Between Sundays Page 14

  “Okay.” Bill drew the word out, like he was talking to a troubled child. “Point made. Either way”—his tone lightened halfway to where it had been before—“it worked. The paper loves you, the city loves you. Your fans love you.” His laugh sounded defensive this time. “That’s all I was trying to say. A little thanks might be nice.”

  “Do they know about the other night too?”

  “You didn’t tell me you were going. Otherwise I could’ve made a call.”

  “Do me a favor.” Aaron evened out his tone. His agent was only looking out for him. “Tell me before you contact the press on my behalf, okay?”

  Bill drew a loud breath. “All right, then. Good talking to you. Don’t forget to call the real estate guy. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Sure…fine.” Aaron snapped the phone shut, and for a few seconds he stared at the floor, calming himself down. He hadn’t thought about it before the Raiders game, but he was sick of being managed. He was going to be thirty this spring, and still he was like some sort of puppet. Whatever string Bill Bond pulled, Aaron jumped. With Megan that day at the park, Bill had lowered his voice and looked in her direction. “A foster mom, Hill? That the best you can do?”

  Aaron hadn’t wanted to get into it. “I met her at the youth center.” He kept his voice light. “She and the boy have never been to a game.”

  Bill nodded, his distaste showing in his expression. “Well, then…one game should be enough, right?” He patted Aaron on the back. “Good deed done!”

  His agent’s message that day was unmistakable. Bill didn’t want to see Aaron hanging around a woman he thought beneath him. Period.

  Normally Aaron would’ve understood. Some women were bound to chase him for his money, but not Megan. And ever since the incident, Aaron’s attitude toward his agent had soured some.

  “Everything okay?” Derrick bumped him on the shoulder. Jay was gone, and they were the only two left in this section of lockers.

  A weary smile tugged at his lips. “My agent…he’s pushy.”

  “Bill Bond?” Derrick chuckled. “It took you this long to notice? Rumor back when you entered the league was that you didn’t burp without asking permission from your agent.”

  “Great.” He positioned himself in front of his locker. “I guess I never saw it before.”

  When Derrick was gone, Aaron hung his head against the frame of his locker. Was that really how people saw him? Putty in the hands of Bill Bond? And why hadn’t anyone said something? The answer came to him as soon as the question hit his mind. He’d been nothing more than a college kid when Bill first came into his life. His own father wasn’t interested in football. He traveled the globe as an international marketing director. His only advice when the media started hinting about a pro career for Aaron was this: Find a good agent.

  Which was exactly what Aaron had done.

  But lately he’d been wondering about more than the parties and publicity stunts. He wondered about Amy too. Amy had been everything to him before UCLA, before Bill broke the news that she was seeing other guys. But what proof had Bill really had? At the time, he remembered thinking he should ask. Because maybe Bill had pictures or a contact he could refer Aaron to. But he never did. He trusted Bill, and that trust parlayed into one of the biggest contracts and signing bonuses of his day.

  The familiar locker room smells of sweat and rubber matting filled his senses. One year of football after another, and Bill had controlled his every step, something Aaron had always thought was a good thing. And maybe it was.

  He closed his eyes and all he could see was Megan Gunn, her passionate determination, her eyes so deep he could fall into them. There probably wasn’t a hundred extra dollars in Megan’s bank account, but he had a sense she knew more about life than Bill and all his clients combined.

  He opened his eyes and reached into the locker. The letter was in there somewhere, probably near the bottom. He moved his fingers past a few baseball caps and a pair of old socks, and then he felt it, the envelope. The one that had eluded him last week. He pulled it out and stared at it. Aaron’s name was scrawled across the front in kid writing. It didn’t matter that he could predict what it said. The letter came from the kid’s heart. Here, in the silence of the locker room, he would read it with all the importance that had clearly gone into it.

  He slid his thumb beneath the flap and gently pulled out the piece of paper from inside. It was folded four times, but once he opened it, Aaron could see the letter wasn’t long. He leaned against the locker next to his and started at the top.

