Match Me If You Can

  He rubbed the back of her neck. “Let’s sit over there so you can tell me all about it.”

  She snuggled closer. “Okay. But don’t let me go.”

  “I won’t.” True to his word, he kept his arm around her as he drew her across the street to the tiny neighborhood park with its single green iron bench. Even before they reached it, she began to talk, and as the dry leaves blew over their shoes, she told him everything: about the marshmallow chicks, about her acid peel, about Heath and Annabelle. She told him about getting fired as a mentor and about her fear.

  “I’m scared all the time, Bodie. All the time.”

  He stroked her matted hair. “I know, babe. I know.”

  “I love you. Do you know that, too?”

  “That I didn’t know.” He kissed the top of her head. “But I’m glad to hear it.”

  The tail of her scarf blew across her cheek. “Do you love me?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She smiled. “Will you marry me?”

  “Let me see if I can make it through the next few months without killing you first.”

  “Okay.” She cuddled closer. “You might have noticed I’m not the most nurturing person.”

  “In your own odd way, you are.” He pushed her scarf aside. “I still can’t believe you had the guts to come out looking like this.”

  “I had a job to do.”

  “I love a woman who’s willing to take one for the team.”

  She heard only awe in his voice, and it made her love him even more. “I have to make this match, Bodie.”

  “Haven’t you learned enough yet about the perils of ruthless ambition?”

  “It’s not exactly what you’re thinking. The best part of me wants to do this for Heath. But I want to go out on a high note, too. One last match—this match—and then I’m selling my business.”

  “Really?”

  “I need a new challenge.”

  “Lord, help us.”

  “I mean it, Bodie. I want to run free. Be wild. I want to go where my passion leads me. I want to work hard at something that only the strongest woman in the world can do.”

  “Okay, now I’m scared.”

  “I want to eat. Really eat. And to be kinder and more generous. Real generosity, without expecting anything in return. I want to have great skin when I’m eighty. And I don’t ever again want to care what anybody thinks. Except you.”

  “Oh, God, I’m so turned on right now I’m going to explode.” Abruptly, he pulled her from the bench. “Let’s go back to my place. Now.”

  “Only if you promise not to tell me any of those bag-over-the-head sex jokes.”

  “I’ll cut an airhole in it.”

  She smiled. “You know I have no sense of humor.”

  “We’ll work on it.” And then he kissed her, blue lips and all.

  Even before he hit the shower on Monday morning, Heath started working the phones. He was hung over, nauseated, scared, and exuberant. Portia’s shock therapy had made him face what his subconscious had known for a long time but his fear had kept him from acknowledging, that he loved Annabelle with all his heart. Everything Portia said had struck home. Fear had been his enemy, not love. If he hadn’t been so busy measuring his character with a crooked ruler, he might have understood what was missing from inside him. He’d taken pride in his work ethic and his intellectual dexterity, in his incisiveness and his high tolerance for risk, but he’d failed to acknowledge that his crapped-up childhood had left him an emotional coward. As a result, he’d been living half a life. Maybe having Annabelle at his side would finally let him relax into becoming the man he’d never quite had the courage to be. But before that could happen, he had to find her.

  She wasn’t answering either her home phone or her cell, and he soon discovered her friends wouldn’t talk to him either. After a quick shower, he got hold of Kate. First she reamed his ass, then she acknowledged that Annabelle had called on Sunday morning to say she was okay, but she hadn’t been willing to tell her mother where she was.

  “I’m personally blaming you for this,” Kate said. “Annabelle is extremely sensitive. You should have realized that.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And as soon as I find her, I promise I’ll set this right.”

  That softened her up enough to divulge that the Granger brothers were gunning for him, so he’d better watch himself. He loved those guys.

  He set off for Wicker Park. Messages were coming in fast and furiously from his office, but he ignored them. For the first time in his career, he hadn’t contacted a single client to talk about yesterday’s game. He didn’t intend to either, not until he’d found Annabelle.

