Fireside (23 page)

As she often had since meeting AJ, she wondered about his mother. Yolanda Martinez. Judging by AJ’s looks—creamy skin, deeply expressive brown eyes, a thoughtful mouth and rare, heart-melting smile—Yolanda was probably beautiful. And judging by AJ’s devotion to her, she was a good mother. Yet she’d never let Bo see his son. Bo was her last resort.

“You look as if you’re about to ask me a hard question,” he commented, correctly reading her expression.

“I don’t know if it’s a question or not,” she said. “Just wondering about AJ’s mom.”

“Wondering why she didn’t want me involved in AJ’s life, you mean. She married somebody else when AJ was a baby, didn’t want him to get confused.” Bo didn’t seem self-conscious about letting Kim see the world of hurt in his face. “Guess she didn’t realize, a kid is
never
confused about stuff like this.” He glanced at his watch. “This is the longest damn school day in the history of the world. Whose idea was that to make the school day so damn long?”

“I just hope he’s having a good time,” she said.

“It’s school,” he replied. “How good can it be?”

“You could call the main office and ask,” she suggested.

“I thought about doing that,” Bo said, “but he’s so touchy about me right now, I don’t want to push it. Maybe later.”

“The first day of school is scary no matter what,” she said. “I don’t know if there’s any way to make it easier.”

“And here I am making it harder on the kid,” he said.

“Because you’re going away to fame school.” She could tell it was weighing on him.

“I’m contractually obligated to go. Now, I could blow it off, stay here with AJ and hope for the best, but according to my agent, that’s a huge risk. If I go, if I make it in this career, it could make a huge difference not just in my life, but in AJ’s. His mother wouldn’t have to work all the time. He could live in a house, go to college. Anyway, it’s only temporary. Dino’s going to take care of AJ while I’m gone. He says he wants to do it.”

Kim hesitated. She could tell Bo was trying hard to sell himself on the idea. She could only imagine what it had been like for him, to discover in the middle of his big career break that he was responsible for a child. “In this house, he’ll get plenty of backup support,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

“That’s real nice of you to say. Funny thing about AJ. He tends to bring out the ‘nice’ in everybody.”

“I’ve noticed. He’s a special boy.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of him, though I can’t take any credit.”

Kim’s computer signaled an incoming e-mail. She glanced at the screen and saw that it was from Lloyd Johnson. She quickly hit the delete button. “Are you sure you want to delete this message?” asked a pop-up window. She stabbed the Enter button.
Yes.
Then she slapped the laptop closed. The tension in her neck and shoulders returned full force.

“You look like you could use a neck rub,” Bo suggested.

She flushed at the knowing expression on his face. For a fraction of a second, she was tempted by the offer. There was nothing quite like the sensation of a pair of large male hands gently massaging away the tension. Unfortunately, the large, male hands always came attached to a large male.

“No, thank you,” she said.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Bo said in a quiet voice.

Kim’s stomach dropped. She realized then that he knew. Either he could see past the makeup, or he’d figured out why she’d flown across the country without so much as a change of clothes. Her throat felt dry and prickly, hurting as she asked, “Is it that obvious?”

“Probably just to me. The way I was raised…Let’s just say I know what a woman is like after some son of a bitch hits her. My mother couldn’t seem to stay away from guys like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kim said. “It must have been terrible for you.”

“Are you safe now?” he asked, his voice still quiet.

“Yes, yes, I am. Let’s just say I’m a fast learner.” Lloyd was too busy and self-absorbed to come looking for her—that was what she believed, anyway. Now here was this man, asking her if she was safe, offering to comfort her, and the concern in his eyes made her want to cry.

“You want to talk about it?”

Yes.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need rescuing, if that’s what you mean.”

“Maybe not,” Bo said quietly. “I don’t pretend to know all that much about women, but you’re not that hard to read.”

He was amazingly easy to talk to; he’d already proven to be a good listener. She didn’t feel the need to protect him from the ugly details as she did her mother. “His name is Lloyd Johnson,” she said. She could tell by Bo’s expression that he knew exactly who Lloyd was. “He started out as a client with my PR firm. We dated for a while, and for the past few months, it had been serious. We were going to get a place together.”

