Running Back (24 page)

I was pretty grossed out that Ceile called me easy on the eyes.
“I get what you mean, but it plays into the feud between Jeremy and Ceile. And
Ceile’s winning. People
want
to believe that
Jeremy’s crazy.”

He studied me for a long moment, and drew the computer toward
him. He spun it back my way after a minute. “You’re not the only one damned by
public opinion.”

Top Ten Football Scandals of the 21st
Century

Leopards Linebacker Arrested for Drug
Use

Bisons’ Wide Receiver is Suspected of
Battery

I sat there for a while. He had a point. Still... “It’s
different when these are actually true.”

“You think every scandal you ever read about is true?”

I was silent.

“You can’t let it get to you. So people think you’re crazy. So
what?”

I shook my head. “We can’t dig without grant money.”

He cocked his head. “But they’ll give you money if you find
something. Just not if there’s nothing there, and you want to start looking for
Ivernis all over again somewhere else.”

I looked at him for a long time, and he looked back. I closed
my eyes and fell back against the bed. He was right. So why did I feel so
uneasy?

The words drifted out of me. “You know, that’s the real
problem. That I’m afraid he’s right. That there’s nothing here. And I’ve been
avoiding that for so long. I’ve believed in Ivernis for years. I don’t want it
to just stop existing.

“And even if I’m able to let it go...I don’t know if Jeremy
can. I don’t want to make him. I certainly don’t want the press to blow it up in
a huge
thing.
Haven’t we failed enough already?”

I felt the bed move as Mike lay down beside me. “You haven’t
failed. You tried. That’s all you can ask of yourself.”

I kissed him. “It’s all we
should
ask. But both of us want more.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

When we came back from the field the next night, after
another day of uneventful digging, the reporters had arrived. They came in
droves, like locusts, like the eleventh plague, and they brought cameras and
recorders and improper shoes. They had Irish brogues and Southern drawls and
British vowels and American twangs. They were from
The New
Yorker
and
Sports Illustrated
and
Glamour
and
Vogue.

Not a single respected journal wanted to talk to us.

Then came the offers.
Dear Ms.
Sullivan
, they wrote.
We are so
impressed with all the work you have done
,
and
we want you to know that!
Second
,
we are very curious in
whether you currently are represented...if you currently are signed...if you
are interested in working
...

The only ones that didn’t have to do with modeling had to do
with football.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t deal with reporters fixating on
the wrong things.

Cam, at least, had a positive outlook. She video called the
next day. “New life plan. You model to pay the excavation fees! I’m
brilliant.”

I settled back against my pillows. “I’ve always thought
that.”

“I can’t believe you were in
Paris
.
You should’ve gone to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and I could’ve gone to the
Empire State Building, and we should have called each other. And then, if our
life was a movie, there’d be a split-screen view with both of us and it would be
epic.”

I laughed. “Maybe you should’ve gone to the Statue of
Liberty.”

“No, too much Frenchness in one frame. Unless there’s an
American building in Paris? Oh. That would be
good.
We could make a poster. Wait, I need to Google this.”

“Wait, wait, no—Do it later. I need to talk to you about
Mike.”

“What, about your undying love for him and how you want to have
his babies?”

I pulled a pillow over my head.

“Oh my God. You’re fucking kidding me. What?”

“Should I even say anything? He’s going back to New York in two
weeks. And, yes, I’ll go back to New York for the conference, but I don’t think
we’re going to find anything here, so I’ll probably end up staying in Ireland
with Jeremy, because it’s way easier to look at other sites here than from home.
And I finished my classes, so there’s no real reason to be over there.”

“Um. Me. Besides, you’re obviously just making excuses. If you
love him, you tell him.”

I tossed the pillow off and flopped over on my belly. “How?
What’d you say to Rob?”

“Ugh, Rob.” She paused. “I guess we sort of trickled it in.
Like, we’d sign emails. And then once he said ‘Love you’ when we were hanging up
the phone.”

“Well, that’s not going to work. He’s here in person.” I
brightened. “Unless I wait until he leaves.”

“You’re such a coward. Haven’t you ever told a guy you loved
him?”

I paused. “Kevin Diaz said he loved me.”

“The high school boyfriend you slept with on prom night? The
one you said surrounded you with candles and rose petals and took your face in
his hands—”

“Hey, he was trying to be romantic! We were nervous!” I paused.
“Do you think you can buy rose petals or did he have to pluck each one
himself?”

She snapped her fingers in front of the camera. “Nat.
Focus.”

