Triple Score (17 page)

“I don’t know anything anymore.” Jace clenched and unclenched his fists under the table. “Why, Dad? I would have given you whatever you needed.”

His father seemed to slump even further. “A man’s supposed to support his son, not the other way around.”

Jace didn’t bother to point out that he’d been supporting his father bit by bit for years. No use kicking him when he was down, no matter how pissed off Jace was. “You supported me for eighteen years. All by yourself, I might add. What’s the big deal if the tables are turned now?”

“It wasn’t about the money. At least not at first.”

“Then what was it about?”

“Having something to do with my days. Not being bored out of my ever-loving skull. So when the guys asked me to go to the track...” His father’s voice trailed off and he tugged at his ear, a sure sign Jace was treading into dangerous—or at least uncomfortable—territory. “It just kind of snowballed from there.”

“What do you mean, bored? You’ve got the repair shop to keep you busy.”

“I haven’t wanted to tell you, but business has been dropping off steadily for the past year or two. Half the time things aren’t worth fixing. Everything is disposable. It’s cheaper to buy something new. And the other half of the time I’m dealing with newfangled electronics that are so complicated, I couldn’t fix them if I wanted to.” His father let out a heavy sigh and buried his head in his hands. “I’m a dinosaur, Jace. A relic of a bygone era.”

“What about the Wurlitzer?”

“Done. And it was the only project I’ve had in the last two months, except for fixing Mrs. Robertson’s ancient toaster that she refuses to part with.”

Jace’s wanted to kick himself into next week. This was his father. How could he not have known he was struggling? He was too obsessed with his own damned career, too busy getting wasted and chasing tail, that was how. He was glad his father’s head was down, because he couldn’t look him in the eye. “You should have told me.”

“Pretty damn humiliating, admitting to your offspring that you’re a failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Dad.” Jace ran a finger around the lip of his beer bottle. “And I’m not Mom.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Are you?” Jace leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer. “You raised me. Fed me. Clothed me. Got me to practice on time. And God knows, I was no angel. I’m not going to abandon you just because you fell on hard times or made a few mistakes.”

“More than a few.” His dad picked up his spoon, swirled it around in what remained of his now room temperature soup, then let it clatter back down on the table. “I’m sorry, son. I should have come to you when it got out of hand. Then I wouldn’t have had to run bets for Lenny to pay off my debt.”

“You should have come to me before it got out of hand. But it’s okay.” Jace backpedaled at the stricken look on his father’s face, reaching across the table to cover his father’s hand—more wrinkled than Jace remembered. “I’m here now. We’ll get this fixed. Like the DA said, you’ll testify against Lenny, plead to a lesser offense and get probation.”

“Will I have to move?” His father pulled his hand away. “Lenny’s got a lot of friends. Dangerous ones. They’re not gonna be too happy with me if I help put him behind bars.”

“Maybe,” Jace admitted, figuring it was better to be honest from the get-go. That way his dad could start mentally preparing himself for the possibility that he might have to relocate, maybe even go into witness protection. Jace didn’t even want to think about the complications. “But we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it.”

His poor attempt at humor was rewarded with a wry chuckle.

“You’re a good kid, Jace. A good man,” his father corrected, pushing back his chair, picking up his still half-full bowl and carrying it to the sink.

Good? Jace wasn’t so sure about that. And his father would probably think differently, too, if he read the tabloids.

“If I am, it’s because of you.” He polished off his beer and grabbed two more from the fridge. Popping off the tops, he offered one to his father and checked the clock on the stove. “The Storm’s playing Milwaukee in ten. Wanna watch?”

His father took the bottle and drank. “It doesn’t bother you, watching the team while you’re on the sidelines?”

“Nah.” Jace hoped to hell the lie sounded convincing. Bothered was a mild word for what he felt about that wet-behind-the-ears pissant Hafler in his place at short, lighting it up at the plate and in the field. But the best way to beat the competition was to know them inside out, and that meant studying Hafler’s every move so he’d be ready to take him on in spring training.