The thought now caused a chill to slide across her skin. “The night I left, there was a reception at a private club,” she said. “A very big night for Lloyd. And for me, too. He had just agreed to sign with Fandango, an athletic wear company. I’d worked for weeks to make it happen.” It had been so much more than a publicity project for her. She’d helped broker a major deal, one that paved the way to her future. She could still remember the high ripples of anticipation that had buoyed her along that evening. Everything had fallen into place for Lloyd…and for her. The one thing she forgot to consider was the one thing that never varied for athletes of his caliber—his ego. “The sponsor’s daughter came with a date—Marshall Walters—who just happened to be Lloyd’s biggest rival, both on and off the court.” The two had been in a brawl on the court earlier that season. The altercation had resulted in Lloyd being suspended for a dozen games. It had cost him millions, and was a constant sore spot.

“I saw their latest fight on the news,” Bo said. “Too bad they’re not boxers.”

“Mute boxers,” she added. “I’ve always thought the world would be a better place if we didn’t have NBA players asking each other ‘How does my ass taste?’ in public. And don’t you dare laugh.”

“Not laughing,” he said.

“I won’t defend Lloyd, but Marshall Walters was pushing his buttons that night. For a while, I managed to keep them on opposite sides of the room. Lloyd was mad at me, but I figured that was less dangerous than letting him get mad at Walters. After he got a few drinks in him, Lloyd decided Marshall’s presence was all my fault,” she continued. “I was in charge of the guest list. The daughter was listed as bringing a plus-one, but I stupidly didn’t bother to research who that might be. It was a setup, an ambush—Walters knew his presence would drive Lloyd crazy, and as for the daughter—I don’t know what she was thinking. And Lloyd took the bait. He was going to confront Walters, so that’s when I stepped in. That’s what was caught by the stupid cell-phone video somebody shot—me, throwing myself under the bus.”

“You picked a fight with him so he wouldn’t fight with Marshall Walters.”

She remembered clearly Lloyd’s words. He’d called her a name that made her flinch even now. He loudly declared he was firing her, and claimed she’d never work in the business again. “Not exactly a high point in my career,” she said, “but it gave me an unexpected moment of clarity. And I realized nothing—no career, deal, boyfriend and no amount of money could keep me there, doing what I was doing. That’s when I walked out. I thought that was the end of everything. What I didn’t count on was him following me to the parking lot.”

She could still hear the echo of his furious voice: “You’re walking out on me? You’re walking out on me.” He’d answered his own question.

“You fired me. Good night, Lloyd.”

“Not so fast. You don’t walk out on me.”

“Watch me.” She’d turned on her heel. She shouldn’t have shown that flash of defiance. That was all it took to spark his temper. Yet, even then, she hadn’t anticipated his violence. It was like an accident she played over and over in her mind. What could she have done differently?

She got up and wandered over to the fireplace, staring into the flames. “That’s why I showed up here with nothing,” she whispered.

Bo Crutcher didn’t say anything. She didn’t need for him to say anything. It was enough that he’d listened. Nothing had changed, yet at the same time, she felt something shift between them.

“I don’t regret what I did,” she said, “but I definitely picked the wrong time to show up penniless on my mother’s doorstep.”

The ensuing silence felt…safe. Comfortable. They were easing into a friendship, Kim realized. She felt him watching her. “What?” she asked.

“So do you still want that neck rub, or am I a jerk for asking?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “You’re not a jerk.”

“Not today, anyway,” he said, slowly getting up from the table.

She forgot to say no. She didn’t want to say no. The look in his eyes hypnotized all the words out of her. She was already imagining how his hands would feel when the phone rang, shattering the moment.

The sound kicked her back to reality as she snatched up the receiver.

“This is Kimberly van Dorn.”

“Miss van Dorn, it’s Rourke McKnight of the Avalon Police Department.”

She frowned, hoping her mother wasn’t in even more trouble. She glanced at Bo, finding an unexpected sense of balance as she gazed into his eyes. “Yes?” she prompted.

“I’m just calling to check on something,” said Chief McKnight. “It’s about one of your guests.”

