eye on him, drag him to a meeting if they think he’s about to crash and burn.”
I nod my head silently. “Okay, that’s good to know. In spite of the kids and wives, they’re no more family-friendly than we are then.”
“But I’ve got something better for you.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch, but it’s not a pleasant sensation. More like a grating pain.
“Colin Douglas.”
Shit. He’s a good guy. Even I can see that. Really, Mike is the asshole. Joss is an arrogant prick, but not a bad person. It figures that it’d be Walsh and Colin that might provide the threads I can use to unravel them all.
“Yeah, he’s the bass player.”
“He’s married to his high school sweetheart, Marsha.”
“Yeah, I saw her just a while ago, she’s staying here in the hotel.”
“Well, twelve years ago when she was eighteen and he was seventeen she aborted his kid.”
My heart drops in my chest. Fucking hell.
“Are you sure? How could you know that? Medical records are confidential, right? I’ve never seen anything in the papers about that.”
“No, and you won’t. Douglas strangled that jewel with a legal noose so tight that an entire town of people have kept quiet for nearly three years now. It’s that same little Texas town that Walsh was living in. But, if you ask around after those townies have had a few drinks you can get bits and pieces of the story.”
Well, goddamn. I lean back in my chair, wishing that I could undo the last ten minutes of my life. Information might be power, but honestly I didn’t expect to get information like this when I hired the P.I. I run a hand across the scruff on my jaw and clutch the phone so tightly it makes my hand cramp.
“She was a teenager,” I tell him. “I mean, how could anyone blame them for that?”
“She was eighteen, and they’re married now, so anything she does reflects on him.”
“I don’t know…”
“Look, you told me to get whatever I could on them, especially if it threatened their image with a conservative organization like the NFL. What you do with the info is your business, but I can’t help what comes to light when I start digging.”
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Anything else?”
“Not today. I’m looking into Owens and Jamison more in the next few days. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Okay.”
I hang up without saying goodbye. I feel dirty somehow, as if I’ve had my hands buried in shit. It stinks. I stink.
I sit in the darkening room and listen to the sounds of people outside the open doors to the balcony. They’re walking, laughing, splashing. It’s a world out there, and since I left rehab I’m afraid to go into it. Because I’m not sure that if I go out there I can avoid the life-ending, career-ending collision. But if I stay in here, I can focus. I can ignore the itch, the way my nerves feel like they’ve been pulled so taut they might snap in a stiff breeze. I can work on the ultimate win—the crown jewel that will mean I’ve finally beaten the one person who matters most.
I’ve never hesitated to do what I need to in order to get what I want. I learned a long time ago that principles are a nice thing for people who have the luxury, but if you want to make it to the top you can’t be bothered. So there’s no reason why this should bother me.
There’s no reason why, when I think about exposing Walsh Clark or Colin Douglas, I see Tully’s face…and her crushing disappointment.
* * *
I ’m not sure why I decide to sit at the pool in the dark. I could easily sit on the balcony of my room and get the same view. But somehow the three floors of distance between my room and the pool deck seems too much tonight. I want to be by the water, I want to feel the chill in the air around it, and if I’m being completely honest, I want to feel some residual sensation of Tully rising out of that pool, droplets of water clinging to her breasts, skin glistening with the moisture.
I have one of the hotel
I nod my head silently. “Okay, that’s good to know. In spite of the kids and wives, they’re no more family-friendly than we are then.”
“But I’ve got something better for you.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch, but it’s not a pleasant sensation. More like a grating pain.
“Colin Douglas.”
Shit. He’s a good guy. Even I can see that. Really, Mike is the asshole. Joss is an arrogant prick, but not a bad person. It figures that it’d be Walsh and Colin that might provide the threads I can use to unravel them all.
“Yeah, he’s the bass player.”
“He’s married to his high school sweetheart, Marsha.”
“Yeah, I saw her just a while ago, she’s staying here in the hotel.”
“Well, twelve years ago when she was eighteen and he was seventeen she aborted his kid.”
My heart drops in my chest. Fucking hell.
“Are you sure? How could you know that? Medical records are confidential, right? I’ve never seen anything in the papers about that.”
“No, and you won’t. Douglas strangled that jewel with a legal noose so tight that an entire town of people have kept quiet for nearly three years now. It’s that same little Texas town that Walsh was living in. But, if you ask around after those townies have had a few drinks you can get bits and pieces of the story.”
Well, goddamn. I lean back in my chair, wishing that I could undo the last ten minutes of my life. Information might be power, but honestly I didn’t expect to get information like this when I hired the P.I. I run a hand across the scruff on my jaw and clutch the phone so tightly it makes my hand cramp.
“She was a teenager,” I tell him. “I mean, how could anyone blame them for that?”
“She was eighteen, and they’re married now, so anything she does reflects on him.”
“I don’t know…”
“Look, you told me to get whatever I could on them, especially if it threatened their image with a conservative organization like the NFL. What you do with the info is your business, but I can’t help what comes to light when I start digging.”
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Anything else?”
“Not today. I’m looking into Owens and Jamison more in the next few days. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Okay.”
I hang up without saying goodbye. I feel dirty somehow, as if I’ve had my hands buried in shit. It stinks. I stink.
I sit in the darkening room and listen to the sounds of people outside the open doors to the balcony. They’re walking, laughing, splashing. It’s a world out there, and since I left rehab I’m afraid to go into it. Because I’m not sure that if I go out there I can avoid the life-ending, career-ending collision. But if I stay in here, I can focus. I can ignore the itch, the way my nerves feel like they’ve been pulled so taut they might snap in a stiff breeze. I can work on the ultimate win—the crown jewel that will mean I’ve finally beaten the one person who matters most.
I’ve never hesitated to do what I need to in order to get what I want. I learned a long time ago that principles are a nice thing for people who have the luxury, but if you want to make it to the top you can’t be bothered. So there’s no reason why this should bother me.
There’s no reason why, when I think about exposing Walsh Clark or Colin Douglas, I see Tully’s face…and her crushing disappointment.
* * *
I ’m not sure why I decide to sit at the pool in the dark. I could easily sit on the balcony of my room and get the same view. But somehow the three floors of distance between my room and the pool deck seems too much tonight. I want to be by the water, I want to feel the chill in the air around it, and if I’m being completely honest, I want to feel some residual sensation of Tully rising out of that pool, droplets of water clinging to her breasts, skin glistening with the moisture.
I have one of the hotel
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