Foolish Games(44)
Will carefully picked up the envelopes.
“Dude, they’re perfectly safe. I had them checked out before I touched them.”
Will hadn’t considered that the letters wouldn’t be safe, but he felt a sheen of sweat break out on his back at Brody’s words. “Paranoid much?”
“Hey, one never knows. Besides, it gave me an excuse to call this FBI agent I know. You should see what she can do with a pair of handcuffs.” Brody winked at him.
He shook his head and sank down into the chair across from Brody, tearing open the first envelope.
“Hey!” Brody sat up in his chair. “You gonna open those here?”
“I thought you said they were safe,” Will said as he pulled the contents from the largest envelope.
“Dude, they are. That doesn’t mean I want to know what’s in them! I don’t want to be incriminated in this mess. You know, guilt by association?”
“Relax. I haven’t done anything wrong, so . . .” Will stared at a photo of him putting a punishing hit on Denver quarterback Mark Callahan. It was the play that cemented Will’s position in the NFL, the one that earned him a starting position. It had also ended Callahan’s career with a separated shoulder that never recovered despite two surgeries.
“Damn,” Brody said from over Will’s shoulder. “That was some hit.”
“It was a clean hit.”
“I’m guessing someone doesn’t think so.”
Will threw the photo onto the table and picked up one of the smaller envelopes. In it was a small wooden emblem, a seven-pointed star surrounded by a wreath, a symbol of the Aurelian Society, one of the secret societies at Yale University and an organization Will was a member of.
“Is that some voodoo good-luck charm?” Brody asked.
Will slid the piece into the pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t a good-luck charm. It was a message. One about honor and duty to the university to which he owed so much. One about keeping his mouth shut.
He didn’t want to open the last envelope, but he couldn’t wuss out in front of Brody. Will slid his finger through the seal and pulled out a single piece of paper. It contained one handwritten line:
SNITCHES DON’T LAST LONG IN THIS LEAGUE.
“Dude, you might want to think about getting a lawyer.”
• • •
Despite her resolve to stay hidden while she was living there with Will, the picturesque town of Chances Inlet—decked out in red, white, and blue bunting and American flags to commemorate the upcoming Memorial Day holiday—captivated Julianne. From the way Will had described his hometown, she’d expected the people there to be cold, perhaps even hostile. They were anything but, constantly regaling her with stories of Will’s escapades as a boy. The tales they told were more Norman Rockwell than Will’s abbreviated version of his childhood.
Meandering to the town square after her postpartum check-up with an OB-GYN Dr. Ling had recommended, Julianne sat on a blanket beneath one of the huge live oak trees lining the quaint park in the town’s center that featured an actual Civil War cannon. Children scrambled on top of the cannon as their parents snapped pictures. The ocean roared somewhere in the distance, but the noise didn’t diminish the peacefulness she felt. Owen slept quietly in his stroller, a Blaze baseball cap shielding his face.
The pencil had started moving slowly on the page at first. What started out as doodles was slowly turning into a stunning wedding gown. Julianne dared not breathe. It had been so long, she didn’t want to jinx it even by smiling. The lines of the dress were elegant, fit for the wife of a military doctor. She hoped she could hold on to the image until she’d completed the sketch.
Her iPhone buzzed on the blanket beside her, her brother’s face popping up on the screen. Crap! Just like that, the image of the dress vanished from her head.
Tossing the pencil into the grass, she picked up the phone. “What do you want?”
“My, such a pleasant greeting.” Her brother’s voice was its usual smug sound. “Can’t a brother check up on his sister once in a while?”
“You’ve called me every day since I got here. I don’t think you’ve called this many times in a year. Ever.”
“I just want to make sure everything is okay with you and the baby.”
“Owen. Your nephew’s name is Owen.”
Stephen let out an exasperated sigh. “Julianne, I know my nephew’s name. I know your name. I even know your husband’s name. How is William the Conqueror treating you, by the way?”
Stephen’s calls were the same every day. He asked about Owen, then how Will was treating her, as if he were suspicious that Will might be abusing her. He never asked about her, though. Of course, he never had before. Why should now be any different? She wondered what her pompous brother would say if she told him Will was beating her. Or subjecting her to humiliating sexual encounters. She blushed just thinking about the kiss they’d shared two days ago.