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Obviously nothing, you thickheaded dolt!
The truck’s air-conditioning blasted him over the rim of the mug as he took a swig of steaming coffee. “And why the hell can’t you leave it at that?” he added, setting the cup into the drink holder.
Of course, he knew the answer to that question. Once Rosalie had mattered to him more than any other person he’d ever known. She and Ricky had been his constant companions for years. And then, one brilliant spring day at the end of their senior year in high school, he’d realized he was crazy in love with Rosie. Nothing in his life so far had equaled the pure, sweet jubilation, nor packed the emotional wallop, of that moment.
Thinking back now, it seemed to Bryce that Rosalie had come to the same conclusion as he had at the exact same minute in time on the momentous morning one day after their senior prom. Neither of their dates had made it to the ritual breakfast, this year hosted at the Benton home on Little River Road. Rosalie’s date, nursing a headache from too much booze the night before, had gone to church at his parents’ insistence. Bryce’s date, the girl he’d been with since his junior year, had slept in, refusing to even pick up the phone when he’d called that morning to rouse her.
Suddenly finding themselves stag at a date affair, and totally comfortable with each other, Bryce and Rosalie had wandered into the peach orchard with two wineglasses, a pitcher of fresh orange juice and a chilled bottle of champagne Bryce had pilfered from his father’s wine cellar. They’d laughed at the pop of the cork and jumped back as the frothing liquid had poured from the bottle, sending sparkles of golden wine over Rosalie’s flowered sundress.
Bryce made the mimosas a little strong, handed Rosalie a glass and suggested they wrap their arms in a traditional romantic toast. All fun and games, right? They’d sipped and smiled at each other as if they were Hollywood romance legends. Rosalie had batted those long black lashes that every girl in high school had envied, and Bryce leaned in to give her a kiss on her cheek. That’s what he’d intended. Only the force of some crazy cosmic collision seemed to take control of his body and he’d claimed her lips. To this day he didn’t know why. He only knew that when their mouths touched, hers soft as the peach-scented breeze that morning, his greedy and seeking, nothing had ever been the same.
Bryce navigated the moderate traffic of downtown Whistler Creek to the high school and parked in the lot reserved for teachers. Only one other car was there, a gray SUV with a faculty sticker on the windshield. He took cartons from the back of his truck, loaded them onto a two-wheeled cart and walked past the high school. Taking the track around the football field, he came to the freestanding athletic center where his office was located. The building had been dedicated ten years earlier, thanks to public tax dollars, corporate donations and too many bake sales to count.
Dexter Canfield had given Bryce a key to the facility, so he unlocked the door and went inside. The smells of sweat and socks and the indefinable scent of masculine dreams greeted him as he walked down a short hallway decorated with commemorative bricks inscribed with contributor names. Bryce stopped long enough to read the name Benton Farms in the short list of $5,000 benefactors. He entered the first office on the right where the name plaque on the door already said “Coach Benton.”
The office had been cleaned out in preparation for his takeover. Someone had spackled over reminders of the previous occupant’s certificates and photos. Fresh beige paint covered the walls. The large metal desk in the center of the room was free of clutter, and Bryce found the drawers empty. He set his cartons on top of the desk and began taking out his belongings and stacking files and documents in some sort of manageable order.
He would hang his diplomas and framed recognitions on the wall behind the desk. Research materials and empty file folders waiting for paperwork on players went into the plain gray file cabinet. He spread his playbooks and coaching charts on top of the desk, sat in the utilitarian metal chair and flipped through the material, deciding which formations would work for a coach starting up with a new team.
After a couple hours, he took a break to simply appreciate being where he’d always wanted to end up. He stared out a wide window that overlooked the field where, in a short time, he’d teach a bunch of raw players to become productive team members. One adult wearing shorts and a polo shirt stood on the sideline while two teens practiced pitching and catching a baseball in the center of the practice area.
Bryce spread his hands on the desktop and watched the interplay between the man and the boys. The man was obviously coaching. Bryce understood the connection between a coach and his players. He understood what each meant to the other, how each player individually was a vital link to the success of the whole. How parents and family and friends contributed to what happened on the field.
