Too Hard to Forget Read online

  Peggy frowned over at her friend. “If you prod my sore spot, I’m not going to banish you, either, Sage, that’s—”

  She started to say ridiculous, then realized…the assumption wasn’t ridiculous. At all. Upon returning to San Diego after college, she’d made friends easily. Coworkers from the stores where she’d worked; even some of her customers had become hangout buddies. Where were those friends now? Phased out slowly because they’d been too curious about her serial relationships that ended before they had a chance. Avoided because the flighty answers she’d given to their serious questions left them feeling slighted or unsatisfied. Or not wanting their suddenly single friend around their boyfriends.

  Peggy cleared her throat. “Yeah, okay, I can see why you felt like that.” She wet her dry lips. “I could never do that with you, Sage. Ask me and I’ll prove it.”

  “Who is he?”

  Sage’s astuteness didn’t surprise Peggy. Not in the least. But having the almighty “he” acknowledged meant she was finally talking about Elliott out loud, and after three years of silence on the subject, she had to brace herself before sharing. She stood up and circled the room, giving a hollow laugh when she saw Sage had paused an episode of Golden Girls at a scene where Blanche—Peggy’s favorite—was entering the room. Definitely not a coincidence. Sage was so thoughtful she wouldn’t let Peggy miss a Blanche scene. Peggy hadn’t rewarded that loyalty the way she should have.

  “His name is Elliott Brooks. He’s the—”

  “The Kingmaker?”

  Peggy turned with an eyebrow cocked. “Um. Yes?”

  Sage squared her shoulders and sighed, obviously regretting that unexpected outburst. “I was down in the lobby earlier and they have this whole section in the gift shop dedicated to memorabilia. They were selling these little crowns that say, ‘Elliott Brooks Made Me a King.’”

  “Yeah.” Pride bombarded Peggy before she could throw up a barrier. “He’s kind of a big deal around here.”

  Sage watched Peggy in silence a moment. “Well, I don’t care if he crowned King Arthur, he’s dead to me if he’s the one who hurt my best friend.”

  The corner of Peggy’s mouth twitched once, before the whole thing moved into a smile. “You’re a little bloodthirsty, aren’t you, Sage?” She trailed her fingers across the clothes bureau. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

  Sage straightened her back, crossing her legs in a way that made her look prim and proper, belying her outburst. “What are we doing here, Peggy? If he hurt you bad enough that you would cancel four weddings…” Sage visibly reeled herself in. “Maybe he doesn’t deserve another minute of your time.”

  “Yeah, well. Staying away is easier said than done.” She massaged her throat. “Every year, I get these e-mails for alumni weekend and I always turn them down. But…here I am.” She blew out a breath. “I need to get him out of my head, because time isn’t helping. Time has actually made it worse.”

  “Oh God, Peggy.” Sage shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Hating the sadness radiating from her best friend, Peggy forced another bright smile onto her face. “He’s the one you should feel sorry for. If all goes according to my evil plans, the next wedding you organize for me and some unknown prince is going to stick. I’ll walk down the aisle with my head up, knowing he doesn’t have the power to break my heart anymore. I just need to take the power back. To restore balance.” When Sage only continued to watch her without speaking, sympathy on her pretty face, Peggy took a chance. “We’re your family, too, Sage Alexander. Belmont and I. Whatever it is you’re leaving us for, we can help you face it. Don’t shut us out.”

  If Peggy had blinked, she would have missed the haunted quality that slipped into Sage’s expression then trickled back out. “How about the episode where the Golden Girls head to Hollywood for the game show?”

  Peggy swallowed the lump of disappointment and reminded herself to be patient. God knew Sage had been like Mother Teresa with her. “Fine,” Peggy murmured. “But it’s my turn to be Sophia.”

  * * *

  Shit. It was like she’d jumped into Marty McFly’s DeLorean and ended up back in college. There she sat, crossed legged on the cheer squad changing room floor, thoughts of Elliott crowding out everything else. Senior year déjà vu. Around her, faces from her past chatted away happily, as if they’d just been waiting for the chance to reunite. As if they lived for it. What was she living for?

