- -
- 100%
- +
McElroy was the new owner of the Phoenix Fuego, who took more interest in players and team than any other head honcho in the MLS. He’d fired the coach/manager who’d wanted to run things his way and hired a new coach, Elliot Fritz, who didn’t mind the owner being so hands-on. “Seriously?”
“I’ve heard it from more than one source.”
Damn. As two teams were mentioned, Ryland plopped into his dad’s easy chair. Cupcake jumped onto his lap.
“I took my eye off the ball,” he said. “I made some mistakes. I apologized. I’m recovering and keeping my name out of the news. I don’t see why we all can’t move on.”
“It’s not that easy. You’re one of the best soccer players in the world. Before your foot surgery, you were a first-team player who could have started for any team here or abroad. Not many American footballers can say that,” Blake said. “But McElroy believes your bad-boy image isn’t a draw in the stands or with the kids. Merchandising is important these days.”
“Yeah, I know. Being injured and getting older isn’t helping my cause.” As if twenty-nine made Ryland an old man. He remembered what the team owner had said in an interview. “McElroy called me an overpaid liability. But if that’s the case, why would an overseas team want to take me on?”
“The transfer period doesn’t start until June. None have said they want the loan yet.”
Ouch. Ryland knew he had only himself to blame for the mess he found himself in.
“The good news is the MLS doesn’t want to lose a homegrown player as talented as you. McElroy’s feathers got ruffled,” Blake continued. “He’s asserting his authority and reminding you that he controls your contract.”
“You mean, my future.”
“That’s how billionaires are.”
“I’ll stick to being a millionaire, then.”
Blake sighed.
“Look, I get why McElroy’s upset. Coach Fritz, too. I haven’t done a good job handling stuff,” Ryland admitted. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never been an angel. But I’m not the devil, either. There’s no way I could do everything the press says I do. The media exaggerates everything.”
“True, but people’s concerns are real. This time at your parents’ house is critical. Watch yourself.”
“I’m going to fix this. I want to play in the MLS.” Ryland had already done an eleven-year stint in the U.K. “My folks are doing fine, but they’re not getting any younger. I don’t want to be an ocean away from them. If McElroy doesn’t want me, see if the Indianapolis Rage or another club does.”
“McElroy isn’t going to let a franchise player like you go to another MLS team,” Blake said matter-of-factly. “If you want to play stateside, it’ll be with Fuego.”
Ryland petted Cupcake. “Then I’ll have to keep laying low and polishing my image so it shines.”
“Blind me, Ry.”
“Will do.” Everyone always wanted something from him. This was no different. But it sucked he had to prove himself all over again with Mr. McElroy and the Phoenix fans. “At least I can’t get into trouble dog sitting. Wicksburg is the definition of boring.”
“Women—”
“Not here,” Ryland interrupted. “I know what’s expected of me. I also know it’s hard on my mom to read the gossip about me on the internet. She doesn’t need to hear it firsthand from women in town.”
“You should bring your mom back with you to Phoenix.”
“Dude. Keeping it quiet and on the down low is fine while I’m here, but let’s not go crazy,” Ryland said. “In spite of the reports of me hooking up with every starlet in Hollywood, I’ve been more than discreet and discriminate with whom I see. But beautiful women coming on to me are one of the perks of the sport.”
Blake sighed. “I remember when you were this scrappy, young kid who cared about nothing but soccer. It used to be all about the game for you.”
“It’s still about the game.” Ryland was the small-town kid from the Midwest who hit the big-time overseas, playing with the best in the world. Football, as they called it everywhere but in the U.S., meant everything to him. Without it … “Soccer is my life. That’s why I’m trying to get back on track.”
A beat passed and another. “Just remember, actions speak louder than words.”
After a quick goodbye, Blake disconnected from the call.
Ryland stared at his phone. He’d signed with Blake when he was eighteen. The older Ryland got, the smarter his agent’s advice sounded.
Actions speak louder than words.
Lately his actions hadn’t been any more effective than his words. He looked at Cupcake. “I’ve put myself in the doghouse. Now I’ve got to get myself out of it.”
The doorbell rang.
Cupcake jumped off his lap and ran to the front door barking ferociously, as if she weighed ninety pounds, not nineteen.