He imagined Bucky Lowell in this office and figured he probably had had pictures of his family on this desk, images that comforted and supported him. Bryce had no pictures to put here, no wife or children to think of while he made decisions that affected so many lives and dreams. Audrey had taken his dream of kids away from him.
He sighed. Maybe, if the house deal went through, he’d get a dog, a photogenic one. And maybe, if he got really lucky, he’d marry again and have those couple of kids he’d always wanted. And then quite unexpectedly, an image of Rosalie came to his mind, the way she looked now—grown up but still with a youthful sultriness that took his breath despite the sadness of the past in her eyes. He shook his head. “Don’t even go there, Bryce,” he said. “The woman has made her attitude about you perfectly clear.”
He left his office and wandered onto the practice field where the informal baseball session was still going on. The adult waved him over and stuck out his hand when Bryce approached. “Coach Benton,” the man said. “Welcome to Whistler Creek. Or, welcome back I should say.”
Bryce shook hands. “Thanks. It’s been a long time.”
“I’m Ted Fanning, baseball coach,” the man said. “This will be my third year on the faculty.”
“Nice to meet you.” Bryce shielded his eyes and looked at the boys on the field. “I guess those are a couple of your stars?”
“That’s right.” He pointed. “Watch that pitcher. He’ll knock your socks off.”
Bryce observed the kid wind up and let loose with a curveball that seemed good enough to have been computer generated. “Wow. The kid’s good.”
“You bet he is.” Coach Fanning cupped his hands around his mouth. “Let’s see a fastball, Danny!”
The boy obliged and Bryce whistled in appreciation. “Damn. That pitch had to be nearly eighty miles an hour.”
Fanning grinned. “I’ve clocked him at eighty-two. And how about that accuracy? The catcher barely has to move his arm. And the best thing is, I don’t have to worry about the kid’s dedication. Here it is, off-season, and he practically begs me for extra practice time.”
Bryce continued to watch the phenom pitcher with mounting admiration. “How old is he?”
“Hard to believe, but he’s only going to be a freshman this year.” Again the grin. “I’ll have him four more years. A coach’s dream.”
Yeah, and definite quarterback material. Bryce couldn’t help fantasizing about seeing the kid in a football practice jersey. He’d already determined that the quarterback spot on the Wildcats would be up for grabs at the end of the current season. And he had no good prospect coming up the ranks. Unless …
“Ah, tell me something, Coach,” he said.
“Sure thing.”
“Do you think this kid might be interested in playing football along with baseball?”
Fanning’s smile faded. “You’re not thinking of taking my player, are you?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Bryce said. “Just thought maybe he could do both.”
Fanning scratched his head. “You’re seeing him in a quarterback spot, aren’t you?”
“He’s got the arm for it.”
Fanning thought a moment. “The seasons don’t overlap. And he’s certainly dedicated enough to go through additional training….”
Bryce sensed a “but” on the tip of Fanning’s tongue. He waited. “So what is it? You don’t want to share him?”
“I don’t want a football injury affecting his pitching arm. And …”
“And what?” Bryce said.
“I know this kid’s mother, and I don’t think she’d be in favor of him playing football. She thinks it’s dangerous.”
Bryce didn’t see that as a big problem. He’d persuaded reluctant parents into getting over football phobias before. “I’d talk to her,” he said.
“You could try, but she’s also a stickler for grades.”
“Is the kid smart enough to handle the load of schoolwork and two sports?”
“I suppose, but this mom is a special case.” Fanning’s expression became wary. “She’s going to be a hard sell, and I ought to know. I’m kind of dating her.”
He announced the end of the practice session and Bryce kept his sights on the pitcher as the boys crossed the field. “Never hurts to ask though, does it?” he said to Ted.
“Go ahead. Talk to him.”
Fanning put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Nice workout, fellas. By the way, this is Whistler Creek’s new football coach, boys. Coach Benton.”
The teen who’d been catching Danny’s pitches said hi and excused himself to head for the showers. Danny remained. He wiped his palm on his shorts and shook hands with Bryce. He was tall, only a couple inches shorter than Bryce. Definitely tall enough to fit the bill as QB. And there could still be a growth spurt in his future.
“I’ve heard about you,” Danny said.
“And I’ve been watching you,” Bryce said. “Good pitching style you’ve developed there.”
