Winner Takes All (21 page)

Who are you kidding?

The man was a temptation no matter what he was doing. Shouting insults at his players to get their attention. Putting her in her place in his office when she tried to tell him what to do. Or cradling her body close to his with such tender care, it made her heart melt.

“I know what I'm doing with my team, Annabelle,” he told her, and then he removed her touch from his arm. Instead of keeping the contact, he dropped her hand and resumed his statue-like stillness.

Realistically, she knew he couldn't be the same attentive passionate man he was outside of football. But the rejection of her touch hurt, more than it should, considering they weren't even in a relationship. In reality, she had no right to touch him as though her hands belonged on him.

“I'm not saying you don't,” she argued. “Scott needs time to heal. Surely you have backups you can use instead.”

“We've already lost too many other good players for me to bench Scott. We need him.”

Maybe she didn't have enough team spirit, but she cared more about the kids' health than she did a winning record. Which was odd, because Blake's future with the team depended on how the Bobcats' season ended. If they had another losing record, he'd be out of a job.

The thought of him leaving Blanco Valley and going somewhere else created a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd miss him, more than she should. More than she thought she'd be able to.

“Of course, you're the coach,” she admitted with a casual lift of her shoulder. “It's clear you're willing to risk anything to win.”

His mouth set into a hard line. “Scott's going to be fine.”

She took a step toward him. “If you want any chance of him playing in the play-offs, or even making the play-offs, you'll keep him off the field tonight.” She paused a moment to allow her warning to sink in. “I'm serious, Blake.”

“And I'm seriously playing him,” he shot back. “Without Scott, we may not make the play-offs.”

“Coach,” Cameron called from about twenty yards away. The kids were gathered and ready to continue their practice.

Without another word, he turned and strode away with that slow, lazy gait of his. Unhurried. Loose. Unbelievably sexy.

All Annabelle could think about, besides his mistake to play Scott, was how incredible his ass looked in those athletic pants he always had on.

A
nnabelle pulled into her driveway just as her phone rang. Her fingers were still shaking when she dug the cell out of her purse and glanced at the screen. The caller ID displayed her sister's name.

With a barely suppressed groan, Annabelle answered the call.

“You've got to come give me a hand over here,” Naomi whispered. “The only thing that's keeping me from strangling Mom is my love for the woman. And the fact that I don't want to go to jail.”

Annabelle pushed the car door open and exited the car. “What's wrong?” she asked her sister. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Because she's in the next room, and the woman has hearing like a freakin' bat.”

Naomi rustled something in Annabelle's ear. “She's cranky today and complained about the breakfast I made. Then she bitched at me for folding her sheets wrong. And she won't take her medication.”

Ruth Turner had a way she liked things done, which was usually the exact opposite of the way Naomi did things. The two of them gave new definition to oil and water. Naomi's threshold for patience was no more than a few days before she and their mother's conversations gave way to bickering.

“Can you come over here for a little while?” Naomi asked when Annabelle didn't respond to her complaints. “I need to get out before I jab an ice pick through my eyeball.”

Annabelle cradled the cell between her ear and shoulder and nudged the front door open. “I can stop by for a little while, but Stella and I are going to the game tonight. I'll get her to take her pills when I see her.” If Ruth didn't take her medication, she'd be in danger of having a seizure.

“You're kidding me, right?” Naomi asked. “You can't give me a few hours because of a stupid football game?”

Annabelle let the “stupid” comment roll off her back, because she knew her sister didn't share the same passion. “Are you really going to give me a hard time, Naomi? Me, the one who spends her free time doing everything for Mom? Making her food, cleaning her house, and spending time with her? You're going to give me shit about taking a few hours to myself?”

“All right, chill,” Naomi whispered. “I just thought maybe you'd want to hang here for a little while. Thanks for inviting me to the game, by the way.”

Annabelle set her purse on the dining table and kicked her shoes off. “Mom isn't an invalid. She can manage on her own for one evening. I didn't think to invite you to the game because you hate football. Why would you want to go?”

“Oh, I don't know, to spend time with my sister?” Naomi said, as though she and Annabelle hadn't seen each other at all, when the truth was they'd gone to lunch a few days ago, and last night they had dinner with her mother, then watched a movie. As much as she loved her sister, and she really did despite their differences, Annabelle's patience for Naomi was wearing thin.

How did Naomi always manage to bring out the worst in her? One conversation and every resentment Annabelle held came hurtling forward.

She heaved a sigh and walked into the kitchen. “You're right,” she told her sister. “I'm sorry. Of course you're welcome to come with us.”