Fifteen

G
rand Central Station was one of those places people mentioned when they wanted to describe something really busy.

“It’s Grand Central Station in here,” a teacher might say about a classroom.

The real Grand Central Station lived up to the description. It reminded AJ of a human anthill inside a marble cube, with everyone scurrying in different directions.

AJ had no idea which direction to scurry. Still, he knew better than to stand around looking lost, so he joined a stream of people heading for the exit. Along one wall he spied a bank of pay phones. Almost no one used pay phones anymore, except people who couldn’t afford a mobile phone. Like AJ.

There were stickers on the wall around the phones, advertising bail bonds, help for suicide prevention, addicts, runaways. AJ wondered if that was what he’d become—a runaway. A knot of fear formed in his stomach, compounding the lump of sadness in his throat and the keen sense of yearning that burned in his chest. All these emotions together made him want to throw up, so he followed some signs to the men’s room.

A couple of guys there halted their conversation and glared at him, making AJ change his mind and back out the door. He cast about for somebody to ask for help, but suddenly everyone looked sketchy to him. A group of teenagers poured in through one of the entrances, and a couple of them checked him out. He could feel their stares from twenty yards, and something told him they weren’t like the guy he’d sat next to on the train. He tried to act all cool, putting on the dangerous slit-eyed expression and unhurried saunter of the gangbangers at his old school. He headed for daylight and found himself on a busy street jammed with traffic, mostly yellow taxis and delivery trucks. Honking horns, whistles and shouts clouded the air, along with the cindery smell of exhaust.

Although there was no snow here, the city felt cold. He should never have come here. Bad things happened to kids who ran away to the big city.

On the other hand, what could be worse than losing your mother?

At least he fit in a little better here. There were plenty of brown-skinned people everywhere, workmen in blue jumpsuits doing street repairs, guys in hard hats on a scaffold, people stopping for a chat at the coffee carts on every street corner. As he wandered along the street, he occasionally caught Spanish being spoken, just a whiff, like the scent of hot dogs in the air.

He dug the slip of paper out of his pocket, something he’d printed off Bo’s computer last night. It was a place with a New York City address:
Casa de Esperanza.
The House of Hope. Although he hadn’t planned this trip out, he’d hung on to the printout, somehow knowing it would be important. He studied the address and prayed it wasn’t far, shivering as a gust of wind howled through the street. He didn’t understand how people could live in this cold weather. In Houston, people complained about the heat, but here in the cold, you had to curl up against the wind and hope you wouldn’t freeze to death.

He scanned the throng of people, trying to figure out who to ask for directions—the guy with the coffee cart on the corner? The grim businessman with the briefcase? The skinny girl with a long scarf wound around and around her neck? He approached a lady with graying hair, wearing a plain cloth coat and worn leather gloves. There was something about her that seemed to be friendly enough. Unlike most people in the crowd, she didn’t act like she was in a hurry.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I’m looking for One Hundred and Sixteenth Street East. Do you know how to get there?”

“Sure. Go a block over to Third Avenue. Almost all the buses there go uptown. You all right?” she asked, checking him out.

“Fine, thank you.” AJ thought it was nice of her to ask. It usually sucked, being puny, because people often thought he was younger than he actually was. Sometimes, though, it made a certain type of person act nicer to him. As he headed in the direction the woman had indicated, he tried to remind himself that there were kind people in the world, and that things had a way of working out. Yet as he progressed, he felt more and more lost and out of place. He was as homeless as the guys he passed in church doorways, huddled against the cold. And AJ was hungry on top of everything else. Food vendors were everywhere, scenting the air with the aroma of roasting hot dogs, peanuts and pretzels. There was more exotic stuff, too, sold by people with heavy accents and big iron pans of chicken and lamb skewers. AJ resisted temptation, though. He kept his shoulders hunched against the wind and put one foot in front of the other.

He reached Third Avenue but didn’t spot a bus stop right away, so he walked in the direction of the traffic. The street numbers got higher as he went along, so that was something. He hoped the Latino place wasn’t much farther. Finally, when his toes went numb, he asked directions again and hopped on what he thought was the right bus. He paid the fare, found a seat and began counting off the streets as it crawled through the lurching traffic.