  She wasn’t so self-absorbed to think she was the first one in that room to have her heart broken. She could probably swing a cat and hit at least five ladies who’d been hurt by a man.

  Until Rita suggested the impromptu road trip on the morning after she’d burned down their mother’s restaurant, Peggy hadn’t realized how inevitable this trip to Cincinnati had always been. Deep down, she’d been harboring the need to return. Pretending to be over Elliott, then getting cold feet before pledging her love to another man, was a circular pattern she intended to stop. No more breaking commitments on the off chance Elliott had merely been scared to get serious about someone else so soon after his wife’s accident. And that he would come around. To a college senior, their year-long relationship had seemed like a millennium, but in truth, it was a short span of time for a man to get past something so horrific, right?

  Now she knew. Time had nothing to do with him sending her packing. He genuinely didn’t have room—or want—for her in his life. Yet her body had woken up and responded to his insensitive words last night, her blood blazing like it hadn’t—not once—since going back to California. It made her wonder. Was she really back in Ohio to make Elliott’s life hell? Or her own?

  Discover your inner masochist in beautiful Cincinnati.

  That should really be on a postcard.

  Jacinda, the woman who’d been her co-captain senior year and now worked as a nurse practitioner, hopped up onto one of the wooden benches and clapped her hands twice. “Okay, ladies. I have some news.” She paused for effect, playing with the charms on her bracelet. “Normally we do an alumni cheer with the current squad at halftime of the Saturday game. And we can still pull together that performance. But…” Another smiling pause. “Some of us girls have been talking and thought, why not buck tradition and put together a last-minute fund-raiser?”

  A fluttering of murmurs went around the room.

  “There’s a banquet on Saturday night after the game, which signals the close of alumni week, but those of us who’ve attended the last three years know that shit is boring.” Everyone, including Peggy, laughed. “Now we all know the football team is royalty around here, so if we can convince them to participate, we have a much higher chance for success. Hell, the cheerleaders are out in all manner of weather rooting them on, so if they want to stay on our good side, they’ll help us raise a little cash to keep our digs as cushy as theirs.”

  “Do you have a specific idea?” someone asked. “Like a bachelor auction?”

  Despite the hoots and whistling that ensued, Jacinda shook her head. “Believe me, that was our first idea, too, but it’ll never happen. Coach Brooks likes his players to maintain a professional image at all times.”

  Hearing his name sent a series of little bomb blasts traveling up Peggy’s spine, ending at her scalp. The blasts grew louder when the woman to her left said, “Is it just me or does Brooks get more delicious with age?”

  “It’s not just you,” approximately eight people shouted back.

  “All that tightly leashed control,” another one said, shivering. “Not to mention those tight buns, am I right? You could bounce a silver dollar off—”

  “What about a compromise?” Peggy interrupted too loudly, pushing to her feet. Every head in the room swiveled in her direction as she attempted to rein in the green-eyed monster whose teeth had sunk into her jugular. “Maybe a fashion show…where the players model signed jerseys and the audience bids on them. The jerseys, I mean.” When heads began to bob and Jacinda gave her a thumbs-up to continue, Peggy c
limbed onto her own bench, striking an end of the runway pose that kicked up more laughter. “And aw, shucks. Once the jersey has been sold, the players will have no choice but to take the garment off.” She gave an innocent shrug. “We might accidentally, innocently forget to mention that to the coach. Whoops?”

  Her question was greeted by a round of applause and Peggy gave a sweeping bow, ending with a flourish when Jacinda held up a hand. “Okay, this is all amazing in theory, but the real miracle will be getting Coach Brooks to agree.”

  A rush of excitement twined through Peggy’s veins, anticipation blooming in her tummy. “Not only will he agree, but he’ll make a speech at the alumni banquet.”

  And yeah, that was greeted with skepticism, mainly from her old cocaptain across the room. “Brooks doesn’t do speeches.”

  Peggy winked at her audience. “Leave him to me.”

