Chapter Ten
Third down, deep in the pocket, Mason looked downfield for running back Jerome Bloski. Around him he could hear the grunting of his offensive line being sacked by Philadelphia’s monster defense. The glare of the stadium lights made it hard to see, but then Bloski appeared, wide open with maybe ten seconds left before impact by Philly’s Andre Tanner, fastest safety in the NFL.
Mason launched the ball in a tight spiral and tracked it as it soared up, up, constellated by the twinkle of flash cameras, and then Bloski caught the ball, tucked it under his arm and ran like hell toward the goal posts.
Even as one of Philly’s three-hundred-pound linebackers clawed his way toward him, Mason kept his eyes fixed on Bloski. Andre also stayed focused on Bloski, legs whipping across the field. Mason dug his cleats into the turf and braced for the sack he knew was coming, just as he saw Bloski go down at the thirty yard line.
The beefy linebacker broke free and tackled Mason head first. Together they crashed to the ground right as the ref’s whistle ended the play.
Winded and hurting, Mason got up and scanned the field for penalty flags. Coach Lemery stood next to the bench, growling orders into his headset. About fifty feet behind him, the dancing Philadelphia mascot incited a roaring crowd.
Temple loped over, helmet in hand, sweat sheeting his face. “Fuck. Are they going to let us run it in?”
Mason doubted it. He glanced over at special teams kicker Franklin Hoff, who was already warming up, and his frustration mounted. The score shouldn’t have been this close. It shouldn’t be the middle of the goddamn fourth quarter, 13 Lone Stars, 14 Philadelphia. And the truth was, the team had him to blame for it. Coach Lemery was right when he’d shouted at him during halftime, “Get your head in the game, Hannigan. No one paid money to come here and watch you fuck this up.”
The signal came for offense to leave the field. Hoff trotted out to the thirty yard line with the rest of special teams. Now it was Mason’s turn to sit and watch. He burned to get back out there and make this right.
Temple muttered, “If Hoff misses, we’re screwed.”
“A game is never over ’til it’s over,” Mason said.
“Unless defense recovers the ball, we aren’t going back out there and you know it. Look at the clock, man.”
Mason didn’t have to look at the clock. Every second that ticked by scraped his nerves. “Let’s just wait and see what happens, okay?”
The Philly crowd went wild, booing while Hoff made a few practice kicks. The holder, Mahmet Khan, knelt behind the line of scrimmage. Mason gripped the edge of the bench and waited for the snap. There it was—the ball arced up and the holder caught it, placing it squarely in front of the kicker. Hoff drilled it hard and the ball soared, hanging suspended between the uprights for what seemed like eternity before dropping between them.
Everybody leaped off the bench at once, yelling and hugging, while the Philadelphia team stared glumly at the field. The score now: Dallas 16, Philadelphia 14.
“That only puts us two points ahead,” Temple said, ever the optimist. “Let’s hope defense doesn’t drop the ball.”
Defense didn’t drop the ball. Mason mentally cheered them on to victory, but it killed him how close they’d come to losing the game. As he entered the tunnel where a phalanx of sports reporters waited with their video crews, Mason knew he’d have to answer a shit-ton of questions about his performance. Win or lose, there were always people you had to explain yourself to, people who had theories and ideas, who were quick to criticize a weakness.
He put on his other game face, the one he wore for reporters, and said nothing about his missing father or the fact that the girl he liked had a douche-y ex-boyfriend. “Half a quarterback’s job is learning how to deal with the press,” Coach Lemery had told him the day he’d signed with Dallas. “Speak in generalities, talk about goals met, and always thank the rest of the team, even if they had their dicks out the whole game, jerking off.”
A young reporter from one of the local cable affiliates shoved a microphone in Mason’s face. “Do you feel like you delivered your best performance tonight?”
“Any failure to advance the ball was on me,” he said. “I take full responsibility. But the team itself is stronger and better than ever. We won tonight because our offense played a great game and our defense did a good job of stopping the other team.”
The reporter clearly had more questions, but Mason kept moving, surrounded by flashbulbs and teammates and the dimming roar of the crowd.
After showers came debriefing. Mason heard every accusing word that Coach Lemery didn’t say. Self-reproach beat him down like a fist.
“Hannigan, a word, please,” Coach Lemery said while the rest of the team filed out of the meeting room.