  Wind whistled off the lake, and the cloudy October morning held a chill. He pulled into the alley behind Annabelle’s house and found the sporty new silver Audi TT Roadster he’d ordered for her birthday, but not her Crown Vic. Mr. Bronicki spotted him right away and came over to see what Heath was up to, but other than passing on the information that Annabelle had driven off like a crazy person Saturday night, he had nothing more to add. He did, however, want to know about the Audi, and when he learned it was a birthday gift, he told Heath he’d better not be expecting any “relations” with her in exchange for the fancy wheels.

  “Just because her grammie’s not around don’t mean people aren’t watching out for her.”

  “Tell me about it,” Heath muttered.

  “What’s that you say?”

  “I said, I’m in love with her.” He liked the way the words sounded, and he said them again. “I love Annabelle, and I plan to marry her.” If he could find her. And if she’d still have him.

  Mr. Bronicki scowled. “Just make sure she don’t raise her rates. A lot of people are on a fixed income, you know.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  After Mr. Bronicki had parked the Audi in his garage for safekeeping, Heath circled the house and pounded on the front door, but it was closed up tighter than a drum. He pulled out his phone and decided to try Gwen again, but got her husband instead. “No, Annabelle didn’t spend the night here,” Ian said. “Dude, you’d better watch your back. She talked to somebody in the book club yesterday, and the women are pissed. Here’s a word of advice, chump. Most women aren’t too anxious to marry a guy who’s not in love with them, no matter how much hair he’s got.”

  “I am in love with her!”

  “Tell her, not me.”

  “I’m trying to, damn it. And I can’t tell you how comforting it is to know that everybody in the city is in on my private business.”

  “You brought it on yourself. The price of stupidity.”

  Heath hung up and tried to think, but until he could get somebody to talk to him, he was screwed. As he stood on Annabelle’s porch, he flicked through his messages. None of them were from her. Why the hell couldn’t everybody leave him alone? He rubbed his jaw and realized he’d forgotten to shave for the second day in a row, and with the way he was dressed, he’d be lucky if he didn’t get arrested for vagrancy, but he’d pulled on the first things he grabbed: designer navy slacks, a ripped black-and-orange Bengals T-shirt, and a paint-smeared red Cardinals windbreaker Bodie had picked up somewhere and left in his closet.

  Finally, he got hold of Kevin. “It’s Heath. Have you—”

  “All I’m saying is this…For a supposedly bright guy, you’re—”

  “I know, I know. Did Annabelle spend the night at your house?”

  “No, and I don’t think she was with any of the other women either.”

  Heath sank down on Annabelle’s front step. “You’ve got to find out where she went.”

  “You think they’d tell me? The girls have a big NO BOYS

  ALLOWED sign plastered all over their little pink clubhouse.”

  “You’re my best shot. Come on, Kev.”

  “All I know is that the book club is meeting at one o’clock today. Phoebe takes Mondays off during the season, and it’s at her house. Molly’s been making leis, so
they’ve got some kind of Hawaiian theme going.”

  Annabelle loved the book club. Of course, she’d be there. She’d run to those women for comfort and support as fast as those small feet would carry her. They’d give her what she wasn’t getting from him.

  “One more thing,” Kevin said. “Robillard’s been calling everybody trying to get hold of you.”

  “He can wait.”

  “Did I hear you right?” Kevin said. “This is Dean Robillard we’re talking about. Apparently, after months of screwing around, he’s developed an urgent need for an agent.”

  “I’ll get to him later.” Heath headed for the street and his car.

  “Would that be about the same time you get around to congratulating me on yesterday’s game, arguably the best of my career?”

  “Yeah, congratulations. You’re the best. I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay, slimeball, I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but put my agent back on the phone right now.”

  Heath hung up. And then it hit him. He’d seen Dean’s number on his phone log, but he’d been ignoring the calls. What if Annabelle hadn’t spent the last two nights with one of her girlfriends? What if she’d gone running to her pet quarterback?

  Dean picked up his phone on the second ring. “Daffy Dan’s Porno Palace.”

  “Is Annabelle with you?”

