To Win Her Heart (Players) Page 7

  One of his shoulders jerked in a stilted shrug. “It was a long time ago.”

  She studied his chiseled face. The subtle remnants of old grief pulled at her heart from his proud features, but she understood the gut-wrenching hole left behind after the loss of a parent. She’d lived with the knowledge for the last fifteen years. Leaning toward him, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s just a platitude people use. I lost my mom when I was ten, so I know how it feels.”

  The muscles beneath her fingers contracted before he visibly relaxed. “The family mentions her occasionally, but I’ve never heard how your mom died.”

  She pulled back her hand and looked down at her slacks, fighting against the anger that still fired whenever she thought of her mother’s senseless murder. Talking about those dark days made her uncomfortable, but she wanted to reestablish their friendship. He’d shared something she hadn’t known about him. The least she could do was reciprocate.

  “She was a family counselor for the state. Mostly she worked with battered women.” Her gaze lifted to lock on his. “A client’s estranged husband caught her and her client one day as they were leaving the courthouse. He shot them both before turning the gun on himself.”

  “Jesus.” His eyes slid shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Dad was devastated, and for a long time I was lost.” A cleansing breath heaved her chest. “But the family pulled together and propped the both of us up until we were ready to face life again. Like you said. It was a long time ago, but I still miss her.”

  She began to pedal once more. “Mom was the one who took me to my first singing lesson. Her dream was to see me perform at the Grand Ole Opry.”

  He dropped his hand to his thigh and opened his eyes. “Which you have.”

  She nodded and with a smile marred by a familiar sadness, she held his gaze. “Thanks to the family…and Dad. He did what was necessary to help me achieve Mom’s dream.”

  Understanding darkened Max’s eyes, and she stilled on the bike.

  Her fingers clenched the handlebars tighter. “I owe him more than I can ever repay, Max.” Sudden tears burned at the backs of her eyelids, then flooded her vision in an uncontrollable surge. “My stupid plan was an act of desperation. I owe him everything, but I’m losing myself. If something doesn’t change, I’m afraid I’m going to disappear.” A sob caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the dam inside her broke. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, least of all you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Jessi.”

  His soft croon slammed into the well of confusion she’d been fighting for so many months, and it spilled over into a raging storm of grief. She dropped her head to the bike’s bars and willed herself to regain control. He already thought of her as a silly little girl. Hysterics would only add to his perception.

  Strong arms pulled her from the bike as the breakdown she’d feared gained force. He handled her gently, lowering to the bench once more and settling her on his lap with his thick thighs cradling her bottom and his arms holding her close. Surrounded by him, she didn’t want to push away. His strength and support were too tempting to resist, like a miraculous lifeline in the midst of a madness that had haunted her for too long. She burrowed closer, unable to contain the wracking sobs.

  “Shhh.” The shell of her ear heated beneath his whispered reassurance. “It’s going to be okay, baby.” The endearment only made matters worse, and she choked on a strangled moan.

  He rocked her as he dragged a hand down the length of her hair. “Do you trust me?”

  Did he have to ask? She nodded against his chest. “You know I do. I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.” She pressed even closer when his arms tightened around her.

  “Then I don’t want to hear any more talk of you leaving. I promised to help you find your way. That’s what I mean to do.”

  A crazy tangle of hope, excitement, and relief twisted in her chest. “But Tuck—” A strangled hiccup cut off her argument.

  “Let me handle your cousin. If he’s the friend I know him to be, he’ll….”

  She held her breath when he hesitated. It came out in a whoosh as he rubbed his chin over the top of her head in what her heart insisted was a caress.

  “He’ll come around.”

  Chapter 7

  Max stared after the town car as it pulled away from the curb. Dan would watch over Jessi while she was at the studio, and the team Ryan had hired wouldn’t be far away. She was safe. For now. If only he could say the same for himself.

  Tuck was right on when he accused Max of being scared. He was scared shitless. Comforting her in the low light of the closed fight center had been too right, too honest for his own good. He had no business yearning for a woman like Jessi. No business holding her so close he couldn’t distinguish between his heartbeat and hers. Tangling himself up with Tuck’s cousin would only lead to heartache, for both of them, but for the time being, that was exactly what Max was going to do.

  Turning away, he hefted the strap of his duffle over his shoulder, and as he did every morning, headed for the west side. The fifteen block walk to his original business location normally cleared his head. Not so this morning. Images of Jessi falling apart in his arms haunted him.

  Forget the asshole threatening her in the letters. Did Ryan know how close to the edge his daughter was teetering? Did she?

  For years, he’d watched her work her ass off with a determined focus rare in a girl so young. He didn’t have to imagine the horror clawing at her soul with her mother’s murder. He’d lived it himself and had a front row seat to his mother’s downward spiral after his father had been killed in the line of duty. Learning the source of Jessi’s single-minded focus on her career, he now understood why she hadn’t simply told her family to fuck off. But at what cost?

  I’m losing myself. If something doesn’t change, I’m afraid I’m going to disappear.

