Winner Takes All (10 page)

“You go to the woods because you can't shoot for shit and you don't want anyone to see you,” Brandon told his friend. “And trust me, they'd find me,” Brandon told them. “By the way,” he told Blake. “Mac Armstrong's been looking for you. Said something about giving you a discount on a club membership and getting your own golf polo with matching sweater.”

Blake would have laughed, except that was all too close to how Mac Armstrong was.

He glanced around the gym, past the kids making pancakes like a bunch of line cooks, past the tables of people eating the food and talking about who-knows-what. Past Annabelle talking it up with Stella Davenport. Stella said something and Annabelle tossed her head back and laughed, exposing her long, creamy neck, the delicate muscles gently curving into her narrow jaw.

Blake's gut tightened as her hazel eyes lit up with laughter, the sound dancing over his skin like the caress of soft fingers.

“Yo.” Brandon elbowed him in the ribs. “Mac's over there.”

“Nowhere near Annabelle,” Cameron added, obviously looking for payback for Rhonda Powell. He pointed toward the stage. “On the other side of the room.”

Blake ground his back teeth together. “I have eyes, dickwad.”

“Which were busy undressing
her
,” Brandon added like the asshole he was. “Seriously, you're not even discreet about it.”

Blake turned away from Annabelle and managed to catch Mac Armstrong's attention.

Mac waved when he saw Blake, then excused himself from the group of men he'd been talking to.

Cam heaved a sigh, then tossed his paper cup in a trash can. “Really. That guy?”

Mac Armstrong was a wealthy golf club and resort owner who'd graduated from Blanco Valley high the same year as Blake, Cameron, and Brandon. He'd even played for the team and had his jersey number on the rock, near Blake's own number. Blake had heard through the town grapevine that Mac had been a booster for the team years ago but for whatever reason had pulled his support from the team. The lack of his funds had hurt the program, and that had only prompted other boosters to follow his lead.

As much as Mac could suck the oxygen from a room, because he was such a dominant personality, Blake had actually been meaning to reach out to the guy.

“The team could use his resources, Cam,” Blake reminded his friend. “The program's got no money.”

Cam sighed again. “The guy's obnoxious. He's like the Energizer Bunny on crack.”

Brandon chortled. “We could call the Dollys back over here. Talk to them about getting their husbands to donate some money.”

“Hell, you've already got Rhonda's number,” Blake added.

Cam shot his friend a dark look. “Seriously. Gonna murder you.”

Mac reached the three men, clapped Cameron on the back, and shook Blake's and Brandon's hands. At six foot five, Mac towered over the men in both size and personality. His thick head of sandy blond hair was combed back from his wide forehead, giving him what some people called a “wise-guy” appearance. His face was always clean shaven because, some people suspected, his beard already had a healthy dose of gray in it and Mac wasn't about to stand for that.

“Blake, how're you doing?” Mac asked, pumping Blake's hand so hard it practically gave him whiplash. “Listen, I've been watching team practices and I feel real good about this season.”

Blake nodded. “Thanks. The boys are working really hard.”

“I'm telling you, this town deserves some wins after the drought we've had. The champion's rock is collecting dust, you know what I'm saying?” Mac punctuated his rhetorical question with a laugh. Then he jabbed Blake in the chest with his beefy finger. “Your number was the last one to be painted on there. Did you know that?”

Blake glanced at Cam and Brandon. Cam shrugged and Brandon scowled. “No, I didn't know that,” Blake told Mac.

Mac snorted again. “Well, we need change that, don't you think?”

Blake blinked at the man and realized Mac was waiting for an answer. “Of course I do. That's why we're doing everything we can to bring in a winning season.”
And the point of this conversation is?

Mac slung a heavy arm around Blake's shoulders like the guy was about to share a dirty secret. “You see all these people here?” Mac turned the two of them around so Blake could see the whole gym. The boys flipping pancakes and cracking each other up. Flirting with the cheerleaders and rally girls. Parents mingling with one another and talking about each of their kids' college plans. Bobcats pride posters posted all over the walls. Black and orange paw prints leaving trails from one side of the gym floor to the other.

