Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

“I used to.” He led the way to a back door, opened it, and pulled her in behind him. The alarm system began to bleep, but he punched in a sequence of numbers and it went silent. “They never changed the code. All these years, it’s been the same.”

“This was your house?”

“My high school coach and his wife. They took me in when I was fifteen.”

“The Millers.” At his look of surprise, she added, “I read about you.”

He didn’t risk turning on any lights, but there was enough light from the neighbors’ houses straining through the kitchen window curtain that he could make out her features as he searched her face. “You read about me?”

“When Foster recommended you to father the baby. I researched your background.”

“Oh.” He waited a beat, then said, “I guess I passed. In spite of the fact that my dad was a wife beater and my mother a whore.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“People say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Generally speaking, people are unfair.”

“Not in this case. I turned out rotten, too.”

She shook her head and was about to say something when the refrigerator cycled on, creating a buzz that sounded as loud as a chain saw in the silent house. She jumped. He touched her arm. “It’s just the fridge. It’s okay. Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her behind him as he made his way from the kitchen into the living area, where the drapes were drawn and it was much darker.

Still speaking in a whisper, she said, “So this is where you’ve been staying all this time?”

“Since my escape from Turner’s house.”

“They’ve been sheltering you?”

“Hardly. They don’t know I’m here. I came to see Ellie not too long ago. She mentioned a trip to Hawaii. I guess that’s where they are. Anyhow, I showed up here, prepared to throw myself on their mercy. I didn’t have to.”

“You may when they return.”

“I may,” he said ruefully. “I’m sure Coach will kick me out. But at least they can’t be accused of sheltering me. I’m sorry I can’t turn on any lights. The neighbors know they’re away and will be keeping an eye on the house. It’s that kind of neighborhood. Careful. I’ve got to close this door.” He shut the door between the living room and the hallway, plunging them into total darkness.

“Didn’t Rodarte think to look for you here?”

“I’m sure he did and probably still has a car doing periodic drive-bys. But when he discovered the Millers were out of state, he figured I wouldn’t be here. Besides, he knows Coach can’t stomach the sight of me now. He’d think if I showed my face around here, he’d be the first person Coach would call. I’ve been hoping that all this would be cleared up before they return from their vacation and they’d never know that I’d used their house.” He laughed softly. “Ellie probably would figure it out, though. I’ve tried to clean up after myself, but she’s an excellent housekeeper.”

“Is that their car we were in?”

“Their second car. Not used much. I sneaked it out of the garage in the middle of the night, drove it to the parking lot of that restaurant, and left it. I’ve been coming and going from there. As far as the neighbors know, the car is still in the garage.”

He felt his way along the wall till he reached the doorway to his bedroom. “In here.”

When they were inside and the door closed behind them, he released her hand and felt his way over to the desk. He found the lamp by feel and turned it on. They blinked against the sudden light. He motioned toward the window that overlooked the front yard. “Crude but effective.”

He’d stretched a dark blanket over the window frame and secured it all around with tape, so that not even a sliver of light would shine through. “From the outside all you see is drawn blinds.”

“Genius.”

“More like desperation.”

A laptop computer was on the desk. He switched it on. He’d found it in the spare bedroom. Coach had always cursed computers, saying they were “too damn hard to operate,” so Griff supposed it was Ellie who’d joined the age of electronics.

While it was booting, he watched Laura as she moved around the room, looking at photos, trophies, clippings, and other memorabilia of his life-starting at age fifteen.

“You began early.”

She was looking at a photo of him taken before he was old enough to shave. He was kneeling with one knee on the turf, wearing a football uniform with full pads, his helmet tucked under his arm, his expression as badass as he could make it. The photos and awards in this room chronicled his football career from those adolescent teams up to that fateful play-off game with the Redskins.

“You loved it, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you regret what you did?”

“You have no idea.” He glanced at the computer monitor. It wasn’t a speedy, streamlined new model. Programs were still loading. Laura sat down on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap, like she was settling in to listen.

Griff looked at a framed photo of himself caught in the motion of throwing a pass. It had been taken during the game that had won his high school the state championship. Coach’s team. The school district had held a victory parade upon their return from Houston, where the game had been played in the Astrodome. Up to that point, it had been the highlight of Griff’s life.

“You know from the day you start that it can’t last forever,” he said. “Even if you go all the way to the pros, it’s short term. Thirty is old. Thirty-five is ancient. And that’s if you escape serious injury. You’re never more than one play away from the end of your career. Or even the end of your life. Each time the ball is snapped, it’s a tempt of fate.”

He turned his head and looked at her. “But I wouldn’t trade a day of it. Not a single day. I loved the buildup that was part of each game. By kickoff time, I’d have a knot in my gut harder than a fist, but it was a good kind of anxiety, you know?”

She nodded.

“I loved the snap, getting my hands around that ball. I loved the adrenaline rush I got every time I called a tricky play and it was perfectly executed. I received perks and favors all along the way, a college education, millions in salary. But the truth is, Laura, I’d have played for nothing.

“Because even on the worst days, I loved the game. I loved it even on the Monday mornings when I could barely get out of bed for the aches and pains.” He smiled. “Most mornings it still takes me half an hour before I can stand up straight.”

He looked at the computer. It was still grinding. “I remember one Sunday afternoon in Texas Stadium, lying on the turf after I’d been sacked by a thousand pounds of Broncos in front of a capacity home crowd. I looked up through that stupid hole in the ceiling of the stadium, and even then, knocked flat on my butt and having lost seven yards on the play, I was so goddamn happy to be there I laughed out loud. Everybody thought I’d had my bells rung, got a concussion, or just plain cracked under pressure. No one could guess I was laughing out of pure joy over the game. The game.” He shook his head and snuffled a sad laugh. “Yeah, I loved it. God, I loved it.”

Several moments elapsed. He heard Laura draw in a long breath and let it out slowly. “And they loved you.”

When he looked back at her, she was staring at a photo of him with the Millers. “You mean Coach? Ellie?” He shrugged uneasily. “Emphasis on the past tense.”

She indicated the walls, the full shelves, and said softly, “It’s all still here, Griff.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then turned back to the computer. “Finally.” He moved the cursor to the icon that would link him to the Internet. He felt Laura move up behind him and look over his shoulder.