Hope for Him (Hope Series Book #2) (15 page)

I sat up in bed and headed into the bathroom where I locked the door behind me. I discarded the condom and jumped in the shower. I waited for the water to get as hot as I could stand it. I let the water pound me. My fingers slick from touching her, I grabbed the soap and washed every inch of me. No matter what I did, I couldn't remove the smell from my nose or the taste of her from my mouth.

In the shower, my muscles tensed, and I tried to push the thought out of my mind, but all I could think about was she didn't taste or feel like Carrington. She didn't smell or sound like Carrington, and she didn't look like my Carrington.

I needed to do something. I couldn't go on like this anymore.

After my shower, I found Tiffany sound asleep, snoring under the covers. I gathered my stuff. I grabbed my computer and headed to the living room to study game tape for Saturday's game. I fell asleep sometime that night but woke up around six am. I headed to the facility, prepared to get my mind right for the game tomorrow. I made a promise to myself to deal with Tiffany later.

C
arrington Olivia Butler

Jackson's normal Saturday morning phone call happened, but my feelings after Thursday night were anything but normal. He respected my wishes and didn't ask me about it, but I could tell he was concerned.  Wake Forest was heading into town today. Not a football powerhouse, but I admired Jackson for preparing for each opponent the same.

"Do you know where Wake Forest got its name?" I asked.

"Not if my life depended on it."

I laughed out loud.

"Wake Forest is the name of the plantation where the university now sits."

"Really? So, like they used to have slaves and stuff. What kind of plantation was it?"

"I don't know. Cotton, I guess. It was owned by a physician named Calvin Jones."

"Was he a bad guy?"

"No, he wasn't. He was a mason."

"You have to give me something to go on here. I got nothing."

I grinned and pictured Jackson in bed in a hotel somewhere in Thomasville, Georgia, a few miles north of Tallahassee. He roomed with the backup quarterback, but he told me during our morning talks that his roommate got in a workout in the hotel gym before the team left for the game. It was his ritual. This was ours.

"Oh, I got it. He was engaged to a woman who died of TB. Ten years later, he married the girl's sister. That's just not right."

"Okay."

"Oh, and his oldest child, he named Montezuma."

"You're lying."

"No, it says so right here. His children's names were Montezuma and Octavia."

"That's just wrong."

"I know, right?"

Jack sported his Jackson Mitchell number eight, garnet and gold jersey. He pulled it out of his closet this morning and carried it around until I put it on him after breakfast. He was gearing up for game day. Kayla and I headed toward campus an hour before kickoff. 

Every open surface of green on campus was occupied by trucks and caravans and buses covered in FSU stuff. Every person heading in was covered in FSU gear from head to toe.

I wasn't going to bring Jack to the game. It would be too many people and too chaotic. He would have plenty of time for FSU games when he got older. 

Mr. Griffin insisted we watch the game with him in his suite. I reminded him all the people would freak Jack out. When we arrived, the suite was empty except for Mr. Griffin and his assistant, Ashlei.

"Carrington, Kayla, welcome." He was dressed in a golf shirt with an FSU logo on the left chest and black slacks. He kneeled down to Jack's level, and Jack walked over and gave him a hug. This was only the third time they had seen each other, but they were fast friends. Mr. Griffin scooped Jack up and took him toward the front of the suite to show him the stadium.

The stadium was impressive. The Griffin Suite sat next to the president's box near the forty-five yard line. Glass lined the front. The suite had two rows of stadium seats about six seats, eight on each side divided by an aisle in the center. The brown leather couches and chairs in the back made it homey and comfortable and food covered every available surface; elevated stadium food and a built-in cooler had beer and wine chilling on ice.

A flat screen television adorned both walls, tuned to the television coverage of the game.

Kayla and I stood in the back watching Mr. Griffin with Jack.

"This is so weird," Kayla said.

"What?

"I don't remember him even speaking to me as a child," she whispered.