  Dear Aaron Hill,

  I’ve wanted to write this leter for a long time. Lots of days I started it and then I threw it away. Because how was I going to get it to you? But now I think maybe this will work. Derrick Anderson will be at the youth center Friday night, and he’s your backup.

  Aaron smiled. The kid definitely knew his 49ers football. He kept reading.

  So Friday night I’m going to ask Derrick to give it to you. See, I have something really important to say. Because a long time ago my mom told me that you weren’t just a nice football player. You’re my dad. That’s what she told me.

  Aaron scrunched up his face and read those last few lines again. What was this? A strange feeling spread through his chest. The kid actually thought he was his son? He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. No wonder Megan knew he hadn’t read the letter. But did that mean she believed he was Cory’s dad?

  A sad laugh filled his throat and it became a groan. “Poor kid.” He picked up where he left off.

  My mom always prayed I could meet you, because a boy should have a father. Don’t you think so? Anyway, now that you know, could you call me at my house? Thanks very much.

  Your friend, Cory

  Sure enough, at the bottom of the letter was a phone number scribbled larger than the rest of the words. Probably so Aaron wouldn’t miss it.

  He read the letter once more and stared at it a minute longer. He’d seen a lot of fan letters, but nothing like this. Where a kid got so caught up in adoration that he actually believed Aaron was his father. He took a long breath and thought about the conversation he needed to have with Megan. The boy wasn’t his, obviously. He would start there. But he also needed to know what role Megan played in all this. As smart as Megan was, as clear-minded as she’d shown herself to be, he couldn’t believe she would support Cory writing this type of letter.

  That was probably why she was distant around him. She wanted to see how he’d react to the child’s fantasy. Aaron added the phone number into his cell. Then he folded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope, and tucked it near the back of his locker. He felt a mix of sorrow and frustration over the boy’s claim. Aaron didn’t know Cory’s past, other than the small bit Megan had shared the other night. That Cory’s mother had been wonderful, and that she was dead.

  He finished changing clothes, and then grabbed his duffle bag. If Megan thought the boy’s letter was going to scare him off, she was wrong. The child didn’t know any better. So he’d made a mistake? What if he did see Aaron Hill as his father…or the father he never had? If Megan would see him again, Aaron would treat the boy the way he, himself, would want to be treated if he were in Cory’s shoes. Not necessarily like a father. But like a friend.

  Even so, he felt strangely uneasy. These were waters he hadn’t navigated before, and maybe he’d be better off sharing the details with someone else first. Or maybe he just needed to hear Megan Gunn’s voice again. He set his bag down, opened his phone, and pulled up Megan’s number. But before he hit Send, he changed his mind. Instead, he pulled up Bill’s number, and then—at the last second—he dialed the number of a guy he hadn’t planned to call all season, let alone now.

  Because no matter what he thought about his teammate, one thing was certain. Derrick Anderson was a straight shooter. He would listen and he would respond in truth, something Aaron wasn’t sure he could get anywhere else.

  And suddenly�
��where Megan and Cory were concerned—truth was something he desperately wanted.

  THIRTEEN

  Derrick was putting his ice pack back in the freezer when Denae padded into the kitchen in her bathrobe and slippers. Her smile lit up his heart.

  “How did my man do in practice today?” She took a tea bag from a drawer and dropped it into the Starbucks mug from Houston. Derrick collected them for her when he was on the road.

  “Held my own.”

  She looked at his knee and raised her eyebrow. “How’s it feel?”

  “Hurts. Bad.” He felt the pain with every step as he came closer to her. “But I can play. No matter how much it hurts.”

  “Ah, baby…” She took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “I wish you could see someone.” She sidestepped him and filled her cup with boiling water from the hot tap near the sink. She turned and held the cup close to her middle.

  “I will.” He smiled. “After the season. For now…” he chuckled, “nothing feels better than beating the Raiders.”

  “Except maybe beating the Seahawks.” Her eyes sparkled, the way they did when she played with him.

  “Seattle will be tough.” He patted his thigh. “I might see a little more rest. As long as Aaron stays strong. And Coach wants Jay to take a few snaps.”

