Jaci Burton - Melting the Ice

“I just . . . can’t right now, Carolina. I have to give everything to the team.”

“But you’re still going to do the show, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Drew. You have to do the show. You’re fitted. It’s too late to get someone else.”

“Yeah. Sure. I did the fittings, right? I’ll do the show.”

She’d never seen such a lack of enthusiasm. Not that she expected him to be thrilled about it, but . . . God, she had spent a year getting ready for this. And now it was three days away and he wanted to bail on her?

“You could have said no at the beginning, you know. It wasn’t even my idea to have you in the show. It was Gray’s.”

He gave her a wry smile. “So you didn’t want me.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not saying that. But it’s too late now. I need you to say you’re going to be there.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be there. For the show part, anyway, because I promised you I would.”

He’d also promised her he’d do the advertising. Which meant he was giving her nothing. There was no emotion in his voice. He was walking away from her yet again. Somehow, it hurt more now than it had all those years ago when he’d dumped her. Maybe because she cared more now than she had then.

She stood, tamping down the hurt that wrapped around her like a pin-pricking blanket. She refused to take this personally. He’d made a business decision, and nothing more. “Okay. I get that your schedule is full regarding the print ad. I’ll just go in another direction.”

“Wait.”

She stopped, hoping he’d changed his mind.

“Look, I was going to have something to eat. Maybe run out and grab a cheeseburger. Do you want to join me?”

She couldn’t even force a smile. “I hate burgers. Thanks, but no. I have a lot of work to do, so I’ll just grab a taxi and head out.”

She put on her coat and went to the door.

“Carolina, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t want to see him anymore, couldn’t even form words, hating that there was a catch in her throat, that she wanted to cry. She had to be a professional about this, not act as if he’d just broken her heart.

But he’d just broken her heart, dammit. He’d let her down, and she couldn’t help the way she felt.

This was what happened when she allowed herself to get close. She should have known better. If she’d have kept things business-only between them, she wouldn’t feel as if he’d jerked her world out from under her right now.

She finally took a deep breath and turned around. “Don’t say anything. It’s all right.”

She opened the door and shut it behind her before she did something incredibly stupid, like bursting into tears or asking him why he didn’t care enough about her to do this one thing that meant the world to her.

A taxi was just pulling around the corner, so she hailed it and it stopped. She’d gotten lucky, was hoping she wasn’t going to have to stand there under the windows of his apartment for twenty minutes waiting for an available cab. She climbed in and gave the driver her address, then sat back and thought about which of her models she was going to use for the print advertising.

There was no time to wallow in her misery, no time to think about herself. She had to get moving on the advertising campaign. Work had to take precedence.

When she got back to her apartment, she went to her model portfolios and brought them up on her computer, searching through each face, studying each body, imagining them wearing the briefs.

She’d have to scrap the shoot the way she’d envisioned it. Without Drew, it would no longer make sense. She’d have to come up with something else, something equally enticing.

Reaching into her bag for her sketchbook, she propped her feet up on the table and closed her eyes, letting her imagination have free rein.

The only problem was, her mind had gone completely blank.

DREW LEANED AGAINST THE WINDOW LEDGE AND watched Carolina get into the taxi and drive away.

He was such a dick. It would have cost him nothing but a few hours of his time to go ahead and do the advertising campaign. They’d already run through it once. He knew what to expect. And then it would be over, she’d have what she wanted, and he could go on and do his thing.

But hell, what would he promote for her? Certainly not a damn winning image. He wasn’t a winner. Not this season, anyway. She should go in another direction, get some famous model whose face would sell millions for her.

He sat on his sofa and dropped his chin to his chest. He felt washed-up and finished, like a loser. And it had been a long damn time since he’d felt that way. In college, when he’d struggled it had taken a kick in the ass from Bill Briscoe to remind him why he was there in the first place, and all the things that were worth fighting for.

Bill would kick his ass right now if he could see him sitting here in the dark feeling sorry for himself, when he should be trying to figure out what the problem was with his play, or with his team’s play.

Instead, he was blaming the woman he cared about. But hell, he was grasping here, and what else did he have to grab on to other than Carolina as an excuse for everything that was fucked up so far about this season?

Something else Bill would likely kick his ass over.

His stomach tightened at the thought of not having Bill around to seek advice from.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Ginger Briscoe’s cell. She answered on the third ring.

“Well, hello, Drew. How are you?”

“I’m doing fine, Miss Ginger. And you?”

“Hanging in there.”

He didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to know. “How’s Bill doing?”

“Hang on just a second, Drew.”

He heard rustling, then a door closing.

“He’s sleeping right now, so I didn’t want my talkin’ to wake him up. It’s not good, Drew. Doctors think the next week or two at most.”

Drew took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Miss Ginger.”

“Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. It’s just his time. The nice doctors down here have done all they could but there’s nothin’ left to be done. It’s in God’s hands now.”

“Is he in any pain?”

“No, honey. They’ve got him medicated. He sleeps a lot, smiles at me a lot, and he and Haven and I are just sittin’ around laughin’ about all the good times we had with all you boys.”

Drew swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I’m going to head down there tomorrow.”

“You do that. I know he’d love to see you before . . . well, he’d love to see you.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Miss Ginger.”

Drew hung up and got online, booked a flight to Houston, then called his coach, letting him know he’d miss practice tomorrow for family business. He explained the situation, which his coach said was fine with him. Drew promised he’d be back the next day.

It was important to see Bill, to be able to say good-bye while Bill was still around.

The next morning he hopped a flight to Houston and rented a car, then drove to MD Anderson. He sat in the parking lot for fifteen minutes before he gathered up the courage to get out of the damn car.

He needed to see Bill. He wanted to see him, but he didn’t know if he could handle this.

He loved his parents, loved his dad, but Bill had always been like a second father to him. He’d told all his deepest, darkest fears to Bill Briscoe. Bill had seen him at his absolute worst, and had pushed him along when he thought he couldn’t become the man—the athlete—that he needed to be.

And as he stood in the lobby in front of the elevators, Drew needed to be that man right now.

He sucked in a breath and pushed the elevator button, taking it up to the floor where Bill’s room was. He walked down the long hallway, the smell of medicine, illness, and utter hopelessness surrounding him like a dark cloud. By the time he got to Bill’s room, he knew if he didn’t shake this off, he was going to crumble when he walked in.