Jack giggled as Mr. Griffin pointed at stuff. He was so patient with him. Jack changed people. Hell, he changed me.

We watched the game. Jackson and the team built a sizable lead by the end of the third quarter and Coach Fischer put in the backup quarterback. When the game was in hand, Jack sensed the excitement was over and passed out in the middle of the third quarter.

I placed Jack in his stroller and returned to sit next to Kayla.

"Carrington, can we talk?" Mr. Griffin asked.

"Sure." I sat next to him with a seat between us. He shifted toward me but continued to face forward.

"How's it going?"

"It's good. Thank you."

"Classes are good?"

"Yeah."

"Are people bothering you?"

"Bothering me, how?"

He turned to face me.

"You're purposely being evasive because you don't trust me."

"I'm not purposely being evasive." I shrugged my shoulders. "It just comes out like that sometimes."

He grinned and turned back to the game.

"Thank you for bringing Jack today."

"You're welcome. You didn't have to clear out the whole suite for us."

"Well, since it's my only time with my grandson, I eliminated the distractions."

"How do your
people
feel about that?"

"What people?"

"Your associates, boosters. All those people you used to have around you who told you how great you were?"

"I got rid of them, all of them. I needed to simplify my life, refocus on what was important." He reached out to touch my hand. I didn't flinch, but it felt wrong, him touching me. "Be someone my grandson can be proud of."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm making sure that when you get ready to trust me, I'm ready." He let go of my arm. "So. How are things between you and Jackson?"

I giggled, but it turned into a loud and out of control laugh.

"Why is that so funny?"

"It's not funny. It's unexpected and none of your business." His eyes narrowed, and I sighed. "It's complicated."

"Why complicated?"

"Jackson has a girlfriend."

"Oh, that Tennessee girl. Yeah, I met her. She's someone to scratch his itches, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean and gross."

"Well, he is a young red-blooded American male. She was a placeholder. I've seen the way he looks at you."

"This conversation is totally bizarre."

"It is, isn't it?" He laughed. "But could you give me a break. I’m learning how to relate to young people."

"Okay, I'll keep an open mind. Your intentions are good."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." I reached out and touched his arm this time, and it was weird, but I did it anyway. "How are Amanda and Erin? Do they know I'm back?"

"Well, that's a good question. I don't know. They aren't talking to me."

"Why?" He looked at me. "I'm sorry. Stupid question."

"See, I'm not trying this hard for only you and Jack. I'm trying to win my girls back, too."

"You want me to call them? Tell them you're trying."

"I would like you to call them, but not for me. I know they want to get to know Jack, too."

"I don't know. I mean, I want them to meet Jack."

"Why don't you invite them to the next game? Use the suite."

"What about you?"

"If they want me to come, let me know. If not, I'll find another place to watch."

"One thing makes me nervous."

"What's that?"

"I haven't decided how I'm going to answer Jack's questions about his father."  I turned to face him. "And before you say anything, I'm not looking for suggestions. I don't want them talking about Josh in front of Jack. Not yet, anyway."

"Fair enough. Tell them your parameters. Jack is your son." He stood up. "And if you hurry up, you can tell Jack that Jackson's his father and everyone will be happy."

J
ackson Latre Mitchell

We were undefeated five games into the season. Tiffany and I never continued our conversation from a couple of weeks ago, but we fell into a
don't ask, don't tell
kind of existence.

I went to class and stopped by Carrington's house at least twice a week after practice. She cooked for me, and I hung out and played with Jack. After putting him to bed, we sat on the couch, watching television and talking football. She was cautious around me. Not wanting to cross the line. It became easy. It surprised me how much I needed her, and it didn't matter what we did. We went days without touching each other, but being in her presence satisfied my soul.

We avoided certain subjects on purpose, and it suited us both fine.

I stopped by on a Thursday before the biggest game of the season. We were heading down to Miami to play the Hurricanes. I beat them every year, but it was always a big game for bragging rights in Florida. The trash talking began in spring football. Everyone was gunning for me. It was their personal mission to make sure I didn't leave school with an undefeated record.

