“I’m so sorry, Cameron. Bertie was a giant in the sports world. We’re all devastated that he’s gone.”
Cam stiffened, but manners and respect for Bertie would not permit a scene—not here, not now. “Thank you, Paris. Thanks for coming today. It’s good to see you again.”
Paris should have moved on at that point and allowed the next person in line to pay their respects, but she remained on the platform in front of Cam. “Yes, it’s been years, hasn’t it? When was the last time? The Aquila Bowl, wasn’t it?”
“That was the last time we talked, but, of course, we did see each other in passing at the hospital in Houston.”
Paris waved a hand, sending her signature multitude of bangles tinkling in the air. “Ah, yes, that’s right. Well, I’m sorry about the circumstances that brought us together again today.”
“Thank you.” To her relief, Paris finally moved down the line to offer her regards to Laurel, and Cam relaxed.
But before the next person could approach to offer their solemnities, Jordan rolled up beside her. “Did you just tell her you saw her at the hospital in Houston?” At Cam’s curt nod, he demanded, “When were you in Houston?”
All she could do was blink at him. “Huh?”
Jordan repeated the question in bullet points. “When... were... you... in... Houston? When did you run into Paris there?”
“At the hospital. The day after your—” She stopped, swallowed. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to mention the injury. “After that game.”
“Bull.”
“No bull.”
He arched a brow at her. “If that’s true, why didn’t I see you there?”
Really? He wanted to have this discussion now? Fine. Let’s go. She folded her arms over her chest, poised to do battle.
“My guess would be, because you put me on your stupid list. If you’d granted me a modicum of decency, you would have realized I would charter the team jet to get me to you. And that’s exactly what I did—about forty minutes after they carried you off the field. I saw the hit. I knew it was bad. I would’ve gone straight from the tarmac to the ER, if I’d thought I could’ve been by your side during the surgery. Instead, I spent the night at the hotel across the street and got to the lobby five minutes before visiting hours began the next morning. I wanted to be the first face you saw when you woke up. But apparently, you made sure you didn’t have to see me at all. And maybe you were right. Maybe I had no business showing up after what happened between us. But I was terrified for you. Because whether you believe me or not, I still love you. You, obviously, feel differently. I knew you were angry at the way things ended, but I had no idea you hated me so much.”
His expression turned stricken. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”
Hurt and anger whipped her grief into a froth, and her voice rose in volume. “No? You could’ve fooled me. I mean it would’ve been one thing if I’d gone to the hospital, security called your room, and you told them you didn’t want me to come up. I might have been able to forgive that. But you put me on a list. As if you knew I’d show up and you were going to make damn sure I never got close to you. Like I was some... deranged, dangerous stalker. With everything else you were going through, no matter how much pain you were in, within hours of being injured, undergoing surgery and coming out anesthesia, you actually found the time and wherewithal to make sure hospital security had my name at the top of your Do Not Admit list.”
“My... ‘Do Not...’?” His gaze shot from her to Paris, who had slipped away into the crowd on the other side of the platform. “Son of a—” After giving her hand a quick squeeze, he meandered around where she stood. “We’re not done discussing this.” Without another word, he motored toward the steel ramp that led down to the field.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever.” As Cam watched him speed after Paris, from the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar look of pity on her mother’s face, and it froze the blood in her veins. Turning back to the next mourner in line, she told herself she didn’t care that Jordan had, once again, publicly ditched her for Paris. To hell with him. And to hell with her mother, too. She’d survive this latest humiliation with her grace and dignity intact. The pain crushing her chest would ease... eventually. Losing Bertie hurt more anyway.
Jordan... well, despite all the changes she’d thought she’d seen in him the other night, Jordan had never really loved her to begin with. Right?
Right.
DAMN, PARIS COULD DASH through a throng—even in her spiky heels. But Jordan wouldn’t be deterred from catching up with her. He scanned the crowd for a friendly and useful face and found one. “Luis!” he called out. “Grab Paris.”
Luis Blades, retired Vanguard fullback, raced into action. He might have left the gridiron a couple of years ago, but he still had the moves that made him a fan favorite. He faked left, ran right, broke from the people around him. Some of those people, upon seeing the bulk of man in a black suit bearing down on them, scrambled out of the way until, at last, Luis had a straight shot to Paris. As he closed in, with mere feet to go, Luis dove forward, grabbed her by both shoulders the way he would a running back, and held on tight.
Assured she couldn’t get away, caged as she was by Luis, Jordan rolled down the ramp and onto the grass. Thank God for the motor on the chair, which made the transition with the briefest chug. When
