Her brow crinkled. “I thought you worked in corporate real estate at HRR.”
“I do. But I also want to open a physical therapy and rehab center that will focus on professionals in the tristate area. Athletes, stage performers, that kinda stuff. People who need more intensive training because they put their bodies through more intense workouts as part of their careers. Like I said, Marcus is the best at getting someone into incredible shape. I’m living proof. So, I took the job at HRR, not only for the career change, but also to get a jump on any commercial buildings that might suit our needs to launch our first center.” He craned his neck to look directly at her, ready to fill in the gaps she didn’t already know. “Originally, I thought the Loughlin site was perfect for our venture.”
“What?!” She scrambled against the arm of the sofa, attempting to get to her feet, but he held onto her hand.
“Relax, Cam. I’m not interested in your building. The minute I saw you in it, I realized it belonged to you.” She settled down again, but her gaze remained hard, flinty, mentally burrowing into his head as if trying to pull information from his brain through sight alone. “What?”
“You’ve changed,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You’re... different. I can’t explain it.”
He laughed. “I can. I got the shit kicked out of me and found out I’m not destined to be the superstar I planned to become. It was a helluva wake-up call. Finding yourself lying helpless in a hospital bed unable to take care of your most basic needs and having to learn how to do stuff that used to come to you naturally is a humbling experience. It certainly knocked me off that pedestal I used to try to balance on.”
Her focus returned to her lap. “I’m sorry.”
Was she apologizing for abandoning him? He wasn’t sure. That was the thing about Cam. Apologies didn’t spring from her lips easily. So when she did say those two little words, she rarely elaborated beyond them. For her, it was a blanket statement, meant to cover any misconceptions or hurt feelings she might have inadvertently created. Not because of her ego. Quite the opposite. Cam’s self-esteem had been so battered by living with her mother all those years, she never considered anyone put that much weight behind her words or actions.
“It’s okay,” he assured her.
She dropped her head to his shoulder and wrapped one arm around his waist, a loose hold that might as well have been a vise. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want time to pass. He’d sit this way forever, if she asked. Nothing else ever seemed so right, so natural. He ran a hand over her hair, reveled in the feel of her in his arms again. Using the pad of his thumb, he brushed away that lone tear.
She sat up and rearranged herself until their lips were a breath apart. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and her mouth met his.
She tasted, as she always did, of everything he believed good in the world: sunshine and warm summer grass and freshly fallen snow. Her lips parted beneath his, and his tongue swept inside, needing more of her, burning with a longing to consume all of her, to keep her, to retrieve the woman he’d once loved and lost. He cupped her face between his palms, his fingers pressing gentle circles to her temples, and was rewarded with a low moan that zinged straight through him.
And while a tiny voice tried to warn him that she was still the same woman who’d turned her back on him, his desire for her easily drowned out any misgivings. He loved her, God help him. He always would.
Chapter 13
Albert “Bertie” Wallace was laid to rest with great fanfare on a cloudy, chilly September afternoon. In keeping with the requests made in his will, his memorial service was held in the place he loved most: Vanguard Stadium. A dais was set up on the fifty-yard line, with seats for the friends and family members he’d asked to speak at the event.
All of New York’s sports royalty attended, along with the biggest names in city and state politics, local celebrities, and news crews from every network. As a former player-turned-head-coach of the Vanguard, Bertie had impacted a lot of lives over the years. At the end of the speeches, all the guests were invited to pay their respects to Bertie’s former wife and beloved stepdaughter. For what seemed like hours, Cam stood next to her mother, neither speaking a word to the other as they accepted condolences from the multitudes of mourners. Since they were not part of Bertie’s immediate family, past or present, Mr. Ellison and Jordan remained in the background—nearby if needed, but out of sight. Jordan, however, would never be out of mind. He’d spent the other night on her sofa—but then, so had she.
She didn’t really recall how it all happened. There’d been dinner, that confrontation with her mother, and then a conversation that had surprised her for so many reasons. The Jordan she used to know was a good man, but this new Jordan was a better one. He seemed to have more empathy, more generosity to his spirit, and packed a kiss that curled her toes and left her breathless. She stole a glance behind her to watch him and found him watching her. As a blush heated her cheeks, she returned her attention to the people waiting to pay their respects.
Despite her flat shoes, or maybe because of them, her feet ached. Faces and murmured messages of sympathy blurred into a collage of colorful buzz words.
So sorry for your loss...
He’s in a better place...
He’ll be sorely missed...
Her reaction to the wall of sorrow became robotic: a firm handshake, a whispered thank you, a curt nod, then move
