The Total Package Page 20

  He was momentarily sick inside, thinking of the possibility that he had drunkenly fathered children all across the country. But the women from that part of his past were the type who would’ve stood front and center, demanding he claim responsibility and pay up. They never would have kept such news a secret.

  But Dani Carr was not that kind of woman. She never had been. When she told him she loved him, she had meant it. Then, after he broke her heart, she transferred that devotion to someone who carried a piece of him.

  Tyson realized he knew what he could expect from men. But women were very different creatures. They needed a different set of survival skills. One more time he was compelled to take his own inventory. First he had put women on pedestals, starting with his mother. Then came a time when he looked at them as toys. Eventually, when they tried to play his game, he began to view them as villains. And Dani was the only woman who had the honor of being all three.

  As the sweat poured off him, Tyson’s head began to clear. He started walking back in the direction of home. He was fatigued, drained both mentally and physically. Tyson knew Dani wouldn’t be there when he got back. They were both well versed in the fight-­or-­flight response. What a pair they made. He stumbled when his knees nearly buckled with the realization: despite everything, he really did love her. And you can’t love someone on your terms, only theirs. Marcus was living proof of that, and once again, Marcus had been right.

  He took a shower and went back out to the pool, where his football was waiting. He sat down on the chair and resumed tossing it up in the air. And then he held it. Without realizing it, Tyson cradled it in his arms like he would a newborn, thinking of the time he couldn’t get back.

  Tyson had a choice to make. There was no way he would go back to living his life the way he had before he found out. He wouldn’t be an absentee father. He could continue to waste more time and make his child’s life a battleground or he could man up and move his family forward. He could be the kind of father that his own father wasn’t, and start to heal that betrayal as well. Now the thought of having a child filled him with a sense of pride and belonging. Within an hour, he was in his car speeding to the hotel.

  Once again, he needed to find Dani Carr.

  He blew into the hotel lobby, determined to get her room number, even if it meant shameless flirting, deceit, or strong-­arm tactics. Before he could reach the front desk, he felt a hand on his shoulder, practically spinning him around.

  “What did you do?” Marcus barked. To Tyson’s surprise, there was panic written on Marcus’s face.

  “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to clear this up right now,” Tyson said quickly, breaking away from the grip. “I’ll explain later.”

  “Dani’s not here,” Marcus replied, watching Tyson’s face fall. “She sent me a text and was gone before I could get back.”

  They were too late. There was no point trying to call her; they both knew she wouldn’t answer. If he left right away maybe he could make it to the airport in time.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Marcus growled.

  “What did she tell you?”

  Marcus shook his head in disgust. “She didn’t tell me anything other than she was finished and it was nice working with me. But when I left her in your capable hands, she seemed pretty optimistic. Looks like you saw to that.”

  Tyson stared at Marcus, dumbfounded.

  “She worked for you, Marcus, or should I say ran your interference. I know you know her address. Where did she go?”

  Marcus continued to shake his head. “She never volunteered that information, and I never asked. Whatever you did, it must be a real deal breaker.”

  “She had my baby and never said a damn word to me!”

  “Well, duh, you just figured that out now?”

  “You mean you knew? She told you?” Tyson could feel his blood pressure reaching blastoff.

  “Of course I knew, but she didn’t tell me. She didn’t have to. I mean, I knew she had a kid because her boss let it slip, but think about it: what single twentysomething with her sort of celebrity status sits all alone in a hotel room night after night after being transferred to one of the hippest, most happening cities in the country? She could have been painting the town red with any guy, but she was pining for you. Damn, for someone who claims to be so enlightened, you really are dumb as a bucket of rocks.”

  “Don’t you dare lecture me, Marcus. No one watched your back more than I did. Now we can either stand here swapping insults or we can try to track her down.”

  Marcus may have found religion, but he still had all the street smarts of his childhood: “Come on. I know the best place to start.”

  They drove together to the Mavericks’ front office and proceeded to tag-team Clinton Barrow’s secretary for Dani’s address, even after she politely told them she couldn’t give out that sort of information.

  “Mr. Palmer,” she said, trying to reason with them, “I’d lose my job for that. It would be like giving out your address to some fan.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Marcus scoffed. “We all have the same employer.”

  “Not anymore you don’t.” A voice came from behind them. Both men whirled around to the sound of it. It was Clinton Barrow, who for the first time, looked rattled. “Dani Carr no longer works for this organization.”

  What Barrow didn’t share were Dani’s parting words in the e-­mail she sent to him along with copies to everyone on her command chain. It told him in no uncertain terms what exactly she thought of him and his organization, and suggested a few profane things he could do with his team and then to himself. The audacity of being addressed in such a fashion and having it exposed to so many had left him steaming. Cheap Yankee trash, he thought. In the throes of press week before the Super Bowl, he didn’t want to risk bad publicity, so he had put her on the back burner to be appropriately dealt with later. He would start by making sure she’d never work in broadcasting again. Although he was fairly certain that had been her plan all along, or she never would have sent that e-­mail. The thought of being unable to punish an underling by destroying her career only infuriated him even more.

