Winner Takes All (6 page)

“Yeah, okay, she's hot,” Blake finally said.

Brandon just grinned. “There it is.”

Blake jabbed his index finger toward his cousin. “But I'm not getting involved with her.”

“You keep mentioning that, but I never said anything about getting mixed up with her,” Brandon pointed out. “So is it me or you you're trying to convince?”

Blake stared back at his cousin for a moment, then turned away. Damn the man for knowing exactly what Blake was thinking, then having the balls to call him out. Brandon West always got some kind of sick satisfaction out of watching Blake squirm. The thing was, it had never mattered before. His cousin's ribbing, even if it was playful, because everything about Brandon was playful, never made Blake want to sock one to him.

Which meant Brandon was right.

Annabelle was under his skin.

The three of them, men and dog, stopped at a water fountain where Brandon pulled a foldable mesh water bowl from his shorts pockets, filled it with water, and placed it on the ground for Duke. The dog, tongue hanging about a foot out of his mouth, bent his big old block head down and lapped the water up, sloshing the stuff all over the concrete.

“I can't imagine what your kitchen floors look like,” Blake commented as Duke continued to drink.

Brandon grunted. “He can't help it if his tongue is the size of a surfboard.” He bent down and scratched the dog's ears. “Ever think of getting one?”

Blake shook his head and swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “If I could ever keep a plant alive for more than a week, maybe.”

“Maybe one day I'll just surprise you with one,” Brandon commented with a sly grin. “I'll stick a red bow behind its ears and leave him on your doorstep.”

Blake lifted a brow. “Do that and I'll send your baby pictures to the Beehive Mafia.”

Brandon straightened. “You're cold, man.”

Speaking of the Beehive Mafia, the four women, who'd been rotating the cardio stations the entire time Brandon and Blake had been jogging while simultaneously snapping pictures of them with their camera phones, because they were
damn
fast with those things, came strolling up to them. Their polyester shorts hit each of them at the knee, with loose T-shirts, pristine white tennis shoes, and their signature beehives making them stick out like they had neon signs on their heads.

Blake wondered if they coordinated their outfits.

Brandon lifted the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe more moisture from his brow. Patty Silvano, the most camera happy one of the bunch, whipped her phone out and snapped a picture so damn fast that Blake barely registered the flash.

She tucked the phone back in her shorts and sent Brandon a coy grin. “The people of Blanco Valley thank you, Mr. West.”

Brandon let his shirt drop and he jabbed a finger at Patty. “You don't have my permission to use that. I own all the rights to pictures of me.”

Patty waved a hand in the air, dismissing Brandon's concern. “Oh, it's just for my personal page. No one will see it but me.”

That was pure bullshit, and they all knew it. The four of them may be in their seventies, but they could shoot the shit like a bunch of sailors.

“In fact”—Patty took her cell out again—“let me get one more shot of you. Just lift your shirt a little higher this time.”

Virginia McAllister, Brandon's neighbor and vocal activist for the demise of Duke, yanked the phone out of Patty's hands. “Give the kid a break, Patty. Or at least wait until he's jogging without a shirt on.”

The other women chuckled, joined by Blake because Brandon looked like he was about to shit his pants.

“Why don't you get a shot of this guy,” Brandon said, jerking his thumb in Blake's direction. “He's got more packs in his stomach than I do.” He whipped a hand out and grabbed the bottom of Blake's shirt. “Blake, lift your shirt up.”

Blake tried to yank himself out of the way, because, for God's sake, he didn't need this bunch stalking him with their phones and ridiculous hair.

But Brandon was fast, and Patty was even faster, and
how
did she do that? She snapped the picture and slid the phone away before Blake had a chance to cover his torso up.

“What the hell?” he demanded of his cousin.

Brandon sniggered and Lois Jenkins clapped her hands together like a little kid who'd been given a new bike. “Oh, we finally got one!”