Who could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone.
The dog kept barking. He remained seated.
Let Cupcake deal with whomever was at the door. If he ignored them, maybe they would go away. The last thing Ryland wanted right now was company.
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY’S hand hovered over the mansion’s doorbell. She fought the urge to press the button a third time. She didn’t want to annoy Mr. and Mrs. James. Yes, she wanted to get this fool’s errand over with, but appearing overeager or worse, rude, wouldn’t help her find a coach for Connor’s team.
“Come on,” she muttered. “Open the door.”
The constant high-pitch yapping of a dog suggested the doorbell worked. But that didn’t explain why no one had answered yet. Maybe the house was so big it took them a long time to reach the front door. Lucy gripped the container of cookies with both hands.
The dog continued barking.
Maybe no one was home. She rose up on her tiptoes and peeked through the four-inch strip of small leaded-glass squares on the ornate wood door.
Lights shone inside.
Someone had to be home. Leaving the lights on when away wasted electricity. Her dad used to tell her that. Aaron said the same thing to Connor. But she supposed if a person could afford to live in an Architectural Digest–worthy home with its Georgian-inspired columns, circular drive and manicured lawn that looked like a green carpet, they probably didn’t worry about paying the electricity bill.
Lucy didn’t see anyone coming toward the door. She couldn’t see the dog, either. She lowered her heels to the welcome mat.
Darn it. She didn’t want to come back later and try again. A chill shivered down her spine. She needed to calm down.
She imagined Connor with a smile on his face and soccer cleats on his feet. Her anxiety level dropped.
If no one answered, she would return. She would keep coming back until she spoke with Ryland James.
The dog’s barking became more agitated.
A sign? Probably not, but she might as well ring the bell once more before calling it quits.
She pressed the doorbell. A symphony of chimes erupted into a Mozart tune. At least the song sounded like Mozart the third time hearing it.
The door opened slightly. A little gray dog darted out and sniffed her shoes. The pup placed its stubby front paws against her jean-covered calves.
“Off, Cupcake.” The dog ran to the grass in the front yard. A man in navy athletic shorts with a black walking-cast on his right leg stood in the doorway. “She’s harmless.”
The dog might be, but not him.
Ryland James.
Hot. Sexy. Oh, my.
He looked like a total bad boy with his short, brown hair damp and mussed, as if he hadn’t taken time to comb it after he crawled out of bed. Shaving didn’t seem to be part of his morning routine, either. He used to be so clean-cut and all-American, but the dark stubble covering his chin and cheeks gave him an edge. His bare muscular chest glistened as if he’d just finished a workout. He had a tattoo on his right biceps and another on the backside of his left wrist. His tight, underwear model–worthy abs drew her gaze lower. Her mouth went dry.
Lucy forced her gaze up and stared into the hazel eyes that had once fueled her teenage daydreams. His dark lashes seemed even thicker. How was that possible?
The years had been good, very good to him. The guy was more gorgeous than ever with his classically handsome features, ones that had become more defined, almost refined, with age. His nose, however, looked as if it had been broken at least once. Rather than detract from his looks, his nose gave him character, made him appear more … rugged. Manly. Dangerous.
Lucy’s heart thudded against her ribs. “It’s you.”
“I’m me.” His lips curved into a charming smile, sending her already-racing pulse into a mad sprint. “You’re not what I expected to find on my doorstep, but my day’s looking a whole lot better now.”
Her turn. But Lucy found herself tongue-tied. The same way she’d been whenever he was over at her house years ago. Her gaze strayed once again to his amazing abs. Wowza.
“You okay?” he asked.
Remember Connor. She raised her chin. “I was expecting—”
“One of my parents.”
She nodded.
“I was hoping you were here to see me,” he said.
“I am.” The words rushed from her lips like water from Connor’s Super Soaker gun. She couldn’t let nerves get the best of her now that she’d accomplished the first part of her mission and was standing face-to-face with Ryland. “But I thought one of them would answer the door since you’re injured.”
“They would have if they’d been home.” His rich, deep voice, as smooth and warm as a mug of hot cocoa, flowed over her. “I’m Ryland James.”
“I know.”