Danny kicked a clod of dirt with his cleat. “Thanks.”
Fanning looked from one to the other. “As a matter of fact, Danny, Coach here was wondering if you might be interested in playing for the football team.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Well, we’ve been kicking the idea around,” Bryce said. “There would have to be tryouts….”
The instantaneous enthusiasm faded from the boy’s eyes. “I don’t know how my mom would like the idea. Her brother …”
Danny paused, and a fifteen-year-old pain coiled in Bryce’s gut. “Who is your mother, Danny?”
“She teaches at the high school,” he said. “You … ah, you know her. Miss Campano, the English teacher.”
Bryce could only gawk at Danny as if the kid had suddenly sprouted a second head. “You’re Rosalie’s son?” he repeated needlessly.
“Yeah.”
Damn. Bryce’s goal of nabbing the ideal quarterback suddenly didn’t even seem a remote possibility. Of course Rosie wouldn’t want her kid playing football. Of course she wouldn’t want him playing for Bryce.
He walked Fanning a few steps away from Danny and spoke so only the coach could hear. “Do you know my connection to Rosalie’s brother?” he asked.
“I’ve heard, but I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” Fanning rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “History can sure come back to bite you in the ass, can’t it, Coach?”
Bryce realized he must look witless. He tried to smile at Danny Campano. “Nice meeting you, Danny,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”
As he walked back to the athletic center, Bryce wondered how fortune could be so fickle. Show him a shining future star and then snuff it out behind a giant rain cloud. But what bothered him just as much was why he kept thinking about what Fanning had said about Rosalie. “I ought to know. I’m kind of dating her.”
When Rosalie pulled into the high school lot, she immediately noticed the familiar tricked-out black pickup parked under the shade of an old oak tree.
“Great,” she muttered to herself and chose a spot several spaces away. She backed in, turned off her engine and looked at her watch. A little before noon. If Danny was on time, a rarity when he was practicing, she’d see him sprinting across the practice field in just a few minutes. Hopefully they would be on their way home before Bryce returned to his truck.
Unfortunately the male figure she saw moments later wasn’t Danny. Even from a distance, Rosalie recognized the features of the man who had been her childhood friend, her teenage companion and her eventual heartthrob. She lowered her sunglasses and stared, allowing herself the guilty pleasure of enjoying the natural grace of his walk, the confident swagger in his step. She smirked to herself. The man was still just too darned sexy for his own good.
She couldn’t look at Bryce without remembering that morning after the prom and the scent of peaches mingling with his crisp, clean aftershave. She couldn’t look at him without recalling the first mind-blowing kiss in the orchard, the first time his hands teased tingles of pleasure out of her eager young body. The first time he … She squeezed her eyes shut. As always, the most tender memory of all was obliterated by the image of her brother unconscious on the ground, the sound of her own sobs and the cry of anguish from Bryce’s lips.
Her senses on overdrive and her emotions on edge, she urged herself to stay in control. She had to expect to see Bryce often. She’d managed to run into him all three days since his surprise appearance Friday night. But she didn’t want to see him again so soon, and not around Danny.
She slumped into her seat, grabbed a novel from the dashboard and opened to her bookmarked page. Even if Bryce realized she was in the car, perhaps he’d notice she was preoccupied and would politely get in his vehicle and leave.
Of course, she didn’t read a word. She kept her gaze intent on the page, but when, a few agonizing minutes later, she heard Bryce’s subtle step on the blacktop, any possibility of actually comprehending a sentence flew right out her open window. When she heard the truck door open, her face flushed all the way to the roots of her hair. When the door slammed, she released the breath she’d been holding. He was leaving. She frowned as she listened for the sound of his engine revving. Would she be thankful or disappointed?
Jeez, Rosalie, what is it that you want?
“Hey, Rosalie, I thought this was your car.”
Her head snapped up. She swallowed a gasp and looked into the lenses of Bryce’s aviator sunglasses. He hadn’t left after all.
“I looked for you but didn’t see you in your car until I got in my truck,” he said, leaning into her window. “We seem to be running into each other everywhere these days.”
She faked a grin. “Yeah. What are the odds in a town this size?”
He removed his glasses and pointed an earpiece toward the athletic building. “Oh, I met your boy today.”
