Chapter 25

Marabelle showed up at school Monday morning only to find out she shouldn’t have bothered.

She was out of a job.

Mrs. Crow had called Marabelle into her office to inform her that Mrs. Harris would be returning from maternity leave, and they no longer needed a teacher’s assistant, but she’d appreciate it if Marabelle would finish out the week, concluding with the gala and auction. Then she proceeded to congratulate Marabelle on her new job.

Marabelle didn’t even question how she knew about Birmingham. She didn’t care enough. She didn’t care about anything anymore. She spent all her energy working on last-minute details for the upcoming tournaments. She had an obligation to the people who were coming out to support her and Trinity Academy, and she did have some pride left. Besides, if she worked long and hard enough, she might squash all feelings until she was completely deadened, and then maybe, just maybe, she could make it through the day without curling into the fetal position and crying her eyes out.

After Nick had left Saturday night, she’d cried buckets. As for her broken heart, she chose not to deal with it. She stayed busy to keep from thinking. Period.

And yet, news had traveled fast. This time she almost smashed her new cell phone on purpose, because she received frantic calls from her mother, Phoebe, Beau, Paula, Elizabeth Prichard, her mother three more times, and even her dad. So much for no more tears. She had no strength to deal with the accusations and disbelief slung her way from friends and family. Nor did she have the energy to field all their questions. She did the most mature thing she could think of: she turned off her phone.

Shock and numbness had set in.

If she could survive this week, then…she hadn’t a clue. But she knew one thing: she was out of here. Not sure where, but she’d come up with something.

Marabelle pulled her car into her driveway that afternoon, and Beau stood on her front porch with his arms crossed, wearing a scowl. Marabelle couldn’t believe his nerve. With friends like him, she didn’t need enemies. Marabelle shot him the evil stare as she dragged herself out of her car, pulling the cardboard box of supplies from the backseat.

“Why haven’t you returned my calls or answered my texts? I’ve been worried sick,” Beau said.

“Do I really need to explain it to you?” she said as she stomped up the steps. He unfolded his arms and plucked the box out of her hands.

“You look like hell. And I don’t mean the ugly sweater you have on. Your eyes are all puffy, and you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

She pushed open her front door. “Thanks for the news flash. If you’re done insulting me, you can leave.” She dumped her keys on the table by the door and flopped down on the sofa.

“Get changed. I’m taking you out to eat,” he said, dropping the box on her coffee table.

“I’m not in the mood for food or you. Why are you here? If you’re snooping for more dirt to screw me with, I’m all tapped out.”

His voice lowered. “Come on, Mary-bell, we need to talk. I’m really sorry, okay? I thought I was helping. I never meant to hurt you. If it makes you feel any better, everyone is having a crappy week.” He eased down next to her on the sofa.

“Did everyone lose a job this week?” she asked with heavy sarcasm, picking at the loose threads on her ugly sweater.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just forget it. No one knows yet, and I want to keep it that way.” She gave him a stern look. “That means keeping your loose lips zipped, got it?”

Beau nodded, wearing a grim expression. “Aw, Mary-bell. I don’t know what to say.” He pointed to the box. “Cleaned out your desk?”

She jumped up from her seat and grabbed the remote, pointing it at the TV and punching buttons, trying to drown him out. Beau plucked the remote from her hand and pushed the Off button. He gathered her in his arms.

“Come out with me tonight. Let me make it up to you,” he said, rubbing her back. “Somewhere quiet so we can talk. Maybe it will help.”

Unwanted emotions started to bubble to the surface. She didn’t want to cry anymore. And she didn’t want to rehash the scene with Nick…ever. But she also didn’t want to be alone at her self-loathing party one more night. She sniffed back tears as she leaned against Beau and took what little comfort she could find in his arms.

“Okay. Let me change.”

* * *

Beau created his third fajita while Marabelle picked at the burrito on her plate at Taco Town, a dive that offered authentic Mexican food, really cold beers, and really dark atmosphere, which added to her anonymity. Maybe talking about the breakup would be therapeutic. It couldn’t hurt. She didn’t think she could feel much worse.