“That puts me at a disadvantage because I don’t know who you are.”
“I meant, I know you. But it was a long time ago,” she clarified.
His gaze raked over her. “I would remember meeting you.”
Lucy was used to guys hitting on her. She hadn’t expected that from Ryland, but she liked it. Other men’s attention annoyed her. His flirting made her feel attractive and desired.
“Let me take a closer look to see if I can jog my memory,” he said.
The approval in his eyes gave her goose bumps. The good kind, ones she hadn’t felt in a while. She hadn’t wanted to jump back into the dating scene after her divorce two years ago.
“I have seen that pretty smile of yours before,” he continued. “Those sparkling blue eyes, too.”
Oh, boy. Her knees felt wobbly. Tingles filled her stomach.
Stop. She wasn’t back in middle school.
Lucy straightened. The guy hadn’t a clue who she was. Ryland James was a professional athlete. Knowing what to say to women was probably part of their training camp.
“I’m Lucy.” For some odd reason, she sounded husky. She cleared her throat. “Lucy Martin.”
“Lucy.” Lines creased Ryland’s forehead. “Aaron Martin’s little sister?”
She nodded.
“Same smile and blue eyes, but everything else has changed.” Ryland’s gaze ran the length of her again. “Just look at you now.”
She braced herself, waiting to hear how sick she’d been and how ugly she’d looked before her liver transplant.
He grinned. “Little Lucy is all grown up now.”
Little Lucy? She stiffened. His words confused her. She hadn’t been little. Okay, maybe when they first met back in elementary school. But she’d been huge, a bloated whale, and yellow due to jaundice the last time he’d seen her. “It’s been what? Thirteen years since we last saw each other.”
“Thirteen years too long,” he said.
What was going on? Old crushes were supposed to get fat and lose their hair, not get even hotter and appear interested in you. He sounded interested. Unless her imagination was getting the best of her.
No, she knew better when it came to men. “It looks as if life is treating you well. Except for your leg—”
“Foot. Nothing serious.”
“You had surgery.”
“A minor inconvenience, that’s all. Nothing like what you suffered through,” he said. “The liver transplant seems to have done what Aaron hoped it would do. All he ever wanted was for you to be healthy.”
“I am.” She wondered why Aaron would have talked about her illness to Ryland. All they’d cared about were soccer and girls. Well, every other girl in Wicksburg except her. “I take medicine each day and have a monthly blood test, but otherwise I’m the same as everybody else.”
“No, you’re not.” Ryland’s gaze softened. “There’s nothing ordinary about you. Never has been. It sucked that you were sick, but you were always so brave.”
Heat stole up her neck toward her cheeks. Butterflies flapped in her tummy. Her heart …
Whoa-whoa-whoa. Don’t get carried away by a few nice words from a good-looking guy, even if that guy happened to be the former man of her dreams. She’d been a naive kid back then. She’d learned the hard way that people said things they didn’t mean. They lied, even after saying how much they loved you. Lucy squared her shoulders.
Time to get this over with. She handed Ryland the cookies. “These are for you.”
He removed the container’s lid. His brows furrowed. “Cookies?”
Ryland sounded surprised. She bit the inside of her mouth, hoping he liked them. “Chocolate chip.”
“My favorite. Thanks.”
He seemed pleased. Good. “Aaron’s son, Connor, helped me make them. He’s nine and loves soccer. That’s why I’m here. To ask a favor.”
Ryland looked at the cookies, then at her. “I appreciate your honesty. Not many people are so up-front when they want something. Let’s talk inside.”
She hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of going into the house. Once upon a time she’d believed in happily ever after and one true love. But life had taught her those things belonged only in fairy tales. Love and romance were overrated. But Ryland was making her feel things she tried hard not to think about too much—attraction, desire, hope.
But the other part of her, the part that tended to be impulsive and had gotten her into trouble more than once, was curious. She wanted to know if his parents’ house was as nice on the inside as the exterior and front yard. Heaven knew she would never live in an exclusive neighborhood like this one. This might be her only chance to find out.
Ryland leaned against the doorway. The casual pose took weight off his right foot. He might need to sit down.
“Sure.” She didn’t want him hurting. “That would be nice.”
