Ransom (The Player Book 5) Page 2

  Ransom nodded. "Yeah. That's cool." He hesitated. "Anything I need to know? You know, about what the cup's been through lately?"

  Eddie shuddered. "You don't want to know. I had it cleaned though, so enjoy it. Have a good day."

  Ransom chuckled and nodded. "I plan on it. Mom's gonna go nuts when she sees her."

  Eddie's brows popped. "Her?"

  Ransom pinned him with a glare, but Eddie didn't budge off the front step. Damn. He was losing his touch. That look usually made goalies cower. Not Eddie though. "Yes, her. The Cup is a she. Like a car or a boat. She’s for my Mom. I wanted to win it for her. So…" Shit. Did he sound as lame as he thought he did?

  Eddie smiled at him. "That's cool, man. Have a good day. The cup's already had one too many adventures. Maybe a quiet day home with your mom is just what the poor thing needs. Please don't tell me your mom is the jump-out-of-a-plane type. Because I may have a heart attack if she does it with the cup."

  Ransom couldn't help it. He chuckled low, the thought of his mother jumping out of a plane with the cup strapped to her back, screaming, made him laugh. "That would be hilarious."

  When the driver came over and deposited the cup on the doorstep next to Eddie, Ransom had to work hard not to shove the poor guy out of the way.

  This. This was what he'd worked so hard for. It had all paid off. Every sacrifice his mother made. Right there. On his doorstep.

  Emotions welled up in him, so that all he could do was manage a nod to Eddie as he picked up the cup and carried it inside. He didn't want to go too deep into those feelings just under the surface. That lonely place. Today was a happy day.

  He took the stairs two at a time, and came to a stop on the landing with a little hop.

  Growing up, this place seemed so big to him. And now it was tight and cramped. Of course, when he was a kid, he was a lot smaller. But at 6 foot 5, the ceilings were too low, the hallways too narrow. He knocked on his mother's door.

  She tugged it open. "Now, will you tell me what we've been waiting for all morning?"

  Ransom laughed. "I should've known you wouldn't be in bed, resting."

  "Does it look like this old lady needs some—?" Her gaze went directly to the cup. "Oh, my God. Is that…?"

  Ransom grinned. "Sure is. Happy birthday, Mom."

  Her eyes welled. Oh, shit. He'd never been good with tears. Maybe if he'd been better with tears, he'd still be married. Emotions weren't really his strong suit. He started talking, instead. "This is for you. I wanted to make sure that my day with the cup went to you. So you can take all the pictures you want with it. I would never have had it without you." He shifted on his feet, and tucked his hands into his pockets. "I also thought maybe you could finally get rid of those clippings."

  She clutched her hand to her heart. "I am so proud of you, Ransom. Against everything, you fought hard for this. You made it happen."

  "I wanted to make sure that you got this. For years, I watched you struggle when you didn't have to. And I think it sucks. You don't need to think about him anymore. I want this for you."

  She wiped away her tears and tossed her notes down on a bedside table. "No. Baby. You won this for you. You and your teammates worked so hard for this. I'll get my pictures with it, obviously, but, this is yours. You put in the hard work. You kept going. When everyone else thought you were crazy. You out of anyone deserves this cup. I'm proud of you."

  "I wouldn't have done it without you. So, come on downstairs. We are going to replace all of those clippings with pictures of this. Then we're going to take really obnoxious pictures of us drinking champagne out of this thing."

  "Ransom. We are not going to drink champagne out of this cup. Is this real silver?"

  "I think it is. Which is exactly why you're going to have a mimosa from it."

  He took her downstairs, into the sunroom that she'd informally turned into his trophy room. She kept everything. All his ribbons and trophies and participation prizes, his original skates, pictures of him at two or three, wobbling on the ice. She'd kept it all.

  And then, in one corner, she had clippings from the man who would always deny her. Rory Coulter. For years, his mother had collected clippings of him. Any mentions of him in the media. And more recently, as he'd been growing up, mentions of what he supposed would be his cousins. Rory's grandchildren. All huge athletes in their own rights. All likely unaware that he was out there somewhere. All because Rory Coulter had denied his mother. All because that man had sent her on her way.