Marabelle pushed the refried beans around on her plate. “What I tried to do was wrong. I knew it before I even returned home. But then Nick and I fought and said some pretty awful things to each other.” She moved her plate of uneaten food to the side. “It’s for the best. It was never meant to be in the first place.”

Beau refreshed their margaritas from the pitcher on the table. “I’m sorry again. I didn’t know he’d lose his shit with you. This whole thing sucks, but I think you’re doing the right thing by finishing up the gala and auction. Maybe the auction will be so successful, you’ll get your job back.”

She sniffed. “Yeah, right. I could secure a million-dollar donor, and I wouldn’t get my job back. I’m not even sure I want it back.” She paused. Did those words just tumble from her tongue? Everything had been about job security and making her own living. She did have bills to pay, and her bank account was anemic. But it had also been about not caving to her mom’s dictates and standing on her own. For some reason, all that didn’t seem important. A few months ago, that wouldn’t have been the case, but things were different now. Marabelle was stronger, more confident, and she would find another coaching or teaching job. One that paid more and where her efforts were appreciated.

Marabelle straightened her shoulders. “I’ll finish up with the tournaments, but I’m not going anywhere near the gala.”

Beau looked up from the packed fajita he’d just assembled. “I understand how you feel, but it’s important you be there—”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Let me finish. Ty, Rocker, and Ricky will support you the entire evening. Come as my date, and we’ll make sure your auction is a huge success,” he pressed.

“I can’t. Nick will be there. I’m not that strong…yet.” Her voice wavered. Maybe never.

“Four NFL players will be holding you up. You’ll be great. Come on.”

She didn’t need another venue for her heart to break again. What if she couldn’t hold it together and broke down crying? In front of everyone? In front of Nick? She twisted her napkin in a knot as she re-created various humiliating scenarios in her head.

She’d lost the love of her life.

She’d taken a gamble and blown it. At least she’d played the match. What was one more night? The damage was done.

Beau smiled as if her thoughts flashed on a jumbotron above her head. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

She heaved a huge sigh. “I already do.”

* * *

Later, after dropping Marabelle home, Beau thought it would be a good time to pay Ginger Jones a visit. As Marabelle had spilled her guts at dinner, something about her story struck him as odd. The timing felt forced. Orchestrated. Suddenly a job appeared out of nowhere in Birmingham and ultimately led to getting Marabelle fired. Who else knew she had an interview besides Paula and him? Obviously, little Mary-bell had made herself a few enemies. He’d felt guilty about his role in the whole debacle. Watching Marabelle beat herself up pierced him in the heart. He had to come up with a plan. He had to fix this.

Coach and Mary-bell had to get back together. Because they belonged together, and because he didn’t know how much longer anyone could take Coach’s nasty-ass mood. This needed resolving before training camp officially started, or the whole team was gonna be effin’ miserable.

* * *

Ginger opened her door wearing a long, silky peach robe and most likely nothing underneath.

“I was surprised to get your call,” she purred. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.” She opened the door wider, inviting him inside.

“Right. It’s been much too long.” He pulled her into his embrace, giving her a slow, leisurely kiss, rubbing his hands up and down her back. Yup. Nothing underneath.

“Got any beer?” he asked.

Disappointment flashed across her face. “Sure.”

He drank his beer while Ginger sipped some nasty green tea as they sat around the pedestal table in her breakfast room. They chatted about nothing in particular, when he finally broke the ice.

“You planning on attending the tournaments and gala at Trinity Academy this weekend? A bunch of us are going up on the auction block. Maybe you could put in a bid.” He winked.

She swirled the tea in her cup. “I’ve seen your posters all over town. I just listed a house with one of the head coordinators of the gala. She says the auction is going to be fabulous.”

“Yeah, all for a good cause.”

She chuckled, leaning forward to fiddle with a bowl of lemons decorating the center of the table. “Good thing everything is set to go, because I understand Marabelle Fairchild has been fired, and she was in charge of the auction.”

