When I Need You

  “Heya, gorgeous! I was just thinking about you. I’d planned on popping in to the U of M training center and seeing what’s what.”

  “Same old grind. We’re down to two weeks before the seniors’ graduation, so anyone in particular in that class you want to wish well, you’d better get in there next week.”

  “I’ll do that.” Dante’s gaze winged between me and Daisy. He grinned at her. “Daisy, baby, when you gonna wise up and go out with me?”

  “Never.” She patted his smooth face. “But it is precious how you just keep trying.”

  “I will catch you in a weak moment.” He remembered he wasn’t alone. “Ladies, you know Jensen Lund.”

  I’d yet to meet Jensen’s gaze—although I’d felt his boring into me, as he tried to figure out why I was here.

  “Jensen, I’m sure you recognize two of the Vikings’ finest cheerleaders.”

  That was when I looked at Mr. Oblivious.

  His jaw tightened and he gritted out, “You’re joking, right?”

  Dante seemed confused. “Why would I joke about that?”

  I locked my gaze on Jensen’s as I spoke to Dante. “Because then The Rocket would have to admit that he doesn’t pay attention to anything as trivial as cheerleaders when he takes the field, isn’t that right?” I broke eye contact and looked at Dante. “He’s run past me . . . a dozen times each season. We’ve attended the same corporate events every year since he was drafted. Oh and here’s another irony . . . I also cheered for him at the U of M. So imagine how awkward it was for me last night when he introduced himself as if we’d never met.”

  Silence.

  Daisy stepped between us and addressed Dante. “I’d suggest in addition to scheduling physical therapy you make an appointment to get The Rocket’s eyes examined.” She took my elbow and led me away.

  She didn’t release me even when we reached the parking lot. “Daisy—”

  “Not a word until we’re inside my car.”

  Great.

  Daisy’s “car” was an enormous Lincoln Navigator. I fought the tight fit of my pencil skirt as I clambered into the passenger seat.

  “Buckle up. We’re getting out of here so Dante doesn’t get the bright idea of running interference between you two.”

  “It’s not like Lund plans to chase me down.”

  She peeled out and pulled into a Caribou Coffee drive-thru. We were quiet until we had our drinks—iced coffee with a splash of cream and a shot of sugar-free caramel syrup—and she’d parked. Immediately she faced me. “Please tell me meeting Jensen Lund was the weird thing that happened to you.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “Spill the deets.”

  I told her all of it.

  “Wait. I thought Axl Hammerquist lived across the hall from Martin.”

  “He did.” I sucked down a big sip of coffee. “But I guess Axl moved out last year when he married Jensen Lund’s sister.”

  “I remember reading about that wedding. It was like the social event of last summer.”

  For me, reading the paper took a backseat to reading books to Calder. “If you say so. At first I thought Martin hadn’t mentioned it because of my aversion to football players. But now, I suspect he didn’t say anything because Lund doesn’t really live there. It’s probably his place for hookups instead of at his bajillion-dollar mansion.”

  “Maybe. But his ego’s really so huge he doesn’t notice the people who’ve been on the sidelines his college and pro career?”

  “Apparently.”

  Daisy tapped her icy-pink fingernails on the side of her drink cup. “So what are you going to do?”

  “About what? If I happen to run into him in the hallway I’ll be polite. I don’t want Martin to have to deal with ‘why is your sister such a bitch?’ questions just because it stung my ego that Jensen Lund doesn’t know me.”

  “It goes beyond ego, Rowan. At least yours anyway.”

  I shrugged.

  “How tight is Dante with him?”

  “No idea. Dante doesn’t discuss any of the players he works with, which is smart. Some trainers are eager to make themselves look important by dropping names, then they’re surprised when those clients fire them for being a blabbermouth. Although it is different with Dante—all the guys he works with on the team are somewhat famous.”

  “I can’t imagine that Dante isn’t ripping The Rocket a new one right now.”

  “Hopefully Dante won’t chew out a franchise player and put his job in jeopardy. I really hope he doesn’t stop by the training center today because I’m done talking about this.”

  Daisy raised her hand. “Say no more.” She dropped me off at my car and I headed back to work.

  Thankfully the rest of my afternoon was drama free—or as drama free as it can be when dealing with eighty members of the spirit squads.

  • • •

  My son was in a much better mood when I arrived home.