  "So, eventually, I'm going to get a replica of this cup. But, for the meantime, I want us to take pictures with the real thing." He held up the clippings. "And we're going to take these down. You don't need these anymore."

  Her smile wavered, then straightened. "No, I don't."

  "I'm so glad you feel that way. Because we're going to burn these in the cup."

  Three

  "Okay, Mom, now ease your foot up off the clutch."

  Ransom's mother raised a brow at him. "Are you forgetting, that I taught you how to drive?"

  He forced himself to take a deep breath. She was right. She had taught him to drive, on that old, beat-up Corolla. His Maserati was one hell of an upgrade.

  When the cup had arrived, he'd set about their plan for the day. He made her write a list of all the places she'd want to go with the cup. All the things she wanted to do, the pictures she'd want. Now, they were going to do every single one of them.

  First stop had been the rink where he used to train. She'd gone right out into the middle of the ice, and taken a photo. Then she made him pop champagne, and he had to help her drink out of the thing. They'd made a mess, but to see his mother that happy had been totally and completely worth it.

  Then, of course they'd gone to his high school. There were more pictures. And because it had been right before school started, there were lots of kids milling about, so of course, he'd stopped for photos. He'd even gotten a good photo of her and Coach. Old Coach Trainor was still coaching. Ransom was glad about that. He'd been a good coach to him.

  After the high school, he'd taken his mother to the one place she'd always wanted to go in town. She'd never openly said anything. But he'd known some of the other moms used to look down on her. Hope, New York was by and large, a more affluent town. Their high school had the kinds of sports teams that only rich neighborhoods had. Swimming, hockey, water polo, lacrosse. On top of that, Hope also had a country club, and a majority of the houses, especially the ones built in the last twenty years or so, cost a pretty fortune.

  The house he'd grown up in bordered the next town, which was not nearly as affluent. And technically, before district lines were redrawn, their house had been in the other town. But luckily for him, the lines had been redrawn and their house was part of Hope. Which meant he had access to the high school. He'd gotten to start his dream.

  Unfortunately, that also meant that his mother had been looked down upon by some of the other moms. The ones who ran around wearing matching workout outfits, but who never seemed to actually work out. The ones who had the perfect manicures and appropriately coiffed hair. The ones who had been more than happy to hire him to mow their lawns and tend to their pools when he was growing up, so they could earn extra money.

  Even then, though, he knew what they were doing. The way they ogled him. He might've been a kid, but he wasn't stupid. He understood the way they looked down on her. So today, he wanted it to be all about her. It was a big old fuck you to all those women who couldn't have given her smile back then.

  First lesson, the Maserati. His baby. The one he'd bought and had shipped here from New Orleans, so they could use it while he was here. And right now, his mother was stripping his clutch.

  "Mom, I know you taught me how to drive. But this is a precision instrument. And it’s stick shift. And I want you to be the one to drive it down the street. So, let's try this again.”

  It took three more tries before she had the hang of it. She coasted around the parking lo
t at the high school, with the cup strapped into the backseat of his car, a humongous grin on her face. A chuckle burst forth, and she looked happier than he'd ever seen her. He'd done that. He put that look on her face. And he was proud that he'd been able to do that.

  As it turned out, the moment his mother got the car on the road, she was sort of a terror. It seemed he might have gotten his love of speed from her. She tore down the winding back roads of Hope as though the devil was chasing her. Laughing maniacally the entire way.

  He directed her straight to the country club. Of course, being a hometown kid who'd become famous, he'd been offered an automatic membership, and could bring as many guests as he liked. He hated that place, but it mattered to his mother. After a couple of hours of using the facilities, and making sure that his mother was waited on hand and foot, he took her into town for lunch.

  "Wow, Sherry Cox."

  He and his mother looked up to see Lillian Harvey approaching their table at the café. "And Ransom. You know we're all very proud of what you've done."

