CHAPTER FOUR
Wyatt looked across the sea of microphones and reporters, his heart beating frantically in his chest. Were his armpits sweating? Thank heaven his suit coat would hide it. He could barely remember what questions he’d answered over the past hour. Hopefully he hadn’t sounded like too big of an idiot. Bobby hadn’t sent any warning glares his way, which had to be a good sign.
“That’s all the questions we have time for today,” the team’s press liaison said into the microphones. “Thank you for coming.”
He’d survived. Wyatt rose and followed the others off the platform as the reporters shouted a few last questions at their retreating figures. Fans stood behind a barricade, waving signs and screaming his name. If word got out that Drew blamed Wyatt for his injury, they’d be screaming something much angrier. Drew was one of the best quarterbacks in the league, and because of that injury he’d spend half of the upcoming season on the bench.
A security guard made his way through the screaming fans, cutting a path to the limo. A tanned blonde showing too much skin thrust a pen at Wyatt.
“Sign my shirt,” she begged, pointing to her chest.
Wyatt was sure his ears were bright red. His little sister, Natalie, would be doubled over from laughter if she were here.
He took the pen from the woman, careful not to let his hand touch hers, and signed her white tank on the shoulder. He handed the pen back to the woman, and she clutched at it hungrily.
Did Tamera have to deal with this when she went out in public? The thought blinked into his mind like a neon sign and wouldn’t leave. Wyatt wasn’t much for reality TV, but he knew that popular shows, like Eye in the Sky, had robust fan bases. It wasn’t hard to imagine muscled men vying for Tamera’s attention. Her electric smile and petite figure, with curves in all the right places, were practically magnets.
Wyatt followed closely behind the security guard, but only made it a few more feet before the bright eyes of a young boy caught his attention. The boy held out a football, waving it wildly back and forth. Wyatt couldn’t resist that kind of plea. He crouched down near the child, who was perhaps five or six, and took the offered football and pen.
“What’s your name?” he asked the kid.
The boy bounced up and down, grinning from ear to ear. His mother’s hand landed on his shoulder in a vain attempt to calm him down.
“James,” the boy said. “My daddy named me after you!”
Wyatt paused, then quickly finished signing the football as emotion clogged his throat.
“That’s a good name,” he said, handing the football back.
“Can we get a picture?” the mom ventured.
“Of course.” Wyatt posed for the photo, then gave the boy a wave and moved on.
Maybe his career hadn’t taken the trajectory he wanted, but fans weren’t to blame. He’d put his best foot forward while playing for the Coyotes, and make the best of a crummy situation. Maybe Bobby was right, and the new players and coach would finally turn the team around.
For the next half hour, Wyatt signed anything thrust toward him and smiled for photos until his cheeks ached. A security guard held the door to the limousine open, waiting for Wyatt to climb inside.
“We love you!” someone yelled from the back of the crowd.
Wyatt raised his hand in a wave and gave his biggest smile. “Go Coyotes!”
A cheer rippled through the crowd. Wyatt gave one last wave, then climbed into the limo and let the door shut behind him.
Blessed peace. Wyatt let his smile drop and slumped against the rich leather seats. He’d never realized how much he craved time alone with his own thoughts until silence was a rarity.
“Great job,” Bobby said from the other side of the car. Sunlight glinted off his bald head and highlighted the fine wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth. He didn’t look up from his tablet, which he furiously typed into. “Everyone’s confused by the trade, but overall the early press numbers are favorable—except from Texas, of course. San Antonio isn’t pleased you’ve left their fair city.”
Wyatt wasn’t exactly pleased himself. “I didn’t act nervous?”
Bobby glanced up for a fraction of a second. “Fans are used to you being a little stiff off the field. It was fine.”
Fine—not great. Wyatt mentally shrugged it off. He was paid to play football, not to act. “Guess that’s all I can ask for.”
