Unknown - driven

Luckily for Dylan, her dealings with Johnson and the advertisers had come off much better than expected. A large group of lesbians, gay men, and open minded individuals had heard about the threatened pull-out and had made it clear that they would boycott the boycotters, thereby proving once again that in the business world, capitalism won out over bigoted morality every time.

With that piece of desiccated meat swept clean from her overfull plate, Dylan was left once again to ponder.

By the end of the second week, Dylan had had enough. The worry in her gut wouldn?t go away no matter how she tried to subdue it. She knew her mood would remain miserable until she was finally able to put away any doubts she harbored over Catherine?s emotional state. And those doubts could only be put away by talking to the young woman herself.

Privately.

Her mind made up, she waited until after practice on Friday evening, staying away until she was reasonably sure the rest of the team and coaches had left for the day before slowly walking toward the arena proper, running over opening gambits in her head.

She was surprised when entering the arena to find the lights already dimmed. The place was empty save for the ready-to-retire janitor who was pushing his broom along the side of the court nearest the benches.

“Lo, Miss Dylan,” he said politely, doffing the baseball cap that covered his cotton-wool head.

“Hello, Jerome,” Dylan replied, distracted. She looked down at her watch, then back at the court, blinking dumbly. Even if Catherine had started the minute practice ended and hit all of her freethrows in a row on the first try, she still should have been in the arena.

But she wasn?t.

Dylan sighed.

“Sure is quiet without the little sprout out here keepin? me company,” Jerome commented, almost to himself, as he continued working his push broom.

Dylan turned to him slowly, eyebrow elevated. “?Little sprout??”

Jerome?s dark skin darkened further. He broke out into a somewhat bashful smile. “Miss Cat, Ma?am. She was always out here after practice, makin? her shots. Sweet lady she is, always askin? after me and my family and tellin? silly stories.” The janitor shook his head. “Nice lady. Real nice lady.”

“How long has it been since you saw her last?” Dylan asked, trying to sound casual when she was anything but.

Doffing his cap, Jerome scratched the back of his head. “Since her accident.” His seamed face hardened into a scowl. “Beggin? your pardon, Miss Dylan, but I hope them that hurt her burn. I do indeed.”

Dylan nodded, agreeing with the man, even as her mind whirled with the implications of this new information. “Thank you, Jerome. You might have just given me the answers I was looking for.”

The smile the janitor gave took two decades off his age. “I did? Well, I?m glad to help, Miss Dylan. Always glad to help.”

“Are you sure you?re okay?”

“Sure I am!” Cat pulled away from Shaniqua?s helpful hold, almost dropping the keys in her hand. “Damnit! They went and changed the locks on me! I?ll kill em!”

“You have to put the key in right side up, shortchange.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks!” Flipping the key, Cat inserted it into the lock and grinned when it twisted, allowing the door to open. “Cool! You wanna come in? I got a new bottle of SoCo with your name on it.”

“No, man. We got early practice tomorrow. Did you forget already?”

Cat?s motions were exaggerated as she turned to face her teammate. “Forget? Me?”

Chaney laughed. “Yeah, shortchange. You.”

Cat scowled. “No, I didn?t forget. I?m just not ready to go to sleep yet.”

“Better you than me, girl. I?m beat. You sure you?re gonna be alright?”

“Just fine and dandy! You g?wan home and go to sleep, party pooper. Colonel SoCo and I will do just fine alone.”

Chaney laughed again, slapping Hodge on the shoulder. “You?re alright for a white girl, shortchange.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“See you tomorrow. Don?t come in hung over or Fraulein Caulley will whip your ass.”

Cat giggled at the mental image. “I won?t be hung over. See ya tomorrow, Shan.”

“Later, shortchange.”

Feeling a bit more sober, Cat carefully locked the door, threw the deadbolt, and switched on the new alarm system she had had installed the week before. “Takes care of that,” she announced, walking into the apartment and turning on all the lights as she went. The kitchen was her last stop, and she picked up the unopened bottle of Southern Comfort from the counter top and cracked the seal.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, she walked over to the couch, flipped on the television, and poured herself a healthy shot. She took a generous sip, then almost choked the sweet whiskey out her nose when there was a sudden knock on her door.

Grinning, she jumped to her feet, glass still in hand. “Shan, you dog! I knew you weren?t ready to stop yet! Hang on a second and let me get the?ouch Stupid thing?door open.”

In quick succession, the alarm was switched off, and deadbolt released, and the lock opened. Throwing open the door, Cat greeted her late night visitor with a beaming grin.

Which quickly faded upon the realization that not only wasn?t Shaniqua Chaney standing outside, Dylan Lambert was.

“Oh. Um?Hi, Coach!” The grin returned, glaring in its insincerity.

“Catherine.”

The false smile left as quickly as the real one did. “Is?something wrong?”

“Nope. Just checking to see how you?re doing.”

Cat?s eyes narrowed. “And that requires a house call?”

Dylan gave a casual shrug. “Sometimes.”

Cat sighed. “Well?if you went through all the trouble of coming out here to check up on me, the least I can do is let you in.” Stepping back, she gestured Dylan inside with a tilt of her head.

Dylan followed, taking careful note of the apartment?s interior. It seemed a different place from the one she had left the morning after Cat?s assault. Though hardly slovenly, the normally immaculate living space was cluttered with newspapers, books, old clothes, and beer bottles. The beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows were all covered over by heavy black draperies pulled tight enough not to let even the faintest sliver of light through. The windows on the top floor showed a similar treatment. And Dylan knew without looking closely that the alarm system was both new and top-of-the-line.

Feeling eyes upon her, Dylan turned her attention to the couch where Cat was sitting. The younger woman was sipping from her glass, and the gaze she leveled at Dylan was equal parts curiosity and challenge.

“So?is there anything I can help you with?” Cat asked in a deceptively mild voice.

“Like I said,” Dylan replied, “I?m just checking to make sure everything?s okay with you.” Her gaze darted around the room, once again noting the changes.

Cat felt her jaw clench at the cataloguing. She knew exactly what Dylan was doing; what she was thinking, and it made her guts burn. Maybe it was the alcohol lubricating her emotions, but she didn?t feel inclined to halt her words. “Begging your pardon, Coach, but I already have a mother. I don?t need another one.”

Dylan?s eyes widened for a second, then she tipped her head. Touch�. She cleared her throat. “I tried to see you after practice today, but you?d already left.”

Cat?s face colored slightly, and she looked down at the drink in her hand. A drink she no longer wanted. “It?s?just a stupid superstition anyway. I?m making my foul shots just fine in the games.”

Dylan nodded, even though she didn?t believe a word of the excuse. “True.”

“Well, is it something else? Am I not doing my job in some way? Screwing up in practice? Screwing up in the games?”