luke returned the smile. "You know I will."

"Sheeeyut." Big Joe propped his hands on his hips."You ain't going to be popular round here."

"I know it. It won't kill me."

"Yeah. Well." Big Joe turned and sauntered away, leaving Luke to stand alone beside the field.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

She stared at the two pink bars on the plastic stick, and her first thought was: "It's too soon."

Not that she wanted the baby any less, no, never that. Just that now she was pregnant, it really was time to end the self-indulgent sexual relationship with Luke.

The picture in her mind's eye wasn't the beautiful baby she was expecting. It was his face. The soft look on it as he had awoken her this morning with kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks. His eyes with those happy crinkles at the corners as soon as she looked up at him.

She did not want to tell him. She did not want to finish it. He
was the drug to which she was addicted and she hated to face the withdrawal symptoms. He was so good to her, so kind and gentle and tender. She loved to be loved by him - she had been so afraid to face it, but of course she knew he loved her. It was there in every look he gave her, the way he talked and held her and wrapped his life around hers. He loved her and she loved to be adored like that. The most gentle, tender sort of adoration.

She was so horribly selfish, so utterly awful to use him like this, just because she liked the feelings she felt around him so much.
The peace, the bliss, the restfulness of him. The way he accepted her as she was, no judgment, no criticisms. Clear as crystal she saw her appreciation of him stemmed from his utter contrast to Dan.

It was so stereotypical: The Rebound Relationship. It felt
good because she had been starving for these things so many years and now she had them and they were wonderful but once she was over Dan she would not crave Luke like this. It was the rebound effect that made her crazy for him. The longer she strung it out, let him believe she might change her mind and they could have a future together, the more devastated he would be when she finally got over him and sent him away.

This longing to hold on to him and not let go would fade, and as much as she wanted to wait for that moment – when it would not hurt her so much – that was evil. She could not do that to him. He could say all he wanted to about her letting him make his own decisions, worry about his own feelings, but she really could not take destroying him like that.

What if it took her another few months? Six months? A year even? If she let it drag on like that, him watching the baby grow inside her, expecting this intimacy to become something greater, she would shred that loving, giving heart of his she admired so much.

It was agony to imagine the heartbreak that would be on his dear face when she told him. It made a pain go right through her chest to think of it, made it hard to breathe, even, and when she realized she was silently weeping she crammed a knuckle in her mouth and bit down hard.

This was the price she must pay for the way she had enjoyed him. This was the trade-off for weeks of love from a good man. A love she did not deserve and could not keep.

How would she tell him? God, how could she possibly say it? Would it be best to pretend it had all been about the stud services and she did not need him anymore now she was pregnant? Or should she just be honest and say it tore her up but she knew it was the right course. That she simply was not ready for love. The way she cared about him was just a reflection of her marriage to Dan, the
gray dimness of those days set against the bright shining light of being finally, really loved as she had always wanted to be in her romantic soul.

If she gave him that much information he would try to talk her out of it, try to tell her it was his choice, not hers. What if she caved? She was all too susceptible
– that was clear enough, given the times she had made this decision before and been talked round. She was weak, and there was that hunger inside her for what he had to offer. She felt very low about it. Contemptible, like a leech sucking joy out of him. She hoped one day he would rate the time they had shared worth the pain she left behind.

Truth
be told she wanted to just run away, to disappear and not explain herself. Just pack up and go and not come back, and never say a word about the pregnancy. But that was the coward's way out. He deserved the chance to be near his child if he wanted that, and sneaking away was dishonorable anyway. She might want to run but she would be stronger than that at the very least.

Honesty or deception?
That's what it came down to.

Reluctantly she decided it must be deception. She had to tell him . . . what? That she was done with him now she was pregnant. That it had been fun but it was over. That she would contact him again once the baby was born, and they could set up some sort of visitation if he wanted it, though never mind if he did not. There was no requirement . . .

Not that she imagined he would say he didn't want to be a parent to his child. She knew what a loving kind of guy he was. He would be a great dad . . .

Oh, it was too soon! Damn it, it was too soon!

_____

Every day when he knocked on her door and then leaned up on the doorjamb waiting for her to open it, the same phrase went through his head: 'Honey, I'm home'. He knew it was presumptuous but that was how he felt, so close to her, to her arms, to wrapping himself up in the sweet smell of flowers and woman.
So close to her bed and all the wonder of it. So close to every surface on which they had made love and he'd heard her moan and sigh and – twice now –– call out his name.

How could that not be his home?

A little smile of anticipation curled his lips as he heard the quick tap of her footsteps approaching the door. She still had her heels on. He liked that, the way they shortened her steps and made her bottom twitch appealingly as she walked, all high and tight. The flex of her calf muscles and if he would let him run his hands up her legs to lift her skirt, the bunching of quads and hamstrings, the delicate lines of the thoroughbred.

He'd been mystified about those gorgeous legs until he teased her into letting him come jogging with her last week, and when he saw her sprint he understood.
Interval training. Nice.

Yes, he liked the high heels and the legs.

But then he liked the bared feet too, and the grace of her on level ground. Then she kind of glided, moving through her hips, much more fluid, so she reminded him of how she danced. That was a private thing because she was only like that in the house. It made him feel special to see it, alone with her, her relaxed and private self. He'd get his hands on those feet whenever he could, and he'd rub his thumbs up through her arches and watch her melt into a limp little puddle of woman, all dazed and compliant. She was delicious like that.