  “We know that,” Tyson said. “We want her home address.”

  “What in tarnation for?” Barrow asked suspiciously, and then attempted to redirect the conversation. “Never mind that now. You boys have a plane to catch, a press week to get ready for, and a game to play. We’ve already lined up another reporter to cover Marcus.”

  “I don’t want anyone else,” Marcus protested.

  “And I’m not leaving until you tell this lady to give me Dani’s address, Clint,” Tyson reiterated.

  Barrow could feel his nerves beginning to fray.

  “Look, boys, I don’t know what’s going on here, but y’all seem to have your priorities backward. Does this woman have something on either of you that I need to worry about?”

  “No,” both men said in unison. Marcus because he had never told Clinton Barrow anything in the past, and there was no reason to start telling him anything now. Tyson because for the first time in more than five years, he viewed Barrow as an adversary and not a savior.

  “Great. There’ll be plenty of time for you to worry about your love lives after the game. Now let’s get a move on. Saddle up!” Barrow clapped his hands together and turned to leave.

  “I don’t think you understand, Clint,” Tyson told his boss’s back. “If I don’t get what I’m looking for here, there isn’t going to be any game. Not for me.”

  All Tyson meant was that he would never be able to get into the proper head space to play until he talked to Dani. But Clinton Barrow stopped cold in his tracks. He turned slowly back around to face Tyson and Marcus. His eyes narrowed and his cheeks started to take on some color through his bronze permatan. It was probably the first time the polished billionaire had received an ultima
tum.

  “Are you threatening me, Palmer?” Barrow’s voice was silky smooth and laced with venom.

  It was in that moment that Tyson realized just how one-­sided the loyalty in their relationship had truly been. As long as he toed Barrow’s line, he’d been in his good graces. Now he knew how quickly he could fall out of favor.

  “All I thought I was doing was trying to get an address. I’m not threatening you.” His face hardened. “So don’t threaten me.”

  Barrow looked like he was trying to figure out if Tyson was capable of calling a bluff.

  “This is how you repay me? After everything I’ve done for you? You’d be dead or in a gutter somewhere if it weren’t for me.”

  “And I’ve repaid that debt, several times over. Today it’s my turn to set some rules.”

  “If you don’t show up and play, I swear I’ll see you bankrupt for breach of contract.”

  “Oh, I’ll show up all right. And I’ll take the sack for every down.”

  “You’ll spend the greatest game of your life sitting on the bench!” Clint bellowed.

  “I guess that’s where I’ll come in,” said Marcus in the same insolent monotone that they all knew, completely unaffected by the threats and the yelling. “I will come down with the worst case of slippery hands that the league has ever seen. I might even set some new records for dropsies.”

  Barrow’s upper lip began to curl up with the snarl. “You gutless wonder, since when did you start giving a shit about anyone other than yourself?”

  “Probably around the same time I realized I’d always have to keep one up my sleeve when it came to folks like you. Now I’m just looking at a grown-­ass man throwing a temper tantrum.”

  Theo and Sal could be seen swiftly coming down the hall in response to Barrow’s shouting. Marcus pointed at shiny-­headed Sal with his finger before they got too close. “Stay right where you are, Baldylocks, this isn’t your fight.”

  The two men waited for some sort of direction from Barrow, but Clint did nothing more than give a slight single shake of his head without looking at them.

  Satisfied that both men were going to keep a safe distance, Marcus turned his attention back to Barrow. “So what’s it gonna be, boss? You gonna sit your two star players or you gonna play ball?”

  Clinton Barrow’s white-hot glare went from one man’s determined stare to the other’s. And then he began to grin. In the next moment, his toothy smile emerged, one that didn’t reach his eyes. It was the smile he usually wore for publicity’s sake.

  “Well, it looks like Tyson told you all about my fondness for challenges. A strange, not to mention inconvenient, time to open negotiations, but let’s get down to it.”

  And in the spirit of a last hoorah, Marcus once again persuaded Tyson to enter into a most unholy alliance.

  TYSON AND MARCUS ARRIVED TOGETHER to meet the Mavericks chartered flight to New Orleans. They sat alone, huddled with their heads together for most of the trip, quietly talking and making sure that no one else was privy to the conversation. By the time they landed, Tyson was feeling confident, about some things more than others, but confident nonetheless.

  As they waited to check in, Tyson heard someone call his name. It was a familiar, warm voice that he loved and he automatically turned to it.

  “Hi, Mom.” Tyson wrapped her in a bear hug. “I’m glad you made it early. I’m not sure how much free time I’m going to get, but I could really use a pep talk.”

  After all she had been through, Karen Palmer never left the house until her full face of makeup was flawless and her purse always matched her sensible shoes. She never had a hair out of place, even after those first few strands of gray started to appear. The only time she had shown no interest in her meticulous daily routine was when she initially had to come to grips with her husband leaving her. For days she’d barely been able to get out of bed, much less do her hair. That period of grieving had been short-­lived, but even when Tyson was in the thick of battle with his demons, remembering how his mom had looked back then had haunted him.