“Right. I’m screwed.” I rolled over on the bed. “I can’t
believe people are getting married and I can’t even tell my boyfriend how I
feel.”

“Hello. I’m single. Oh, God, did you see that Tori from
undergrad just posted two albums of her wedding? Go look at them.”

After dissecting the wedding of someone we never spoke to, I
think we both felt better and like despicable human beings. “God, I miss
you.”

“I miss you too. I wish you were here and we could make
mudslides and hate watch reality TV and I could give you excellent tips on love
confessions.”

I tugged the blanket up and rolled around a bit until I was
securely snuggled beneath it. I eyed my book on the bed stand. “Maybe I should
quote Yeats.”

“Is he romantic?”

“I’m not really sure. The intro said he was obsessed with some
woman?”

“Like Heathcliff obsessed, or...”

I flipped the book open. “He proposed to her six times. At
least he was poetic about the obsession.” I paused. “Wouldn’t it be nice if
every time you got catcalled, it came out as a line of poetry? We should patent
that.”

“No. Because that’s called magic, not science.”

“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Maybe I just won’t say
anything.”

“For God’s sake. Just tell him after you have sex.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“Wait, actually, if Yeats was a creeper that would be totally
appropriate because
you’re
a creeper!”

“I’m hanging up now.”

* * *

Grace and Duncan, who had been displeased but not scared
off the excavation when only articles appeared, soured as reporters badgered
them with questions. When I joined them and Jeremy at breakfast the next
morning, they were whispering furiously at each other across the table.

They looked up, disgruntled, as I sat, and Grace shook her head
at me. I almost smiled brightly, but I was tired of fake smiles and talking just
to fill silences. “Any new ideas of how we’re dealing with them?”

“I think we should just ignore it,” Duncan said.

Grace shook her head. “Maybe if we made it clear Ms. Sullivan
wasn’t actually associated with the excavation.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “You want—you want me to
pretend I’m not a part of this? No!” I looked to Jeremy for help. “I was the one
who picked this location out of all the possibilities, because
my
research said this was the most likely spot for a
city. I found the money. I got the permission. I’m not going anywhere!”

“Natalie,” Jeremy said quietly.

I ignored him. “Why should I disassociate? Because it’d be
easier for all of you? To just put all the blame on the supermodel’s flaky
daughter.”

“
Natalie.
”

“I don’t want my reputation being dragged down on this,” Grace
said coolly.

I looked at Jeremy. He wouldn’t return my gaze.

Because right now my rep could lower him, while Grace’s and
Duncan’s could bring him higher up. “Jeremy, please. Let me talk to the press.
I’ll give a little statement about how we’re still early in the dig and have no
substantive conclusions right now, and I’ll add something boring about my mother
and Mike to get them off my back.”

“They don’t want something boring.”

I started, and twisted around to see Mike, standing in his
sweats and rumpled hair, watching us all with bright eyes.

“Oh?” Grace said. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m sure your feud is great and all. Very made-for-TV. But
those aren’t your academic journalists out there. They want a splashy story for
the tabloids or the cover of the sports section.”

“
Tabloids
,” Duncan groaned.

Jeremy leaned back in his chair. “You think they’re more
interested in you than me and Ceile?”

Mike’s brows shot up and he smiled his
you-poor-disbelieving-bastard
smile. “I think it can’t hurt if
Natalie and I give a little interview with some of the journalists I know.”

I waited until they’d all agreed, and then I went after Mike.
“Why’d you offer that? I thought you were anti saving Jeremy’s rep.”

He brushed my hair back. “I don’t care about Jeremy. But I
don’t want you sacrificing yourself and giving up the dig to save his
reputation.”

I frowned. “Do you really think I would do that?”

“I don’t know. Would you? You’ve put people above finding
Ivernis before. You put me above Kilkarten.”

I studied the planes of his face. How was it possible a person
could be so familiar to me, that I could conjure his face down to the smallest
detail even when he wasn’t nearby, and that when he was before me I never tired
of looking? “You’re different.”

He slid his hands around my waist, under the hem of my shirt.
They radiated heat. Mike radiated heat, like fire made human. “Am I?”

I brought my lips to his and tried to tell him in every way
except verbally that I loved him.

* * *

None of the reporters followed us onto the fields, since
Kilkarten was private property. Still, a hesitant unease hung over the crew as
we shifted shovels of unremarkable earth. I called lunch early, and my unit
trooped over to the others by the parking lot. We settled in the dirt with our
bags and a round of Purelle. Some of the workers, like Anka Wójcik, lay down
with their hats over their faces and catnapped during our forty-five minute
break. These were usually the ones who worked here as their second job, or who
came from farms farther away and had to wake earlier than the rest of us.

