Playing for Hearts (103 page)

Lost in the moment, he appreciated the calm water, the light cool breeze in the ninety degree air, and forced himself to ease back on his worry over Crista. Gary was right. She was a grown woman, an independent person. How many times had she told him how much it meant to her to train and earn her own way without any sponsors, unlike in other sports? While most athletes sought backing, she bucked the system and achieved her goals all alone. He had a feeling most of that was because she'd learned at a young age if she wanted anything, she'd have to earn every penny. Her divorced parents, while a constant in her life, were not supportive of her. They believed she had lofty plans and would be better off getting married or working at the timber mill where they had spent most of their lives working for each paycheck, or having a couple of kids.

He flicked his wrist, brought tension to the line, and slowly reeled in the bait to try again. Water splashed along his shoulder from the pole, and he set the equipment against the seat of the boat and took off his T-shirt while he fished. Someday, he'd take Crista out on a lake like this and show her how to relax. She'd always enjoyed herself when he took her out fishing or at least was content to give him time to throw a few lines.

While she'd found it exciting in the ocean catching the halibut, it was salt water. His life was out here with fresh water, stocked lakes, and quiet.

He checked his watch. Twenty-four hours had passed since he last saw Crista, and it felt like a lifetime. He cast his pole. Giving Crista space when something was bothering her was not going to happen after today. Whether he won the tournament or lost, he had a private plane waiting to take him back to Cali to bring Crista home.

The hell with his schedule; he'd settle anything that troubled her. Then they'd join everyone else in Cottage Grove in a week and celebrate their togetherness before he was due to travel again. He blew out his breath and eased the tension in his shoulders. Gary was right. Shauna, Angie, Dana, and Diana would stay with Crista if she needed them. If Angie was on her way home that meant Crista was okay.

With the reassurance Crista would be okay, he sat straighter and whipped his line over the water. He missed her and couldn't wait to go get her. He'd overstepped a boundary he had no clue was there, and that tripped him up, but damned if he'd stand back and make her move all by herself. It was a man's job to provide for his woman. He wanted to take care of her for the rest of her life. She'd have to learn to let him.

The reel on his fishing pool spun. He put his finger along the line, pinching the slack, and the noticeable strong tug he needed came in rapid beats under his touch.

“That's it, you son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.

He waited, cooling his impatience, and when the line zipped through his fingers, he jerked the pole, setting the hook. “That's what I'm talking about.”

More than the patience of waiting for a fish to take a bite, he played judge and jury by the fight of the bass at the end of his line. From experience, he knew it was worth taking his time, reeling it in, letting the fish wear itself out until it gave up. His fingers curled on the fishing pole, knowing his control allowed the fish to wage a fair fight.

At that exact moment, clarity came.

He knew exactly what he'd done to Crista.

He'd treated her like a big mouth bass.

Because she was his best friend and he'd skipped the flirting, the romance, the getting to know each other better in the natural progression of dating, he'd pushed his way into her life and forgot to take his time, reeling her in, letting her wear herself out until she came to him willingly.

How stupid could he be?

The line went slack. He changed hand positions and reeled the fish in before the hook could slip out. Working his way to the end of the boat, he leaned over the bow, keeping pressure on the line, and slipped his thumb through the fish's mouth.

Then he smiled. The tournament was over for him. He'd caught the motherfucker.

Even if someone outdid him, he'd take the hit because he had something more important to do than pick up a check and add another championship to his name.

He dumped the fish in the cooler of fresh water so as not to alter its size. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he shook his head. Time to go tell Crista he fucked up and start the rest of his life.

His cell phone vibrated. He reached in his pocket, noted the call came from Gary, swiped the keypad, and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, have you heard anything about Crista yet?”

“Yeah, man, and it isn't good,” Gary said.

“What happened?” Bruce's balance wavered, and he stumbled back and plopped on the seat. “Is she okay?”

“I don't know. Angie isn't talking to me, and all the rest of the girls are home. I called Grayson, but he said Shauna picked up Trevor and left the club before he could speak with her,” Gary said.

“That doesn't make sense,” he muttered. “Let me talk to Angie.”

“Uh, no, man. Can't do that. She'd kill me if she knew I was passing that much information over to you. You know how they can keep a secret and are always ragging on us for talking.” Gary sighed. “But now I'm concerned, and before I wasn't.”

He cupped his forehead. “For fuck's sake, tell me why.”

“I heard—let's make this clear that I overheard because Angie didn't exactly tell me or know I was listening—her talking on the phone. Crista skipped town by herself and from the sound of it, she's hurting and Angie thinks leaving is the right thing to do. I'm sorry.”

“She left Cali alone?” he muttered.

“Yeah, that's what I'm understanding,” said Gary. “If I learn more, I'll call with an update.”

Bruce lowered the phone and disconnected the call. Crista had left him.

She'd refused to talk and pushed him away, and now he had no way of knowing where the hell she'd go. He'd stripped her of everything she owned in his need to have her living with him, and all she had left was two weeks' worth of clothes. The whole situation was his fault.

How could she take care of herself when he had all her belongings sitting in the driveway of his house? She was away from everything and everyone she knew. Worst of all, she was hurting. How was he supposed to fix whatever bothered her and make her happy again?

The buzzer rent the air, signaling the end of the competition. He moved over to the outboard and started the motor. He ignored the other boats, the competitors, and the rules about passing on the right and made a straight shot to the shore. Time was running out on more things than winning. He had to find Crista before it was too late.

The loud buzzer signaled to the crowd that the event ended and to come to the judges' stands for the final inspection as the fishermen and fisherwomen came ashore. All the fans started talking at once, pulling out their binoculars, and trying to guess the outcome of the tournament by the expressions on the fishermen's faces. Crista raised her hand, shielding the glare coming off the water from the sun. She had no idea what boat Bruce was on or which direction he'd come from.

