Authors: Annette Blair,Geri Buckley,Julia London,Deirdre Martin
Hot Ticket (36 page)
What a sap.
That’s how Josh saw himself. He’d been played by Corsetti, the low-down son of a bitch, and lied to by his cousin Snake.
When Lindy had opened her front door, Josh could see she felt puny. She had puffy eyes and a feverish glow, and a wealth of tenderness had filled him.
So he ushered her back to the sofa and then headed straight for the kitchen to fix her a hot toddy. He answered the phone on the way—a reporter. And he answered it two more times while putting together the toddy—Corsetti’s people.
A picture quickly gelled in Josh’s mind of his cousin Snake in collusion with Corsetti’s antics.
“I can’t believe I let Snake sucker me in,” Josh said, helping Lindy into the steamy shower, where she could let the warm water run on her stuffy sinuses. “The bastard lied to me. He sounded so real when he talked about you being lucky for him.”
“Maybe it’s not all his fault,” Lindy said, soaping up. “Maybe you heard what you wanted to hear because you know me and like me.”
With the steam billowing over top of the shower curtain, the bathroom was muggy. Josh perched on her vanity seat, holding a bath sheet to wrap her in so she wouldn’t catch a chill, and wiped the sweat off his face.
“Snake charm, my ass,” he said. “It ends here. You’re not playing in this charade anymore. I’ll make sure Snake understands that.”
After Lindy got out of the shower, Josh rubbed Vicks on her chest and on the soles of her feet and bundled her in socks, a fresh T-shirt, and sweat pants so she’d stay warm. Then he blew her hair dry and tucked her into bed with a new box of tissues and a glass of juice at the ready on the nightstand.
“Better, my little Rudolph?” he said, sitting on the bed beside her and holding her hand.
Her nose was cherry red. She had no makeup on, and she was sneezing her brains out, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her.
“Much. I’m very relaxed right now.”
“Can you sleep?”
“I think so.”
“Good. You rest while I fix you something to eat.” Josh leaned over, cupped her jaw in his palm, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll wake you when it’s ready.”
He started out the doorway, but when Lindy called, he angled back toward her.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “I missed you.”
He threw her an air smooch, her words wrapping around his heart.
Local coverage of the game was blacked out, so Josh had no idea how the Moccasins were doing. Whatever the outcome, he hoped Snake was getting sacked repeatedly. It served him right.
In short order, Josh had Lindy’s townhouse shipshape, not that he thought it was terribly messy to begin with, more like well-lived-in. The dishwasher was loaded, a load of laundry was going, the clutter was picked up, and the floors were dusted. Meatloaf in the oven made the place smell homey . . . and comfortably inviting.
He heard her moving upstairs, so it didn’t surprise him when she answered the phone before he did.
When he heard Lindy say, “Hi, Casey . . .” he hung up the kitchen receiver and ladled some hot soup into a coffee mug. He found the spoons, a napkin, and the crackers; arranged it all on the bed tray; and headed upstairs.
She was putting on her shoes when he walked into the bedroom. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she had changed into jeans with a light sweater set.
“You look better,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I brought you an appetizer. The entrée will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, I feel better. At least the sneezing has stopped, and my chest doesn’t feel so tight. Is that meatloaf I smell?”
“Yes. Why are you dressed?”
“They’re losing.”
She didn’t have to say who “they” were; Josh knew she meant the Moccasins.
“Let them lose,” he said, setting the tray on the bed. “Maybe it’ll take Snake down a notch and improve his character.”
Lindy shook her head and said, “I’m going to the civic center.”
Josh picked up the mug of soup and handed it to her.
“So you’re going to play Corsetti’s game? Are you really okay with that?”
“No,” Lindy said, spooning the soup. “I’m not going for Corsetti or for your cousin. I’m going for Casey and Stevie and all the other little kids who believe in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and the integrity of sports heroes. There’s plenty of time for them to find out that heroes are human, that they’re flawed . . . but not tonight. Tonight, anything is possible.”
10
Fourth Quarter
Forty-five seconds remained on the clock when Josh escorted a bundled-up Lindy to her seat. A roar arose in the stands, and it took a moment for Josh to realize the Privy Council was chanting Lindy’s name.
It looked like snow, so many cotton balls flew everywhere. The fans were understandably concerned, but Josh felt the hype had gone too far.
All season Snake had shown the remarkable ability to come back in the final quarter. Gauging by Lindy’s reception though, that fact seemed to have escaped everyone’s notice. Now with Snake’s lucky charm present, the energy and volume in the civic center became a palpable thing.
Josh leaned over to Lindy and said, “We’re leaving as soon as this is over. I want you back home in bed.”
“I’m okay,” she said and squeezed his hand. “Really. I had some great doctoring.”