Bingo. Just as he’d suspected. As her robe slipped, Ginger revealed more than her fake tits. And Beau appreciated the information as well as the view. How had she known Marabelle had gotten fired? This had the makings of a fake play written all over it, and he hated fake plays unless he was the one pulling it off.

Beau stretched his legs and leaned back in his chair. “Well, now, that’s awful. She put together the entire event. How’d you hear she got fired?” He gave an easy smile, sliding his gaze up her legs and over her breasts.

She tightened the knot on her belt. “Well, like I said, I know people who are involved.”

I’m sure you do. “Yeah, it’s too bad for cute little Mary-bell.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you hear she and Coach broke up?”

Ginger bolted upright, sloshing tea onto the table. “Uh, no. When did that happen? Nick and I haven’t…you know, recently,” she added, blotting the spilled tea with a napkin.

“Just happened. He’s been biting everyone’s head off since Monday. Must’ve been bad.” Beau shook his head. “Damn, poor Marabelle…loses her job and her fiancé in one week. That’s gotta suck.”

Ginger’s chin tightened. “She’s young. She’ll bounce back. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets another job offer right away. I understand she’s an excellent teacher.” Placing her teacup in the sink, she said, “And we all know Nick will be fine. He never took their silly engagement seriously.”

Obviously, you didn’t see the rock on her finger. “Maybe you’re right. So, you gonna bid on me?”

She had her back to the countertop, posing with one long leg slightly bent, exposed almost to the top of her hip through the silk of her robe. “Mmm. I don’t know. Depends on what you’re offering.”

He moved in front of her, skimming her body, placing his hands on either side of her face. “Let me see if I can convince you,” he murmured against her lips.

* * *

“Did you hear that Marabelle was fired?”

Nick groaned, regretting opening the door to his sister. He wished everyone, including Elizabeth, John, and the whole team would get off his back. His mood had gone from bad to down the shitter ever since Saturday night. He’d just as soon forget the whole damn thing. But everywhere he went, someone gave him a rash of shit or ripped him a new one, while singing Marabelle’s praises. He could’ve sworn the lady behind the deli counter at the Harris Teeter had given him a look of disgust. The whole town had painted him as the bad guy, and not one person had asked for his side of the story. Elizabeth Prichard even went so far as to threaten his family jewels if he didn’t make up with Marabelle immediately.

As if he had a choice!

She was the one who’d lied, run away, kept important information from him, and then had given his ring back. She had no faith. In him or in their relationship. Marabelle wasn’t tough. She was complete and total chickenshit.

And she’d never even told him she loved him.

That hurt most of all.

He’d bared his soul to her and she hadn’t reciprocated.

Screw it. He was done begging. There were plenty of fish in the sea. Not that he wanted any of them, but it felt better just to know they were out there swimming.

Natalie pushed her way into his great room. “I found out today at school. I can’t believe it. She’s wonderful with those kids. Something’s going on, and I don’t like it.” She plopped her large handbag down on the pool table and stared at him.

“You look like death.” She studied him.

“Thanks. Why don’t you make yourself at home?” he said, making a production of removing her bag before she ruined the felt on his table.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Drop it.” He grabbed her upper arm and propelled her farther into the room. “What exactly do you want from me?” He shoved a pillow onto the floor and pointed at the sofa. “Sit.”

Natalie watched him with a concerned expression etched on her face as she gracefully eased down onto the cushions. Nick dropped down beside her and waited.

“I want you to get back together with Marabelle, and I want you to get her job back. I don’t care which you do first. Just do something.” Her voice grew louder and more anxious as she spoke. He would’ve been amused at his sister’s sudden staunch support of Marabelle if he weren’t so damn pissed. Only a week and a half ago, Natalie sat in his kitchen, accusing Marabelle. He shook his head as his shoulders slumped. It felt like ten years.

“Look, Nat, I’m not the issue here. She broke off the engagement. For all I know, she probably beat up a parent or something, and that’s what got her fired.”

“That’s absurd!”