  Chapter Seven

  The orange juice in Elliott’s stomach turned to acid. Already, he’d been having one hell of a shitty morning, and now this. His star receiver, Kyler Tate, sat across from him, saying the unimaginable. I can’t play in Saturday’s game.

  Those words didn’t compute for Elliott. Once you’d been recruited and given a full-ride scholarship, the Rapture had better be taking place for your duties as a player to be shirked. In his entire coaching career, he’d never had one of his men say those six hellacious words to him. After a sleepless night spent nursing guilt—and a hard-on for one beautiful, long-legged, unattached blonde—a response was not forthcoming. Elliott stared across the desk in his office at Tate, a kid he’d recruited out of an Indiana farm town, and placed the blame squarely on Peggy for his world being thrown into chaos.

  There was no other explanation. He’d been perfectly fine, adhering to a schedule. Wake up, eat, drive Alice to school, football, football, football, go home. Now this. Now the unknown. His daughter wasn’t talking to him for some mysterious reason. Not that their discussions ever went beyond surface items—schoolwork, mainly—but she hadn’t even spared him a good-bye before slamming the car door this morning.

  Now this. The receiver he’d groomed from a timid freshman with promise into a contender for the Heisman was prepared to blow off Temple on Saturday. For what? Elliott hadn’t asked yet, because the answer flat out didn’t matter. It wasn’t good enough.

  So he sat there still as a statue, not giving a shit about making Kyler sweat, and cursed alumni weekend to the devil. That’s why Peggy was in Cincinnati, and his universe had decided to disorganize itself.

  “What the hell did you just say to me?”

  Kyler started at Elliott’s booming question, raking a hand through the mop of sand-colored hair on his head. “I said, Coach, I won’t be joining the team for Saturday’s game. It truly is an unfortunate thing—”

  “Unfortunate.” Elliott leaned forward, stabbing a finger down on the desk. “Are you really prepared to lose your scholarship over this, Tate?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Elliott fell back in his chair, fully aware he regarded the other man the way one scrutinizes a bug beneath a microscope and not caring. Outside in the waiting room, he heard the door open and shut, but ignored the secretary’s buzz to inform him of the visitor’s identity.

  “Ain’t you going to ask me why, Coach?”

  “This is your job. Showing up is the first requirement. So no, I’m not going to ask. It won’t be a sufficient reason for letting down your team.”

  Tate nodded, a rare display of temper making itself known on his face. “Well, you recruited me because I refuse to back down, isn’t that right? You brought me here because I had balls. Those were your words. So I’m going to tell you anyhow.”

  Elliott experienced a flare of pride, but it didn’t dispel the irritation. Not one bit. If he needed to plan an offense around Tate’s absence, he’d rather get down to business instead of having a fucking tea party about it. But dammit, he liked this kid. He’d believed in him. “Fine.”

  Tate seemed surprised by Elliott relenting, but was wise enough not to waste time questioning it. “It’s my family, you see. They got a notice just this morning that their farm is being repossessed.” His throat worked with emotion. “That land is all they got and—well, the plan was for me to go pro. Not trying to sound boastful, sir, but that was the idea. Then they wouldn’t have to worry for nothing.” He shrugged. “But time didn’t cooperate, so I have to get home and at least try to fix it somehow. Fast. I don’t want to let the team down but family is more important.”

  Such a sentimental attachment to family was something Elliott never understood. His players were constantly going on about their mothers, it seemed, and on the occasions Elliott hadn’t managed to tune them out, he’d listened with the mystification of a man trying to decipher a foreign language. Elliott’s own mother was still alive and living in Massachusetts, although his father had passed several years back after a stroke. She’d raised Elliott, sent him off to college with no fanfare, and checked in once a year at Christmas, content to lead a separate life, far from the sport she’d never made an effort to understand. Never once had he missed the communication or reminisced about fond memories because the few that were good enough to remember were so paper thin, you could see through them. Not…substantial. Certainly nothing that would choke him up, the way talking about the past did to his players.