“Well, it doesn't mean anything now. I had to ask you.”

True. But what the hell did Naomi want from her?

Annabelle dug around in her cupboard for a mug and set it on the kitchen counter. “Stella and I would love for you to come with us. It's not just because you asked me,” she tried reassuring her younger sister. “I think you'd like it. The games are a lot of fun.”

Naomi was silent for a moment before answering. “All right. I could use the break anyway. I've been flooded with calls from my assistant, because she's running the hostel for me while I'm away. You wouldn't believe how the business has boomed in the past month.”

“Really,” Annabelle commented automatically.

“Oh my gosh, I had this couple come through a few weeks ago who were on their honeymoon. They'd decided to travel through South America and were staying in hostels along the way.” Naomi sounded out of breath. As though she were walking around. “Anyway, they were so sweet that the morning they left, they gave me this music box that plays a traditional Irish lullaby because that's where they were from.”

Annabelle grabbed a tea bag from the pantry and dropped it in her mug. “That was nice of them,” she replied, growing used to her sister's endless stories about herself and not thinking to ask Annabelle how she was doing.

Water trickled through the coffee machine, and Annabelle stared at it while listening to her sister go on and on about her life, making the appropriate noncommittal noises.

“You'll have to see it all when you come down to visit,” Naomi told Annabelle.

Annabelle didn't have the heart to tell her sister she'd probably never travel to South America. Not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't afford it. Her business required constant income to keep it running, not to mention what she spent helping take care of her mother. She had a good comfortable life and made enough money to support herself. But she just couldn't seem to build her savings up enough to buy a round-trip ticket to Peru.

“Yeah, that'd be great,” Annabelle said as the coffee machine stopped. She took the carafe out and poured the hot water into the mug.

Naomi was silent for a moment. “You're not really listening to me, are you?”

“What're you talking about?” Annabelle asked. She picked up the mug and blew on the hot tea. “Of course I am.”

“You sound distracted.”

Busted. Annabelle shook her head, trying to come up with an excuse for her lack of enthusiasm for Naomi's life in Peru. “I'm just thinking about tonight's game. The team needs the win.”

“Oh,” Naomi said with a twinge of disappointment lacing her voice. As though she expected Annabelle to have a more monumental worry than that. “Isn't it just a regular season game? I mean, does it matter that much?”

Annabelle took a shallow sip of her tea, testing the temperature. “To the kids it does. And the school.”

“Oh,” her sister said again. “I guess I've lost touch with American sports because soccer is so huge in South America. You wouldn't believe how a soccer stadium can fill with fans. Now those are exciting games,” Naomi commented with a smile in her voice. “I swear my business doubles during soccer season.”

The tea hit the bottom of Annabelle's stomach and churned like acid. She'd given her sister an opening to actually ask about Annabelle's life, and Naomi had successfully turned the conversation back to herself and her own life.

Because she's in her own world and doesn't care about yours.

The words hurt and were probably more extreme than they needed to be. Naomi had a way of making Annabelle think that her life in Blanco Valley, with her little physical therapy business and cooking dinner for their mother, was boring. Insignificant. Not important enough. Not exciting enough. Annabelle had never tried exotic food. She didn't speak another language. She didn't have foreigners from all over the globe giving her worldly gifts.

Deep down, Annabelle knew Naomi didn't have the superiority complex Annabelle always thought she did. Maybe it was her own insecurities coming out rather than Naomi trying to make her feel that way. They were sisters and they loved each other. Naomi would never go out of her way to make Annabelle feel bad about her life.

Despite that self-reassurance, Annabelle always ended conversations with her sister feeling exactly like that.

“Listen,” Annabelle said, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. “I need to take care of some quick chores before the game, so I've got to run.”

“All right,” Naomi said. “I'll just finish up with Mom before we go.”

Annabelle ignored the little stab of guilt at trying to push her sister off the phone. “Stella and I will pick you up around six.”

They ended the call and Annabelle leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling drained of energy. The green tea should help give her the boost she needed after a long day, but she hadn't drunk enough to kick in yet, not to mention her conversation with her sister left her moody.

She loved Naomi. Really, she did. After their mother passed on, something Annabelle didn't even want to think about, they would be all each other had. Strangely, though, she wasn't sure they'd even have each other. They lived completely different lives, with different priorities in different countries.

The thought of drifting even farther away from her only sister depressed her. It wasn't until then did Annabelle realize how lonely her life was. An aging mother, a sister she never saw. No husband. No kids. Not even a cat.