  He recalled her saying she suffered from horrible stage fright on the night he’d first seen her perform, the night they’d first met. He’d scoffed at the idea at the time. No one who owned the stage the way Jessi did could fear it as she claimed, but was he wrong? Were Tuck and Ryan and the rest of the family? Did she perform because it was expected of her? Sing, because her mother had wanted it so? Would she walk away from it all if given the chance or, like her father, did she truly share her mother’s dream?

  She’d been a child when her mother died, and she had thrown herself into her music career, but had she ever taken the time to consider other options? Probably not. Hell, when would she have had the time? When had she last allowed herself a break from the rigorous schedule required of her?

  She’d laughed and insisted Spence would blow a fuse when Max suggested she sleep in this morning to recuperate after last night’s migraine and emotional draining. Over the next few days, she and her singing partner had a CD to finish and an awards show performance as well as a concert in Dallas, and that was just this week. From there on, her schedule would take her to a dozen different cities, including a Super Bowl appearance, eight concert stops, and multiple smaller events. Max applauded her work ethic, but something had to give.

  Next week was her lightest, but that still left a photo shoot and a fancy dinner to celebrate the opening of a new wing at the Country Music Museum in Nashville. If she didn’t take some time to decompress, she would eventually disappear for real, emotionally or literally. With a crazy fan gunning for her, she couldn’t afford either.

  He frowned as he pushed open the door to his west side location. Behind the front counter, Vern looked up. The twist of the old man’s lips that passed for a welcoming smile immediately died on his time-battered face and concern fired in his faded blue eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Max shoved aside thoughts of Jessi to offer his old friend, and his general manager, a smile. “Nothing. Any problems I need to know about?”

  “Are the
re ever?” An affronted snort blew from Vern’s bulbous nose as he bent to retrieve a file from behind the counter. “Kid, I’ve been running fight outfits since long before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye. I’ve gone up against more hard-ass cases with fuck-you attitudes than you’ll ever meet in your life.” He shoved the folder at Max. “You think I can’t handle a bunch of yuppie millennials jogging on treadmills?”

  Max dropped his head to hide a smile. Though Vern had never made the big time, he’d spent the better part of sixty years laced up in the ring when he wasn’t taking on one of his “projects” as he referred to the troubled youth he’d taken under his wing. His face bore the scars of his chosen trade, but the beat and battered bear had the instincts of a mother hen.

  As a sixteen-year-old, smart-mouthed punk with a giant chip on his shoulder, Max had been one of those hard cases and credited the rough-edged boxer with saving his life. He’d learned long ago not to argue when the old pugilist was on a tear.

  Vern folded his arms against his barrel chest. “Tina called. Said you need an extra body over at your other building for the next few weeks to help man the front.” He pointed a gnarled finger, bent and swollen with arthritis, at the file. “That’s the monthly report. I had Andy put it together.”

  Max sucked at his top teeth. Quick to champion those he found worthy, Andy was Vern’s latest project.

  “He’s good with numbers.” Vern pressed as if expecting an argument. “And he’s got cage fever. He’s doing fine here, but he’s itching to get over to your other place where the real action is.”

  Max chuckled. Of course he was. The kid was dying to climb into the cage, but working his way through school, he didn’t have the funds to train. Max could empathize. He’d been in Andy’s shoes not so very long ago.

  He glanced around the busy gym. Close to fifty patrons sweated through their morning workouts. Many more would flow through throughout the day and evening. While he’d worked his ass off to attain success here and was proud of the accomplishment, the traditional gym had been, and continued to be, a means to an end. Lacking the capital to implement his ultimate dream, he’d been forced to put that plan on hold until the income from nearly two thousand gym memberships could supplement the lower profits the cage training facility he envisioned would produce.

  Thanks to the unexpected inheritance from his long-dead mother, the wait had been cut down considerably and the reality of his fight center across town, with its second floor living quarters, far exceeded his expectations. The irony of the situation never ceased to bring him a keen sense of satisfaction. With his grandfather’s death, what his grandparents had stolen from their daughter in life, had been returned tenfold to their unrecognized grandson.

  Dolling out a healthy chunk of cash to the son of a New York cop must have eaten at the old bat’s gut. Elizabeth Krandall had done everything in her power to have her husband’s will nullified, but in the end, Max’s grandmother had been forced to accept defeat. He planned to hand her another with the acquisition of Haven Place.

  “If you don’t think he’s ready…” Disappointment filled Vern’s voice as he trailed off.

  Max shook off thoughts of justice and met his waiting gaze. “If you believe the kid is ready, send him over.”

  A grunt growled in the old man’s throat. “I’ll do that.”

  “I’ll be in my office most of the day. If he can’t talk to me before I leave, have him stop by the other building tomorrow morning. Which reminds me. I’ve got a commitment in the city tomorrow night, but then I’m leaving town for a few days. You have my number if anything comes up.”

  Vern dropped his chin in a nod. Having never married, Max and the gym employees were Vern’s family, and the gym wasn’t just a job, it was his home. He ran a tight ship and wasn’t one to panic over the small stuff. Max wouldn’t hear from him unless something catastrophic happened.