  “Heathcliff? Damn, man, you really screwed her over.”

  “I know that, but how do you know it?”

  “Phoebe’s secretary.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t Annabelle who told you? Has she been with you?”

  “I haven’t seen her or talked to her, but if I do, I’m going to strongly suggest she tell you to—”

  “I love her!” Heath hadn’t meant to shout, but he couldn’t stop himself, and the woman who’d just emerged from the house across the street scurried back inside. “I love her,” he repeated in a voice that was only marginally quieter, “and I need to tell her that. But I have to find her first.”

  “I doubt she’ll call me. Not unless that pregnancy test—”

  “I’m warning you, Robillard, if I find out you know where she went, and you aren’t telling me, I’ll break every goddamn bone in that million-dollar shoulder of yours.”

  “The boy’s talkin’ smack, and it’s not even lunchtime. You are so whipped. Now here’s the thing, Heathcliff, the reason I’ve been calling you. A couple of high rollers at Pepsico contacted me, and—”

  Heath hung up on God’s gift to the NFL, hit the button to unlock his car, and set off for the Loop and Birdcage Press. The book club meeting wasn’t scheduled until one, which gave him time to cover an extra base.

  “I spoke with Molly this morning.” Annabelle’s former fiancé surveyed Heath’s unshaven jaw and mismatched outfit from behind her desk in the marketing department of Molly’s publishing company. “I hurt Annabelle more than enough. Did you have to dump on her, too?”

  Rosemary wasn’t the most attractive woman Heath had ever seen, but she was well dressed and dignified. Way too dignified. Completely the wrong person for Annabelle. What the hell had she been thinking? “I didn’t set out to dump on her.”

  “I’m sure you thought you were doing her a huge favor when you proposed,” Rosemary drawled. Then she proceeded to blister Heath with a way too insightful lecture on male insensitivity, exactly what he didn’t need to hear right now. He escaped as quickly as he could.

  As he made his way back to his car, he saw that half a dozen more calls had come in, none of them from the person he wanted to talk to. He tore the parking ticket off his windshield and headed for the Ike. By the time he reached the expressway, his stomach was a mass of knots. He told himself she’d come home sooner or later, that this wasn’t an emergency. But nothing could still his sense of urgency. She was in pain because of him—suffering from his stupidity—and that was intolerable.

  He hit a traffic backup on the East West Tollway and didn’t reach the Calebow house until one-fifteen. He scanned the cars lining the driveway for an ugly green Crown Victoria, but Annabelle’s car was MIA. Maybe she’d ridden with somebody else. But as he rang the bell, he couldn’t shake off a sense of foreboding.

  The door swung open, and he gazed down at Pippi Tucker. Stumpy blond pigtails stuck out on each side of her head, and she held a menagerie of stuffed animals against her flat chest. “Pwince! I didn’t go to preschool today ’cause my school got busted water pies.”

  “Is that right? Is, uh, Annabelle here?”

  “I been playing with Hannah’s stuffed animals. Hannah’s at school. She don’t have busted water pies. Can I see your phone?”

  “Pip?” Phoebe appeared in the hallway. She wore black slacks and a purple turtleneck draped with a blue and yellow paper lei. She took in Heath’s unkempt appearance through a pair of rimless half glasses. “I hope the police caught whoever mugged you.”

  Pippi hopped up and down. “Pwince is here!”

  “I see.” Phoebe set her hand on the child’s shoulder without taking her eyes off Heath. “Did you come all the way out here to gloat? I wish I were a big enough person to congratulate you on your new client, but I’m not.”

  He wedged past her into the foyer. “Is Annabelle here?”

  She pulled off her glasses. “Go ahead. Tell me all the ways you plan to bankrupt me.”

  “I don’t see her car.”

  Her cat’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve talked to Dean, right?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t know where Annabelle was.” Grilling Phoebe was a waste of time, and he headed for the living room, which was spacious and rustic, with exposed beams and a loft. The book club had gathered in a nook beneath it, all of them except Annabelle. Even casually dressed and draped in paper leis, they were an intimidating bunch of women, and as he crossed the room, he felt their eyes on him like hypodermics. “Where is she? And don’t tell me you don’t know.”