“You’re doing great, kid.” Bobby dropped his tablet onto the seat beside him. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but the new players they drafted look promising. You might still get a championship ring.”
Wyatt barely held back a snort. If that happened, it’d be a comeback story right out of the movies.
“Loosen up,” Bobby said. “The Coyotes are paying you a lot of money to be here. Act happy about it at dinner.”
“Better playing for the Coyotes than not at all, right?”
“That’s the spirit.”
Wyatt stretched his legs, then grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. The adrenaline of the crowds was wearing off, and he felt a little shaky. “Are we headed to dinner now?”
“Yes, at Mr. Ryder’s penthouse.”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “Not a restaurant?”
“Nope.”
Okay then.
The limo fought through the snarling Los Angeles traffic as Wyatt tried to stop replaying every interaction he’d had tonight with a fan. Had he seemed happy enough? Accessible enough? Excited enough? Lately, it seemed like whatever he did, it was never enough. Becky had certainly felt that way. Why else would she have dumped him for a tool like Drew?
Natalie would tell him if he’d looked like a dork in the press conference. Wyatt could always count on his sister to be honest.
“Stop thinking,” Bobby commanded without looking up from his tablet.
Wyatt startled, but didn’t comment. Somehow Bobby always knew when Wyatt was too much in his own head. So he closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.
By the time the limo pulled up in front of the glass-fronted high-rise, he’d decompressed from the crowds of the press conference and was ready to put on his game face and officially mee the owner and coach. They’d been at the press conference, of course, but Wyatt had barely had time to exchange a handshake before the questions started.
The doorman verified their credentials, then led them into an elevator. The attendant inserted a key and selected the penthouse. Wyatt swallowed, trying not to fidget uncomfortably as soft jazz music played in the background.
The elevator pinged open, and Wyatt and Bobby stepped into a ten-by-ten entryway with twelve-foot high ceilings. White marble flooring sparkled under the chrome and glass chandelier above them.
“Welcome. Mr. Ryder has been alerted to your arrival.”
Wyatt didn’t jump at the cool feminine voice that surrounded them from all sides, unsurprised by its presence. Of course Luke would have Talia, the home automation system that had made him a billionaire, in his own home.
Bobby stared at the glass-fronted double doors. “Do we knock?”
Wyatt shrugged. Before he could speak, the doors swung open.
A woman stood before them in stockinged feet and a pencil skirt. Her chestnut-colored hair with golden highlights hung around her shoulders, and her stomach held the slightest roundness underneath her silk blouse. When she smiled, her entire face lightened.
“Wyatt,” Brooke said, pulling the door open wider and standing aside. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“Thank you for inviting us.” He stepped inside and motioned to Bobby. “You remember my agent?”
“Of course.” Brooke held out a hand, and Wyatt realized that Bobby and Brooke were nearly the same height. “It’s so nice to see you both again.”
She motioned for them to follow her, and Wyatt stared in awe as they made their way through the house. Everything screamed wealth, from the ten-foot tall heavy wood doors in a bright white to the plush gray carpet.
“Luke had to take a phone call, but he’ll be out any minute now,” Brooke said over her shoulder. “I’ve got Bryan in the kitchen stirring the sauce.”
Bryan . . . Bryan . . . Wyatt almost laughed when he realized she was referring to Coach McKinley. He’d watched the coach, both on television and at games, and couldn’t imagine him as anything but fierce. He wondered what had made McKinley join the Coyotes. Blackmail, same as Wyatt?
“You’ve got a beautiful home.” Wyatt fought the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his slacks. Why couldn’t he be cool in social situations?
“Thanks,” Brooke said. “I’m excited for the new house, but it’ll be hard to leave this one.”
“Oh, you’re moving?”
“Yeah, construction should finish in another few months. We want our kids to grow up with lots of space to run and play.”