  “Never mind. God’s got it all covered.” She sipped her tea. “I already asked Him.”

  “Well…” He limped to the fridge and grabbed a string cheese. “Ask Him about Aaron Hill too. I think God’s up to something big with that guy.”

  Before Derrick could finish his sentence, the phone rang. He was only a few feet away, and he forced himself not to favor his right leg. His strength had to carry him on and off the field. Otherwise, he wouldn’t give his all when it was asked of him.

  He picked up the receiver. The caller ID was blocked. “Hello?”

  “Derrick?” The voice was familiar. “Aaron Hill. You got a minute?”

  A chill ran down Derrick’s arms. How weird was that? He asks his wife to pray for his teammate, and at the same instant the guy calls? He tried to focus. “Yeah, man. No problem. What’s up?”

  Derrick heard Aaron exhale, and with it came the certainty that something wasn’t right. “You remember the woman at the youth center, the pretty one with dark hair?”

  “The foster mother.” Derrick lowered his brows. She was the one he’d invited to the Raiders game. What was Aaron doing thinking about a woman he’d met several weeks ago? At his pace, he should’ve moved on by now. “Her son gave you that letter.”

  “Right…her.” He took a quick breath and rushed ahead. “I read it…I guess the kid thinks I’m his dad.” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “How weird is that?”

  Derrick braced himself against the counter. “Is it true?”

  “Definitely not. Some sort of fantasy, I guess.”

  Aaron explained the main details, how he’d asked for her number. Only the boy had written the number at the bottom of the letter. “Megan knew I was lying. She saw right through me.”

  Since he’d joined the team, Derrick had been careful when he talked about his faith. For the most part, people wanted to see a sermon, not hear one. But if Aaron was asking for advice, Derrick was going to give it to him. He held his breath. “She’s not the only one.”

  “What?”

  “Who sees right through you. She’s not the only one.” He kept his tone easy, relaxed. “You’ve never talked about God, Hill. You ever give Him much thought?”

  His teammate hesitated. “Not really. I mean”—he allowed a nervous laugh—“what’s that got to do with Megan Gunn?”

  “Everything. You start thinking about God, and I’ll tell you what. You’ll read letters from kid fans the first time around. Because you’d understand you don’t play a down—on or off the field—without God letting you play it.”

  Aaron thought about that for a few seconds. “Yeah, well…anyway, this letter thing. I guess I’m not sure what to do next. I want her to think I made the right response.”

  “Sounds like this should be more about the boy than his foster mother.” Derrick looked at his wife. He covered the phone and whispered, “Can I ask him over for dinner?”

  Denae held her teacup up and gave a dramatic nod. “Get that boy over here. I’ll tell him a thing or two.”

  Derrick nodded and uncovered the receiver. “Hey, Hill…we’re barbecuing. Why don’t you stop by for dinner? Maybe we can talk a little.”

  Aaron’s hesitation lasted only a moment. “Tonight?”

  “Sure, right now. We’re a low-maintenance outfit. Just head on over.”

  “Okay…can I bring something?”

  “Nah.” Derrick reached out and patted his wife’s lower back. “Denae’s got it covered.”

  When the conversation ended, Derrick hung up the phone and looked at Denae. “Like I was saying, ask Him about Aaron Hill too.”

  “Just so you know…my stud husband”—she came to him and set her teacup on the counter—“I’m one step ahead of you.”

  “You’ve been praying for Aaron Hill?”

  She smiled. “Since your agent first started talking about San Francisco.”

  Derrick kissed her on the forehead, and then on the lips. God had given him a start to this season he would remember always. Beating Oakland and then, against anything he might’ve imagined, the unreachable, unflappable Aaron Hill calls him for advice. That, more than anything else, was proof God was hearing their prayers.

  And that maybe, He’d only begun handing out answers.

  FOURTEEN

  The doorbell rang just as Derrick was basting Denae’s secret recipe barbecue sauce across a pan of raw chicken. He cupped his free hand around his mouth. “Somebody…get the door!”

