Off the Mark, page 4
From the look of it, he’d been at some crowded neighborhood bar—a baseball game on the mounted TV, people on barstools with empty glasses nearby. It had been so like the bar where I’d worked—and he’d swaggered in most nights—that I’d fired back my usual sarcasm.
Sorry, that must have been another smokin’ hot blonde with incredible riding skills.
To which he’d replied: But I only know one smokin’ hot blonde with incredible riding skills. That’s you.
Two years had gone by since then. Which made this harebrained scheme of mine even more stupid. He could be working someplace else now. He could have moved out of Philly.
Rowan could be dating someone for real. Seriously dating them.
I climbed out of my truck, striding confidently toward the rec center. I didn’t actually care if Rowan O’Callaghan was dating.
But my morning had started with a terse call from Dempsey. Her attempts at getting in to meet with the Bettencourt reps had all failed. The last formal communication we’d received had been the email in her inbox, threatening to terminate my contract due to my “public image.”
I picked up my pace, passing connected brick row homes, a corner store, and a tiny park. Image, my ass. I was an extreme athlete by training and fearless by birth. That made me damn sure I could ask an old friend for a big favor, even if it was a little…on the awkward side.
And entirely out of the blue.
For as many times as I’d been the sole witness to Rowan’s smooth flirting while I was mixing drinks, I’d also seen plenty of women openly hit on him with about as much social grace as a newborn giraffe.
He’d never been anything but kind in response, so why I was hyper-focusing on his reaction I had no idea—
My phone jangled in my pocket, stopping me in my tracks. A video call from my dad.
Like usual, a rush of intense affection paired with jagged worry filled me. I blew out a breath then ducked into a shaded alley to accept the call. He appeared on the screen—long gray hair tied back in a ponytail, a craggy face with a handful of scars, tattoos peeking out from the collar of his T-shirt.
“Charlie honey? It’s me, your dad,” he said, brow furrowed as he poked at the screen.
I grinned despite my worry. “Dad, I know. You’re on video right now. I can see you. Can you see me?”
I waved and he brightened.
“Oh, there you are. Hiya, honey.”
“Is everything okay? How are Penny and the pups?”
He twisted around and indicated the back doors of the ranch-style house where I’d grown up in a woodsy, rural town called Sweetwater, near Syracuse. He’d bought it for the extra land, which he’d turned into a practice racing track. And during the long, snowy winters, we swapped out our dirt bikes for snowmobiles.
“Penny’s out back in the garden. Did I tell you she’s growing watermelons?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Does she know it’s your favorite food?”
In the background, I heard a door bang, and then my father’s girlfriend yelled, “’Course I knew, he only mentions it eighteen fucking times a day.”
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Guess she knew after all.”
The original bad boy of motocross had softened considerably since his retirement. The crash that had permanently taken him out of the sport had been the first major life adjustment. For both of us. But when he met Penny a few years back at a weekend flea market, the transformation was complete.
Most of his voicemails now were about the PBS documentaries they regularly enjoyed. And most of his stories were about their rescue dogs, Dexter and Bruno.
“So did the lawyer I recommended get in touch with you?” I asked carefully.
Dad passed a hand through his hair and shrugged. The look on his face had my heart sinking to the cracked sidewalk. “She was very smart and, uh, if we can afford her, she said she can help. But the eviction notice is, you know, legally binding or whatever. I’ve got three months to make up the cash or get the hell out.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, toeing the ground so he wouldn’t see that I wanted to straight up cry. “At least we know what we’re working with. Timeline, total amount, that sort of thing. Better to know what we’re up against, right, Dad?”
“Charlie…” he started, “honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got so behind on my payments. I was teaching those riding lessons but the training center in Syracuse shut down. And Penny helps as much as she can, but she’s also got sons and grandkids—”
“She has a lot of bills of her own. I get it.” I sniffed, met his eyes, and plastered a shiny smile on my face. “Most people are struggling to pay one mortgage, let alone the two you’ve got on that place. It’s not like the motocross association has some stellar pension plan for retired riders.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, or, you know, any pension plan. Or a union. It’s always been one race at a time, living purse-to-purse.”
The full weight of my current financial nightmare smacked me across the face. Even with the little money I’d saved since signing with Bettencourt, I couldn’t cover what my dad owed and pay for the costs of all my recent traveling for races.
Races I’d been losing.
What I needed was a big, fat purse of winnings. And to not get dumped by my sponsor.
Going out to the bars that night had been so stupid.
“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re about to puke on the sidewalk.”
“Oh yeah, I’m all good,” I hedged. “But we gotta figure out how to save the house because you getting evicted would be a mega bummer. You and Penny scrounge up what you can, and I’ll cover the rest, okay?”
His smile was part relief, part guilt. “You’re always bailing me out, Charlie. I hate that I’m constantly askin’ you—”
“You and I take care of each other.” Cutting him off meant I wouldn’t be at risk of crying again. “We always have and always will. We’re all we’ve got.”
He coughed into his fist and nodded. “I saw you had a pretty wild night in Philly. Did you and your friends have fun?”
