Foolish Games(92)

Annabeth was grateful to be still sitting on the small table as she met Hank’s azure eyes, now blazing with passion. She gnawed on her bruised lip before nodding.

“Coffee’s in the kitchen. You’ll find the travel mugs in the cabinet. I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”

Annabeth watched him disappear up the long staircase as she tried to calm her thundering heart. Her body felt slightly bereft and a little agitated that they hadn’t finished what they started. But she was still grappling with the heady concept that he loved her. Adjusting her dress as she slid off the table, she had trouble holding back her grin. Hank Osbourne loved her. Her. Annabeth Connelly. The thought made her giddy. She wandered to the kitchen for the promised coffee, thinking her day was starting off better than she hoped. Now all she needed was for the rest of it to go as well.

• • •

“Okay.” Hank slipped his cell phone into its charger. “The two NFL attorneys are going to meet us there. Since you’ve asked for witnesses, I assume you aren’t taking me to a mafia hit. Or are you, Annabeth?”

She laughed at him. They’d ended up taking Hank’s car, a sleek little Audi that slipped easily through the rush hour traffic. Hank drove like he did everything else, with authority. Annabeth curled up on the leather seat, her legs tucked beneath her, her torso turned to face Hank’s profile.

“Nothing that nefarious. Although I can’t rule anything out.”

“Just tell me this, are we expected?”

“No. I’m counting on the element of surprise.”

Hank took Exit 18W toward Fort Lee. They traveled through the center of town before finally entering a suburban neighborhood of tree-lined streets and quaint Craftsman houses. He parked along the curb across from their destination, the car purring to a halt as he killed the engine. Leaning his head against the headrest, Hank took a swallow of his coffee.

“This is Coach Zevalos’s house,” he said without preamble.

Annabeth tried to hide her surprise. “You’ve been here?”

Hank turned his head to face her. “Of course I have. When the whispers started to include Will’s name, I came here to try to make sense of all of it. Will wouldn’t talk to me, so I tried to get Zevalos to tell me. Obviously, I wasn’t successful.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t have the right incentive to make him talk.” She undid a button on the bodice of her sundress.

Hank sat up in his seat. “What the hell are you planning on doing here, Annabeth?”

She made note of the fact that the tops of Hank’s ears got red when he was angry. Or jealous, whichever the case might be. Annabeth pressed a hand to his chest. “Relax. He wouldn’t talk to you because you wear pants. Trust me. He’ll talk to me.” She leaned across the console and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see.”

A blue American-made sedan pulled up and parked behind them.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” Annabeth said as she grabbed her purse and hopped out of the car.

Standing on the sidewalk outside Coach Zevalos’s house, Hank made the introductions, but Annabeth wasn’t paying attention. There wasn’t time to waste if she was going to preserve her son’s name. Smoothing down the skirt to her dress, she marched past the pots of carefully planted zinnias and geraniums up the concrete steps. The door opened before she knocked, startling her.

“Mrs. Connelly?”

Annabeth had met Marie Zevalos several times during the years Will had played at Yale. In her late sixties, the woman was a throwback to the housewives of the mid-1900s, treating her husband with deference, acquiescing to his every whim. With her big, overbleached hair and round body, she was the perfect foil to the arrogant, macho coach whose ego knew no bounds.

“It’s Miss Connelly,” Hank clarified from where he stood beside her.

Annabeth brought her elbow back, slightly making contact with his ribs. He took the hint and stepped back, the message received that she was running the show.

“Mrs. Zevalos, how nice to see you again,” Annabeth began. “I believe you’ve already met Mr. Osbourne?”

Marie broke out into a bright smile at the sight of Hank before her face registered her confusion. “Yes, he came to visit Paul a few weeks ago. But Paul told him not to come back.”

“We’re actually here to see you, Mrs. Zevalos.” Annabeth answered with a grin of her own, hoping that behind her, Hank was treating the woman to one of his more charming smiles.

“Oh . . . well . . . I can’t imagine what you want with me.” Flustered, Marie stepped back from the doorway.