Brooke stepped off the plush carpet of the living room and onto weathered gray barn wood. The kitchen was wide and open, with tall cabinets and lots of counter space. Wyatt barely held back a laugh when his eyes landed on McKinley. Coach had a lavender apron tied around his waist, and the ruffles at the bottom barely brushed the tops of his thighs.
Brooke smiled at McKinley. “Thank you, Bryan. I can take it from here.”
“Sure I can’t help you with anything else?” McKinley asked, handing the metal whisk over to Brooke.
“I’ve got it. You boys go socialize.” She made a shooing motion. “Dinner’s almost finished anyway.”
Coach McKinley turned toward Wyatt, arms folded across his broad chest. He had to be close to six and a half feet tall, and his shoulders were as broad as any linebacker’s.
Wyatt took a step forward and extended his hand. He cleared his throat, trying to project an outward calm. “Coach McKinley. It’s an honor to officially meet you, sir.”
McKinley took Wyatt’s hand and pumped it up and down, his grip strong. “We’re excited to have you join the Coyotes.”
“I’m thrilled to be here.”
“It’s a new era for the team,” McKinley said confidently. “We’ll get you that ring before retirement, don’t you worry.”
Wyatt coughed in surprise. McKinley folded his arms again and kept his gaze steady.
“You’ll love the guys on the team,” Brooke broke in. “Bryan was kind enough to introduce us to everyone about a month ago.”
Wyatt smiled blandly. Of course the guys were on their best behavior around the new owner and his wife. What happened in the locker room would give Wyatt a true feel for his new teammates. At least this time, one very important detail would be different—Wyatt wouldn’t have a girlfriend for the quarterback to steal.
“The rolls have now achieve their optimal internal temperature,” Talia said, her cool voice echoing throughout the kitchen. “Please remove them from the oven.”
“I didn’t expect to be treated to a home cooked meal tonight.” Bobby rubbed his hands together. “It smells delicious.”
“Thanks. I try and keep things as normal as possible at home.” Brooke set the rolls on top of the counter, then returned to briskly stirring whatever was in the pan on the stove.
“Are you sure we can’t help with anything?” Wyatt asked.
She flashed him a smile. “It’s sweet of you to offer, but I think I’ve got it. As soon as Luke is here, I’ll have him pull the chicken cordon bleu and au gratin potatoes out of the oven.”
Wyatt’s mouth watered as the yeasty scent of the rolls filled the kitchen. He hadn’t had a home cooked meal since visiting his family over Christmas. In San Antonio, a nutritionist provided all his meals—part of his contract with the Vigilantes—but she’d never provided anything particularly tasty. Hopefully his nutritionist here would be more concerned with taste.
“Are you trying to slow Wyatt here down in the games?” McKinley asked, but his tone was light.
Brooke laughed. “One good meal won’t kill either of you. Tomorrow you can go back to counting macros or whatever it is you guys do.”
McKinley held up two fingers. “Two rolls, James. Fill up on the protein.”
Wyatt nodded. “You’ve got it, Coach.”
Brooke pulled the hot rolls off the pan and dropped them into a basket. Luke appeared in the kitchen then. He’d discarded his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his light green button-down shirt.
“Sorry about that,” he said, extending a hand to both Wyatt and Bobby. “Welcome to our home. We’re so glad you could come.”
“It’s an honor, Mr. Ryder,” Wyatt said, shaking his hand.
“Please, call me Luke.” He clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “I’m so excited to have you here.”
“I’m excited to be here,” Wyatt lied. Something in the tone of Luke’s voice made him nervous.
Luke dropped a hand to Brooke’s back and leaned down, kissing her neck. She smiled, her shoulders hunching forward as though hiding a shiver. Wyatt looked away, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment. What would it be like to have such an obviously loving relationship?
You’re staying single, he reminded himself. He wasn’t going to let a woman ruin his career anymore than one already had.
Soon they were all sitting at the dining room table, plates piled high with the delicious scents. Wyatt took a bite of his chicken, lightly covered in the sauce Brooke had been stirring, and barely held back a groan.