Mason followed him into an office flanked on all four sides by glass. Cheap metal blinds covered the windows but the blinds were slanted open, which meant everyone could see inside the fishbowl.
Experience taught Mason that when coaches closed blinds, invited you to sit down or glared at you from across a desk, you were pretty much fucked. To his surprise and relief, Coach did none of that.
“You were off your game tonight, Hannigan,” Lemery said, not a silver hair out of place despite all the yelling and gesturing. “You damn near cost us the game, son.”
Mason swallowed hard. “It’s true, sir. I’m real sorry about that.”
“We can’t afford another goat fuck like what I saw out there tonight, understand?”
Mason nodded. God knew he didn’t want to see one either, not if he was the one responsible for it.
“You’re the best quarterback on the NFL. That’s why you’re here and that’s why I’m talking to you now. But when you’re the best, people expect the best from you all the time.”
“And they’ll get it. What happened tonight was a one-off, sir.”
Coach Lemery squinted at him. Mason knew that look. It was the one Coach used to reduce rookies to tears. “Is there something going on, Hannigan? Something you want to talk to me about?”
And there it was—the chance to explain himself. Mason looked Coach Lemery in the eye and wondered if he could. But the reality was, no matter what he said, excuses would sound a lot like whining, and he hated whining just as much as Coach did.
“Nothing a little face time with my girl won’t fix,” Mason said.
Coach Lemery’s face broke into a thousand creases when he smiled. “Go be with your girl. See you on Monday at practice.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
“But if you don’t get it together, I’m going to bench you. It’s Super Bowl or die, Hannigan. Remember that.”
* * * *
“Omigod, what’s that?” Darlene said when Cassidy showed her the smartphone. They were hiding around the corner, away from Artie’s sharp eye.
“It’s a gift from Mason.” Cassidy smoothed one thumb over its shiny black surface and marveled at the fact of her holding it. “He sent a guy over to show me how to use it.” What she didn’t tell Darlene was that after he left, she still didn’t know how to use it. Lexie had to show her, even though Lexie didn’t have a cell phone either. Which was weird. Did kids come out of the womb knowing how to work these things?
Darlene stuck her head out to check for customers and for Artie. “Do you have any idea what a phone like that costs? I saw one like that at the mall in San Antonio last week. You’re going to die when I tell you.”
Cassidy widened her eyes in alarm. “How much?”
“With your own private tech tutor? At least thirteen, fourteen hundred dollars.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Now do you believe me when I say Mason’s totally into you?”
Cassidy smiled. Holding the phone gave her a warm glow because it felt like Mason was saying, “I want to talk to you. I miss you.” But as impressive as it was, a phone was still a thing. It wasn’t Mason. And it felt as though she hadn’t seen him in months instead of ten days.
“Did you thank him yet?” Darlene asked.
“I didn’t want to bother him, so I texted. We’re going to videochat tonight.”
“Videochat?” Darlene’s brown eyes softened in apparent wonder at the romantic possibilities. “Whatever you do, don’t let him talk you into taking your clothes off.”
“What, are you crazy?” Cassidy tried to laugh it off, but now she was worried. “Is that what people do with these things?”
“What century are you from? Seriously.”
Cassidy thought about Mason naked. So far, she’d only touched him through his clothes. Maybe it was inappropriate to think about sex all the time, but just the idea of seeing him aroused and waiting for her with that smile on his face brought wave after wave of heat. She tried to bank them down, but they just burned hotter. Any second now she’d start sweating again, and she’d been sweating a lot lately.
But she didn’t want to have phone sex. She wanted the real deal—with the hardness of his muscles in her hands and that intoxicating male scent of his. She wanted to taste him, all of him, even though imagining it brought a furious blush to her cheeks that Darlene was sure to notice. But what was the point of seeing someone if you didn’t actually see them?
“You might want to wait a minute before you go help those people who just pulled up,” Darlene said. “You look like one of those red-bottomed baboons.”
Cassidy pressed both hands to her face. She straightened up, tugged her uniform into place and then shoved the phone into an apron pocket. “All I can think about is phone sex now, thanks to you.”
“High time you got your naughty on.”
Oh, God. Cassidy swallowed hard. Was it possible? Ten years was a long time to wait for something… or someone. She’d only had sex one other time in her entire life and it hadn’t exactly been enjoyable. What if she didn’t know how?
“You’re thinking too much,” Darlene said, bracing both hands on her shoulders and facing her toward the customer area. “Go. Work. No think.”
