care.'
'Of course I care! I never stopped caring. I just stopped being able to live with you.'
She found the aspirin, then knelt in front of the mini-bar, opening it with a key. Her blond hair was swept straight back off her forehead and held with a barrette. She was wearing a black silk wrap dress tied at the waist and trimmed in white. The dress stopped several inches above the knee. Bobby watched her movements, the flex of the muscles in her calves, the slope of her neck, as she craned her head to see inside the bar, the delicate motion of her hands. He could watch all night.
'Apple juice or orange juice?' she asked.
'How about some Jack Daniels juice?'
She brought him a handful of aspirin, a glass filled with ice, and a miniature bottle filled with the luminous amber sour mash whiskey. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she poured the liquor over the ice, then motioned for Bobby to open his mouth. Daintily, she placed three aspirin on his tongue and handed him the glass.
He wanted to kiss her hand, to suck her fingertips, to gobble her up, but restraining himself, he sipped at the Jack Daniels, tossed his head back, and swallowed the pills. He could scarcely believe this was happening. How long had it been since he'd been alone with her?
He had dreamed of moments like this. Okay, not exactly like this, the dreams not including his getting mugged as a prerequisite to landing in her bed.
They sat silently a moment, then Christine ran a hand through his shaggy hair. 'I sometimes forget what a devilishly handsome man you are, Bobby Gallagher.'
'I never forget how beautiful you are,' he said.
Her hand lingered, and she gently caressed his cheek. 'I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm sorry all this happened, but I don't know what I could have done differently.'
She swung her legs up onto the bed, then lowered her head onto Bobby's chest. A feeling of warmth spread over him. The pain in his head had become bearable. The ache in his heart had not.
As she nuzzled against his chest and wrapped her arms around him, he stroked her hair. He could feel her warm breath against his neck. She drew her knees up, tucking into the shape of question mark and curling her body into his. They had often fallen asleep this way, her head on his chest, their bodies intertwined. He felt lightheaded, intoxicated. It was the first act of intimacy between them in more than two years. Was it really happening? Maybe he'd been knocked unconscious. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was dead.
'Breathe,' she said.
'What?'
'You're holding your breath.'
He let out a gasp of air, inhaled deeply, then laughed. 'I guess I thought if I breathed, I'd wake up and find this was just a dream.'
She raised up on an elbow and looked down at him. They were within kissing distance, but neither would make the move.
'I wish we could start over,' she said, 'but nobody gets that chance.'
'I regret having hurt you. I behaved childishly and didn't accomplish anything. Nightlife still got off, and your father hasn't changed a bit.'
Outside, the wind was picking up and tore at the flimsy curtains that billowed across the sliding door to the balcony.
'Don't start in on that, please Bobby.'
'I won't. But you know it's true. If it hadn't been for your father-'
'Don't blame him!' she said with a harshness that stunned Bobby. Christine hoisted herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, peering at him from the perch of a nurse, not a lover. He knew from the look on her face that he had broken the mood. 'Bobby, please. You know where that will lead.'
She was right. She was always right. But just the thought of Martin Kingsley invading this private space he shared with Christine, infuriated Bobby.
'I don't know what makes me angrier,' Bobby said, clenching his jaw tight, trying to will himself from saying more, from stepping into the quicksand, 'that your father drove us apart or that he's trying to take Scott from me.'
'I know you love Scott,' she said. 'I know you wouldn't do anything purposely to hurt him, and I hate to do anything that will limit his time with you, but we have to look out for his best interests.'
' We? Do you mean you and me or you and your father?'
He didn't like the sound of his own voice, petulant and accusing.
'Daddy only wants what's best for Scott, too.'
Bobby tried to control himself. He tried to preserve the moment that was slipping away, but he lost the battle with his own fiery instincts, his knack for self-immolation prevailing over reason.
'Is it best for me to be out of the picture?' He fought against the shrillness in his own voice. 'Is it best for me to lose all parental rights?'
'What are you talking about?' Her forehead was wrinkled, her look both puzzled and angry at the same time.
'Your old man tried to buy me off. He offered to pay off a gambling debt of mine if I'd get out of Scott's life.'
'I don't believe it, Bobby. Daddy knows I would never want that.'
'He doesn't care what you want! He doesn't care what Scott wants! He's a megalomaniac who wants to control everyone around him. He's immoral and corrupt! He's even betting on the Super Bowl.'
'How would you know that?'
'Because the bet is with me! It's for five million dollars.'
'Oh right! I think your brains got rattled tonight. Where would you get five million dollars? Why would Daddy bet with anybody, much less you?'
'It's a long story,' he said.
She bounded off the bed and backed away, putting distance between them. Her look was one of complete puzzlement, as if she didn't even recognize him. 'You're lying to me, Bobby. You never did that before, ever.'
'I'm not lying, dammit!'
'Daddy might cut some corners, but he wouldn't bet on the games. It's a major violation of league rules that could cost him the franchise.'
'When will you learn that your father doesn't follow any rules except his own!' He shouted the words, and the noise jump-started the headache, which had all but faded away.
'You're obsessed with him, Bobby. Your hatred of Daddy has poisoned your mind, made you paranoid.'
'Then forget about me! Go run to your pretty-boy quarterback, if you can find him, if he's not shacked up with half the cheerleading squad and sailing the high seas on a Vicodin buzz.'
Like so many times in the past, he immediately regretted what he had said. He wanted to cut out his tongue with rusty garden shears.
'You're so spiteful, Bobby! First Daddy and now Craig. Have you fallen so low that you have to attack everyone who's accomplished more than you have?'
'There aren't enough hours in the day or arrows in my quiver to do that,' he said, sorrowfully.
'So why attack Craig? You're the one hanging around with Miss Headband. I saw you at Media Day. I don't know what you're up to, but whatever it is, if I know you, you'll get into more trouble.'
'I may have been with Shari, but Craig's the one who's chased her from Plano to Tijuana and back.'
'Why are you so hateful?'
'Because I hate having lost you. I understand your loyalty to your father, I really do. I've always known that you're blind to his dark side. But Craig Stringer? Why are you with him? Because he needed you to cure his addiction? Because he was upset when his stables burned down?'
'Don't mock his pain, Bobby. He even lost Temptation. God, how he loved her.'
'Yeah, yeah, I remember. The only filly he never cheated on.'
'You should have seen how he cried when she died.'
'He cried because the insurance company wouldn't pay off until his lawyer sued. The tears stopped when Craig pocketed four million in insurance payments.'