  Molly uncrossed her legs and rose. “We do know, and we’ve been ordered to keep our mouths shut. Annabelle wants time to herself.”

  “She just thinks she does. I have to talk to her.”

  Gwen regarded him over her enormous stomach like a hostile Buddha. “Are you planning to give her more reasons she should marry a man who doesn’t love her?”

  “It’s not like that.” He gritted his teeth. “I do love her. I love her with all my frickin’ heart, but I can’t convince her of that if somebody won’t tell me where the hell she’s gone.”

  He hadn’t meant to sound so angry, and Charmaine took offense. “When did you have this miraculous realization?”

  “Last night. A blue woman and a bottle of scotch opened my eyes. Now where is she?”

  “We’re not going to tell you,” said Krystal.

  Janine glared at him. “If she calls, we’ll relay your message. And we’ll also tell her we don’t like your attitude.”

  “I’ll relay my own damned message,” he retorted.

  “Not even the great Heath Champion can bulldoze his way through this.” Molly’s quiet stubbornness sent a chill up his spine. “Annabelle will contact you in her own way and in her own time. Or maybe not. That’s up to her. I know it goes against your nature, but you’ll have to be patient. She’s calling the shots now.”

  “It’s not as though you won’t be busy,” Lady Evil drawled from behind him. “Now that Dean has turned his back on the goodwill of the woman who holds his contract—”

  He spun on her. “I don’t give a damn about Dean right now, Phoebe, and here’s a news flash. Some things in life are more important than football.”

  Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly. He turned back to the women, ready to strangle the information out of them if he needed to, only to discover he had no anger left. He lifted his hands, shocked to see they were unsteady, but not as unsteady as his voice. “She’s…I—I have to make this right. I can’t stand knowing she’s…That I’ve made her suffer. Please…”

  But they had no hearts, a
nd one by one, they looked away.

  He walked blindly out of the house. The wind had picked up, and a blast of chilly air cut through his jacket. Mechanically, he reached for his phone, hoping against hope that she’d called, knowing she hadn’t.

  The Chiefs were trying to reach him. So were Bodie and Phil Tyree. He set the heels of his hands on the hood of his car and bowed his head. He deserved to suffer. She didn’t.

  “Are you sad, Pwince?”

  He looked back toward the house to see Pippi standing on the top step of the porch, a monkey under one arm, a bear under the other. He fought a wild urge to pick her up and carry her around for a while, to tuck her under his chin and hold her close, just like one of those stuffed animals. He drew in a little air. “Yeah, Pip. I’m kind of sad.”

  “You gonna cry?”

  He pushed his response around the lump in his throat. “Naw, guys don’t cry.”

  The door behind her opened, and Phoebe emerged, blond, powerful, and merciless. She paid no attention to him. Instead, she crouched at Pippi’s side and adjusted one of her pigtail stubs, speaking softly to her. He reached in his pocket for his keys.

  Phoebe headed back into the house. Pippi dropped her stuffed animals and scampered down the steps. “Pwince! I gotta tell you something.” She ran toward him, pink sneakers flying. When she reached his side, she tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “I gotta secret.”

  He crouched next to her. She smelled innocent. Like crayons and fruit juice. “Yeah?”

  “Aunt Phoebe said don’t tell nobody but you, not even Mommy.”

  He glanced toward the porch, but Phoebe had disappeared. “Tell me what?”

  “Belle!” Pippi grinned. “She went to our campground!”

  A surge of adrenaline shot through his veins. His head reeled. He pulled Pippi off her feet, drew her against him, and kissed the hell out of her cheeks. “Thanks, sweetheart. Thanks for telling me.”

  She cupped his jaw and pushed him away with a frown. “Scratchy.”

  He laughed, gave her another kiss for good measure, and set her back on her feet. He’d forgotten to turn his phone off, and it rang. Her eyes widened. He automatically reached for it. “Champion.”