“Come on.” Jace slung his good arm around his father’s shoulder. “Let’s watch on the big screen in the den. We can order some pizza.”

“Are pizza and beer on your rehab diet?” His father’s graying brows knotted. “I wouldn’t want you to go against doctor’s orders. Bad enough I dragged you away from that swanky center the Storm sent you to.”

“It won’t hurt me to indulge a little.” Jace steered his dad out of the kitchen and down the hall to the den. “And I’m meeting with the team physician next week to talk about transitioning my treatment to an out-patient facility in Sacramento.”

“You mean you’re not going back?” His father stopped short in the middle of the hallway, and Jace had to do the same to avoid crashing into him. “I thought once...”

“You thought wrong. It’s okay, Dad,” Jace reassured him. “I can finish up my rehab just fine here. And you and I can spend some real time together for a change.”

Both were true, to an extent. The team would hook him up with some perfectly acceptable facility. And he did want to see his father more, help him sort through not just this legal mess but his business problems, too. Maybe he’d even stay with his dad for a while.

But even more true was the fact that Jace couldn’t go back to Spaulding given the way he’d left things with Noelle. Hell, he hadn’t even contacted her since he’d left except for a brief text letting her know he was home safe, which she’d acknowledged with an equally brief
thanks
. It wouldn’t be fair to her to show up on her doorstep expecting to pick up where they’d left off. Unless he had something more to offer her. Like commitment...

“What is it?” His father ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“The game’s about to start.” Changing the subject was a legitimate avoidance strategy, wasn’t it? Jace clapped his father on the shoulder and continued down the hall into the den. “What do you want on your pizza?”

His father followed him. “Your arm’s worse than you’re letting on, isn’t it? Or my case isn’t as open-and-shut as you’re leading me to believe.”

“It’s nothing like that. I swear.” Jace sank into the nut-brown butter-leather sectional he’d bought his dad last Christmas and hunted for the TV remote.

“Well, if it’s not baseball and it’s not my legal troubles, there’s only one thing it can be.” His father sat next to him, giving him the same penetrating look he’d given him as a seven-year-old when Jace had taken a permanent marker to his dad’s prize possession—a baseball signed by Brooklyn Dodger ace Sandy Koufax. “A woman.”

Looked like full-on denial was up to bat next. Hadn’t worked all that well with the Koufax ball, but it was all Jace had left up his sleeve. Bad enough Cooper and Reid knew about Noelle. No way was he discussing his love life with his father.

“Just one?” Jace propped his feet up on the coffee table, trying to project
ladies’ man
and not
big fat liar
. “Not likely.”

“Fine. I understand. Don’t want to talk about it with your old man. Can’t say I blame you, given my track record with the fairer sex. But if you don’t mind one piece of advice...”

Jace shrugged and sipped his beer. “Shoot.”

“Women aren’t mind readers, as much as they’d like us to think they are. If you love her, tell her. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

“Was that what happened with Mom?” They’d never really talked much about her. Jace had only been five when she’d left without looking back, right about the time his dad had quit playing ball after toiling for years in the minors. He’d always assumed the two were connected. But maybe there was more to the story.

“I’m not sure.” His father took a long, slow pull of his beer, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Your mother was never really happy as the wife of a small-time ballplayer. And she wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of me as a handyman. But I’m not the most demonstrative guy. Maybe if I had paid more attention to her, been a little more affectionate...who knows?”

Jace knew. He’d tried being the perfect son—quiet, neat, obedient—thinking it would put a smile on his mother’s face for a change. It hadn’t worked. And nothing his dad could have done would have kept her from bailing on them, either.

But his father had a point. Jace had up and left Noelle hundreds of miles away without manning up and admitting that, when it came down to it, he didn’t want their relationship to have a time stamp. He wasn’t ready to call it love, but he wasn’t ready to call it quits, either.

Now he just needed to figure out how to make things right with her.

“Thanks, Dad.” Jace found the remote stuck between the couch cushions and hit the power button, flicking through the channels to find the game. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Good.” His father kicked his feet up onto the table next to Jace’s. “Now about that pizza...”