Her stomach plunged.
“Nice kid. Talented, too. He can really throw a baseball.”
She pressed the flat of her hand over her abdomen—a protective gesture, but protective of what? The secret she still harbored? “That’s what they tell me.”
He put on the glasses and peered at her over the lenses. “And by the way, I met your other fella, too.”
“My other fella?”
“Ted, the baseball coach. He says you and he are going out.”
Wonderful. Rosalie had accepted less than a half-dozen dates with Ted this summer. She hadn’t told anyone but Shelby, and intended to keep any relationship with a coworker private. She made up her mind to speak to him as soon as possible about being discreet. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” she said to Bryce.
“You’re not dating him?”
“What I’m not doing is discussing this with you,” she said, forcing what she hoped was a hint of casual humor into her answer.
“Okay.” He stared over at the field and raised his hand in a wave. “Looks like Danny’s coming now.”
Thank goodness. Now to get Bryce to his truck and Danny out of here before old home week continued. She heard the cell phone ringtone of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” and glanced at Bryce’s pocket. “Shouldn’t you get that?” she asked.
He pulled his phone out and checked the caller ID. “Yeah, it’s my real estate agent. We may have an answer to my offer on the Harbin place.” He headed toward his truck. “See you, Rosie.”
She took her first normal breath in minutes as she watched her son lope around the track toward the parking lot. Tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired. Danny looked more like his uncle Ricky than he did his father, a fact which allowed her confidence to return. If she could just keep Danny and Bryce apart, Bryce would never suspect.
Her mind flashed back to the two weeks after that first kiss in the peach orchard, the day a most unexpected jolt of love had zeroed in on her heart. Two weeks later, she still marveled that Bryce Benton, a boy she’d always loved in the way sisters do, was all at once the young man she now truly loved in the way sisters never could. There had been no doubt in Rosalie’s mind that Bryce was the one. She couldn’t wait until he made love to her. Bryce was worthy of her most precious gift, and she was determined to give it to him before he went off to college.
She went to her brother and confided her plan to him. He was the logical one in the Campano family to advise her since her father and mother would have had a tough time accepting that their daughter was planning to lose her virginity before the sacred bond of marriage.
Ricky had no such qualms. “You need to get on the Pill, Rosie,” he told her. “That’s what Beth uses. Guys really don’t like to use condoms. And you don’t have to worry about Bryce having something. I know for a fact that he’s only been with one other girl.”
The Pill. A prescription was needed, so she did what she believed was right even considering her parents’ traditional views. With only two weeks until Bryce would leave for summer training at the University of Texas, she asked her mother to accompany her to the doctor’s office. She believed Claudia would consent. After all, this was Bryce, and Claudia loved him, too.
Claudia staunchly refused to consent to birth control pills, saying Enzo would be horrified at this decision. She couldn’t go against his wishes. Unfortunately for Rosalie, the family doctor wouldn’t prescribe the pills otherwise. Coming up with a backup plan to try an out-of-area clinic on her own, Rosalie drove to Valdosta, thirty miles away. Once again the prescription was denied.
But Rosalie had promised Bryce that she would be on the Pill in time for the special night he’d planned when his parents were going to be out of town. So she went to the Benton home with only a flimsily wrapped foil package she’d discovered in the back of Ricky’s nightstand drawer.
And then she didn’t even offer the condom to Bryce. Too embarrassed at failing to get the pills. Too in love for the first time in her life. Too caught up in the passion of a moment that promised to fulfill all her preconceived notions about love and sex. Later, Rosalie wondered why she’d let those reasons lead her into having unprotected sex and trusting in the most fickle of outcomes.
Even then, everything might have worked out if only that football hadn’t rocketed from Bryce’s hand into Ricky’s temple the very next day. If only Ricky hadn’t died minutes later. Less than twenty-four hours after making love with Bryce, Rosalie lost her brother. The fear and hatred of football, which she’d experienced ever since that day, took root in her soul. And she knew her love for Bryce Benton would be forever tarnished.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry I’m late.”
Danny hopped in the car and Rosalie switched mental gears to be a mother again. “No problem,” she said and started the car.
Danny slanted a gaze at her. “I think I’ve made a decision today,” he said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