“This is fantastic,” he said.
Brooke’s cheeks pinked and she smiled. “Thank you. My job doesn’t leave a lot of time to cook, but I enjoy it when I can.”
That’s right. Brooke was a matchmaker at Toujour. She’d matched Tamera up with Luke. Luke, the new owner of the Coyotes. Tamera, the girl Wyatt couldn’t seem to get out of his head. He was dying to ask about Tamera, but that would seem beyond weird.
“This really is a treat,” McKinley agreed. Wyatt noticed that while he was only allowed two rolls, the coach had snagged three for himself.
“So, Wyatt,” Luke broke in. “Did you sell your home in San Antonio? You mentioned it was on the market last time we spoke.”
“I did.” He’d signed the papers the day he met Tamera, in fact, which was why he’d spent the night at a hotel. Letting the home go wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be. It felt good to rid himself of the bad Becky memories there. “I’ve already got a real estate agent lined up to help me look for a new place here.”
“Good. We hope you’ll be in California for a long time.” Luke grabbed a roll and buttered it. “Did you know my dad always wanted to buy the team?”
Wyatt wiped at his mouth with a napkin. Luke’s father had founded Ryder Communications and made it a household name before succumbing to lung cancer a few years earlier. “I knew he bought the Lakers, but didn’t realize he liked football, too.”
“Even more than basketball probably.”
Brooke reached across the table and grasped Luke’s hand, giving him a smile so full of love it made Wyatt’s insides ache. “Luke was so excited when the chance to buy the team came up.”
Wyatt nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say. Where was this going?
“It’s not exactly a secret that the Coyotes have struggled the past few years,” Luke continued.
“Not anymore.” McKinley brushed roll crumbs off his graying mustache. “We’ve got some good new recruits, and Schroeder’s a decent enough quarterback when his ego doesn’t get in the way. You’re joining a brand new team, Wyatt.”
“One that’s going to win the championship,” Luke cut in. “Ticket sales have suffered the last few years because the team hasn’t performed well. And because there aren’t fans cheering them on from the stands, the team’s morale suffers and they play even poorer.”
“It’s a vicious cycle,” McKinley agreed. “A stadium’s energy can make or break a game.”
“Which means it’s time to rally fan support.” Luke leveled a gaze at Wyatt. “You’re the start of that.”
Wyatt’s stomach felt like a football had just been inflated inside it. The food soured in his mouth, and he set down his fork. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You’re new blood,” Luke said. “The fans have already lost faith in most of our existing players, and the new recruits don’t have any public support yet. But when news broke of your trade, the internet practically danced.”
Wyatt tried not to let his panic show. He didn’t want attention. He wanted to lay low.
Luke leaned forward, staring at Wyatt across the table. “The press conference today has already gotten a really positive response. We want to capitalize on that by running a few different television commercials and print ads. Really get people excited to see you play this season. The PR department thinks it’ll drive ticket sales.”
It was a good thing Wyatt didn’t have food in his mouth right then, because he would’ve choked. “You want me to do a TV commercial?”
Bobby shot Wyatt a warning look. “This is great news. Wyatt’s an excellent choice.”
Of course Bobby was happy about this. Per Wyatt’s contract with the Coyotes, the additional promotion would pad his paycheck nicely—and, by extension, Bobby’s.
“I’m not exactly great in front of the camera,” Wyatt admitted. He knew the excuse was lame even as it left his mouth. He’d seen himself in interviews, and stiff was a nice way of putting things. The effortless way Tamera had handled the camera on Eye in the Sky was an impossibility for someone like him.
Luke waved a hand dismissively. “We can work with that.”
Wyatt doubted very much an acting coach—even one as talented as good as Tamera—would help. But only an idiot would refuse a direct request from the team owner. So Wyatt forced himself to speak through his tight throat.
“Okay then. I’m in.”