I shoved my bangs to the side. “Yes and no. Shots were fun. But now I’m in the doghouse with Bettencourt. Tequila isn’t part of a family-friendly image, I guess.”
He snorted. “All those rules they force on you are bullshit. People think because you’ve got their name on your gear that they own you or something.”
Yeah. I know, I wanted to say. And that’s why we were always running out of money when I was growing up.
Malcolm Maddox had done the best he could after my mom fucked off with a guy she met at the post office, leaving him a single dad struggling to parent me while earning money from the only thing he felt he knew how to do.
He wasn’t a perfect dad—far from it—but it hadn’t ever stopped me from loving him fiercely. Even now, behind him, I could see the pictures he had framed of us up on the old seventies-paneling walls. Him, beaming proudly at whatever I was doing on a bike. Pictures of my wins at the X Games, the magazine covers and in-depth interviews placed carefully next to slightly faded versions from his career.
I wouldn’t trade my unconventional childhood for the world. But I was fifteen when he had his final accident. With no mom at home and no extra help, most of the household responsibility landed on my shoulders.
All of it was made worse every time my dad lost an opportunity because of the same obstinance I’d inherited.
“They sure do think that way,” I finally said, “but I’ve got a solid plan to patch things up with them, and Dempsey’s ready to kick some major ass on my behalf. I need the money, we need the money, and we’ve got three months to do it.” I gave my dad a cheesy wink. “That number one spot at the championship race is all mine.”
Though even if all of that happened—perfectly—I’d be paying off what my dad owed plus my own bills by the skin of my teeth.
“Of course the championship race is yours. Who else’s would it be?” he said, sounding more cheerful than a few minutes ago. “I saw you take that fall yesterday on TV. You didn’t smack your head or anything?”
“Nah.” I waved it off. “Dempsey gave me an ice pack and some meds, and I was fine.”
“It’s like the older I get the more I worry. But it’s only because I love you so much, honey,” he said. “You’re gonna do big things the next couple weeks. I can feel it.”
I swallowed past the giant lump in my throat. “I can feel it too. And really, I don’t want you and Penny to worry because I’ve got it figured out. Which means, I’ve got places to be and people to see. Call you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that. Love you, Charlie.”
“Love you too,” I said, before ending the call. I tipped my head back against the brick and covertly wiped my eyes. Then I took a big, fortifying breath and began walking toward the flirty former pitcher I was going to ask to be my…what…pretend boyfriend?
I stopped dead, doubt creeping through my veins.
It would be a ridiculous, utterly absurd request of a best friend. But a friend I hadn’t seen in four years? Rowan’s kindness aside, it felt extra shitty to show up asking for a personal favor this huge with nothing I could offer him in return.
“Nope. No way. This is way too weird,” I muttered and spun back toward my truck. Thought about my dad’s heartbroken expression. That red eviction notice I kept seeing even in my nightmares.
Our home in the woods, the only home he and I had ever known, surrounded by fields full of dirt bike tracks we’d carved ourselves.
I was about to be floundering around again, sponsorless and broke, and my dad would be the one to pay the price.
I re-spun, rolled my shoulders back, and walked so forcefully the ends of my ponytail bounced across my shoulder blades. Up ahead, there was a tiny patch of grass and a medium-sized tree. A low, white sign read The South Philadelphia Recreational Center. I could hear the sounds of a basketball game, kids playing, cars driving past with music blaring.
Despite the riot of negative emotions churning through my body, my lips were already curving up. On the nights at Jolene’s when Rowan stayed late, stacking bar stools and helping me close up, his love for this city had been tangible.
It was probably one of the reasons I’d been so flushed since I’d first spotted the Philly skyline from the highway. My brain held too many confusing memories of watching Rowan wipe down the bar for me after a shift, talking about his old neighborhood with a bashful sincerity that belied his playboy antics.
I reached the very edge of the grass and halted, mid-step. A strange sensation fluttered in my belly at the sight in front of me. Rowan O’Callaghan was sitting on the highest branch of a tree—one long leg hooked on the branch below, his muscled arms braced against the trunk.
And in his large palm sat the smallest kitten I had ever seen.
“Do you have a good hold on her? And don’t scare her, Rowan,” called up an older man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Rowan raised his palm and stared into the face of the orange fuzz making tiny, chirpy meows. “Nah, I won’t drop her, Eddie. I think she likes me.”
“How can ya tell?”
Rowan sent a lazy grin to the man below. “Because everyone likes me, including kittens.”
The older man barked a laugh while I stayed out of view, leaning against the front of someone’s house. All the better for me to see Rowan for the first time in four years. I was twenty-four when we met, and he was only twenty-two, and he’d filled out a little since then. Had lost some of the boyishness from his handsome face. His brown eyes crinkled slightly at the sides now and his hair was a tad longer.
But it was still thick and dark red. His smile still the charming, lopsided one he employed when he was trying to make me laugh.
And Rowan still had the strong, broad body of a baseball player. He easily climbed down from the tree, using just one arm. I watched his thick fingers wrap around the branches, the shifting muscles of his large shoulders as he gracefully dropped to the ground.