  Ransom barely conceal the sneer. Lillian Harvey had actively tried to sleep with his father. Ransom had been seven. He still remembered the feeling he had when he went looking for his father one night after Boy Scouts was done, to find Lillian exposing her breasts to the old man.

  Of course, that memory had stayed with him for all these years.

  He'd never told his mother about that day, but she had reason enough to hate the woman, too. Lillian had taken every opportunity to be rude to his mother.

  "Ms. Harvey." Ransom nodded. "How's Brent these days?" That was a low blow. He knew how her son was. Everyone knew how Brent was. The kid was serving an eight-year stint for armed robbery.

  If you grew up in Hope, you knew the story. A bored kid, with some of his stupid friends, falling in with the wrong crowd. They thought breaking into houses would be fun. Too bad for Brent one of his friends had a gun. When they got picked up, he got charged. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, as far as Ransom was concerned.

  His mother’s voice was icy. "And I wish I could say it was nice to see you."

  It was the closest he'd ever seen his mother being rude. He was kind of proud of her. Lillian Harvey hadn't been nice. But, he wanted to make the day about his mother, and to keep it as positive as possible.

  "Yes, well…we're all very proud of you and the work you put in," Lillian said, fumbling over her words, her cheeks coloring.

  "Well, all the props go to my mom. It wasn't easy for her. And now I get to take care of her in style." He grinned. Yeah, he was being a dick. But he didn't care.

  Lillian's smile was stiff as she nodded. She looked like she wanted to hang around, to ask something. But he wasn't interested in any of that. "If you'll excuse us. I kinda want to spend some time with my mom."

  She blinked rapidly, as if confused. "Oh, okay, fine. See around then, Ransom." As she walked past and headed for the mail box on the corner, Ransom looked up at his mother and give her sheepish smile. "I really shouldn't encourage you."

  His mother's smile was broad. "Oh, come on. You think I don't know that your dad cheated on me for years with her? That woman has never been nice to me. I have to indulge this part of myself just a little bit."

  He leaned forward. "Don't worry. I don't ju—" He stopped short. Holy hell. Across the street, a familiar figure caught his attention, and held it. The thick, dark hair was recognizable anywhere. Recognizable to you, maybe. It was her. Lexa Carlisle. Walking into the Hope Gazette’s office. He couldn't fucking breathe.

  "Ransom? What do you think?"

  It was like he could hear his mother, but her voice was coming from the other end of a tunnel. But he couldn't force his brain to come back online and answer her. It was only after she turned her head to see what he was looking at, that she sat back.

  "Ah. I see Lexa's back in town. You should go say hi."

  "Mom?" He snapped his gaze to hers. "I barely know her."

  "I know. But you should get to. And besides, you two went to high school together. You have plenty to catch up on."

  "Mom, I do not need you setting me up."

  She sighed. "I swear, no need to make this so difficult. She's single. You're single. You clearly think she's cute, because you can't stop staring at her."

  No. They were not doing this. Through the years, he'd managed to successfully avoid doing this, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. "Mom. Let it go. Not gonna happen."

  She rolled her eyes. "Fine. At least let me go on over to the newspaper. I left my laptop, and I need to grab it. Storm's coming tomorrow, and I want to make sure I get it home."

  "A storm might be coming. But it’s unlikely. I checked the weather report myself. You just want an excuse to go in there."

  "No. Actually, I do need my laptop."

  He heard his mother, but his gaze had reluctantly followed Lexa. Not long after she'd walked into the Gazette, she came trotting out, walking briskly down the street. "Do you want to get it now?"

  His mother shook her head. "No. I’m famished. Maybe you can pop in and grab it for me later?"

  He knew what she wanted. But sooner or later, she would have to understand he liked being alone. He preferred it. And shoving him at Lexa Carlisle wasn't going to change that. All it was going to do was give him some seriously vivid dreams later. Not like he was even going to see her. But that didn't mean that he didn't want to see her.

