Whiplash: A Sports Romance (35 page)

“Boston.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s more than a
bit
.”

“Lucky for you, I’ll be in Denver this week,” he says. “Forty-eight hours from now, to be more exact.”

“Where?”

“Botsford Plaza downtown. I’ve got a little party to attend…”

“Think you can spare a few minutes to decrypt a drive?”

He sighs. “And here I thought you had a challenge for me. Meet me at the hotel. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Boxcar.”

“But only if you’ll dazzle me with the tale of the
sly fox
who cheated death.”

I smile. “You got it, man.”

“If I were to wager a guess,” he continues, “I’d bet this little resurrection has something to do with a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed
starlet
.”

“You might not be wrong.”

“Predictable,” he sings. “But I get it.”

“Bye, Box.” I hang up and leave the terminal behind me.

The bright California sun blinds me as I step outside. There’s an energy in the air; a unique hustle one can’t find out in Iowa farm country. I can’t say I miss it, but I don’t hate it either. It’s been five years.

Home sweet home.

Chapter 4

Dani

I stare at my reflection in a compact mirror, my gaze lingering on the giant, white bandage covering my cheek. It’s finally stopped hurting but it’s left behind an itch that’s impossible to scratch unless I want to piss off the plastic surgeon my father is pouring way too much money onto to make it all disappear.

I slide the mirror back into my purse and look out the car window to see my father’s neighborhood rushing by. “Smith, where are we going?”

He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Your father’s house.”

“I see that. Why? I said I wanted to go to my apartment.”

“Sorry, kid. Daddy’s orders.”

I sit farther back in the seat. “Great…”

Smith says nothing more, keeping his blank, stoic face forward as we turn off onto my father’s street. I haven’t decided whether or not I like this new escort my father has hired to follow me around. He’s an ex-cop, obvious by the way he holds his shoulders like he’s reliving the old glory days of his career. Could be worse, I suppose. My hand rises to my cheek but I manage to stop myself from scratching the stitches lying beneath it.

“Hang on…” Smith says, slowing the car to a near halt as the paparazzi barely parts for us. They fill the end of my father’s driveway, cameras flashing at the tinted windows, hoping to get just one shot of my new, mangled face to sell to the highest bidder.

We pass through the gate and it closes behind the car, leaving the army of cameras disappointed and angry as we travel down the long road and park in the circle drive up front.

“Stay put.”

I nod at Smith as he steps out and slides his jacket off his shoulders. We’re far enough away from the gates that they’d never get a decent shot to sell but Dad doesn’t want to risk it leaking out at all. Smith opens my door for me and holds his jacket over my head to block their view of me as we walk up the stairs to the front door.

“Honey, she’s home!”

I hear Cora’s voice from the living room the second my heel touches the shiny, marble floor. “Yep, I’m home,” I mutter as Smith drops his jacket.

“I’m going to see if I can get them to piss off.” He steps back outside to deal with the vultures with cameras.

My father’s study door bursts open and he steps out into the foyer. His face instantly contorts into a frown and he walks over to me to grab my jaw.

“Ow—”

“I can’t believe this…” he says through his teeth, studying the bandage closely. “They couldn’t have just killed the old bastard and left?”

“Dad…”
I whisper, glancing into the living room for Cora. She’s been crying since yesterday, completely wrecked by the loss of her friend. “It’s fine. The doctor said it’s a clean cut, easy to fix. I got lucky.”

“Well, we’re going to find out who did this and sue the hell out of them. We’re lucky you already finished re-shoots on
Night Trials 3
. Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“They give you pain meds?”

“No.”

He furrows his brow. “What the hell kind of doctors are these people?”

“They didn’t give me meds because I didn’t need them. Like I said, it hurts
a little
. Mostly just itches.” I step out of the foyer to join Cora in the living room. She’s curled up on the couch with a self-help book and a glass of wine; not an unfamiliar pose for her over the last few years. “Hey, Cora.”

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, her eyes glazed and blissful. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I pause near the windows and poke a single finger through the blinds.

“Make sure you check out my bookshelf,” she says, pointing at me. “I have some
great
books for dealing with stress.”

“I will.” The paparazzi disperse as a small, black car parks in front of the gate and Smith steps closer to investigate.

My father wanders in from his study with a script in his hands. “While you’re here, I want you to read this again. Make any notes you want and we’ll take it back to Bruckberg.”

“No.” I watch the driveway and the black car slowly rolls towards the house.

“No?” he parrots back. “What do you mean
no
?”

“Dad, I really don’t feel like working right now.”

“Life doesn’t stop just because something bad happens to you, honey.”

I scoff. That’s the great Bennett Roberts for you. All work and no play. “I know. I just need a few days off.”

“Bruckberg doesn’t have a few days.”

“Then they’ll find someone else.”

“Bennett…” Cora’s sweet, sing-song voice echoes from the couch. “She’s not asking for much. Just a little time to heal.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“No — not
thank you
. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Roxie. A
lifetime
.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dad…” I drop the curtain and step away from the window.

