“Well, Princess, let’s pray there aren’t any bad storms this summer.”
Twenty-two
Will should have realized the futility of trying to pray away a summer storm. All afternoon, the National Weather Service had advised the entire coastline of a brewing tropical thunderstorm forecast to strike the area sometime after dark. As if that weren’t enough, Owen had been cranky since their return from the beach earlier, making both Will and Julianne jumpy.
Will sat in his office as Owen fussed in and out of a fitful sleep. He propped the baby on his shoulder and rubbed his back. “Come on, Cheerio. Just close your eyes for a few minutes. You’ll feel better. And so will Mommy and Daddy.”
He was begging his child to sleep. Next he’d be one of those crazy parents who strapped their kid into his car seat and drove him around the inlet. Will sat up straighter in his chair, digging in his pocket for his car keys. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? As he was striding out of the room, however, something flickered on the television, catching his attention. He increased the volume.
“. . . sources in the commissioner’s office confirmed today that the league’s investigation of Bountygate has ended in a stalemate. Implicated players and coaches continue to vehemently refute the allegations, leaving the league with its hands tied. However, a Senate committee investigating racketeering charges emanating from this scandal plans to hold its own hearings. Subpoenas are set to be served any day now. The commissioner is said to be hoping that these hearings, along with lawsuits filed by players alleged to be injured under the scheme, will shake loose some tongues, allowing the investigation to move forward to its likely conclusion: fines and/or suspensions against players and coaches.”
Will heard thunder in the distance. He wasn’t sure if it was real or the pounding of his head. He needed to call Roscoe to make sure he wasn’t in the line of fire for subpoenas or anything else. Owen whimpered in his arms.
“Okay, okay. You first, Owen.”
Will pulled open his office door to find Julianne standing there, a strange man beside her.
“Oh, hey. Your friend, Chris”—she pointed to the guy next to her—“dropped by. He wanted to say hi before he left town.”
Will had never laid eyes on Chris before. The guy had that smarmy look of a tabloid reporter all over him.
“Who the hell are you?” Will growled, handing off Owen to a startled Julianne.
“Chris Masterman of the Sporting News. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
Julianne gasped as Will maneuvered the weasel reporter through the hallway.
“You came into my house?” Will bellowed. “Are you fucking crazy?”
“Hey, your wife let me in. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way. Cute kid, too. If you could just answer a few ques—”
Will had the dumbass reporter in a choke hold and pushed him up against the wall. “You don’t come in my house, Chris. Ever. If you or any of your brethren step a foot on my yard ever again, I will tear you limb from limb.”
“Will!” Julianne cried.
Chris was fighting back now. “It’s all coming out now, Connelly. You’re better off telling your story to someone who can put the right spin on it. I can help you, man, just tell me what you know.”
Will pulled the front door open; big drops of rain were pelting the verandah. “Not on your life! Now get the hell off my property before I call the sheriff.” He tossed the reporter down the steps.
“You’re a maniac, you know that!” Chris yelled. “I’ve got all this on my iPhone video and when the public sees it, you won’t play another down in the NFL!”
Will slammed the door on him, throwing the deadbolt closed. When he turned around, a wide-eyed Julianne stood at the base of the stairs clutching Owen, who was wailing loudly.
“He said he was your friend,” she whispered.
“Damn it, Julianne,” he yelled at her. “They’re gonna say a lot of things to get in front of me. Especially now. You can’t be so gullible. If I told you once, I told you twice, you’ve got to think first! “
He realized his mistake as soon as her eyes narrowed to slits. The last thing he needed to do was take this out on her. Everything was spinning out of control. He thought he could keep the story at bay as long as he remained in Chances Inlet. But if one reporter was ballsy enough to venture to town, others would follow. None of it, though, was her fault. He closed his eyes and counted to ten.
“Julianne.” He opened his eyes and reached for her.
She recoiled, gripping Owen closer. “Don’t you touch me, Will Connelly.” She turned on her heel and scampered up the stairs.
“Julianne!” he bellowed, which accomplished nothing but to make her angrier. The door to the nursery slammed. Will swore. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Damn it, Roscoe, there was a reporter in my house!” he roared into the phone.
The storm was in full swing, wind and rain battering the windows. Owen had cried himself to sleep, his little head sweaty under Julianne’s touch. She covered him with a blanket and dimmed the lamp. Tense and rattled from the events of the afternoon coupled with the relentless thunder shaking the house, she longed for the safety of Will’s body.
She settled for a blanket instead, wrapping it around her as she sank into the big chair in her room. Her brother’s words echoed around in her head. Stephen had warned her that Will was capable of harm. That he was aggressive by nature. But Julianne hadn’t believed him. She still didn’t. The stupid reporter had duped her. Will was right, she had been gullible. But Will’s reaction had been over-the-top, too. She wasn’t frightened of him; she was scared of whatever he was hiding, though. Clearly, her brother knew more than she did. Why else would he call her every day? Julianne sighed. Will knew all her secrets. Why was it taking him so long to share his with her?
The door from the hallway eased open. Will slipped in carrying a glass of wine. She curled up further in the chair, clutching the blanket tighter. He ignored her “keep out” posture and placed the wineglass on the table beside her. Silently, he made his way into the nursery, presumably to check on Owen.
Julianne took a fortifying swallow of the cabernet sauvignon, its rich flavor warming her as it slid down her throat. When she looked up, Will was leaning against the door frame, his hands shoved into his pockets. His Blaze hoodie was dotted with wet spots and his hair was damp as if he’d been wandering out in the storm. He looked tense and unsure of himself, more like the wayward youth he’d once been rather than the composed role model he’d become. Julianne was encouraged by this glimpse of his vulnerability.
“I owe you an apology.” His voice was gritty and soft, as if he were trying to convince himself he wasn’t angry anymore.
“No.” Julianne’s heart went out to him, but she couldn’t let him off that easily. “You owe me an explanation.”
Will sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, further mussing it up and making him look way too sexy for the small room. She loosened the grip on the blanket, in need of cooler air. His eyes darted everywhere except her face.
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, well, I might not have gone to an Ivy League school like you, but give me some credit for having survived the school of hard knocks.”
He looked at her then, his eyes unreadable. “That wasn’t meant to be a put-down.”
Julianne nodded. They were about to cross that invisible line—she felt it—and she didn’t want to halt their progress by speaking.