  Karen hooked her arm in his and began to move him away from the rest of the team toward the lobby door. “Of course, sweetheart, I’ll be here following you around all week. This place is a madhouse. I’m so excited for you, and proud, so proud.”

  They made small talk about how much she was looking forward to seeing the French Quarter, and her plans to take a bayou tour and eat at Commander’s Palace. Tyson carried her bags in from the parking lot. But just before he could tell her what was really on his mind, another person came into view, stalking out from behind a large SUV. It was Douglas Palmer. As soon as he recognized him, Tyson froze, refusing to budge from his spot.

  “What is he doing here?” Tyson asked his mother, moving protectively to stand between them.

  “I brought him,” Karen told him with a smile. “You did send me two tickets. I don’t recall you giving me any restrictions with them.”

  When Tyson sent the tickets, it was with the intention that she bring one of the more upstanding men she occasionally dated. She had told him years ago it was unlikely she would ever marry again.

  “But Mom . . . him?” Tyson asked with wide, incredulous eyes. He took a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Douglas Palmer wasn’t getting any closer. With all his recent revelations, this was bordering on becoming just too much. He didn’t need any more bombshells in his life right now.

  “Don’t worry, Ty, this isn’t a reconciliation, if that’s what you’re thinking. Did you know he spent a fortune on buying a ring for that floozy, and within a week she pawned it and took off?” Karen shot a sidelong glance at her ex-­husband. “Guess she got wind that the money was running out. I actually feel sorry for him. I really don’t want to take your father back, but I’d be flat-­out lying if I said him tripping all over himself to be nice to me isn’t pretty damn gratifying.”

  Not only did Karen Palmer sound positively elated delivering the news, but it was also the first time in all his life Tyson had ever heard her even close to cussing. The closest she had ever come was a rousing H-­E-­double hockey sticks.

  “He really wanted to be here,” she added as she took him by the arm to gently turn him back around. “And I think he should be. He’s your father, Tyson, and he loves you.”

  Tyson gritted his teeth and took a good look as they made their way over to the spot along the SUV where his father was deep in concentration, shuffling his feet to kick a small rock from side to side. He still wore an expensive suit, but it looked worn and faded, as did he. The bald spot on the top of his head had gotten bigger, and he had forsaken the cheap rug he had purchased to hide it. His skin looked blotchy and burned from all the time he spent in tanning booths in the desperate attempt to recapture his youth. As they neared him, Tyson could see the deep lines in his face. His eyes were red and glassy. His father wasn’t drunk but was more in a state of having a never-ending hangover. Tyson knew that look all too well. He had gotten his comeuppance and then some, but it brought Tyson no joy.

  “Hi, Dad,” Tyson said, trying to sound casual. He refrained from calling him Doug because even now, he knew his mother would see it as disrespectful and wouldn’t approve.

  “Tyson.” Douglas managed a half-­smile while swiping at some bug that had tried to land on his cheek. “You’re looking strong. Big game coming up, hope you’re ready. You likely won’t get another chance.”

  Tyson tilted his head and looked at his father with new eyes. The words tumbled forth without any effort.

  “I forgive you, Dad.”

  Douglas Palmer’s face turned ruddy. Whether it was from embarrassment or rage, Tyson would never be sure. It was probably a combination of both.

  “Forgive me? Forgive me for what?” He scowled. “Dedicating my life to you and your career? You never would have got that first deal if it wasn’t for me.” />
  In that moment, Tyson understood. He finally got it. His father might never understand, but the words would set him free. As he said them, he meant them.

  “No, Dad, I forgive you for me. I know you did the best you could. Thank you for that.”

  “You and all your self-­help bullshit,” Douglas Palmer mumbled.

  “Douglas,” came a low yet sharp warning from Karen. “Why don’t you go wait in the car while I talk to our son.”

  It wasn’t a request, and after kicking at another rock Douglas Palmer skulked off and disappeared to the driver’s side of the SUV, looking over his shoulder to grumble a parting “Good luck on Sunday.”

  Karen watched him with an eye-­rolling little shake of her head before turning back to the momentarily stunned Tyson with a wide smile.

  “He knows that if he takes one step out of line, he can find his own way back home. Don’t pay him any mind, baby. He’s still letting his pride do most of his talking, but I really think he’s doing better. Now you go back to the hotel and rest up. I’m going to take your father to get a new suit and a haircut. I can’t have him looking like a washed-­up degenerate on your big day. Call me if you have any free time, we’ll grab a bite to eat.”

  Tyson took a deep breath. His chest had begun to feel tight. Telling her she was now a grandmother could wait; she already had her hands full. She reached out to give him an encouraging squeeze on his arm that turned into Tyson pulling her to him in a life-­affirming hug.

  “I love you, Mom. Thanks for making this sacrifice. Thanks for making all of them.”

  Karen Palmer hugged her six-­foot-­three-­inch baby tight and rubbed his back before pulling away and reaching up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead and into place. Even when Tyson was a kid, she was way too classy to make use of the spit hairspray technique.

  “Sweetheart, I would sit with Satan and present a united front if it helped you. That’s just what mothers do.”