They probably weren’t worried about the lack of discovery, but
more about having this income next summer.

“Who’s that?” Tim O’Brian, with the farm ten miles west, nodded
his head toward the parking lot. “Never seen her before.”

Jack Kelleher spoke around his mouthful of banana. “She a
friend of yours, Natalie?”

I looked up and realized they were asking me because the
newcomer was accompanied by Mike, who helpfully offered his hand to help her
over a bump.

We were outside. Of course there were bumps. Why the hell was
she wearing heels?

From this distance, I couldn’t see her features, but I could
see the way her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders, held back by a
headband, and the way her coat cinched at the waist and then flared out in an
appropriately whimsical manner.

I stood and made my way over, acutely aware of the dirt on my
legs and my butt and my hair and my face. I was dirt all over; I breathed it,
ate it, smelled it. I blew my nose and black mucus came out. “Hi.”

Mike gestured at the girl. “Hey, Nat. This is Jane Ellington.”
To the girl, he said, “Natalie’s a grad student on the dig.”

She stuck out her hand and revealed gleaming white teeth. “Nice
to meet you.”

I held my hands up, showing the dirt smeared to the edges by
the cool sliding sanitizer. “Probably shouldn’t shake. You’re kind of far from
home.”

“I’m the sports foreign correspondence for
Sports Today.
”

I blinked several times.
Sports
Today
was one of the largest news sites. “Well, that is just
fascinating.”

She smiled broadly. “Do you mind if I ask a couple of
questions?”

I glanced at Mike, who had on his agreeable, easy-going face. I
wanted to tell him to wipe it off and put on something that would indicate now
was not the time. “Now’s not a good time.”

“Maybe over dinner?”

I sighed and rubbed my head, remembering only afterward that
the combination of sunscreen and dirt meant I was now a muddy mess. Great. “I
don’t know. It’s been a long day...”

“A day looking for the remains of Ivernis?”

My defensive bristles went up at the slightly amused lilt in
her voice. But Mike had brought her here, which must mean he thought she was
worth talking to. “Sure. Fine. Dinner.”

Mike smiled and led her away. I looked forlornly after
them.

Lauren came up beside me, wearing a neat blouse and skirt. She
clearly was only here to socialize. “Do we hate her?”

“What? No!”

Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks like someone we should
hate.”

“Just because she’s pretty and successful is not a reason to
hate someone. I mean,
we’re
pretty and
successful.”

Lauren refocused on the girl. “I can hate her for you.”

“Lauren! I don’t want you to do that!”

Lauren raised her brow. “Do you think she would be down here if
my brother wasn’t?”

I blinked, and looked back at the twittering girl, and Mike,
laughing. I crossed my arms and tried not to frown. “Kilky is interesting in its
own right.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what’s going to be selling papers back
home.”

“Well. Hmph. We still can’t hate her for trying to do a good
job.”

“Okay.” Lauren nodded sagely. “But if she goes after Paul when
I’m not around, I want you to take her out.”

* * *

Mike raised his brows when I finished dressing for
dinner. “You’re wearing a dress.”

I smoothed my hands over the black sheath. “It’s been known to
happen.”

We headed downstairs, but he didn’t drop the subject. “Twice.
Once for the month mind, once in Paris. And your hair’s up. You’re channeling
Tamera.”

I let out an exasperated huff, even though that was exactly
what I was doing. “You sound like Cam.”

He opened the door outside and we headed for the coastal path.
“Well, there’s a reason one of us is your best friend and the other is your
boyfriend. Play nice with Jane, okay? I had to pull some strings to get her
here.”

I stopped walking until he took my hand and gently tugged me
back into motion. “Mike! You didn’t have to do that!”

He shrugged. “She wasn’t that far. Just in London.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t even know what the point
of this is. Why am I talking to her?”

“Because you always want the media on your side. And if you lay
out all the details, Ivernis won’t seem so mysterious and people will stop being
interested.”

I raised my brows at him. “Does that work?”

“We’re gonna find out.”

Jane looked up when we walked into the restaurant. We sat, and
Jane smiled at me. “Now I can see it.”

“See what?”

“The resemblance.”

“What?”

“You’re Tamara Bucherov’s daughter, right?”

I slowly swiveled to look at Mike. He raised his brows and
shook his head slowly.