“Here you go, Eddie. A sibling for Pam,” he said, carefully placing the ball of fur in the arms of this Eddie. “She seems sweet too. Whaddya think you’ll name her?”
He gazed at the kitten with a deep affection. With one finger, he stroked the top of her head. “I told Pam that if I got her a sister, I would name her Tiffany.”
Rowan’s lips twitched at the ends. “That’s a lovely name. She looks like a…like a Tiffany, doesn’t she?”
Then his eyes rose, and he finally spotted me. He went utterly still, brows knitted together like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
I stepped fully into the sunlight. “Hey, Rowan. It’s been awhile.”
His throat worked on a swallow. He blinked. Blushed. “Charlie?”
The man with the kitten—Eddie—turned and nodded when he saw me. “I’m not sure who the hell you are, but anyone who can make Rowan look like he got walloped upside the head is okay in my book.”
I arched an eyebrow Rowan’s way. His lips were already quirking upward. “You always knew how to stop me in my tracks, Maddox.”
“And you always knew how to flirt your way into a free drink.”
Now a full, dazzling smile broke across his face. Gaze still glued to mine, he said, “Yo, Eddie. This is Charlie Maddox. She’s a pro dirt bike racer. Charlie, this is Eddie. He works with me at the center but more importantly has lived across the street for most of my life. So I’ve known him since…” He paused. “Well, since I moved in with my grandmother.”
I extended my hand and shook Eddie’s, aware that this man must have played a crucial role in Rowan’s upbringing. I’d only ever heard Rowan talk about his parents passing away when he was four a handful of times, if at that.
“Nice to meet ya, Charlie. And how do you two know each other?”
“She’s an old friend,” Rowan said, as I replied, “I was his bartender.”
An awkward beat of silence passed until I stammered out, “And friend. Yep.”
“To her credit, Maddox here was an extremely friendly bartender,” Rowan added.
My eyes slid back to his. “You always told me I scowled too much and had terrible banter.”
“Perhaps it’s more truthful to say that you were a friendly bartender at me, not with me.”
His tone was playful, so I must have imagined the split-second of frustration on his face when I’d botched that first description of who we’d once been to each other.
Eddie scratched the kitten’s tiny ears. “Whatever this is, I’ll let you figure that out in private.” He shuffled off and tossed a wave over his shoulder. “Tell Dean I’ll be back in tomorrow.”
“But you’re scheduled to work with him today,” Rowan called back.
“I gotta get this kitten home now. He’ll be fine on his own.”
Eddie kept walking, and Rowan made a low sound of annoyance. “Never become an interim executive director.”
“What?”
He shook his head, refocusing on me, and I stepped back. I’d forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of Rowan’s full, unwavering attention. My stomach did that fluttery flip motion again.
“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, because I am. Extremely fucking happy,” he said.
Flip flip flip.
“But what the hell are you doing in South Philly, of all places?”
I took a deep, steadying breath. “Is it too cliché to say that I’ve got a proposition for you?”
Rowan’s response was a leisurely, crooked grin.
And it was pure sin.
6
ROWAN
Charlie Maddox stood in my office, looking like she hadn’t changed one bit.
Like she was still working behind the bar at Jolene’s, ignoring my attempts at flirtation with a cool confidence that poked at my own.
A lot of things came easily to me. Not her.
Never her.
I perched on the edge of Elaine’s desk while Charlie stayed by the door. The knuckles on her right hand were slightly bruised, and she winced when she stretched her neck. She was tall and wore black boots with a killer heel, worn-looking jeans and a white tank top that showed off her strong shoulders and colorful tattoos.
Her thick, dirty-blond hair swung from a ponytail and her skin was tan from the sun, the freckles darker across the bridge of her nose.
The very first time I’d laid eyes on her, she’d spun around from the register and asked, “What can I get you?” in her sexy, raspy voice.
I’d replied, “Your phone number. Obviously.”
Charlie had burst out laughing, then ignored me.
I hadn’t been joking.
“Luckily that shoulder of yours doesn’t prevent you from rescuing kittens,” she said with a sly grin.
I rolled it back and forth on instinct, felt the taut pinch of strained tendons. The bizarre sense that something, somewhere, no longer fit quite right. “It’ll let me climb a tree every now and then, but I’ll probably pay for it by waking up later, shrieking in pain.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ouch.”
I nodded at her hands. “I could say the same to you.”
She pushed her thick bangs away from her light green eyes. “My back tire hit a rock during a race a couple days ago, and I tumbled off this jump all wrong. Ended up bailing on an extremely unwelcoming patch of rocky dirt.”
“Sometimes you just gotta bail.”
“That you do.”
I curled my fingers around the edge of the desk. “What’s the bad girl of motocross doing at my rec center? It’s been a minute since I saw you. Four years, give or take.”
She lifted her chin at me, teasing. “Do you follow all the hot dirt bike gossip, O’Callaghan?”
“A guy can’t have a Google alert set for the name of an old friend? Besides, after I retired, it was nice to see one of us making our careers work.”