Cassidy blinked and refocused. She took a deep breath and headed over to the stall while Darlene went inside to take the order. Brimming with thoughts of Mason, she turned the corner and came face to face with Kayla pulling up in her stupid, gas-guzzling Mom-mobile.
Kayla cranked her car into park and turned around to yell at her kids. All three boys were in back. The toddler had been crying and the six-year-old looked surly. But all Cassidy could think about was the flier with her photo on it, the scorn and the judgment and the likelihood of Kayla’s having sent Parker over to ruin her life again. She wanted to knock that bitchy smile off Kayla’s face. She wanted to rattle that flier at her and demand her confession. But mostly she wanted to ask Kayla what made her think she was better than everybody else. Just because Kayla went to Baptist Church of Christ and had a Jesus fish on her rear bumper didn’t mean she got to tell other people how to run their lives.
But Cassidy was at work. There were rules. And as much as Artie wanted to deck whoever had pasted that flier on the service window, he’d lose his mind if she yelled at a customer. She had no other choice but to behave herself, even though her face ached from maintaining a professional smile. Resting Nice Face, Darlene would have called it, and knowing she was probably there with the audio open on the speaker menu made Cassidy feel less alone.
“Welcome to Artie’s,” Cassidy said. “May I take your drink order?”
Kayla’s eyes were busy taking in the carhop uniform, especially the shorts. Richard, her six-year-old, unlatched himself from his seatbelt and lunged forward, whining in her ear. His movements woke the baby, who squalled from his rear-facing car seat. If it had been anyone but Kayla, Cassidy would have felt sorry for her.
“What kind of way is that to greet family?” Kayla said. “Not even a Hi, how are you?”
Cassidy gave her a wave.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Kayla said, clearly pretending she didn’t notice that Cassidy hadn’t said anything. “Just so excited to know we’ll all be going to Disney World together over Thanksgiving break. I’m thinking we can get a family rate on the fast pass option. Or maybe we should get a dining plan? Mary Ellen Weisbacher said we should do a dining plan and she’s been there four times already. We don’t have to go for the deluxe but with the kids, we’d at least want two full meals and a snack, right? And the magic wristbands.”
Cassidy’s smile slipped a little. “What are you talking about?”
Kayla glanced up at her, all pink frosted lipstick, winged eyeliner and four inches of cleavage. “Didn’t Parker tell you? We’re all going—me, Todd, the kids, my folks. Lexie will have her whole family with her, the way it should be. Isn’t that exciting?”
In the autumn heat with the smothering fumes of car exhaust shimmying up her legs and making her hotter, Cassidy had a terrible sense that she’d been played. Lexie would never understand why they weren’t accepting an invitation to Disney World. She’d probably even hate her for it. Parker would say he’d been operating in good faith by including Lexie and her, but she’d refused.
Cassidy felt her knees go shaky. So Kayla and Parker had her cornered and were prepared to use her own daughter as bait and weapon. After ten years of scraping by on fast food wages and no child support, of having zero money for a car or even a cell phone, Cassidy was about to lose this fight and Parker was going to win.
He’s here because Mason’s here, her mother had told her.
“I never told Parker we’d go,” she said to Kayla. “I never promised to do anything more than think about it.”
“Richard! Unhook your brother and pass him up here,” Kayla yelled behind her. She turned back to Cassidy with that same smile on her face, the one that said how unconcerned she was about anything Cassidy had to say on the subject. “Of course you’re going. Nobody passes up a free trip to Disney World. Besides, think of the fun Lexie will miss if she doesn’t go.”
And Kayla would make sure Lexie knew about the trip. Cassidy wanted to kill her. She wanted to grab Lexie and run away from Cuervo before the rest of this nightmare had a chance to unfold. If the court system didn’t get her, then the court of public opinion would. You know that good-looking Nolen boy tries so hard to do the right thing by his daughter…
“Welcome to Artie’s, have you given the server your drink order yet?” Darlene said through the speaker menu.
Kayla had the baby on her lap now, which her toddler didn’t like because he started whining about wanting to be up front, too. Richard had already climbed over the seat and was pulling at her to buy him a milkshake.
“Richard Curtis Merriwether, you’ll spoil your supper,” she snapped at him. But to Cassidy she said, “Two milkshakes and a diet Coke.”
“What size milkshake, ma’am?” Darlene said through the speaker. “And what size diet Coke?”