He was wondering how long he'd wait until he tried to get her shoes off when she swung the door open, and those thoughts slid away as he saw her face, pale and frightened. He straightened up, eyes scanning the dimness behind her, trying to find the threat, stepped toward her to gather her close, his arms around her protectively.

Was it King? Had he come by? Had he said something to worry her?

Not seeing anything that would have caused that expression, he looked down at her, his hand cupping her face to tilt it up towards him, but she resisted and now he perceived the stiffness in her, the subtle rejection of his hold. He could only see the top of her head but the bad feeling immediately deepened.

He took a step back then went down on one knee so she couldn't avoid him, looking a question up into her face.

"Sweetheart?" he asked her, his hands loosely clasping her elbows.

She didn't like that. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and then turned away, pulled out of his hold and walked to the couch, sat down at the far end and oriented her body stiffly towards the seat she left open for him.

Oh.

She wanted to talk to him.

Or rather: she needed to talk to him and dreaded it.

Not good at all.

She was waiting and slowly – agonizingly slowly – he bent to unlace his shoes, to take them off as if they were too dirty to come into the house, lingering over the task, his mind racing as he tried to think what he'd done wrong. Nothing came to mind.
Nothing at all. She had been a little preoccupied that morning when he left but not unhappy; had turned her face up like a flower when he came to kiss her goodbye for the day.

Something had happened in the meantime.

Had she been thinking again? Was he about to get another brush-off 'for your own good?' He steeled himself against the possibility, knowing she meant well, knowing she had no idea what even the threat of it did to his insides, how fast his heart beat and how he broke into a cold sweat . . .

He had to stay calm. If that's what she planned on he just had to outwit her. Just for long enough she'd come to realize how right they were together. He could see it. Every
day he could see her get a little happier, her smile more ready, her step lighter. He wanted to see her glowing. He was sure he could do it. He could make her happy if she just gave him long enough, gave herself a chance.

His gut was roiling as he walked towards her, took that awful empty spot on the couch and tried to look casual, relaxed, to lean back as if everything was okay when he just wanted to grab onto her and hold on tight and never let go.

Now he was the one waiting for her, and he saw whatever it was she had to say was hard to spit out. Her eyes flickered left to right and back again. In her lap, her hands clasped each other and her knuckles stood out white, pressed tight against her skin.

He could even hear the shake in her breath, the faint quiver of it.

"I'm pregnant."

Now they both sat still, their eyes trained on each other. He waited for her to tell him why this was terrible, frightening news.

As the moments slipped away and she didn't say anything more it occurred to him maybe she was afraid of how he'd react, and relief came crashing over him, lifting him up like a wave, euphoric with relief.

He reached out and took hold of her shoulders, then scooted over the couch to wrap her up in his arms, such a fragile package freighted with so much potential for joy. "Pregnant? Oh sweetheart, that's fantastic! Wow. You must be so happy," he urged, pulled back to look for her smile, for her own relief.

Wasn't this exactly what she'd been aiming for? Wasn't it perfect, so quick, so easy? No trouble at all. He felt a very private thrill of pride he'd come up with the goods for her, and also a great swell of emotion about being a father, a feeling he'd consider at another time. Another time when the woman he loved wasn't looking like the idea of having his baby was a tragedy.

She was stiff, still, not curving into him the way she usually did when he held her. He stroked the fine silk of her hair back from her face, tucked it behind her ears,
then stopped when he saw his fingers were shaking.

"Why aren't you happy about this, sweetheart?" he asked her, dreading her answer.

"I am," she said, and in another situation he would have laughed at the barefaced lie.

There was nothing funny about it now.

"Okay," he said.

There was a long pause, and when she finally opened her mouth he thought 'here it comes' and he wanted to shout at her not to say it.

"I don't need you anymore," she said. "It’s been great. You've been great. Very . . . helpful. I can't really thank you enough. I'll give you a call after the baby is born and we can set up some sort of arrangement." She was gaining momentum now as he sat there, stunned and silent; astonished by the intensity of the pain. "Only if you want to of course. You don't have to be involved if you don't want. There's no obligation. So yeah, if you can just give me a number or email address or some sort of contact where I can definitely reach you in eight or nine months, no matter what your other plans are . . . Luke."

He tried to breathe.
Didn't really succeed. Tried again. Did a little better this time. Enough to try and talk.

"There's no need for me to go anywhere," he said, trying to sound relaxed. He failed at that too. "I can be plenty of help around here-"

"Luke, no. I'm just not going to do that. I mean I like you and all, but just not that much. You know? I don't know if you've realized, but I'm a very private person. I had good reason to let you into my home but that reason is done with now. So I'm just going to say no, I'd rather not."

"Actually the reason you let me in to start with was sex, Felicity," he said, and he didn't even recognize his own voice. "That hasn't changed." He stroked his hands down her sides, then back up, moved them to her breasts to rub those super-sensitive nipples of hers, willing her to rouse, to respond. "We can go on enjoying that indefinitely." He bent to nuzzle at her neck and then moved one hand to her knee to slide it under her skirt. She jumped away as if scalded, finish
ed up standing on the far side of the rug, halfway to the kitchen.

"No!" she said, too loudly. "No. That's been quite enjoyable. You've shown me a few new things. You've been a good lover, Luke. I'd be happy to give you a recommend anytime," she said, a crudeness that wasn't like her, and ended on a grating little laugh, thin and false. "But I don't need any more. It was just a means to an end. You know? I've had enough. Now I just want my privacy back. I want the house to myself."