He whistled for the dog.
Cupcake ran inside.
Lucy entered the house. The air was cooler than outside and smelled lemony. Wood floors gleamed. A giant chandelier hung from the twenty-foot ceiling in the foyer. She clamped her lips together so her mouth wouldn’t gape. Original watercolor paintings in gilded frames decorated the textured walls. Tasteful and expensive.
She stepped through a wide-arched doorway into the living room. Talk about beautiful. The yellow and green décor was light, bright and inviting. The colors, fabrics and accessories coordinated perfectly. What she liked most was how comfortable the room looked, not at all like some of those unlivable magazine layouts or model homes.
Family pictures sat on the wooden fireplace mantle. A framed poster-size portrait of Ryland, wearing a U.S. National team uniform, hung on the wall. An open paperback novel rested cover-side up on an end table. “Your parents’ house is lovely.”
“Thanks.”
He sounded proud, making her wonder about his part in his parents’ house. She’d guess a big part, given his solid relationship with his mom and dad when he’d been a teen.
“My mom thought the house was too big, but I convinced her she deserved it after so many years of apartment living.” Ryland motioned to a sofa. “Have a seat.”
Lucy sat, sinking into the overstuffed cushions. More comfortable than the futon she’d sold before leaving Chicago. She’d gotten rid of her few pieces of furniture so she wouldn’t have to pay for storage while living at Aaron and Dana’s house.
Cupcake hopped up next to her.
“Is she allowed on the couch?” Lucy asked.
“The dog is allowed everywhere except the dining-room table and kitchen counters. She belongs to my parents. They’ve spoiled her rotten.” Ryland sounded more amused than angry. He sat on a wingback chair to her right. “Mind if I have a cookie?”
“Please do.”
He offered her the container. “Would you like one?”
The chocolate chips smelled good, but she would be eating cookies with Connor later. Better not overdo the sweets. The trips to the ice-cream parlor and Rocket Burger with her nephew were already adding up. “No, thanks.”
Ryland took one. “I can’t remember the last time someone baked anything for me.”
“What about your mom?”
“I don’t spend as much time with my parents as I’d like due to soccer. Right now I’m dog sitting while they’re away.” Cupcake circled around as if chasing her own tail, then plopped against the cushion and placed her head on Lucy’s thigh. “She likes you.”
Lucy ran her fingers through the soft gray fur. She’d never had a dog. “She’s sweet.”
“When she wants to be.” Ryland bit into the cookie. He took his time eating it. “Delicious.”
The cookies were a hit. Lucy hoped they worked as a bribe. She mustered her courage. Not that she could back out now even if she wanted to. “So my nephew …”
“Does he want an autograph?” Ryland placed the cookie container on the coffee table. “Maybe a team jersey or ball?”
“Connor would love it if you signed his ball, but what he really wants is a coach for his spring under-9 rec. team.” She didn’t want to waste any more of Ryland’s time. Or hers. “He wanted me to ask if you could coach his team, the Defeeters.”
Ryland flinched. “Me? Coach?”
“I know that’s a big request and likely impossible for you to do right now.”
He looked at his injured foot. “Yeah, this isn’t a good time. I hope to be back with my team in another month or so.”
“I’m sure you will be. Aaron says you’re one of the best players in the world.”
“Thanks. It’s just … I’m supposed to be laying low while I’m here. Staying out of the press. The media could turn my coaching your nephew’s team into a circus.” Ryland stared at the dog. “I’m really sorry I can’t help you out.”
“No worries. I told Connor you probably couldn’t coach.” Lucy knew Ryland would never say yes. He’d left his small-town roots behind and become famous, traveling all over the U.S. and the world. The exotic lifestyle was as foreign to her as the game of soccer itself. But maybe she could get him to agree to something else that wouldn’t take so much of his time. “But if you happen to have an hour to spare sometime, Connor and his teammates would be thrilled if you could give them a pep talk.”
Silence stretched between them. She’d put him on the spot with that request, too. But she’d had no choice if she wanted to help her nephew.
“I can do that,” Ryland said finally.
Lucy released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thanks.”
“I’m happy to talk to them, sign balls, pose for pictures, whatever the boys want.”