Looking around, Blake realized, that yeah, the town did deserve a win. They were relying on him to bring it to them, even if some of the parents didn't want their kids playing for him. Blake had forced those people from his mind, because he didn't need to be focusing on the people who didn't want him around. The players—those kids slinging batter at each other and making pancakes in the shape of paw prints—were the ones who need his attention. They were the ones he'd sworn his dedication to and he wasn't about to witness another bout of disappointment from a kid he'd made a promise to.

“Yeah, I see them,” he told Mac.

“These are the real fans,” Mac stated. “They expect great things from you because this town needs it. We've lost our excitement, Blake.”

Blake pulled out of Mac's hold and crossed his arms over his chest. “I realize that, Mac, but I'm not sure what your point is.”

“Well, I want to help you all out,” Mac went on as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “I don't have time to get into everything, because my beautiful wife over there has been giving me the stink eye for the last thirty minutes.” He glanced up at the three men. “Call me so we can talk further.” The man gave a quick wave to his wife, who shot him an impatient look with a tap to her wristwatch. “I'm comin', baby doll,” he called to her.

Then he turned and ambled away, leaving Brandon shaking his head. “See?” he said to Blake. “You didn't even have to charm him. He came straight to you.”

“Just be careful,” Cameron said. “What he didn't tell you was that the last coach didn't like to be told what to do. That's the real reason Mac pulled his funding from the program. The guy wants what he wants when he wants it.”

Before Blake could form a reply, Drew Spalding was in his ear. “If you're smart, you'll do what the man says. Imagine that money for new helmets or new practice equipment.”

Blake crossed his arms over his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brandon edging away, as though sensing something brewing and not wanting to get involved. But Cameron, being the no-backing-down kind of guy he was, stayed put. “I'll always do what's best for the team, Drew. If Mac decides he wants to become a booster, we'll spend the money where it's needed most.”

Drew nodded. “With my approval, of course.”

“He doesn't need your approval, Spalding.”

Drew turned his hard gaze to Cam, sending rays of contempt in the man's direction. “Oh, but he does.”

Cameron took a step closer. “You and I both know he doesn't.”

“Cam, shut up,” Blake warned his friend.

Of course neither one of them listened. Drew's mouth curled up. “You think I'm going to listen to a man who has no respect for other people's marriages?”

“That's enough, Drew,” Blake told him.

“What's really on your mind, Drew?” Cam asked, goading the man in a way that only Cameron Shaw could do. Cam was good at stirring shit up, as he'd been famous for in high school. Quick to grin at the ladies and quick to throw a right hook at anyone who looked at him the wrong way. He'd mellowed in his older age, but underneath that cool exterior was the same hot-headed teenager who'd been sent to the principal's office for telling his history teacher to shove his classroom rules up his ass.

Blake settled a hand on Drew's shoulder, hoping to remind the man they were in a crowded gym with players and parents. “What's on my mind is that I'm looking at a man who can't get a woman of his own so he steals other people's wives.”

Cam's square jaw hardened, settling his mouth into a firm line that Blake recognized as simmering trouble.

Brandon pressed a hand on Cam's chest. “Take a minute to remember where you are,” Brandon said to his friend in a low voice.

Drew's chin shot up. “You'd best listen to him, Shaw.”

Brandon shot Drew a dark look. “I suggest you quit while you're ahead, Drew. Trust me when I say you don't want to go a round with Cameron. He'd enjoy pounding that smug smile off your face. So why don't you take a step back before I turn him loose?”

Drew jabbed a finger in Cam's direction. “Your days are numbered.”

Then he was gone, taking his contempt for Cameron with him.

“If I never see another pancake again, it'll be too soon,” Stella stated as she and Annabelle exited the gym, sliding their sunglasses on to shield their eyes from the bright midday sun. “I think I ate about five pounds of syrup.”

