Stars (Penmore #1) (31 page)

“You know I do.”

“And I know that you don’t get to give up. You don’t let Mr. Simons or anyone put you in a box.”

“Stars, I can’t take your money.”

“Think of it as an investment then.” I sigh.

“An investment?”

“Into our life together. You get to keep playing football, which means, at some point, you’ll end up making money. And I’m going to be a struggling medical student for years. I don’t want checks and balances in our relationship, but if you’re worried about using my money then think of it as a down payment on our life. Then you pay the interest rates,” I say, trying to sound as if I wasn’t making this all up on the spot.

“A down payment? You are such a goof.” Chuckling, he grips my hands tightly.

“You planning on spending the rest of your life with this goof eventually?” I ask, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, we do already have our kids’ names picked out,” he tells me, his eyes filling with humor before groaning. “Fuck, all right. But if we use your mom’s life insurance, I’m going to make sure you get every single cent back and then some.”

“Babe, whatever you need to do. I just need to do this. I need to get to see my superhero fly on Saturdays.”

“Okay, I’ll call
Lieutenant Bryant. Let him know there’s been a change in plans and maybe a step up in our schedule.

“Good.”

“Damn, I love you.”

GRAYSON

Parker and I were sitting on a bench eating ice cream. Making ourselves noticeable.

Thankfully, he didn’t take long.

He approached us like I knew he would. Overtly confident in a crowded environment with a lot of alleyways he could scurry his way off to once he said his piece.

I studied the man strutting toward me in his cowboy clothes.

My father was nothing if not arrogant, thinking he was smarter than everyone else; it was there in his swagger and his gleaming blue eyes. It was his weakness.

I was laughing on the inside, knowing that him thinking he was smoother than all of us was the flaw we could exploit.

“Son, I wanted to come and thank you and your girl,” he tells both Parker and me, taking off his hat like a Southern gentleman.

“For what?” I ask, waiting and hoping he can’t help but gloat just a little about getting away without paying his debts.

“For what you did for me. I know it isn’t going to be easy. Mr. Simons called and informed me of the payout. I want you to know I’ll pay you and your girl back eventually. I’ve got this great new idea that I think is really going to take off. It’s a new app for cattle ranchers. I’m going to make millions, son, and I promise you first thing I do will be to pay you back. Mr. Simons went too far with Nate. I would have been heartbroken if something had happened to you too. I know what Gavin asked of you, boy, and I’m glad your girl stepped up and didn’t have to risk your career.”

I was just about to snarl. Angry that he fucking knew what it would have cost me without Parker and not giving two shits about stepping up and fixing his own problems.

Before I had a chance to say anything, however, Detective Nolan and Lieutenant Bryant step out of their surveillance van with their badges high on display.

“Mr. Waters, you have the right to remain silent,” Detective Nolan begins, ensuring Dad hears his Miranda rights before slapping the silver cuffs over his wrists.

“What the—”

“Anything you say and do at this time will be held—”

“What the fuck is this all about?” Dad demands as he is slowly ushered toward the police vehicles now pulling up to the side of the park.

“Wire, Dad. Took you a while to incriminate yourself like they told me you needed to do before they could take you, but that last bit of thanks was all they needed. You should know it took you a little longer than Mr. Simons. He’ll be joining you in only a matter of seconds. Lieutenant Bryant and Detective Nolan spent hours at the station teaching me how to strap this on,” I explain as I unbutton my shirt, revealing the cords and tape stuck to my chest. “Guess I take after you a little bit after all. Lying to you about keeping your dealings from the police wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I’m going to go so far as to say I enjoyed it.”

It was a petty dig. My explanation wasn’t needed and it wouldn’t help putting him away. But damn, it felt good. Let him know who ensured he got locked up.

“What the fuck! You can’t do this—”

“Mr. Waters, we’ve been speaking with your son and wives for some time now about some of your interesting past partnerships. It would seem that a small crime syndicate was busted this morning and with your recorded statements, we have strong evidence to suggest you’ve been working with and helping this organization. Not to mention the possible past issues of fraud. I strongly encourage you to contact a lawyer, unless of course you’re happy to stay with us for some time,” Detective Nolan informs Dad carefully.

*****

“Grayson, is it true your father has been charged with aiding and abetting a mafia-type organization from the outside? Does this have any relationship with the murder of your brother Nathan Waters?”

“No comment.”

“Grayson, do you think your chances in the championship game will be impacted due to the upcoming trial?”

“No comment.”

“Grayson, what are your plans for next year? I hear that you’ve just landed a literary agent. Does this mean you’ll be leaving the Herons and pursing a writing career full-time?”

“No comment.”

“Grayson, we’ve all heard rumors that you’ve been greatly devastated by the passing of your brother Nathan Waters. Your fans really want to know, will they get to see you play on Tuesday?”