Beverly Rowley, who seemed to be the least concerned with violating Blake's and Brandon's rights, crossed her arms over her chest. “Can we cool it with the pictures and get on with our workout, please?” she demanded. “The two of you are worse than Lois's grandkids.”

Virginia spoke up. “Who do you think she gets it from? That little girl of hers was the one who showed her how to use the camera phone in the first place.”

Patty's chin tilted up. “Neither one of you appreciate real art. I'm doing the city of Blanco Valley a favor.”

“If any of those pictures end up on your Beehive page, I'm going to let Duke loose in your yard.” Brandon pinned Patty with a hard look. “And Duke loves hydrangeas.”

Patty stepped forward and got right in his face. “If I see this animal in my plants, I'm going to sic Lois's granddaughter on you. And if you think I'm fast with a camera? That little girl will have pictures of you doing things you won't even remember doing.”

Blake slid his cousin a look because, shit, Patty Silvano, five-foot-nothing that she was, could be damn scary when she put her mind to it.

“Do you hear me, son?” she said to Brandon.

Blake leaned closer to Brandon. “She called you son,” he commented, smirking.

Patty slid her death stare toward Blake, effectively shutting him up real fast.

“Yes, ma'am,” Brandon said.

Patty grinned, softening her features and bringing back the sweet woman who had the spryness of a forty-year-old. “Good man.” Then she patted him on the bicep. “Oh my.” Her brief touch turned into a lingering caress as she ran her fingers over the grooves of Brandon's muscles.

“Oh for heaven's sake, Patty.” Beverly stepped forward, hooked her arm through Patty's, and practically dragged her friend away. “By the way, Mr. Carpenter,” Beverly addressed Blake. “There might be some people in this town who oppose you coaching our boys, but not us.”

Lois nodded. “That's right, son. We know you'll bring pride back to the Champion Valley.”

At the mention of the nickname, given to Blanco Valley during its glory days of football, Blake's gaze automatically touched on Haystack Mountain. Looming over the valley, like a cruel reminder of the weight Blake had on his shoulders, were the words
Champion Valley
, arranged out of giant white boulders. The words were visible for miles around, letting everyone know of the powerhouse that once resided here and the pride the town carried with the high school's multiple state championships. Blake had been a part of that, as had Brandon and Cameron. In fact, the three of them used to take weekend trips hiking up the mountain, then sit by the sign and gaze back down at the town, like the immortal football stars they were.

At the end of their senior year, the school had held a ceremony, a sort of inaugural for the painting of their jersey numbers on the Champion's rock. The rock sat in the middle of town, next to a wooden sign that said,
Welcome to Blanco Valley, home of the undefeated Bobcats
.

Of course, the sign had been erected twenty years ago when they'd been undefeated. Unfortunately, no one had changed it, either because people had stopped caring or they held out hope they'd be undefeated again.

“They tried taking the sign down,” Beverly commented.

Blake cleared his throat past the lump that had formed. “What sign?”

“Well, that one, of course.” The older woman waved her hand toward Haystack Mountain. “The mayor wanted it removed, but the city council voted against it.”

Lois stepped toward Blake, and he got a whiff of the Aqua Net holding her hair together. “There are people in this town who still believe in you. We wanted the sign to stay up because we believe you can make us great again.”

Virginia piped up. “What Lois is trying to say is that we don't have a lot of years left. We need you to make it snappy.”

Blake wanted to chuckle at Virginia's attempt at humor, but he couldn't manage to even force one. Because, as much as he didn't want them to, the old woman's words meant something to him. Over the past few years, he'd grown complacent with the doubt, the rumors, and the pity, so hearing someone affirm him, showing the kind of faith he'd been longing for, made him feel…uncomfortable.

As though he didn't deserve it. Because wasn't that what people had been saying about him? That a cheater and a liar didn't deserve people's sympathy?

Eventually he'd told himself he didn't need it. That the public's support didn't mean anything to him. That he could do it on his own. It wasn't until he heard the words that he realized the powerful effect they had.

And hadn't Annabelle said something similar the other morning in the weight room? When she'd been talking to Matt?