She dropped her arm, stepped back, and cupped her elbows, bouncing on her toes in her excitement at seeing him again. Last night, she'd arrived late to the motel and paid for her own room, knowing Bruce needed his sleep for today's tournament. What she planned to do to make up for being a demanding and—she swallowed hard—insecure woman would hopefully make up for her rash assumption that Bruce had thrown her to the curb for Janelle the first chance he had.

She was also nervous. What if she stepped over some boundary that Bruce had when he was in a relationship? She had no idea about his level of commitment or how he expected his girlfriend to act. She wanted more than their friendship, but she was clueless on all the little details.

“Here they come,” said a man standing to her left.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Out of her element, she stepped back, letting the fans have their moment to witness the judging. Besides, she wanted Bruce's attention when they were alone and he deserved the spotlight today without being distracted.

“What the hell are you doing here?” said a man's voice behind Crista.

She glanced over her shoulder. At the sight of Bruce's manager, Dwayne, who she'd met a couple of times before, she pointed at her chest. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Bruce almost missed the tournament because he was looking for you. He wasted fifteen minutes getting into place on the lake and wouldn't listen to me. For all I know, he threw the competition and it's your fault. Do you know what will happen if he begins to lose his ranking as the world-class bass fisherman? He'll sink. He can kiss his teaching seminars goodbye and every invite from other countries to fish their waters. He'll be miserable.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth to explain, but Dwayne was right. She'd come between Bruce and his career, and that was unforgiveable. He loved competing even more than she loved doing the Ironman. It wasn't an individual goal for him the way it was with her. He fished because it relaxed him, it drove him to be better, and it brought him peace.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, turning away and walking back to her rental car.

“Make sure you stay away until he has private time to talk with you,” Dwayne called after her.

There was a reason why she avoided relationships. Boyfriends interrupted her training. They also demanded more time than she was willing to give up to pursue a happily ever after. Why would she think it was any different for Bruce? He had more at stake and a career to lose.

Numb and confused, she cut through the crowd of vehicles in the parking lot. Just because she was willing to ease back and settle on training others after her last participation in the Ironman, giving her more time to concentrate on a relationship, didn't mean Bruce wanted to devote time to her. Maybe he believed they'd get together on the odd times they were both free.

“Shit,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. She knew better than to bring personal life to an event.

She dug her keys out of her pocket and opened the car. Her talk with Bruce could wait.

“Hey,” Bruce yelled.

She whirled around and searched the crowd. Her heart raced, and her have-patience-and-wait lecture was a thing of the past.

A loud whistle drew her attention and she spotted Bruce standing half a body above the crowd, on top of something she couldn't see because of all the people crowding around him. She waved and pointed to her car. He'd know she was here and could find her at the motel.

He whistled again and the crowd grew silent. “Come here.”

She shook her head, tapped her wrist, and pretended she wore a watch, hoping he knew she wanted him to meet her later.

“Damn it, get over here, sweetheart,” he said, pointing to the ground at his hidden feet.

She covered her mouth and smiled stupidly. He was bossy and she loved him because he expected her to listen to him. She began walking, unable to turn down such a request.

The crowd parted at Bruce's demand, which made her laugh, and she dropped her hand from her mouth. She gazed at Bruce, feeling like she hadn't seen him in a year, instead of yesterday, and knowing she'd do anything in her power to make sure she never missed another day with him.

Bruce jumped down from the judge's table he was standing on, and hooked her neck with his hand, drawing her closer. He kissed her hot and heavy, and she lost her breath. Clutching his arms, she opened her mouth and received a small taste of him in return.

The fans surrounding them clapped. She pulled her lips away, and face planted in his chest, embarrassed she'd taken him away from his people. Yet, unashamed that right now, she couldn't muster up any guilt for taking his attention. Bruce's hand went down her arm, over her wrist, and he twined his fingers with hers. She followed along as he led her toward the water. When he stopped at the water's edge and picked her up, she threw her arms around his neck, unquestioningly. She'd go anywhere with him and trusted him completely.

“Coldwell,” Dwayne said, running up to them. “Get back to the judges' table. They're going to announce the winner and dammit, you need to be there.”

Bruce sat Crista in the boat, walked back the few feet to the shore, pulled back his fist, and punched his manager. Crista careened forward and caught herself on the bow of the boat. Shocked, she could only stare at Dwayne lying in the sand, holding his jaw.

“You're fired,” Bruce said.

Dwayne shook his head and blinked. “What for?”

“What you said to Crista got back to me a split second after it happened. You ever blame Crista for interrupting my life again and you'll be doing more than picking yourself off the sand,” Bruce said. “She comes first, always.”

“Okay.” Dwayne struggled to get his feet under him. “Fine. I'll remember that.”

Bruce flexed his fingers on his right hand. “I'll have the final check for your services mailed to you tonight.”

“Wait.” Dwayne stumbled and righted himself. “I apologize. We can work this out.”

Bruce shook his head. “If it was me you were dealing with, you'd get a second shot. But you're dealing with Crista, and I won't put up with you ever making her doubt her place in my life. We're finished.”

Oh. My. God.
Crista sat down on the bench in the boat. She was both appalled and screaming silently in joy. No one had ever defended her honor or punched someone out to protect her.

Bruce turned around and walked through the water to catch the boat that had slowly drifted away from shore. He gathered the loose rope and tossed it inside the bow and then jumped inside with her.

“Uh, Bruce … ” She shifted closer to him, staying on the rocking seat. “Thank you, but you need to stay and finish the judging.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Sweetheart, I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.”