“You don’t know Marabelle,” he mumbled as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Natalie poked him in the ribs with a pointed, manicured nail. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s adorable and she’s a wonderful teacher and you love her.” He opened one eye and peered at her. “Don’t get all supercilious with me, Nicholas,” she snapped. Another nail poke. “I know you love her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? How?”

“Because I’ve never seen you like this after any of the thousand breakups you’ve had in the past. You certainly weren’t this upset after that heinous bitch Lola ran off with the other quarterback. But with Marabelle, you’re…a wreck.”

Just the kind of stupid crap he didn’t want to hear. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone so he could move on and forget Marabelle? Forget her curly hair and luscious body and eyes the color of Hershey’s Kisses. Forget her sassy, sensual mouth, the sound of her laughter. Forget how she slept sprawled on top of him, and the soft sighs she made. And God knows he’d like to forget the way she felt when he was inside her. Every time, it took his breath away.

He didn’t want to remember her fierce competitiveness and the way she trash-talked as if she could back it up. He sure didn’t want to remember her delicious meals and how she made his house feel like a home.

Nick missed talking to her. He missed arguing with her. He missed being with her.

Nick jumped up from the sofa and moved to stand in front of the French doors overlooking the front yard. If everyone would leave him alone, he could go about shoving the memories away in the far corners of his mind. He raked his fingers through his hair and told the biggest lie ever. “It was just a fling…nothing more. Let’s forget the whole thing.”

“Ha! That’s why you flew home to tell Mom and Dad…about a fling?”

He whipped around and roared, “Goddammit! Just drop it! You’re one to talk. Go work on your own failed marriage.” Nick cringed at the color leaking from Natalie’s face.

“Nat, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He dropped his head and stared at the fibers in the carpet. “Seems I’m saying a lot of things I don’t mean these days.”

She gave a heavy sigh and said, “You’re right, but take it from me. Don’t throw someone away because of your pride. I should know. If you love her, then she’s worth fighting for.” Natalie kissed Nick on the cheek, retrieved her handbag, and secured it over her shoulder. “Think about it. But not too long. I’ll see you at the gala.” She kissed his cheek again and left.

Nick felt particularly pathetic later that evening as he sat on his patio, wallowing in scotch on the rocks…alone. Natalie’s visit made him think, but the bruises from Marabelle’s betrayal were too fresh for him to make the first move.

Cursing, he thought of his upcoming meeting with Marty Hackman on Monday morning, and how his breakup would impact his career. It wasn’t enough he had problems with a young, inexperienced team that needed to win a championship. He should be focusing on football. Not bachelor auctions and engagements to inexperienced schoolteachers and their insecure hang-ups. He hoped and prayed Marty would understand and let him get back to what he did best…nothing but football. Then maybe the stabbing, debilitating pain in his gut would recede.

Nick’s cell rang. Not recognizing the number but fearing it might be a call about the draft, he answered. “Hello?”

“Nicky, honey, it’s Ginger. I’ve been concerned about you. Are you okay?”

He stretched out on his chaise, cradling the phone on his shoulder. “Great. What’s up?” he said with no enthusiasm.

“Glad to hear it. Well, I’ve been talked into attending the gala this weekend, and I need a doubles partner for the tennis tournament. What do you say? For old times’ sake?” Ginger wheedled.

What the hell? He had to attend, might as well make the most of it. “Sure. Sign us up as a team.”

“Wonderful. I hope all those lessons I’ve been taking make a difference.”

He smiled. Finally a conversation that didn’t involve Marabelle. “You’ll make a great doubles partner.” And before he thought about it or could stop himself, the next words slipped from his mouth. “Would you like to attend the gala with me?”

“Yes! But I don’t want to keep you from your responsibilities as the main sponsor.”

He gazed up at the dark, starless sky. “It’s not a big deal. As long as I show up, shake hands, and sign autographs.” Already he regretted his rash invitation. “It’ll probably be a big bore. If you’d rather not—”

“I’d love to!” she said.

He hesitated, then said, “Okay. I guess it’s settled. Pick you up Saturday morning around nine so we can warm up.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she purred.