Jack greeted me at the door and raised his hands for me to pick him up.

"Hey, buddy. What's Mommy cooking?" I carried him into the kitchen, stood, and watched Carrington pour pasta into a colander in the sink. Her back was to me and she wore a red t-shirt and black shorts that highlighted her asset
s
. The apron added to the hot domestic goddess look. Her hair was in a ponytail, and I had to fight the urge to cross the room and place a trail of kisses up and down her beautiful neck. I set Jack down and he ran over to the gate that kept him out of the kitchen.

"Mommy, Jaja," he pointed back at me.

Carrington turned and faced me as she wiped the moisture off her forehead with the back of her hand. I licked my lips and walked over to the counter.

"Hi." She stared at my lips and something about this whole domestic scene felt different.

"It smells amazing in here."

"Thanks. Hope you’re hungry."

"Yep."

We stared at each other, but a buzzer on the oven went off and she pulled her gaze from mine. I was kind of disappointed.

She pulled the garlic bread from the oven.

"Can you put Jack in his chair?"

I scooped Jack up and bit him on the neck as he giggled. Carrington smiled but turned back to the stove. I got Jack situated in his chair, grabbed the FSU bib off the counter and put it around his neck.

"Can I help with anything?"

She carried the pasta and the garlic bread over to the table. She headed back for the sauce.

"Nope, all good." She stood over the table trying to see if she missed anything. "What do you want to drink?"

"Water is fine." She walked back to the kitchen, and my eyes followed. I couldn't help it. I told you about her ass, right? In those black shorts, my imagination didn't have to work hard. She leaned over to grab the bottled water out of the bottom shelve of the fridge, and I had to shift around in my seat before I embarrassed both of us.

She sat down and spooned pasta and sauce on our plates.  She gave Jack more pasta and less sauce.

"Jacky, do Mommy a favor and try not to get this all over the place." Jack giggled and dug in with both hands spreading the pasta sauce around his plate before bringing a single noodle to his mouth.

"I don't think he’s making any promises, Mommy," I said.

I stared at Carrington out of the corner of my eye. She started to say something like four times but stopped herself and turned her attention back to the spaghetti. I wanted to ask her what was up, but figured she’d get it out in her own sweet time. We ate most of our dinner without addressing each other. We talked to each other through Jack.

"I don't think I've seen anyone enjoy spaghetti more than this guy," I said. Jack had spaghetti sauce all over his face.

"Baby, tell Jaja, it's only cute until it’s time to clean up," she said.

The rest of dinner went in this matter. When we finished, I offered to clean up while she cleaned up Jack and put him to bed. We both finished at about the same time.

I sat down on my spot at the couch, but she didn't sit in her normal spot. She sat on the chair across the room.

"What do you want to watch?" She grabbed the remote and flipped through a few channels. When I didn't answer, she sighed.

"What's going on with you?" I asked.

"Nothing?"

"Come on, Carrington, you've been weird all night, like you’re afraid to tell me something."

"It's nothing. I..." Her face scrunched up, and she exhaled.

"What?"

"Okay. So, Kayla is volunteering at the FSU Victims Advocate Program. They asked me to come in. They wanted to know if I would speak at a conference they are having in the spring."

"That's great."

"They want me to tell my story. Give my perspective as someone who was a victim of a violent crime who didn't let it define her. Who overcame and took advantage of her second chance. Those were their words."

"Wow. That's amazing."

"They want me to talk about how I healed from what happened to me. They think I'm a great example for other students, I guess. They think, I wasn't afraid to come forward though the person who assaulted me was such a powerful figure at FSU might encourage others to come forward and report what happened to them."

"You could help a lot of people."

"I don't want to do it."

"Why?"

"Because I can't talk about those things. I'd be telling a lie."

#

C
arrington Olivia Butler