The Ground Beneath Page 3

  And so, right in front of this woman, I very casually pull them off my finger and slide them into my purse. If she notices, she doesn’t say. Or maybe she does, and I just don’t hear her.

  “Nice meeting you,” I tell her, standing up and checking my phone one last time. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Oh, certainly,” she says, her lips pinching when she appears to note just how high the hem of my dress is.

  But I don’t care. That’s the beautiful thing about living in Seattle now—I don’t have to.

  Chapter Three

  HUNTER

  I go to my first real rehab appointment a couple of hours after finishing up with Sheila. The physical therapist I’m assigned to is a woman, a beautiful redheaded woman named Meghan who makes even her scrubs and orthopedic white shoes look good.

  “Well, I lucked out getting you, didn’t I?” I ask, attempting some humor and the mild flirtation that comes along with it.

  “How do you know luck has anything to do with it?” She gives me a little shrug, a lift of her brows and a coy smile. She’s flirting right back.

  If I wanted to, I could keep going, could maybe get her number. We’d probably go out once or twice and hook up a few times before I’d put an end to it, before it could get too complicated. But it wouldn’t just be my decision. I’d become an expert at finding women who just wanted to get laid by an NFL quarterback a few times before they moved on to the next guy in line.

  But now I’m regretting my decision to even smile at my therapist, deciding in this moment that I’m sick of being the kind of guy my own sports agent is partially correct about.

  “I guess we should get to work then, huh?” I say, the words coming out rigid. I’ve learned how to get women fired up, but trying to cool them back down is going to take practice.

  Meghan doesn’t seem to appreciate this shift in my mood, and by the end of the session, I feel like I’ve just been run over by a truck.

  “See you for your next appointment,” she says curtly.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, figuring I’ll probably need to ask for a different therapist.

  It’s not until I slip into my Porshe in the parking garage below the medical center that I admit to myself me trying to be a better guy isn’t the only reason I’d lost interest in Meghan in less than thirty seconds.

  And of course that reason has a name—Allison.

  After telling Sheila she could count on me to stay away from Allison, my interest in her hasn’t waned. It’s kind of irrational, but that doesn’t make it any less true. In fact, it reminds me of a time when I thought I’d grow up to be the kind of man who fell in love with one woman, marry her and love her for the rest of my life. Maybe I’m making stuff up now, but I could swear the picture I had in my head of who that woman would one day be looked a hell of a lot like Allison.

  But instead of being a one woman man, I’ve become the clichéd stereotype for a single sports star, sleeping with more women than most people would find honorable, using them and my career to hide a past I do my very best to forget.

  I drive out of the garage and hit the city streets, my sunglasses on and my sunroof open, going faster than I should be, but not really caring about speed limits right now.

  What is it about her, about Allison, that makes me feel like I could be a different man?

  Beautiful women are a dime a dozen, especially in a city like Seattle, and Allison Briggs is a beautiful girl, no doubt about it. But just those few seconds looking at her when she’d stepped through Sheila’s door, then a few more on my way out of the office, and I feel somehow invested in her, a feeling I’d like to explore. I consider inviting Allison out for coffee or for a walk through a park or maybe even over a long dinner. Hell, I’d even settle for just a few more minutes in Sheila’s office to help me understand why she’s stuck in my head.

  But that isn’t going to happen.

  Allison is off limits, apparently too young, fragile and innocent for my wolf-like ways, and not to mention married. And if I could hurt Allison or mess up her marriage, if I could break her more than she already might be broken, then I’m going to stay away. At least that’s what I’m thinking at the moment, but I’m not so sure I’ll have the same fortitude if I catch sight of her again.

  I’m on the freeway now, snaking my way across one of the floating bridges, wanting to get out of the city, further from temptation, and just drive. I don’t want to think about anything, not my injury or Allison or my past, but a phone call from my brother just as I’m crossing Mercer Island brings me right back down to earth.