“I don’t know who wouldn’t be devastated by their brother’s murder. But my fans can rest assured that I will be playing in the game on Tuesday. And we will be walking away the champions. That’s all the questions I’ll be answering this morning, folks. Thank you for your time.”

Fuck, I hate these things. Pre-game media interviews were always draining.

“Son, you did good,” Coach Hardy tells me as he joins me on my way to the Wrangler.

“I didn’t say shit, Coach.”

“Exactly. You did good. They just want ratings, boy, and you gave them nothing. That’s a hard thing to do under your circumstances. So I’m proud.”

“Thanks. Is what they’re saying true though? Do people think I’ll play badly because of my dad?”

“Boy, people can be stupid. I only hope the Redbirds are stupid. Maybe if they think you’re dropping your game, they’ll drop theirs. Wouldn’t mind an easy win on Tuesday.”

“I’ll try, Coach.”

*****

I walk into my apartment holding a small bouquet of pink roses. Immediately, I find Parker wearing only my jersey, sitting on the couch with her textbooks open in front of her and my last Twinkie hanging from her mouth.

“Hey, babe, how did the interviews go?” she asks around a mouthful of Twinkie when she hears the door open, without raising her head from her paper.

When I drop the flowers onto her open book, she looks up, smiling. “Hey. What’s this for?”

“You know what I kept thinking while they fielded question after question about my dad, Nate, writing and the game?”

“No.”

“‘Thank God for Parker,’” I inform her. I reach for her hand and pull her up until she’s standing on the couch, my arms around her waist and her eyes directly in front of mine.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t worried. They couldn’t get in my head about the game, the trial or writing. Because you were in there. Telling me how I can do anything. Be anything. You were in there laughing when they doubted me and squeezing my hand when they mentioned Nate. I may never know what my life would have been like if I had seen you earlier, before the lecture hall, but I know this—I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life that you saw
me
.”

“I just… I don’t know what to—” she murmurs, her vision blurring with tears.

“Babe, you don’t need to say anything. Just keep watching, let me show you every day that I’m worth it. Let me show you that I’m in love with you as much as you are with me. That this is only the matinee. I’ve got a whole show for you to watch and be a part of, if you stick around.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

“All right.” I grin. “So, I have a big game tomorrow, did you know that?”

“Really, a game?” she gushes. “I hadn’t heard.”

“Well, if you’re interested, and I know this is short notice and all, but would you like my tickets?”

“Why, what a kind offer,” she tells me, laughing before I pick her up and swing her around the room.

“Although I do have a couple stipulations before I hand over my tickets,” I inform her as I set her back on her feet and ensure my face appears completely somber.

“And they are?”

“Admitting that you just ate the last Twinkie and running out to get more.”

She laughs and blushes a light shade of pink.

PARKER

It was late in the second half. My heart practically stops. This was it, the culmination of each player’s hard work and dedication. I’m in a blue jacket with a yellow headband preventing my curls from obstructing my view or getting into my mouth as I scream along with everyone else. The number 27 is painted on my cheek with blue glitter, and my hands are in yellow gloves protecting them from the cold. I’ve never looked more like a football groupie and I couldn’t care less. Keeley is hysterically laughing as she cheers along with the cheerleaders and echoes some of their hand gestures.

I’ve watched the entire game on my feet. Too anxious to sit down, to eat, or drink. Too anxious to do anything but scream and shout my support for the Herons. I’ve watched as Leyton and Andy play with absolute will and determination. I keep noticing Coach Hardy pace along the sidelines. Occasionally yelling at the referees, calling for time-outs and pulling Gray aside to discuss plays.

I’ve never been so invested in the game before.

I used to only focus on Grayson. Exhaling breaths of relief when he walked off the field without needing the paramedics. Then I started appreciating the excitement, the joy of each touchdown and the spectacular show that is conducted on the ground and in the stands. However, this game was different. I’d seen the boys work hard. I had a personal interest in each of their successes.

The only problem is this was the one game I wasn’t sure they could win.

The Redbirds were fighting for this game with everything they had. After each touchdown the Herons made, the Redbirds clawed their way back to the top.

The game was currently tied.

With one play to go, only thirty-one seconds on the clock, I can barely believe my eyes when Grayson quickly makes a pass to Leyton, who is astonishingly wide open in the endzone.

The touchdown means that the Herons win, but in that last second before Leyton catches the ball, starts dancing and the crowd goes wild, my eyes are locked on number 27.

Who, immediately after throwing a gorgeous Hail Mary pass, looks to the stands, straight at me, and poses as Spiderman, sitting on a skyscraper shooting web strings from his wrist.

It was the photo the media would capture and put on every television for weeks to come.

No one having the faintest clue why Grayson Waters, superstar quarterback for the Penmore Herons, would strike a pose rather than watch to see if his team won the college football championship.

No one even considers that after he got to throw that glorious pass, all he would want to do is make the girl—the one who made it possible for him to play in the championship game in the way he wanted to play—to smile bigger than she had ever done so before.