No one intended to live a solitary life, but somehow that's where she'd ended up. Once upon a time, she'd had the dream life. A handsome husband and good career in the big city. Then it had imploded and now here she was. Taking care of her mother and falling in love with a man who only wanted sex.

Her earlier excitement at going to the football game faded. How had her life become so depressing?

Two minutes after halftime, the Bobcats were holding on to their three-point lead. The lights were blindingly bright, the fans in the bleachers were chanting one school song after another, and the satisfying crunching of pads filled Blake's ears, fueling the adrenaline coursing through his system.

The Panthers had given them a tough first half, but the Bobcats had managed to hold them off. Blake was damn proud of the boys, feeling their determination not to lose another game. Cody was as focused as Blake had ever seen him, calling off the play before sending a beautiful spiral right into the hands of the receiver.

Blake adjusted his headset and followed the play down the field, tuning out the announcer. Cody was tackled, but the receiver continued to run the ball, dodging his opponents with agility and grace. Scott was out there, doing his job to keep the receiver protected.

But then Scott was tackled during the play, twenty yards from the end zone, giving the Bobcats their closest chance at scoring since the second half began. Blake signaled for a time-out, once again hearing Annabelle's words about Scott further injuring his leg. The players ran off the field and gathered around him and the other coaches.

Blake knew he needed to make fast work to get his strategy across. They couldn't blow this opportunity to put another six points on the board.

“How bad is the leg?” he asked Scott.

Scott shook his head. “It's fine, Coach. I can keep playing.”

The thing was, Blake wasn't so sure of that. Scott had tried to hide his limp as they'd gathered for the time-out. Even with the lid and mouth guard, Blake could still see the lines of stress and pain on the kid's face. He'd been tackled three times already, and Blake knew that with each one, his hamstring grew tighter.

Hadn't Annabelle told him that one more tiny pull, one tackle, and Scott would be out for the season? They'd definitely need him for the play-offs, if in fact they made the play-offs. Which he fully intended on them doing.

So he made a snap decision to pull Scott from the game and bring in the kid's backup. Scott wasn't pleased, hurtling curse words and shaking his head. Blake didn't care if he agreed. The crowd cheered their support as Scott trotted off the field and the backup running back joined the huddle.

“These guys aren't going down without a fight,” Blake told the players. “They know we need this win and they're not about to hand it over to us. We're going to do Slot Double Z XOXO,” he told the players, calling the play they'd been working on all week. “Understand?” At their nod, he dismissed them. “Go do it.”

The players dispersed, running back onto the field and taking their positions. Blake watched, with his heart in his throat, praying they could execute the play as well as they had in practice all week.

The clock resumed its ticking, and Cody called out the play, receiving the ball when David Cross, the center, snapped it. Cody pump faked to the wide receiver, drawing the Panthers' defense in the other direction, then pitched the ball to Tyler Hutchison, who made it to the five-yard line before he was tackled.

The crowd went in an uproar as Tyler fumbled the ball when he went down. Blake's stomach took a dive when the Panthers' safety scooped it up with effortless grace and shot down the field, toward their end zone.

The guy dodged every attempt to take him down when the Bobcats' offense was blocked by a brigade of defensive blockers. The safety crossed the fifty-yard line, then the forty, and Blake's stomach took another tumble when he closed in on the twenty and before any of his guys could even get close, completed the touchdown to give the Panthers a three-point lead.

With only twenty seconds left in the game, the Bobcats were done.

They'd officially blown it. When the clock ran out, the team trudged off the field while the Panthers celebrated their win.

This one hurt. They'd only been twenty seconds away from winning, and Scott would have been able to execute the play in his sleep.

Blake's pissed-off, irrational side, the coach side, resented the hell out of Annabelle's interference and wished she'd kept her mouth shut about Scott.

Stress hummed through his body, taking him around the locker room and drilling each player with a look that could extinguish a fire. The kids kept their gazes averted, their chests heaving up and down as their bodies came down from the hype of playing.

“Strickland!” Blake addressed one of the offensive linemen who'd been unable to break through the Panthers' defense. “You're supposed to be one of the toughest players out there!” Brian Strickland, drenched in sweat, kept his head bowed when Blake got in his face. “They handed your ass to you!” The air was heavy with disappointment, fatigue, and attitude. The kids were slumped over, sitting on benches and leaning against the walls. Sweat ran down their faces, dirt smothered their uniforms, and their hair was matted to their foreheads.