Note: Nearing the end now. Thanks for sticking with me if you've made it this far. I've been getting killed in the voting because of the cliffhanger, which I suppose I should have expected. Hopefully this chapter goes a ways toward changing your mind.
Special thanks go out to my two regular editors, LilTexasSexFiend and AnInsatiableReader, for making this infinitely better than it was when I first wrote it. As always, let me know what you think, through voting, comments or private feedback. All three works too! ;-)
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"Indiana is not one of our rivals," Tim's voice said. "It's not an ACC school. Hell, they went, what... 8-23 last year? They're not even a good team."
"I know," a female voice replied. "They just have one player in particular that I always choke against."
"You play in the ACC. Surely, you've gone up against better players."
"Yes," the woman answered. "But, none of them are my sister."
The digital voice recorder beeped as Tim turned it off. He tossed it onto his desk and watched as it landed squarely on Hailee Sullivan's athlete file. Hailee was one of the most talented off-guards in the ACC - when the vast array of mental blocks bouncing around in her head didn't get in the way. The women's basketball coach had specifically asked Tim to work on Hailee's mental training this year, because she was the team's top returning scorer.
And, Tim remembered now that the recording had jogged his memory, she had a sister.
He sat back in his chair in his office at the RBC Center, blankly staring out the window at the parking lot. His SUV was parked 30 feet beyond the glass, but he didn't see it. He didn't see anything.
"Leira is her fucking sister," Tim said out loud, not for the first time since leaving the party the night before. Even more than 12 hours later, he was still having trouble processing it.
Many of the things that defined Tim's life had taught him a lesson about how to handle what would be referred to as, in clinical terms, a massively fucked up situation. Flying had taught him to take a deep breath and think. Psychology had taught him to close his eyes and visualize a happy place. The Marine Corps had taught him to rely on his instincts.
So, Tim took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and held both for maybe 30 seconds. When he exhaled and opened his eyes, his instincts were still telling him to scream or beat the living hell out of something.
Who was he going to punch, though? Carlos? There was no way he could have known about Tim's past with Leira unless she told him, and one of the few things he remembered in the blur that followed J.T.'s revelation was the look of pure shock blanketed across Carlos' face when he finally realized what was going on.
He definitely felt like punching J.T., and J.T. probably would have let him, too, but that wouldn't be fair. It was the whole "Don't shoot the messenger" concept. Sure, J.T. had a flair for the dramatic, but this wasn't the kind of thing he'd keep to himself even for a second. Tim had left his phone in the car to charge during the party, and when he went out to get it earlier that morning, there were about 20 text messages from both J.T. and Sheila, most of them coming in the 30 minutes before they showed up at the party. He guessed the same was true for Julia, who'd left her phone at Tim's house. Their best friends had done all they could.
And yelling? Sure, that would feel good. Never mind that it wouldn't solve a damn thing - who was he going to yell at? Julia? She was almost as stunned as Tim was. He was quite certain she had no clue her half-sister was the woman responsible for the multiple hoops she'd had to jump through to earn Tim's trust over the past two years. Hell, she had wanted Tim to meet some of her family a few months after they'd met, but Tim flatly refused, hiding behind their status as just friends with benefits to get out of it.
He knew whom he really wanted to unload on, of course, but there was no point to that, either. He'd told J.T., Sheila, Julia and anyone else who would listen that he'd moved on. Humiliating Leira in front of the entire football team last night, as satisfying as it might have been, really wouldn't have helped prove that point.
Not that he didn't have the right, he thought. She'd just... left that day. Tim remembered the feeling, and he didn't like it. He'd felt more vulnerable that day than he ever had in Baghdad or the caves of Afghanistan.
There was one truth that managed to seep through the haze, though. All the things he'd been telling J.T., things even Tim himself only half-believed... they were all true. Now that he'd seen her again, he knew it without a doubt.
He didn't want Leira to change her mind. He no longer wanted to go back to that day, three years ago, and alter the past.
Tim didn't want Leira back. He just wanted answers.
Like J.T. had said at his party that day, Tim needed closure. He'd just never expected to get it like this.
Tim's exit from the party had been as graceful as he could manage. Honestly, he'd wanted to throw up the moment J.T. told him Leira was Julia's sister, but he'd fought off that particular urge. There was no way he didn't flinch or cringe, he thought, but he'd recovered pretty quickly, at least physically. He stood there for at least a minute, probably more, with five sets of eyes glued to him, waiting for a response.
Finally, he'd given them one.
"That's great," he'd said, not really sure what he was going to say even as he opened his mouth. "Please, excuse me for a minute."
He'd turned around and began a brisk walk toward the exit. Both J.T. and Julia had called his name, but he'd put up a hand, waving them off without looking back. Once off the court, the walk turned into a jog. He took the stairs two, sometimes three at a time until he reached the concourse, then sprinted down the hall.
His first plan was to get to his car and just drive until he ran out of gas or ran into the ocean, whichever came first. When he passed his office, however, he changed his mind. He went in, locked the door and sat on the floor across the room, where no one could see him through the window or the door. He pulled out a small flashlight and started working on player evaluations.
He dozed off sometime around three a.m. and slept right there on the floor. Three hours later, he'd woken up stiff and sore as all hell but really, really not caring. He needed a shower, so he'd grabbed the workout bag from his SUV, and that's when he discovered his voicemails and text messages. Without returning any of them or even taking his phone with him, he went back into the building, to the locker room just down the hall from his office, and cleaned up a little.
That was four hours ago now. In about an hour, the team bus would depart from the football stadium, on the other side of the massive parking lot, for the airport and the flight to Miami.
Tim was about to get back to the women's basketball team and Hailee Sullivan's sibling rivalry when his door opened. He didn't even look up.
"I must have forgotten to lock the door when I got back this morning," Tim said. "These aren't office hours."
"C'mon, Doc," Carlos said. "I been here four years. When have I ever gave a fuck 'bout office hours?"
Tim looked up in time to see the star running back plop unceremoniously into a chair in front of his desk. As Carlos' ass hit the seat, the stench hit Tim's nostrils. Carlos' red T-shirt was soaked through at the chest and armpits, and sweat dripped from his forehead onto his equally red workout shorts as he leaned forward in the chair.
"Jesus," Tim said. "You know we have showers in this building, right?"
"Yeah," Carlos replied. "Right 'round the corner from the weight room."
"Think now might be a decent time to avail yourself of that particular luxury?"
"Do what?" Carlos answered, his face screwing up. "Available for who?"
Tim chuckled. He knew damn well Carlos understood, but he liked acting stupid sometimes. "We're leaving in just a bit, Carlos. What can I do for you?"
"Not a damn thing, Doc," Carlos said. "Just up here for a little pre-flight liftin'. Saw your car outside, figured you was in here."