  Alicia provided a detailed breakdown of how they’d spent their after-school hours. I appreciated her promise that yesterday’s events were a onetime error that wouldn’t happen again.

  After finishing supper, Calder and I watched Dancing with the Stars because my boy loved to dance. Although I’d attended dance classes from age four until I switched to club cheerleading at age twelve, when it came to choosing an activity for my son, I’d enrolled him in kendo—the Japanese sword discipline similar to fencing—instead of dancing. Maybe I had picked it because it was macho, but I remembered how cruel other boys at school could be when they discovered a male classmate studied dance.

  Six months into his kendo classes, Calder had begged to join jujitsu. Since jujitsu had no formal katas, students were allowed to create their own. Seeing Calder performing a kata like a ballet made me realize I shouldn’t force him onto a path he didn’t want to take. So he quit both martial arts programs but kept the gi and the hakama. I enrolled him at a dance studio with a separate track for boys, and the kid had been in heaven ever since.

  After his bath, we read the books he’d chosen during library day. I knew our nightly reading time would change next year in first grade when he could read by himself, so I cherished this time with my sweet boy.

  “Mommy, what made you happy today?”

  I kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of the baby shampoo I still used. “This. Snuggled up and seeing your excellent choices in books.” I smoothed his hair from his eyes when he tilted his head back to look at me. “What made you happy today?”

  “Chocolate milk at lunchtime.”

  I laughed. “You do love having a chocolate milk mustache. Was there something else?”

  His forehead wrinkled so adorably I just had to kiss it.

  “Well . . . we got to play with the big parachute in gym. Don’t you think it’d be awesome to jump out of an airplane with a parachute?”

  “Not awesome at all. I’d never do anything like that.”

  “Someday I’m gonna do it. I’ll spin and do backflips in the air over and over until I’m dizzy and float down through the clouds like a rainbow snowflake.”

  “Hmm. When you put it that way, I might consider it. When you’re a grown man of thirty. All right, future daredevil parachutist, let’s get you tucked in.”

  “Do I have to go to bed? Can’t I stay up a little longer?”

  “Nope. Tomorrow’s your busy day. You’ve gotta be rested up because Grammy and Pop-pop are picking you up for the weekend, remember?”

  I clicked on his nightlight and kissed his forehead. “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

  “Love you too, Mommy.”

  The one thing that I’d been blessed with was that Calder had been a good sleeper from the first day I’d brought him home from the hospital. Sure, he’d had his fussy times, but nothing like the horror stories I’d heard from other moms.

  I cracked my laptop to double-check the tryout schedule. Working weekends was part of the gig in college athletics, but lu
ckily, it wasn’t every weekend. I’d just settled in when I heard three soft raps on my door.

  Gee. I wonder who that could be.

  He’d knocked softly enough that I could ignore it. He had no way of knowing that I hadn’t already crawled in bed for the night—I glanced at the time on my computer—at nine o’clock.

  That was almost worse, him believing I went to bed the same time as my six-year-old son. I crossed to the door to peer through the peephole. Even the fisheye view didn’t distort his attractiveness.

  Why was he here? I opened the door and held my finger to my lips. “Calder is asleep.”

  “That’s why I waited. I thought it’d be better if we talked alone.”

  “Talked about what?”

  For a moment, his confidence faltered. His gaze scoured my face as if he were trying to commit every feature to memory.

  I bristled at his scrutiny. “What did you want to talk about, Lund?”

  His sheepish smile brought out his dimples.

  In addition to his slamming body and his stunning looks, he had darling dimples? So not freakin’ fair.

  “Maybe talk was a bad word choice. I want to apologize”—he reached behind his back and pulled out a stuffed animal—“for being the world’s biggest jackass.”

  He held out a donkey with its head cranked around to stare balefully at the word EM-BARE-ASSED spelled out across its ample backside.

  I laughed—I couldn’t help it. This was so not what I’d expected from him.

  Jensen took a step closer, dangling the donkey as a peace offering. “Rowan. I’m sorry.”

  A door slammed down the hallway. I preferred our conversation wasn’t grist to fuel the Snow Village gossip mill, so I grabbed his wrist and said, “Come in, but keep your voice down.”

  “Thank you.”

  After shutting the door, I turned to see him settling on the couch.

  That was presumptuous. Or was it a habit from when Martin lived here?