With the ball on their own twenty-two following the kickoff,
the Moccasins set out on their drive. Snake dropped back in the pocket and looked for an open receiver.
But the pocket collapsed, and Snake had to scramble, as he had all season, to avoid the rush. Josh watched as he rolled out of the pocket right and abruptly tried to reverse his fields but was blind-sided by a three-hundred-twenty-pound defensive tackle and driven headfirst into the turf.
“Oh, Josh,” Lindy said, grabbing his arm. “Think he’s hurt?”
“He got his clock cleaned on that one, that’s for sure.”
The crowd became silent as Snake lay motionless.
Trainers and the team doctor sprinted onto the field and soon revived him. Josh and Lindy watched two minutes tick by, then three, before Snake got off the field under his own power but in an obviously groggy state.
“That doesn’t look good,” Lindy said.
“It isn’t,” Josh said. “My guess is concussion.”
The fans erupted in a standing ovation. But Josh knew, for Snake, this game was over.
As the untested second-string quarterback jogged onto the field, the crowd hushed once more. Ten seconds left on the clock. To a person, they all knew the chances of winning without Snake just went down the toilet.
“This is nerve-wracking,” Lindy said. “What happens now?”
“Hail Mary is all he’s got left,” Josh said.
“What’s that?”
Josh smiled and said, “Just what it sounds like. Throw the ball and pray.”
And the quarterback did exactly as Josh predicted.
When he dropped back, everyone headed to the end zone. All the defensive backs dropped back, too, to protect the zone. The seconds ticked down while the quarterback looked for someone open and finally rocketed the ball toward the crowd of players congregated at the end zone.
The ball deflected off the helmet of a defensive back, off a
shoulder pad of a receiver, and, as the ball fell toward the turf, one of the Moccasins’ wide receivers dove underneath and caught the ball with his fingertips.
Touchdown! Mocs won 51–45.
Pandemonium erupted on the field.
Lindy saw Corsetti, in his usual white suit, stroll out of the tunnel surrounded by gray-suited bodyguards. Reporters with cameramen in tow raced to his side. One such reporter stuck a microphone in Corsetti’s face and asked his opinion of Snake.
“Little did we know,” Corsetti boomed, all smiles, “this small college renegade would lead us to a possible playoff berth in our very first year in the league . . .”
Lindy followed close in Josh’s wake as he cleared a path through the jostling crowd and out the door. When they were in the comfort of his Hummer, Josh turned in his seat to face her. The intensity of his steady regard suddenly worried her, her concern buoyed by an undercurrent of emotion, one that dominated the air but defied description.
“What’s wrong?” she said. “Are you still peeved that we came?”
“No, I have something I want to say to you.”
Oh, no.
With his flat prelude, dread formed up and marched smartly across Lindy’s heart. She tried to put a brave face on, but it was hard to do with the sniffles.
“So say it, already,” she said, wiping her nose with a tissue.
“I don’t know any other way, except straight out.”
“Fine. I’m listening.”
“You and I—we’re in for some changes ahead.”
Nerves strung out, Lindy unleashed her fear. “Look, are you trying to break up with me?” She pointed at him with the soggy tissue. “Because if you are, don’t try to sugarcoat it. Just once I’d
like to hear a guy be honest and put his cards on the table in plain English . . . this isn’t working. We should end it now. Thanks. Bye.”
Josh cupped her cheek in his palm and said, “This isn’t working.”
Sometimes the truth really stinks. Lindy sucked in a breath so fast she brought on a coughing fit.
When she calmed down, Josh said, “I mean I won’t be traveling as much. Instead, I’ll be staying in town more.”
“That’s all?”
“No, there’s more.”
The seriousness in his gaze still worried her.
“Is everything okay with your business?”
“Business is fine.” He sandwiched her hand in his, rubbing her skin with light, tantalizing strokes. She loved his hands. “I’ve spent a lot of years building up my business. But what’s the point if I don’t take time off to enjoy the fruits of my labor?”
“Josh?” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I miss you like crazy when I’m away, Lindy, and I think what you and I share is more than a casual thing. And I think you feel the same way, don’t you?”
She melted into the seat.
“Yes, I do. I love you, Josh.”
“I love you, too, Lindy.” His expression softened. He squeezed her fingers and kissed her hand with promise before turning the key in the ignition. The Hummer’s engine roared to life. “We’ve got some plans to make.”
Lindy smiled—she couldn’t help herself.
“That just proves what I’ve always suspected,” she said.
Pulling out of the parking lot, he canted his head toward her and asked, “What’s that, sweatheart?”
“That I might just be at my best in the fourth quarter.”
the Lineup
Same Rink, Next Year
Deirdre Martin