  “Coach?” Tate prompted.

  Elliott picked up the stress ball on his desk and stood, pulverizing the object in his fist as he went to stare out the window overlooking the field. When he realized he was scanning the expanse of green for Peggy, he turned away with an inward curse. “Have you talked to a guidance counselor?”

  “I don’t much care to have some protocol recited to me.” Tate scratched behind his ear. “I was kind of hoping you could do some counseling, Coach.”

  Elliott stared at the younger man, praying he was joking. There was a comfortable distance maintained by everyone else, and this kid seemed determined to cross it. A lot like someone else he knew. The reminder of Peggy made Elliott feel a definite pressure to help Kyler. Because she would expect it. At one time, she would have encouraged him to do good deeds, to try harder. Things had changed since then, though, hadn’t they? He’d stopped setting himself up to disappoint others. Stopped trying to be better in her eyes, because she was no longer there to celebrate those small victories with him.

  He coughed to clear the discomfort in his throat and refocused on his player. You’re not qualified for this. What did he know of family and farms and land? He knew football. Church. That was all. “I send players to the draft, Tate. That’s what I do. All I do. I don’t hold your hand and tell you everything is going to look brighter and shinier tomorrow. I suggest you go listen to the protocol, because in my experience, it’s in place for a reason.”

  Tate’s eyes filled with obvious disappointment and Elliott couldn’t deny the stabbing sensation in his chest at having let yet another person down. Finally, the young player stood, holding out his hand for a shake, refusing to let it drop until Elliott clasped it with his own. “Football isn’t all anyone does,” Tate said. “It’s mortar, but it ain’t the bricks.”

  “It’s the mortar that keeps the whole damn thing standing,” Elliott said firmly, stepping back and ignoring the punch of regret. “Best of luck to you, Tate.” As he watched the player lope toward his office door, he felt the urge to call him back, but refrained. He knew one way to shape a future. To deviate from that method, to venture out of his depth, could mean failure. And God knew being some kind of father figure or mentor wasn’t part of how he operated. He could barely parent his own kid.

  Elliott’s mental jumping jacks were brought to a screeching halt when Tate paused in the doorway, his exit blocked by Peggy. The younger man wasn’t facing Elliott’s direction, but his double take was obvious, even though he stepped back to maintain a polite distance.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Tate said quickly. “Or…Peggy, isn’t it?�
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  Surprised pleasure made her lips jump. “Sure is.”

  Kyler scratched the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t remember me. I was a freshman the year you graduated. But you’re not so easy to forget.” The tips of his ears were red, but he just kept going. “I once tripped over our cornerback on the way out of the tunnel because you’d stopped him dead in his tracks with a smile.”

  Peggy beamed. “Well. If you’re going to get run over by someone, it might as well be a handsome man who comes equipped with flattery.” With a groan, she bit her bottom lip and shook her curls. “Oh, wow. Sorry about that. I’ve been watching so much Golden Girls that I’ve begun to channel Blanche involuntarily.”

  Tate chuckled, stowing both hands inside his pockets. “I’m a Rose man myself.”

  “You only said a few words and somehow I already knew that.” Peggy cocked an eyebrow. “Favorite episode?”

  “Oh, you’re going to make me pick, are you now?” Tate looked up at the ceiling. “I’d have to say when those jewel thieves move in next door and—”

  “Hate to interrupt.” Elliott heard the note of danger in his voice and could do nothing to disguise it. He enjoyed the sight of Peggy flirting with another man about as much as watching live oral surgery. “Some of us have to prepare for a game.”

  Tate glanced at Elliott, whatever he saw making him take a huge step back from Peggy. “Sorry, Coach. I didn’t, uh…I was just being friendly. I didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  The younger man tipped his chin at Peggy. “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” He split an amused look between Peggy and Elliott. “I reckon no one in this entire school knows, come to think of it.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend,” Peggy breathed, laying a hand on Tate’s arm, causing the back of Elliott’s neck to tighten as if someone had turned a deadbolt. “We’re just old pals.”