“You and me both,” Annabelle agreed.

The pancake breakfast last year hadn't drawn nearly the amount of people this one had. She knew that had as much to do with Blake as anything else. People wanted an up-close-and-personal view of the new, famous coach. Whether they were in favor of him being here was another story. But the important thing was, the large crowd had to have drawn in some significant funds for the team.

The players had been at ease behind the grills, pouring batter and serving half the town. They'd joked around, been themselves, and had relaxed, which was a far cry from how she'd seen them on the field. Getting their butts kicked, sweat running down their faces and hair matted to their heads. They'd been…

Lighthearted.

Annabelle's spirts had lifted for them, as she'd watched the team she'd fallen in love with. Seeing the support from the town had been exactly what those kids had needed.

And then her lightheartedness had turned to something else when she'd spotted Blake. Of course, she'd seen him the second she'd entered the building. Because how could she not? The throngs of people, kids laughing and conversations hadn't stopped them from finding each other.

Stella had nudged her in the ribs. “Will you just go over there already?”

First he'd been trapped by the Dollys, which, Annabelle knew, anyone was susceptible to. They were like younger versions of the Beehive Mafia. Without the cell phone cameras and the obsession with Brandon West. Although Rhonda Powell seemed to have her meat hooks in Cameron Shaw's side. After that he'd been in deep conversation with Mac Armstrong, which had followed by him mingling with the players' parents. She hadn't wanted to interrupt, because it had been Blake's time to shine, and her body had already been humming without getting that close to him.

So she'd left it alone, despite Stella's many attempts to get them closer with her lame attempts like, “Hey, let's take a closer look at that poster over there.” Or, “I think that table on the other side of the room might be more comfortable than this one.”

Annabelle had rolled her eyes at the last one. Or all of them because her friend was anything but subtle. Then Brandon had inserted himself next to Blake and Cameron and Stella had changed her mind real fast. Annabelle had no clue what that had been about, but she hadn't pushed the issue.

Now they were full of pancakes and sausage.

The two of them were headed toward Annabelle's car when she spotted Matt leaning into the passenger seat of his dad's truck. Annabelle made a detour because she'd been meaning to talk to the kid.

“Hey, Matt,” Annabelle called out to the kid. Matt backed out of the truck and graced her with a wide grin when he saw her.

“Hey, Ms. Turner,” he returned just as his dad strolled up to the truck, holding a box of stuff that he slid into the bed.

Stella tapped Annabelle on the shoulder. “Give me the keys. I'll go wait in the car.”

“Just a sec,” she told her friend.

Brandon turned and strolled back into the building, whistling and twirling his keys around as he ambled with that easy grace of his. Stella exhaled and leaned against the vehicle.

Annabelle slid her friend a look, then returned her attention to Matt. “I just wanted to see how your neck was feeling.”

“Oh.” Matt ran a palm over the back of his neck. “It's a lot better, thanks for asking. And thanks for spending that extra time with me.”

She offered the boy a warm smile. “That's what I'm there for. Next time we meet, I can show you some stretches you can do at home. You might have to get your dad to help you with some of them.”

Matt kept his hand on his neck. “Is it possible I'll injure it again?”

“Well,” Annabelle said, not really sure how to answer the question. Further injury really depended on the person and the amount of stress they were putting their body through. “It depends. If you keep your muscles loose and stretched, then you shouldn't have to worry about it.”

Brandon came back out of the building, his beefy arms clutching another box. His shirtsleeves had been pushed higher up his shoulders, revealing the definition and cut of muscles. His denim-covered long legs carried him across the parking lot until he reached the truck. He slid the box in the bed, then tossed the car key toward Matt.

“Start it up,” he told his son.

Matt caught the keys with the ease of someone trained to catch a football.

Stella pushed away from the truck. “Can we go now?”

“What's your hurry?” she asked her friend.

“I have a twelve o'clock class. Not good form for the teacher to be late.”