  “What’s up, Keith.” My brothers and I seldom talk just to say hi, so there’ll be a reason behind his call.

  “Hey, man!” He’s boisterous, sometimes sounding younger and less mature than his thirty-five years. “How’s the injury—you gonna be side-lined the entire season?”

  “Unless I have a miraculous recovery, then yeah.”

  He laughs harder at that than he should. It’s really not that funny.

  “Well, then, Dad wants to know if you’ll be home for Thanksgiving. Figure we haven’t all been together for turkey day since we were kids.”

  “Dad wants me home? I seriously doubt that, Keith.”

  “Uh… well, that’s what I said, right?”

  Oh, he tries, but my big brother has never been good at lying.

  “I’ve got a pretty intense rehab schedule,” I tell him gruffly, “and my agent’s signed me up for all kinds of volunteer work. For all I know, I’ll be serving meals somewhere on Thanksgiving.”

  After a few beats of silence, I start feeling bad for being so short with Keith, even if the guy deserves some of my ire.

  “Well, it’s still a long ways off,” he says with considerably less excitement in his voice. “Maybe you could work something out. Dad and me and Billy would really like to see you.”

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll think about it. Everything okay? You guys get my check?”

  More silence before Keith says, “Yeah, yeah, we got the check. Thanks, brother. Dad likes the new caregiver. It’s a guy this time, a retired firefighter from Coalton. They sit around shooting the breeze half the day. Haven’t seen Dad this happy in a long time.”

  “That’s good. And no more relapses? He’s leveled off?”

  I can almost see the shrug in Keith’s wide shoulders. “Oh, he had a few bad days, but like I said, this new caregiver is good, and he’s got an appointment in a couple of weeks to see his neurologist in Wenatchee. Hey, Hunter, you wouldn’t be able to like, say, come over for that, would you?”

  I grip the wheel and grit my teeth. It’s been two years since I’ve seen my dad, and it could be two more for all I care. “I’ll see what I can do,” I tell him, as anxious to get off this call as I am to get out of the city. “Hey, Keith, going into a tunnel. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Yeah… okay, sure,” he says before I hang up.

  I’d driven deep into Eastern Washington before I finally turned back and made the hours long journey back to Seattle. I was trying to clear my head and ignored every incoming call in the process, but as I make my way back into the city, lit up high-rises dominating the nighttime landscape, my head’s just as heavy as when I’d left.

  Thoughts of Allison continue, and once I’ve parked my car in the secure garage of my building, taken the elevator up to my condo and placed my key in the door, I need them to stop. She makes me think of good things, of dreams I’d once had, and the fact that none of those exist in my present makes me feel utterly alone.

  “Well it’s about time,” a very familiar female voice says as soon as I walk through the door, and damn if she doesn’t scare the hell out of me.

  “What the fuck?” I turn on the lights to find Theresa Carmichael, my on-again, off-again friend with benefits. She’s in a black negligee, leaning against the wall in the foyer and looking at me like I’d just missed somebody’s funeral.

  “‘What the fuck?’” she mimics, “Th
at’s what I should be asking. I called you six times, Hunter, and nothing. You know that I hate to be ignored.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” I say, leaving the door open and brushing past her. “You ever think of that?”

  I hear her clicking the door shut as I head to the kitchen in search of alcohol. I’m going to need it because there’s about to be hell to pay.

  “Then you shouldn’t have ever given me a key,” she snaps, having followed me in.

  I pull out a bottle of whisky from the cupboard, pour myself two, maybe three fingers worth and swallow it down before I turn around and look at her. “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have,” I say, setting the glass on the counter.

  She frowns, slowly shaking her head at me. “What in the world has gotten into you, Hunter? I steered clear while you had to wear that ridiculous sling, but I finally come over here to surprise you, and you treat me like an unwelcome intruder.”

  “Had a rough day,” is all I tell her.