She hoped the visit would appease Connor. “That will be great. Thanks.”
Ryland’s eyes darkened, more brown than hazel now. “Who will you get to coach?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Practices don’t start until next week so I still have a little time left to find someone. I can always coach, if need be.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “You play soccer?”
Lucy hadn’t been allowed to do anything physical when she was younger. Even though she no longer had any physical limitations, she preferred art to athletics. “No, but I’ve been reading up on the game and watching video clips on the internet, just in case.”
His lips narrowed. “Aaron was great with those kids when we put on that camp back in high school. Why doesn’t he coach the team?”
“Aaron’s coached the Defeeters for years, but he’s overseas right now with the army. Both he and his wife were deployed with their Reserve unit last month. I’m taking care of Connor until they return next year.”
“Aaron talked about using the military to pay for college,” Ryland said thoughtfully. “But I lost track of him, of everyone, when I left Wicksburg.”
“He joined the army right after high school.” Lucy’s medical expenses had drained their college funds, her parents’ saving account and the equity in their house. Sometimes it felt as if she was still paying for the transplant years later. Aaron, too. “That’s where he met his wife, Dana. After they completed their Active Duty, they joined the Reserves.”
“A year away from home. Away from their son.” Ryland dragged his hand through his hair. “That has to be rough.”
Lucy’s chest tightened. “You do what you have to do.”
“Still …”
“You left home to go to Florida and then England.”
“To play soccer. Not protect my country,” Ryland said. “I had the time of my life. I doubt Aaron and his wife can say the same thing right now.”
Lucy remembered the tears glistening in Connor’s eyes as he told her his mom sounded like she was crying on the phone. “You’re right about that.”
“I respect what Aaron and his wife, what all of the military, are doing. The sacrifices they make. True heroes. Every one of them.”
Ryland sounded earnest. She wanted to believe he was sincere. Maybe he was still a small-town guy at heart. “They are.”
Cupcake rolled over on her back. She waved her front paws in the air.
Lucy took the not-so-subtle hint and rubbed the dog’s stomach.
“So you’ve stuck around Wicksburg,” Ryland said.
“I left for a while. College. I also lived in Chicago.” Aaron had accused her of running away when her marriage failed. Maybe he’d been right. But she’d had to do something when her life crumbled around her. “I moved back last month.”
“To care for your nephew.”
She nodded. “Saying no never entered into my mind. Not after everything Aaron has done for me.”
“He was so protective of you.”
“He still is.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Ryland rubbed his thigh above the brace he wore. He rested his foot on an ottoman. “Did you leave your boyfriend behind in Chi-town or did he come with you?”
She drew back, surprised by the question. “I, uh, don’t have a boyfriend.”
He grinned wryly. “So you need a soccer coach and a boyfriend. I hope your brother told you the right qualities to look for in each.”
Aaron always gave her advice, but she hadn’t always listened to him. Lucy should have done so before eloping. She couldn’t change the past. But she wouldn’t make that same mistake again.
“A soccer coach is all I need.” Lucy figured Ryland had to be teasing her, but this wasn’t a joking matter. She needed a boyfriend as much as she needed another ex-husband. She shifted positions. “I have my hands full with Connor. He’s my priority. A kid should be happy and carefree, not frowning and down all the time.”
“Maybe we should get him together with Cupcake,” Ryland said. “She goes from being happy to sad. I’m a poor substitute for my parents.”
Lucy’s insecurities rushed to the surface. She never thought she would have something in common with him. “That’s how I feel with Connor. Nothing I do seems to be … enough.”
Ryland leaned forward. His large hand engulfed hers. His touch was light. His skin was warm. “Hey. You’re here to see me about his team. That says a lot. Aaron and his family, especially Connor, are lucky to have you.”
Ryland’s words wrapped around Lucy like a big hug. But his touch disturbed her more than it comforted. Heat emanated from the point of contact and spread up her arm. She tried not to think about it. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Maybe some of that luck will rub off on me.”
“Your injury?” she asked.
“Yeah, and a few other things.”
His hand still rested upon hers. Lucy hadn’t been touched by a man in over two years. It felt … good.
Better not get used to it. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from beneath his and reached for her purse.