  Max greeted several long-time patrons as he made his way to the small office at the back of the building. He tossed the report on his desk as he passed and pulled a water bottle from the small fridge in the closet. Settled into his ancient office chair, he pulled the phone from his pocket and thumbed the keypad. A knock interrupted before he could place the call.

  “Are you busy?” Blond curls tucked beneath a chic fedora, Gracie tilted her head through the half-opened door.

  His shoulders heaved in a sigh. He should have expected her to show up this morning. They’d been friends too long for her to let last night’s fiasco go by without demanding answers. She had, in fact, saved him the effort of calling her, but knowing what was coming, he couldn’t help poking her a little.

  “If I say yes, will you go away?”

  She rolled her eyes and straightened, stepped into the office, and pulled the door shut behind her.

  He set the phone aside. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Although pregnancy had further rounded the womanly curves she’d developed over time, shades of the brave but scrawny little girl he’d met and befriended in the dingy hallway of one of New York’s low rent apartment tenements showed in her toothy smirk.

  She crossed to the old couch against the wall, sat, and tugged the hat from her head. “You know you’re going to tell me eventually, so you might as well spill it. What’s going on?”

  “I thought I made it pretty clear last night. Jessie and I are dating.”

  “Why?”

  “What kind of question is that?” He dropped his gaze to her impressive baby bump. “Considering your current condition, I would think you’d understand. She’s a woman. I’m a man.”

  Her nostrils flared in an unladylike sniff. “Uh-huh. For years, you’ve eyed Jessi Tucker like she was the last piece of chocolate cake, yet every time I suggested you do something about it, you told me she wasn’t your type.”

  He twisted his lips in his best imitation of a sheepish smile. “You’re right. That was an excuse. The truth is, I’m shy.”

  An exasperated huff blew through her lips. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. You women scare me.”

  She narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms over her extended belly. “I know the names of at least a dozen women who would say different. Shall I name them?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Do you think I didn’t know every time you said Jessi wasn’t your type that you were really saying you weren’t good enough for her?”

  A fist of unease balled in his chest and he eased back in his chair, but she wasn’t finished.

  “I’m sorry. I know your family is a sore spot, but this has to be said. Your blue-blooded bitch of a grandmother did a number on your head, but she’s wrong about you. She’s so obsessed with bloodlines she wouldn’t know a man of quality if one bit her on her wrinkled ass.”

  Wincing at the direct hit, he curled his lips in what he hoped was a teasing smile. “That’s a ten spot for your jar.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his attempt to throw her off track. Shortly after she and Jake’s custody battle had begun, the twins had introduced a system of financial penalties in an effort to clean up Jake’s vocabulary. Five bucks per curse. The multi-millionaire tight-end had complained he’d need to take out a loan before he’d learned to curb his tongue around the munchkins. Over time, more pickle jars had been added to the shelf beside Jake’s. Max had earned his after missing a spare on a bowling outing with the twins. Tuck had one as well. Gracie’s had a pretty pink bow tied around it, and it wasn’t empty by any means.

  She didn’t take his bait. “You’re a good man, Max, and more than worthy of a woman like Jessi. Why can’t you see that?”

  If you only knew. He cursed beneath his breath. Maybe it was time she did. “I appreciate the words of support, kiddo, but I’m not the man you believe me to be.”

  “That’s bullshit.” She tossed her head stubbornly.

  “Is it? I wasn’t always the upstanding citizen I am today. I’ve done some things, Gracie. Ugly
things.”

  Her eyes glittered with fierce denial. “Whatever they were, I’m sure they were necessary.”

  Murky images of a dark alley, fear, and a stranger’s blood staining his shaking hands slithered through Max’s mind. The familiar acidic scorch of bile coated his throat. He slammed his mind’s door on the caustic memory and held her gaze. True. The worst of what he’d done had been necessary at the time, but he hadn’t walked away unscathed. Life on the street had forged the man he’d become.

  “That may be, but it doesn’t change the facts. I’m a man who sees an opportunity and takes it, no matter who it might hurt.”

  She jacked her chin at a stubborn angle. “I’ve never known you to hurt anyone.”

  He sighed and sat forward to prop his elbows on his desk. “That’s because you don’t know the real me.” He spoke before she could voice a comeback. “I’ve told you about my maternal grandmother turning her back on me when my mother died, but did I ever mention her name is Elizabeth Krandall?”

  Gracie’s eyes went wide. “The Elizabeth Krandall?”

  He sat back and tucked his hands behind his head. “The one and only.”

  “But she owns the—”

  “New Jersey Hurricanes.” He dropped his arms. “I’m her only grandchild. If not for her hatred of my father, and by extension, me, you’d be looking at the sole owner of one of the league’s top teams.”

  “Oh my God.” Her shoulders slumped with her breathy huff.

  He sighed, hating the pained confusion on her face, but he needed her to understand. “I haven’t shared the full truth of my family ties with anyone and wouldn’t have today, even with you, other than to make a point.”

  Anger replaced confusion as the ramifications of his disclosure sunk in. “What’s that? That your grandmother denied you your heritage? That she’s a fat cow who I hope burns in hell?”

  A smile tugged at his lips but died quickly. “She denied me period, with every beat of her non-existent heart, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”