  “Don’t we all.” She eats up the space between us and dances her fingers across my chest. “How about you and I work on erasing it together, huh? It’s been way too long, and I’m really missing you.”

  I should be hard as a rock right about now. Theresa has always known how to get me going, but not tonight. She’s the exception to the rule of my two to three hookup limit. It’s been three years of clandestine hookups for me and Theresa, but I don’t want any part of her right now.

  “Not in the mood,” I say, breaking from her and opening up the fridge and pretending to look for food.

  “You… not in the mood?” She laughs at that. “Since when are you not in the mood for sex?” She’s behind me now, her arms wrapped around my waist, her hands on my stomach, her fingers working their way south.

  I sigh, shut the fridge door and extract myself from her yet again. “It’s my rotator cuff. It still feels like shit.”

  “Oh, please. That’s not it.” There’s anger on her beautiful face now. “You meet someone new? Someone take my place?”

  I don’t stop myself from laughing, and it sounds cruel, even to my own ears.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Hunter?”

  “What would you care if someone did take your place, huh? You don’t give a shit who I sleep with—you never have. I mean, what the hell kind of sick relationship is this?” I head for my glass and the bottle of whisky, pour myself half a tumbler full and let it all slide down my throat in one quick gulp.

  She’s disbelieving. “I thought we had an agreement. I don’t mind how many other women you screw, Hunter. I just need to know that I’m the only one you keep coming back to, that I’m the only one you confide in.”

  I’m the only one you confide in.

  My eyes snap to hers, and she looks at me with the power a parent holds over a kid they’re about to ground for the summer. “Don’t you fucking dare hold that shit over me.”

  “What shit, Hunter?” she asks with a knowing glance.

  I ball a fist, my stomach lurching, and I struggle to catch my breath, hating myself—yet again—for having told Theresa things I never want to hear repeated.

  “Never mind,” I say, loosening my fist, and getting away from what she’d alluded to as fast as I can. I switch tracks, reminding her of the aspect of our relationship that’s making me physically ill at the moment. “You’re a married woman,” I practically seethe, reminding myself I’d grown up to be that guy, the one who sleeps with the wife of another man.

  Her laughter is cutting. “Oh, Jesus, not this again. Henry practically served me to you on a silver platter. He doesn’t give a damn that I’m sleeping with you.”

  Her excuses don’t ease the stiffness of my jaw. “He’s my teammate, and I still have to look at him knowing what we do behind his back.”

  “For the love of god, what the hell’s gotten into you?” her laughter has given way to irritation. “Why don’t you just get out a whip and then flog yourself if you feel so guilty.”

  I don’t say a word.

  “I guess you need to be reminded that we’re all adults, satisfying one another’s needs, and if it’s slipped your mind for some unidentifiable reason, Henry and I live separate lives—we don’t even sleep in the same bedroom!”

  Two weeks ago, I’d have fed into her logic. It’s true that she and Henry don’t have a real marriage, that he doesn’t care that I’m sleeping with his wife because their agreement allows him to screw as many women as he’d like. But, even with all of that, they’re still man and wife, and at this moment, I can’t reconcile that with what she and I are doing.

  “I asked you to leave him once, and you said no. If you wanted to be the only woman in my life, then you—”

  “Shhh.” She eases back up to me, her finger pressed to my lips. “That was a long time ago, and you were just feeling guilty. You didn’t really want that. You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you.”

  I look into those eyes of hers, eyes that held so much power over me. Older than me by two years, she’d been experienced and able to deal with my shifts in mood or to take control when I let my shields down. I can’t honestly say I’ve ever loved Theresa, but I wanted to believe I could, wanted to believe that as far down as I’d sunk, I was still capable of doing something right in my life.

  “But this isn’t right,” I tell her, wanting to be a better man, wanting to chip away at the person I’m not proud of having become.