  Four

  Lexa Carlisle wasn't exactly running away. She had a perfectly good reason for packing up her stuff and coming home for a couple of weeks. A really, really good reason. Other than being cowardly, that was.

  Who was she kidding? After her boss humiliated her in front of the entire office, calling her work amateurish and second-rate, after deliberately torpedoing her story, Lexa had needed a little dose of home.

  You did this to yourself. Yeah, she had, but in all fairness, how was she supposed to know her new boyfriend was her boss's fiancé? And in typical bullshit fashion, she had gotten the blame. Not the cheating asshole. You are at fault, because you always choose wrong.

  Hope, New York was just like every other sleepy suburb in Upstate New York. It was quiet, and full of white houses and picket fences. But what Hope had over any other town, was her sister. And right now, Lexa needed some family. Something familiar. Manhattan was chewing her up and spitting her out, then grinding her into baby food, only to have a baby spit her out, too.

  She'd made wrong turn after wrong turn. She thought she'd be happy at Blink Magazine. It had seemed fun and energetic, and she’d occasionally gotten to write features… So what if those features were on the latest reality TV star’s hot makeup line?

  She'd made a life for herself. And she'd even found love…or thought she'd found love. She thought she was happily living her version of a Sex and the City life. And she was. Until she found out she was dating a liar.

  When it all came out, she'd been on a story in Alaska. Apparently, Inuit women had discovered some amazing beauty product that had them looking forever young. So Amelia Chase, the TV star known more for her physical assets than any real talent, had started a beauty company up there to exploit their assets and hers.

  She'd come home to find the guy she was dating was actually engaged to her boss. And that wasn't the worst of it. She'd been devastated, but willing to keep it quiet—after all, she liked her job. Liar. But oh, no, the lying asshole wanted to head her off at the pass in case she decided to come clean, and told Amanda that she'd been hitting on him.

  After that, Amanda had torpedoed her stories at every turn. Adding in her own angles, turning them into empty shadows of what Lexa wrote. So, less exposé and more US Magazine.

  Lexa had tried to fight. She'd even gone over Amanda's head. Her boss had been reprimanded, but everything had culminated in Amanda screaming at her and calling her a whore in front of the whole team. Something like that should have gotten Amanda fired, but the Editor in Chief was her uncle. So that mea
nt Lexa was put on a forced leave.

  Lexa saw the writing on the wall. She was never going to become a features editor like she dreamed. At least not at that magazine. Unless she found something good and a way to pitch it over Amanda's head. It was a risky move. But if Lexa had something really good, she could make her name. The problem was, she had nothing. And the forced vacation was making her antsy.

  "Hey, babycakes, you want lunch?"

  Lexa smiled up at her sister. Ella owned the hottest café in town, called Babycakes. They made the best sandwiches with this handmade garlic aïoli. For years, Lexa had tried to mimic it, but always got it wrong. Babycakes had even been rated by the New York Times. "Hey, Ella. Sure. I'll be right over once I finish up here." She'd worked for the Hope Gazette for years, since she was sixteen, as a cub reporter delivering the stories of their small, sleepy town. As an adult, whenever she came home, she always came in to help. This time, though, it was the Hope Gazette helping her out, giving her a desk and letting her figure out her next move.

  Ella shook her head. "No sister of mine will come in like every other patron. I'll have someone bring it over. Do you want your usual?"

  "Hell, yes. And I want that garlic aïoli recipe."

  "You can have it when I'm dead."

  "Dammit, Ella. Just tell me what's in it."

  "I won't tell you what's in it, but I will tell you that a certain someone is back in town. I saw him with his mom yesterday. I don't know how long he's here, but he is looking fine. He picked up some lemon bars for his mom's birthday yesterday. I nearly peed myself when I saw him. I'll tell you what, Handsome Cox is looking good." Ella fanned herself. "They had the cup with them, so they were mobbed."

  Lexa groaned. "Do you have to call him that?"

  "You're the one who gave him the nickname when you wrote that article for the New City Post. Come on honey, that's some clever wordplay of yours."