  Jensen placed the donkey on the coffee table.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “There’s an All Apologies store in Roseville. Anything you need to apologize for, or ask forgiveness for, they have something to fit the occasion.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I hadn’t either but it popped up on my Google search. So I checked it out.”

  “What else did you find besides a stuffed jackass?”

  He leaned closer, resting his forearms on his knees. “All sorts of shit I couldn’t believe. Like a box of chocolates with a card that said, ‘Sorry I fucked your sister.’”

  “Get. Out.”

  “Swear to god that’s what it said.” He paused. “As I was debating whether to take a picture of it, the clerk came over to warn me that was the last one and they had a hard time keeping that item in stock.”

  I laughed. Then I clapped my hand over my mouth because it shouldn’t be funny.

  Jensen smiled. “I know, right? The place was a freakin’ trainwreck but I couldn’t look away. But that wasn’t even the worst thing they had that a guy needed to offer an apology for.”

  “Now you have to tell me what could possibly be worse—yet somehow a man believes is actually forgivable.”

  “A card that said, ‘You lured me in from the moment we met . . .’ on the front and then the inside read, ‘and I’m sorry I missed the birth of our child while I was on my annual fishing trip with the guys.’”

  “That is the worst. But given this is Minnesota, I imagine they have a hard time keeping that one in stock too.”

  “Yep. Anyway, the store had that one”—he pointed to the stuffed animal—“and another one that said ‘I’m a jackass’ every time you pulled the string. I actually liked that one better, since it was the same orange color as the Denver Donkeys uniforms, but I figured it wouldn’t be cool if Calder got a hold of it.”

  That was surprisingly thoughtful. “I appreciate that.”

  “It is a totally off-the-hoof”—he grinned—“apology gift.”

  “You are punny, Lund. So riddle me this: Are you here only because Dante demanded you apologize to me?”

  “He did tear into me—no less than I deserved—but I am here by my own choice to make things right.” He paused and angled closer. “Look. I tend to be singularly focused. I’ve pissed off almost everyone I’m close to at one time or another because of that trait.”

  I studied his face—for what, I don’t know. Sarcasm or smugness maybe. But he wore a look of resignation. “That’s a lame excuse.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be an excuse. And feel free to call bullshit on it, but it was more along the lines of an explanation.”

  I honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  “Without coming across as any more of a self-involved dick than you already believe me to be, it wasn’t anything personal. I don’t know the names or the faces of any of the cheerleaders.” His eyes, such a deep blue, searched mine. “You are a stunningly beautiful woman, Rowan. In any other context besides football, I would’ve been all over you, demanding your name and number.”

  “Do I give myself a high five for receiving the mother of all compliments from The Rocket?”

  Jensen scowled. “Don’t call me that. It’s a media nickname that has nothing to do with the guy sitting here before you now.”

  At least he didn’t refer to himself in third person. “Understood. And I appreciate you coming all the way over here and clearing the air.”

  “All the way over here? Was that sarcastic since I live across the hall?”

  Here was a moment of truth. “You really live in Snow Village full-time?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re a professional football player and a Lund heir, and this place is way beneath your pay grade.”

  Another scowl.

  Why did I find his mouth so interesting? I forced myself to focus on the words coming out of it.

  “You thought I was using this place as my secret love nest or something?” He snorted. “Saw the gigantic couch and assumed?”

  That annoyed me. “I don’t have to assume anything when it comes to football players, Lund. At one time or another they’re all players.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “Odd that you don’t have a high opinion of my colleagues when you’re on the sidelines cheering for us.”

  “Maybe I don’t have a high opinion for that exact reason. I know what goes on when that door to the luxury hotel suite closes after the game.”

  “That’s not fair. How would you react if I said all cheerleaders are empty-headed mean girls?”

  I opened my mouth to argue. But I realized he had a point. “Fine. Not all football players are that way.”

  “Thank you. And how did we end up arguing when my whole reason for coming over here was to apologize and make it easier for us to be neighbors?”

  “Maybe because I’m a little argumentative.”

  “So you aren’t anything like Martin.”

  “Funny. You needn’t worry I’ll egg your door for not recognizing me.”

  “It’d be worse punishment if you sent your son careening down the hallway to head-butt me in the nuts again,” he teased.

  I smiled at him. “I am sorry about that.”

  “He had no idea I was even there. With that intense focus the kid would be a great tackle.”