“Get a large,” Richard urged.
“Milkshake!” the toddler screamed with glee, which set the baby wailing again, and now Cassidy had another reason to want to get as far away as she could.
Richard turned the radio on. Christian rock blasted out of the windows. Cassidy heard Kayla yelling at him as she herself skated away and a feeling of fierce satisfaction spiked through her. Kayla deserved it. Kayla deserved every poopy diaper, every ruined meal, every sleepless night. Kayla didn’t need to be brought down a peg—she needed to be brought down an entire row of them, all the sharp pointy ones.
“Okay, what the actual hell,” Darlene said when Cassidy coasted inside to put together a drink tray. “Has that woman lost her mind?”
“You heard her, right?” Cassidy retrieved a tub of Blue Bell vanilla bean ice cream and a carton of whole milk from the freezer and then set them on the counter a little too forcefully. She glanced up to see if Artie noticed, but Artie was busy grilling and listening to sports radio.
“I heard the whole thing,” Darlene said, opening the top of the blender and sniffing inside. “She actually expects you to be grateful. Hey, do you want me to spit in her Coke?”
“Gross. Besides, she’d never know you did, and the only fun is actually seeing her suffer.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Cassidy ran the metal scooper under hot water and then dug it into the pale yellow ice cream. What she wanted to do was call Mason and complain about it, but how would he understand what it was like to suffer through ten years of neglect as a single mother? The senior prom she didn’t go to because Lexie had croup, the graduation ceremony she threw up before because all those people were going to be watching her and she knew exactly what they were thinking: Do you think she’s already pregnant again?
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.” Cassidy watched Darlene pinch open the milk carton and glug milk into the blender, “But I’m not going down without a fight.”
As though on cue, Kayla’s Texas twang came over the speaker. Darlene repeated her order over the in-store mic. Cassidy poured the milkshakes and the soda, placed them on the tray and skated outside. The kids had stopped screaming and were riveted to the flip down TV screen inside the car. Kayla stood on the concrete patio with the baby on her hip.
“Boy, you really get around on those things, don’t you?” Kayla said. “I have to work to stay in shape. Maybe I should try skating.”
Kayla had a terrific figure and she knew it. Any excuse to call attention to her boobs and tiny waist. Cassidy set the diet Coke on the patio table and glided over to the boys. They barely looked up when she handed them their milkshakes.
“Parker thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous, you know,” Kayla said. “He always told everyone you were way too pretty to waste on Cuervo.”
“Parker can be very charming when he wants to be,” Cassidy said stiffly.
“Don’t you get it?” Kayla put one hand on Cassidy’s arm, which made her flinch. “We could all be happy if you’d only give this a chance. Parker really wants to make up for not being there for you and Lexie.”
She looked so earnest and pretty, a picture postcard of young Christian motherhood with her rhinestone cross earrings and the smattering of freckles across her chest. Cassidy could see the effort Kayla was making. But something told her that Kayla couldn’t be trusted, not even with this.
“I appreciate your concern,” Cassidy said. “But I haven’t made up my mind about Disney World. I can’t promise anything more than that.”
“It’s because of Mason, isn’t it?” Kayla asked suddenly. “Are you waiting to see if he makes plans with you? Between us girls, that could be a mighty long wait.”
Cassidy went very still. “You don’t know the first thing about me or Mason.”
“I think I do,” Kayla replied. “Or did you forget about senior prom?” She shifted the baby higher on her hip. “I can’t believe you’re taking his attention seriously, Cassidy.” Her green eyes were fixed on her in a way that Cassidy found unsettling. “Mason is the most famous quarterback in the NFL, and you’re just some girl from Cuervo who managed to get knocked up in the back of my brother’s car.”
As soon as she said the words, Kayla slapped one hand over her mouth as though she wanted to take them back again.
Cassidy knew that any normal person would be boiling with rage. Any normal person would have had to use every ounce of self-control to keep from smacking Kayla over the head with the tray.
But not her.
An eerie calm came over Cassidy. Kayla had finally told the truth. Her truth. Nothing Cassidy did or said would ever change her mind about it. No matter what happened, Kayla would always see her as trash, as less.
Cassidy tucked the tray under one arm. “I know Mason dumped you after prom, Kayla. If he dumps me, that’ll make two of us. But the difference is, I really love Mason. The only person you ever loved was yourself.”