I open the car and hop out. He’s right behind me.
“We should stick together,” he says. There are a group of girls weighed down by backpacks and purses, with Greek letters stretched across their shirts, giving us curious glances.
I wait for them to pass then close the distance between us, putting both my hands on his chest. “We talked about this. The fact that you’re here, in this town with me, while I’m dealing with what I am, is huge. I know you think I’m shutting you out, but you are the only person I’ve let in for years. But I need this hour. Don’t make me get it another way.”
We stare at each other for a minute longer, then he pulls me closer, kissing me on my forehead. “One hour,” he says. “You need the keys?”
If Mr. Smith is tracking my car, which is possible, I want him to know we’re in Oxford but I don’t want him to have the exact location of where I am right now. Not yet at least.
“No, I’m not going far and would love to stretch my legs.”
Ryan moves toward the hotel, and I start walking in the opposite direction. I turn down a quiet little street, not far from the square, and stop in front of a beautiful white house with a wraparound porch. Pink blooms explode from the hydrangea bushes in front of the house, and the hummingbirds flutter around feeders hanging from the limb of the huge oak tree.
Overflowing pots of spring flowers perch on each brick step. There is a small seating area on the left side of the porch and an old-fashioned swing hanging on the right side. I stand in front of the door, looking right then left, then wander to the seating area, where there’s a small couch and a rocking chair, both pieces covered in the signature red and blue colors of the university and the words “Hotty Toddy!” printed across the throw pillows. I fluff a few of the pillows, dusting off a thin layer of pollen that settles on every single surface this time of the year, spending a little extra time getting the cushions on the rocker just where I want them.
This is the home of my dreams, the safe haven I always wanted.
Too bad it’s not mine.
I shove down the wave of longing and move back to the door. A few minutes after ringing the doorbell, a blond teenager opens it.
“Hey,” I say. “Is your dad home?”
“Sure, let me get him,” she says, then closes the screen door in my face. I hear her yell for him and then his heavy steps coming from somewhere deep in the house.
The screen door opens slowly and Mitch Cameron asks, “Can I help you?”
I knew it was risky coming to his home, but this time of year and this time of day, there’s nowhere else he would be. And nowhere else I wanted to meet with him.
“Can I have a minute of your time? My name is Wendy Wallace and I was the one who helped you get out of your coaching job in Florida,” I say.
He steps back as if I’ve physically assaulted him. A glance over his shoulder tells him we are alone, but he doesn’t want his family to see me so he steps out onto the front porch, the door closing behind him.
I never expected to be invited inside.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re referring to . . .”
I move to the seating area, sit in the middle of a small couch while he watches me, trying to figure out my game. We stare at each other for a tense few seconds, then he eases into the rocking chair next to me. “I’m really at a loss as to why you’re here, Miss . . .”
“Call me Wendy. And I’m sure you are.”
I let the awkwardness settle over us. I invite it in to be the third member of this conversation. I let it unravel Mitch like nothing else could.
He throws his hands up and his voice goes to a higher pitch than is normal. “Look, I’m not sure why you’re here or what you want but I was fired. And I was blindsided by it, so maybe you’ve got the wrong idea about something.”
I lean forward and drop my voice to a whisper. “I’m going to cut through the bullshit and get right to it. You hired my boss to get you out of your contract. You hated the athletic director, and those boosters were a pain in your ass. And after meeting some of them, I can see why. Leaving on your own meant walking away from a shit ton of money, so you hired someone to get you out of it. But you’re an honorable enough guy that you didn’t want to wreck the program in the process. Which means you’ve got some sense of decency in there somewhere.”
Mitch has leaned back in his rocker, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He looks afraid to move.
“Since asking what I need or want makes you think you’re admitting to something, I’ll save you the trouble. I need some money. I came in and did my job. You walked away with a big paycheck and quickly got a new job offer. A job offer I’m assuming you knew was coming. I think it’s only fair you help me out now since I helped you out then.”
His jaw ticks and his eyes roam from the top of my head down my body.
“Worried I’m wearing a wire?” I stand up and throw my arms out to the side. “Feel free to frisk me.”
He is not amused. But before he says anything else, his phone beeps. Pulling it from his pocket, he looks at the screen a second before tapping against it. A few seconds later, he’s finished and shoving the device back in his pocket.
I sit again since it doesn’t seem he’s going to take me up on my offer to see if I’m wired. We watch each other while he rocks slowly back and forth. It’s almost like I can see his mind spinning.
“Who are you really?” he finally asks.
“I’m no one,” I answer.
Mitch Cameron is living up to his reputation of a coach with nerves of steel.
“Well, No One, you’ve made a mistake. I loved my job in Florida and would have stayed until retirement if they would have let me. I was fortunate enough to land on my feet here and now this is home. And I protect my home. It’s best that you leave. Now.”
I deflate on the couch and his lips tuck in, stopping him from saying anything else. I can see the pity in his eyes when he stares at me.
Getting up from the small couch, I move toward the porch steps. He remains in the rocker.
Just as I’m about to step off the porch, I turn back to him and let my frustration bubble to the surface. All of the anger and the fury of my boss turning on me after eight years. And I let it explode out of me. “You know what? You’re an asshole. I did you a huge favor and now I need some help and you know what? You’re a fucking dick. Fuck you and fuck all the way off, you fucker.”
His face turns red and he stands up so quickly the rocker almost turns over. I’m focused on his chair, but thankfully it rights itself at the last minute. It would not be good if everything fell out of his chair right now.
Mitch spits when he shouts at me. “You have thirty seconds to get off my property or I’m calling the cops! No one comes to my house and talks to me like that, little girl!” He’s not worried about drawing attention now.
I need to make sure he’s good and pissed, so I throw him the middle finger before stomping down his front walk. That does the trick. He moves away from the rocker and stops on the top step, his hands balled in fists. I’m on the sidewalk in front of his neighbor’s house when he finally looks around to see if anyone heard us.
I scream, “Screw you, Mitch!” for good measure then jog down the block.
My temper is back in check by the time I’m a couple of streets away. That was out of control. Reckless. I let myself go in a way I’ve never done before.
And it felt really good.
I check my watch. Ryan should be back in the parking lot of the hotel waiting for me. I don’t spare another glance behind me.
By the time I get to my car, Ryan is sitting in the driver’s seat with the car running. I jump into the passenger seat and say, “Go.” I’m trying hard to hide the smile that is stretched across my face.