  Denae was doing her face in the bathroom upstairs, but Larry and Lonnie were in the other room in the middle of a mad NFL PlayStation game. This was the first time Aaron had been over to the house, the first time his kids would hang out with his teammate other than the quick hellos they’d exchanged at a few spring practices.

  Larry sprinted past the kitchen and Derrick heard the door open, and then Aaron’s voice. “Hi…your home’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Larry’s voice held a degree of awe. “My dad’s in the kitchen.”

  “Using one of my other skills.” Derrick’s voice was ripe with teasing. “Which is more than I can say for you, my bachelor friend. All those Taco Bell wrappers in your locker!”

  Larry and Lonnie headed out to the backyard, where Libby was curled up on the patio sofa doing her homework. Aaron entered the kitchen and came up alongside him. He held out his hands. “What, you took the chicken out of the package?” He waved his hand at Derrick and walked around the counter to the bar on the other side. “Even I can do that.”

  “No.” Derrick tried to find a dignified look. “I’ve mastered the art of applying barbecue sauce.” He dabbed the brush at the sides of one of the pieces. “Chicken has a certain amount of natural juice. You have to seal it in just so, especially if you want—”

  “Don’t listen to a word he says.” Denae walked into the kitchen, came up behind Derrick, and took the basting brush from his hand. “Mmmhmmm. Boy’s been telling stories since the day we met.” She snapped her fingers at him. “Don’t you be taking no credit for my secret chicken, Derrick Anderson.”

  Derrick started to protest, but before he could say a word, Aaron shook his head, as if he were sorely disappointed in his teammate’s duplicity. “I had a feeling.” Aaron donned the innocent look of a choirboy. “You should’ve heard him. How he’s been working over the stove all morning, and ever since he got back from practice. How he does all the cooking for the family.”

  “Thanks.” Derrick feigned a defeated look. “The barbecue guy gets no respect.”

  Denae laughed, and as she finished basting the chicken, she smiled at Aaron. “I’m Denae Anderson. Welcome to our home.”

&n
bsp; “Thanks for having me.” He winced. “Kinda last-minute.”

  “Don’t go talking about last-minute. You come through the front door, that makes you family. No reservations needed.”

  “The invitation came at a good time.”

  Aaron sounded kind. A person meeting him for the first time could never have known he had a reputation for being a cocky braggart.

  “I’m glad.” She gave her husband a warning look. “Since I’ve been slaving in the kitchen all day.”

  Derrick held his hands out, palms down, and bowed to his wife. “Absolutely. Let the record show that all delectable meals made in this kitchen come from my lovely wife. I only do what I’m told. All of it under the fine direction of one of the best cooks in all of California.”

  A satisfied look crossed Denae’s face, and she grinned at Derrick. “That’s better.” She took a potholder from the counter and opened the oven door. “The potatoes have another forty minutes.” She waved the potholder at her husband. “Shoo…I got this! You and Aaron go out back with the kids.”

  Aaron stood and motioned to Derrick. “Let’s take a look at that view of yours.” He wandered toward the back door.

  “I’m right behind you.” Derrick put his arm around his wife’s waist. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  “My chicken, you mean?” She leaned up and brushed her lips against his. He felt the familiar desire, the feelings only she could ignite in him. “Not the chicken. Because you put Aaron at ease without even trying.”

  “God works best in comfortable places.”

  Derrick studied her. “You’re something else.” He kissed her this time, and then he headed for the back sliding door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Just you, baby.” Her smile warmed the whole house. “Just you.”

  Outside, Derrick stopped and watched the happenings in the backyard. Their home was centered on a two-acre square bluff overlooking the San Francisco Bay. Off to the right side was a half-court for basketball, complete with extra-high netting so no one had to chase a ball all the way down to the beach. The middle yard, the part that took off from the house toward the back landscaping, was plush, manicured grass. And on the left was a shop garage with a large patch of asphalt where over the years he expected to watch his kids play with remote control cars and bikes and skateboards. It was the sort of backyard any kid would love to have, and Derrick looked forward to hundreds of hours out here with his family.