  “Oh, you poor baby,” she says, taking my hand and leading me out of the kitchen. “You’re so idealistic. But that’s not how life really works. Sleeping with one person and promising your entire self to only them doesn’t make you a better person. If anything, that’s a little selfish, don’t you think?”

  We’re in the living room now, on the well-worn path to the guest room she and I use. I’ve followed her robotically, the whisky going to my head, but I stop her now and say, “There is someone.”

  “Oh?” The anger she’d just been showing has left her face. “And does this someone have a name?”

  I don’t want to utter Allison’s name in Theresa’s presence. It would be like handing some part of her over that I want to keep for myself.

  “Her name isn’t important,” I say.

  “Okay… well, tell me this. Is she young, younger than me?” It’s asked with a slight lilt to her voice and without the expected accusation.

  All she gets from me is a nod.

  “Henry still gets taken by the young ones,” she says dismissively. “That’s the romantic in him. But they never last—those girls don’t have the experience you need to keep a man happy.” She slides her fingers under my chin and lifts it, making sure I’m looking her in the eyes. “You know what I’m capable of, Hunter. So why not let me do what I do best?”

  For a moment, I think about doing just that, knowing it will erase my pain, if only for a few minutes. I follow her a few steps, then stop again, her attempt to tug me further on failing.

  “You don’t have to leave, but I’m taking the couch tonight,” I say as my head clears, my need to be a better man beginning now.

  Her beautiful face contorts into renewed anger. “Oh. I see. Well, I wonder if this innocent young thing you’ve met will be as understanding and supportive as I was when you told me you were molested.”

  My eyes snap to hers, anger and disgust returning.

  I’m the only one you confide in.

  I’m reminded of how weak I was when I told her of my deep, dark and disgusting childhood secret. I’d had too much to drink, her own confessions about her past opening the door to what very briefly felt like letting go of a burden. But she’d been the wrong person to tell, just as likely to use it against me as she was to offer comfort.

  “You fucking bitch,” I snarl, having to remind myself that she’s a woman in order to hold myself back from wanting to do her physical harm.

  “I’ll be getting dressed and leaving,” she says smugly. “I know better
than to stay where I’m not wanted.”

  I stand in place, my rage smoldering, not moving a muscle until I finally hear the front door opening and then closing. All I want is to go to bed and to forget what she’d said, to forget that most of my childhood had happened, but sleep would evade me now.

  The only hope I have to truly forget is to march right back into the kitchen, take the whisky bottle and pour.

  Throwing back nearly a full glass, I fill another, and then another until my head feels like it’s full of freshly poured concrete, enough to erase my demons, at least for now.

  Chapter Four

  ALLISON

  “It’s awfully loud there,” Mom says over the phone as I stand on Sheila and Lisa’s balcony overlooking the busy Seattle street below. She’s hearing the buzz of traffic, the occasional yelling of mostly young men excited for a Friday night in the big city, sirens in the distance and the horn of a ferry docking.

  “I’m outside,” I tell her. “It’s actually really quiet in the condo—the windows are so thick that you can’t hear a thing.”

  Silence.

  “Mom, I know you don’t like me staying with Sheila, but—”

  “It’s the very fact you’re in that city!” she replies before I can even finish and with a level of vehemence I haven’t heard since Abe died. “Anything could happen to you there, Allison. As if your father and I haven’t lost enough.”

  I steel myself against the accusation I’ve abandoned my parents—my mother especially. “I’m perfectly safe,” I tell her, regulating my speech and forcing myself not to get upset. “I can’t see that I have any greater risk of something awful happening to me here in Seattle than I did of it happening in Coalton.”

  I can hear the tears start to form, the catch in her throat as she attempts to say something.

  “Dad said we had to move on with our lives, didn’t he?” I’d used that very sentiment to argue in favor of me making a fresh start. But even without my father’s blessing, I’d have left or faced being slowly suffocated in that small town. “And I’m only doing that. The job Sheila’s given me is really good, and I have a chance to get my life back on track and really make something of myself, Mom.”