Yes, now that Blake thought about it, she had. Something about giving him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps that's why he'd slipped from the doorway without alerting them to his presence. Knowing the woman, Annabelle would have seen the vulnerability all over his face.

Blake nodded. “I'm going to do my best, ma'am,” he told her. “The team's showing a lot of promise.”

Beverly grinned, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “That's what we like to hear. Prove that mayor wrong. Show him why that sign needs to stay up.”

Yeah, no sweat. What they didn't realize was that Blake had been given a broken team with kids who were hungry for it but parents who didn't want him around.

“We have a problem,” Cameron said a few days later when the team had shuffled into the locker room after another practice.

Blake leaned back in his chair and didn't remove his attention from notes he'd made. “What now?”

Cameron sat, adjusting the bill of his Bobcats baseball cap, which was already pulled low over his dark blue eyes. His too-shaggy chocolate brown hair was badly in need of a cut and curled over his ears. “Keith Montague and Randy O'Connell have been pulled from the team.”

“Why?” Blake asked, though he was pretty sure he could guess the reason, judging by the look of sympathy in his friend's eyes. It was the same look given to him by everyone else close to him after the scandal. His parents, when he'd visited them in Arizona. Brandon. Hell, even Matt looked at Blake like that. But sympathy was the last thing he wanted from them. What he needed was their support. Their confidence that he could do the job he was hired to do.

“Randy's dad says his grades last year weren't the best and they want him to focus on academics. Randy didn't love the game anyway, so why make him continue playing?” Cameron rasped his hands along his scruffy jaw. “That's according to the kid's old man anyway.”

Blake nodded. “And what did Keith's dad have to say?”

Cameron leveled Blake with a no-bullshit stare. “That he doesn't want his son playing for you.”

“Well, shit,” Blake muttered. It shouldn't matter. What a couple of know-it-all jerk-offs thought about him shouldn't get under his skin. But it did. Blake wasn't that guy. He wasn't a liar. And he wasn't a cheater.

Even though 90 percent of what had been reported about him was complete bullshit, people didn't care. All they saw was the latest football star fall from grace and land flat on his face. Few people had stood by him and had been willing to give him another chance. Oddly enough, Drew Spalding, for however much of a jerk the guy could be, had been willing to overlook the dark cloud following Blake around like a curse. Even though the two men didn't see eye to eye, Blake was grateful to him.

“We'll have to pull in our backups,” Blake commented, pushing aside his other thoughts.

Cameron shook his head. “They're not good enough, Blake.”

“Hell, Cam, what choice do we have? Two-thirds of the team couldn't hold on to the ball if I put superglue on their fingers.”

One side of Cameron's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Bet you're wondering what you were thinking when you accepted this job.”

Blake snorted. “No doubt. You have an awful lot of faith in me,” Blake pointed out.

Cameron lifted both shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I wouldn't have left my other coaching job for anyone else but you.”

Blake had known that and had known what Cameron had given up to coach with him. Cam was a true friend through and through, and Blake would be damned if Cameron's loyalty would be in vain. He'd turn this team around if it was the last thing he'd do. Blake would be damned if he'd allow all of his doubters to have the last word.

This was one promise he wouldn't step away from.

He'd also be damned if he'd allow a couple of narrow-minded fathers keep him from coaching this team to victory.

“So,” Cameron stated as he leaned forward and snagged a handful of M&M's out of a bowl on Blake's desk. He leaned back in his chair, dropped a couple in his mouth, and crunched them between his teeth. “I couldn't help but notice Ms. Turner still coming around practices. Apparently you didn't growl at her hard enough after the first practice.” Cameron ended his statement with a final crunch of chocolate and a grin.

“Or I did and she's too stubborn for her own good,” Blake argued.

Cameron took some more M&M's. “Or that,” he agreed. “But I've never known someone not to cower when you level them with that death stare of yours.” Cam jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Those kids practically piss their pants when you get that look on your face.”