A kind assessment, in Jean-Pierre's opinion. He nodded, knowing the coach wasn't close to finished.
"As your coach, I'm so furious with you I want to start your backup." He pointed a finger in his face. "But as the grandfather of your son, I'm going to ignore all that for the sake of my daughter and ask you what you're going to do to fix this mess you made with her?"
Surprised at the question, which bordered on warm and fuzzy from a coach with a legendary temper, Jean-Pierre lifted a wary gaze to Tatiana's father. The older man glared at him, but there were lines on his brow that suggested he was worried more than he was angry. Concern etched his features.
With nothing left to lose, Jean-Pierre told him the truth.
"She needed me to tell her I loved her. And I, like the cerebral half-ass that I am, hadn't worked all that out in my head yet." Remembering the look in her eyes gutted him. "In other words, when the game was on the line, I choked."
"Who looks for love in their head?" The coach's face screwed up as though he'd gulped down grapefruit juice. "You figure that out in your heart, Reynaud."
"Not my area of expertise, sir." He looped the sweaty towel around his neck and scooped up his helmet to head indoors.
The coach held up a hand to stop him. "You didn't answer my question. How are you going to fix this?"
The pain in Jean-Pierre's chest tightened into a knot.
"I proposed twice." He'd put a lot of thought and effort into the second go-round, thinking about what he'd say and studying diamond choices. Hell, he'd even taken her to a boathouse roof, a nod to their past he was sure she would appreciate. But he'd been focusing on the peripherals and not the only thing that mattered to her. "Your daughter isn't a woman to give unlimited chances."
Jack Doucet shook his head. "My daughter is a woman who deserves to know she's worthy of love. So even if she sends your ass to the showers for a third time, I suggest you inform her about what's in here." He jabbed his finger into Jean-Pierre's chest protector with enough force to send him back a step.
Before he could answer, the coach turned on his heel and barreled away. He was only a few yards away when he called over his shoulder.
"And get your head in the damn game while you're at it."
Easier said than done.
Dropping to the bench on the sidelines, he reached into his bag, where he'd stashed his water bottle and headphones. Finding his phone, he gritted his teeth and pulled up Tatiana's contact information. Her image filled his screen for a moment, her dark curls and pretty smile so beautiful that he couldn't breathe.
Maybe the people who are slow to love are the ones who love the most, he texted fast, knowing he needed to say it before he second-guessed himself. By the time they've finished studying all the angles and assessing the situation, they are heart-deep. Please see me after the game on Sunday.
He wasn't surprised when there was no reply.
But he would honor his coach's suggestion because it was a good one. Tatiana deserved to know how he felt, even if she'd already closed her heart to him forever.
* * *
Tatiana caused a stir in the Zephyr Dome when she arrived at the Hurricanes' home field in New Orleans on Sunday. The tabloid coverage of her romance with Jean-Pierre had spilled into the mainstream media so that she'd become a recognizable face in this particular crowd. Although she'd had a security guard escort her to her seat-a measure taken by a stadium staffer who'd quickly realized she was starting a mob scene in the concession area-Tatiana had been approached by one fan after another before the game. She'd obtained box seats in the first row closest to the field, so they were excellent seats. But seeing the attention she received, an usher had requested that she move to the Hurricane owner's private box-an invitation she knew was a sought-after commodity even among celebrities. Yet she felt too awkward to sit with Jean-Pierre's family after the way she'd left the Tides Ranch during Erika's wedding.
She was only here because Jean-Pierre had sent her a text asking to see her.
Pulling her phone from her purse shortly before halftime, she double-checked the message that had landed in her in-box on Friday.
Maybe the people who are slow to love are the ones who love the most. By the time they've finished studying all the angles and assessing the situation, they are heart-deep. Please see me after the game on Sunday.
She'd reread the words so many times she could have recited them in her sleep. She probably had the last two nights, in fact. But seeing them on the screen of her phone, with Jean-Pierre's name at the top, reminded her that he had been the author of those cryptic lines.
Not that she'd come to the game with any illusions about his feelings. But he'd asked to see her. And since he had yet to return any of the paperwork outlining their custody arrangement for César, she thought seeing him would facilitate that necessary step. It was all very logical and practical, just like him.
Except how did he know that those who were slow to love might love in any special way? The question had replayed over and over in her thoughts ever since the text had arrived.
Now, as the whistle blew signaling the end of the first half of the game, the teams on the field relaxed and strode toward their respective sidelines before heading into the locker room. The music in the stadium increased in volume and many fans stood to seek refreshments in the concession area or wait in long lines at the bathrooms. Tatiana stayed in her seat, wondering if she was crazy for being here. She'd convinced her mother to fly down and babysit César for her during the game. It had been hard watching Henri and Jean-Pierre face off, but they were tied going into the half.
Fourteen to fourteen.
"Look, Ms. Doucet!" A fan wearing black and gold Hurricanes' colors and team gear on every part of her body turned in her seat next to her and gripped Tatiana's knee. "You're on the big screen!"
Following where the woman pointed with her eyes, Tatiana spied an image of herself on the jumbo board over the football field. She tried to smile since the fans were cheering for her even though she'd worn a Gladiators jersey, but she saw that her pretend smile looked more like a grimace.
As the electronic screen switched over to highlights from the game, the fans cheered for other things and Tatiana allowed her attention to return to the field. The players vacated the sidelines and the cheerleaders took up positions. Automatically, her gaze sought out Jean-Pierre, only to see him still on the sidelines, scanning the bleachers.
He shielded his eyes from the sun since the retractable dome was open today. Close to where he stood, fans pointed him downfield.
In her direction.
Heart in her throat, she watched the highly unorthodox interaction. Her father would be furious if his quarterback didn't get into the locker room pronto. The team made adjustments during halftime and Jean-Pierre would have a key role to play. Except now the fans were all in an uproar because he was jogging alongside the high wall of the bleachers.
Toward her.
"Tatiana!" he shouted, lifting a hand to give a wave.
Helmet removed, he was sweaty and his face had a smudge on one cheek, as if someone's cleat had landed on his face. But his dark eyes were locked on her; he was oblivious to the fans, who were going berserk to have him this close. It didn't matter that he played for the opposing side. He was a Reynaud. One of the game's elite.
And he only had eyes for her.
Standing, she leaned over the rail, not even caring that all the eyes of section A-101 were following their every movement.
"Hi," she said, perplexed. It wasn't like Jean-Pierre to pull unorthodox moves. That had always been Henri's claim to fame. "What are you doing?"
He leaped up to grip the metal railing in front of her and the fans shouted and crowded her. She hadn't realized half of section A-101 had left their seats to get closer to the action. Jean-Pierre hoisted himself higher and fans reached over as if to pull him into the stands.
She feared a riot or a stampede, but Jean-Pierre just shook off the help with a grin that she recognized as his public face, the disarming charm that all the Reynauds employed with ease when they needed it.