“You can start by telling me what the hell is wrong with you!” he barks. “Where are you going?”

“To answer the door.” I walk out of the living room and into the foyer as their voices continue behind me.

“Bennett, please. You’re shouting.”

“Of course, I am! My daughter is throwing her career away!”

“Bennett…”

I pull the door open just as Smith reaches for the handle from the outside. “Hey, Smith.”

He sighs and steps inside. “What did I tell you about answering doors?”

“Honestly, can’t remember,” I joke.

“Don’t,”
he says. “
Don’t answer doors
is what I told you.”

“I looked out the window and saw you walking up the drive.”

“And what did I tell you about lingering in front of windows?”

“Don’t?” I smile.

“You know, kid, I’ve guarded dictators that were easier to deal with than you.”

“Not nearly as pretty, though, right?”

He sneers in my direction and walks into the living room. “Ma’am,” he says, addressing Cora. “You have a visitor out front. He refuses to leave.”

My father turns up his hands. “So
make him leave
. What else do I pay you for?”

“Who is it?” Cora asks.

Smith places his hands on his hips. “He says he’s your son.”

Cora pauses and slowly sets her wine glass on the coffee table in front of her. “My son?” she repeats.

“Said his name is Fox.”

I turn to the door. My fingertips graze my lips, feeling the long-forgotten phantom tug of him drawing my bottom lip between his teeth. “Fox?” I breathe his name, excitement stirring in my breast.

“Show me,” Cora says, standing up and following Smith outside.

“Let’s not get too excited now…” my father warns. “It could be a prank.”

He’s right. Lamb announced in front of dozens of cameras that my stepbrother was killed in action. That video hit one million views in less than an hour. There are plenty of people out there willing enough to toy with someone’s emotions like that.

Hey, look, Roxie! It’s me! Fox! I’m home!

I stand back and wait in the front hall while they all pile outside. My lips twitch, unable to forget the last time I saw him. It was my eighteenth birthday. The party was long over and all my friends had gone home. Fox and I were alone upstairs, standing in the hall outside his room. I said goodnight and started to walk away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him. I’ll never forget the rush of blood to my cheeks or the feel of his thumb sliding across my bottom lip.

A kiss. Just one kiss. That’s all it was but I was hooked.

He enlisted in the army the next morning and I never saw him again.

I jolt out of my trance as Cora’s blood-curdling scream strikes my ears. I rush to the front door and throw it open to look outside. Cora’s on her knees in the circle drive. My father’s doing everything he can to bring her back up but she’s sobbing way too hard. Smith stands near them with his hand lingering above the gun strapped to his hip. They’re all looking forward at the car parked in the drive and the man standing in front of it wearing a jet black suit with no tie.

Fox.

He looks up at me and I tremble in my shoes.

“Get back inside, Roxie,” Smith says at me, holding up a hand.

I ignore him and walk down the concrete stairs to get a better look at him, pulled down by curiosity’s strong grip. My father gets Cora to her feet and I pause near them, staring up into the brown eyes of a dead man.

“Hey, Dani,” he says to me. His voice is deep, much more than I remember. He never had a beard either. His skin was smooth as butter back then. Now, it’s calloused and gray with wrinkles on the edges of his eyes. There’s a darkness in them that wasn’t there five years ago. That playful twinkle has completely vanished. Wherever he’s been… I’m honestly a bit scared to find out.

Cora stumbles towards him. “Fox?” She reaches out and cups his shaggy face. “My Fox?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he says, his eyes soft. “It’s me.”

Tears stream down her face and she leaps up to throw her arms around him. “You’re home!”

He hesitates for the briefest of moments before returning the embrace. His eyes wander back up until they fall on me again. “We need to talk.”

Fox.
The stepbrother that kissed me and bailed without saying goodbye. Back from the dead.

You bet your ass we need to talk.

Chapter 5

Fox

Bennett stares down the dining room table at me with his arms tightly wound across his chest. This hostile reaction to my homecoming isn’t the least bit surprising. He and I never exactly threw the old pigskin around together.

My mother sits across from him with a stack of used tissues in front of her and Dani is across from me — just like our old family dinners, with the obvious exception of the middle-aged ex-cop lingering in the doorway behind me.

“How is this possible?” Bennett asks me.

“It’s a long story,” I answer.

He shakes his head. “Better be a good one…” Dani’s eyes twitch in his direction, but she says nothing to argue with it. I don’t blame her. “Well, let’s hear it…”

I look at Dani again and my eyes fall to the bandage covering her cheek. Snake Eyes could be on their way here right now. They could even be out front, wolves in paparazzi clothing. If that’s the case, it’s a possibility that they recognized me outside. I lean forward. “I’m sorry, but… it can wait.”

“Like hell,
it can wait
, Fox,” Bennett snaps. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put your mother through?”

“I can imagine,” I answer. “But right now… Dani is in danger.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

I point to her cheek. “The men that killed Senator Lamb,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I have a history with them.”

Bennett scoffs. “What kind of history?”

I keep my eyes on Dani’s. “They’ll come back for you.”