* * *

“
A
RE
YOU
READY
for this?” Sara asked, plunking herself down on the exercise bench across from Noelle.

“Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” Noelle half joked. It was the first time she’d felt even remotely like laughing or smiling in the weeks since Jace left. But the next few minutes had the potential to improve her mood dramatically. “You’re the physical therapist.”

“You’re ready. You’ve been a model patient. Your rehab’s progressing right on schedule. I don’t make guarantees, but I’ll be surprised if Dr. Sun doesn’t clear you for the next phase of your treatment.”

“The next phase?”

“Phase four. Focusing on technique, power and performance by practicing sport-specific movements and tasks.”

“Speak English, not therapist.”

“If he gives the thumbs-up, you’re going back to New York to start dancing again.”

Noelle squealed. “You’re serious?”

“Down, girl.” Sara put a hand on her good knee. “Dr. Sun has to approve. And we’re talking baby steps. Pliés at the barre, not pirouettes across the floor.”

“I’m impressed you know what either of those are.”

Sara laughed. “It would have been impossible to spend all these weeks working with you and not pick up a little ballet terminology.”

“Ladies.” A distinguished looking man in what looked to be his midseventies poked his head through the door. Dr. Sun, Noelle presumed. He confirmed it a second later when he introduced himself and held out his hand to her. “And you must be Miss Nelson.”

“Noelle,” she corrected him, taking his hand and shaking it.

“Shall we get started?”

“Of course.” She stood. “The sooner the better.”

For the next half hour, he took her through a series of range-of-motion and strength-training exercises, grunting and scribbling in her chart after each set, not once revealing what he was thinking.

“Good, good,” he murmured finally.

“So I can dance?” Noelle took the water bottle Sara offered her, popped the top and drank.

“One more test.” Dr. Sun patted one of the exercise benches. “Lie on your back with your heel resting on the edge.”

She did as he asked, and he flexed her knee.

When he was done, Noelle sat up. “What’s the verdict, doc? Was leaving my family and friends and trekking more than halfway across the country worth it?”

“If by worth it you mean did coming here get you healed and healthy as fast as possible, then yes. You’re cleared to dance.” He held up a cautionary hand, palm out. “You’ll have to start slowly, of course. Basic, simple moves only. I’ll be sending your file to the company doctor in New York, and Sara will be consulting with your physical therapist there to make sure you stay on track.”

“Oh, I will, I promise. Thank you, Dr. Sun.” Noelle jumped up and hugged the surprised doctor then turned to her therapist, arms open. “And you, too, Sara. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Sara returned the hug. “I don’t know about that. You’re one of the most motivated patients I’ve ever worked with. But if you’re offering it up, I’ll gladly take the credit for your success.”

Noelle gave Sara a quick squeeze before releasing her, and the two women said their goodbyes to Dr. Sun. When he was gone, Noelle sank back down onto the bench, still in a state of happy shock. Sure, she had a long way to go yet. It’d be months before she was strong enough to perform in front of an audience. But she was going to dance again. The career she’d worked so hard for was back within her grasp, so close she could taste it. “What happens next?”

“I’ll have the front office make arrangements for you to fly out as soon as possible.” Sara sat next to her. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but I think I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.”

“Thanks. I’ll miss you, too.” Noelle reached under the bench for her water bottle, suddenly itching to get back to her room, where she’d left her cell phone charging on the nightstand. News like this was too good not to share. She had to tell...

Jace.

Excitement traded places with regret, which settled on her like a cold, wet blanket. Jace was the one person she most wanted to talk to now, the one person who would best understand what it meant to be given your livelihood—no, your dream, your life, your goal since you could walk—back again.

Unfortunately, he was also the person who hadn’t bothered to communicate with her in the more than two weeks since his abrupt departure, save for one two-word text letting her know he’d arrived safely in Sacramento. And, okay, her response had been just as brief. But she had been following his lead. It was obvious he didn’t want anything more to do with her. Wasn’t it?