“Can we talk before you take off?” Amy asked.
He nodded and she walked him to the door.
“Ready to rethink the lodge?” she asked.
He shook his head. “So far you’ve got things well under control. When you don’t, we’ll talk.” He threw down the gauntlet, knowing she’d work doubly hard to prove she could corral his family.
No escape necessary, or so he hoped.
“Promise?”
He nodded.
“Say it.”
“I promise.” He couldn’t hold back his grin.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she said, pointing at him for emphasis.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” He grabbed her finger long enough to stop her and glanced at her satisfied smile.
He could think of just one way to wipe the smug grin off her face. He leaned forward, brushing a long, lingering kiss over her lips before turning around and walking out. Leaving them both wanting more.
ROPER WALKED OUT OF THE office of the team’s orthopedist, the best in the city, and barely felt the cold winter air. He’d gone from a euphoric high, leaving Amy with a stunned expression after that kiss, to this. He’d just gotten the results of an MRI he’d had taken last week and the news wasn’t good. Despite his workouts and physical therapy, his strength wasn’t returning as quickly as he’d hoped. The MRI didn’t show anything that would impede his progress, but the doctor also said that sometimes healing didn’t occur at the pace a patient wanted. He’d have to listen to his body or risk further damage.
The doctor was warning him. Spring training might start late for him.
Or not at all.
Roper had seen many players who never bounced back after surgery, and in his case, he wasn’t coming off a stellar season to start with.
Mentally he’d needed good news today. Promising news. He hadn’t gotten it.
“A delay ought to go over well with the already-pissed-off fans,” he muttered, kicking uselessly at an empty coffee cup littering the sidewalk. On the city streets, nobody spared him a second glance.
Someone talking to himself wasn’t unusual here. He was just lucky there were no reporters around to let the world know he was losing it.
At least, since he’d seen the team doctor, he didn’t have to call his coach. The doc would do it for him, which took one load off his shoulders. Roper had a couple of hours before his physical-therapy appointment, so he headed home to unwind.
As he passed the front desk with a wave to Stan, the doorman, called him back.
“What’s up?” Roper asked Stan, who’d been on the day shift ever since Roper had bought the place two years ago.
“Another delivery for you.” He held out a box with a familiar scrawl.
“The guy doesn’t give up,” Stan said, lifting his cap and scratching the top of his head.
Roper began to shrug, and the immediate soreness reminded him of his already shitty day. “He’s a Renegades fanatic who doesn’t think I’m earning my keep. At the moment he’s got a valid point.”
Stan frowned. “Maybe if he showed you some support, you’d get your groove back faster.”
Roper appreciated the man’s backing. “Thanks. Not much I can do but ignore it.” Still, the thought of how much he’d disappointed the fans, his teammates and himself gnawed at his gut.
“I still don’t like that he knows where you live.”
Roper forced a laugh. He didn’t like it much himself, but again, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Half of New York City knows where I live. It’s not a national secret. But I appreciate your concern.”
“Yeah, well, it just doesn’t sit right. I mean, the guy doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. He just sends you things that don’t fit in the mailboxes and have to come through me. You need to get these things screened.”
He waved at an older woman passing by. “Afternoon, Mrs. Davis,” he said.
“Hello, Stanley.” She smiled warmly and kept walking.
“Anyway, I don’t like it,” he said, turning his attention back to Roper.
“It’s his way of getting my attention.” As if Roper could or would ignore the upset-fan letters still trickling into the stadium addressed to him.
“Why don’t you open it down here? That way I can get rid of it for you afterward,” Stan offered.
Roper recognized his curiosity but also his point. Who wanted more reminders of his shitty season hanging around his apartment? “Why not?”
Stan pulled a box cutter from beneath the desk. “Do you want the honors?”
Roper shook his head. “You can have them.”
Stan neatly slit the box and opened the flaps, then Roper took over. He reached inside and pulled out a Ziploc bag, sealed shut.
For good reason. The contents defied description.
Roper looked, blinked and stared again. “Holy-”
“What the hell?” Stan asked, narrowing his gaze and staring at the bag in disbelief. “Is that what I think it is?”
Roper held the bag with two fingers, keeping it far away from him. “It sure is, Stan. It’s a bag of shit.” Probably dog shit.
And written on the bag in permanent marker were the words You Stink.
Roper’s stomach roiled in a combination of nausea and humiliation.
“The nerve of some people. You get on upstairs and take it easy. I’ll get rid of this.” Stan pulled the bag from Roper’s hand, stuffed it in the box and stormed away, heading for the back of the lobby where the trash was located.
Appreciating Stan’s discretion, Roper nodded. Shaken, he headed farther into the building and took the elevator upstairs. He’d just reached the kitchen and lowered himself into the nearest chair when his cell phone rang.
He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced down and groaned, answering it despite knowing better. “Hi, Mom,” he said, hearing the exhaustion in his voice.
“Hello, darling. What’s wrong? You sound down. What happened at the doctor’s?”
“Just some frustrating news,” he admitted. “I’m not getting better as fast as I’d hoped.” He didn’t even think of upsetting her with the news about his recent package in the mail.
“What’s up?” he asked, for the first time almost grateful for his family to focus on.
His mother paused. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling about Ben. I visited with him after lunch and I’m horrified by where he’s living. Did you know he’s crashing on a friend’s couch? He gave up his apartment because he couldn’t pay the rent.” Her voice rose in panic. “I had no idea things were so bad. He never told me.”
Obviously Ben had managed to lie about where he was living until faced with his mother in the flesh.
Roper massaged the back of his suddenly stiff neck. “Mom, Ben’s a big boy. There are any number of jobs he could take that would bring in a weekly salary so he could keep an apartment. He chooses not to apply for them. Just like he chooses to ignore my phone calls or discuss potential coaching jobs.”
Just like his mother chose not to take acting roles she believed were beneath her. The difference was that Ben had lost enough of Roper’s money that Roper no longer felt obligated to help his brother.
“You never did understand how frustrating it is for Ben to live in your shadow,” she said.
Roper let out an angry groan. “I’ll tell you about frustrating. I just had a doctor’s appointment where I learned that despite all the work I’ve done in the past few months, my shoulder isn’t strong enough for spring training. I’ve been killing myself and it just doesn’t matter. So I can’t summon much pity for Ben at the moment. He’s brought his problems on himself.”
A long pause followed, which Roper took to mean his mother finally understood how serious he was about not wanting to discuss Ben. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, her voice softening.