The Comeback Route Read online

  “Yes, I did,” I told him. “You’re welcome.”

  He closed his eyes again and his nostrils flared as he breathed hard through his mouth. It was one of his best features, along with his sky-blue eyes. And his chin, unfortunately obscured by the beard just like his cheekbones and square jaw were. Also, his forehead and his nose with the little bump, and the rest of his body. Especially the back of his neck, which I loved. Really, it was difficult to pick out his best feature. Nico took another breath then picked up his phone, and I heard the voice still ranting on. “Ethan. Ethan! Be quiet for a minute. I do know who she is, she’s a girl I met in Michigan. No, I don’t know why she’s here…I’ll talk to you later.” He put the phone down hard and turned a laser focus on me. “Tatum—”

  “Nico, you seem to be in deep shit. As a person who is sometimes in it myself, I can recognize the signs. And your apartment smells.” I pointed to the vomit.

  “That’s not answering my questions. What—”

  “Did I tell you that I’ve been going to a life coach?” I asked.

  He breathed out hard again. “No, you didn’t tell me that. Because we haven’t spoken since October. Remember? When you were waiting with your friend after our game against the Bandits, and you told me that you were officially breaking up with me? You stood on a chair and announced it to the room.”

  I nodded, because of course I remembered that! It had been a hard day. My friend Daisy’s now-husband had played with Nico on the Woodsmen team and she and I had been in the lounge waiting for him with the other players’ families. Nico had strolled out of the locker room and some tall, leggy, toothpick girl had attached herself to his neck like a starfish. That had been the final straw for me and I had let him know. “I was on a table, not a chair, but yeah. I’m sorry it had to be public like that.”

  Nico now buried his face in his hands. “Tatum.”

  “But listen, about the life coaching—I’ve really learned a lot from mine, and I’m going to be a great coach for you. You got off track since leaving the Woodsmen and I’m going to shove you back on it.”

  “Tatum!” he kind of shouted. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well, someone cleaning up the puke would be a good place,” I informed him. “Do you have a mop? And just to be clear, that ‘someone’ cleaning it up won’t be me. He who has the party, removes the vomit. Haven’t you heard that said before? I’m a life coach, not a maid.”

  “No. No. We are not doing this.”

  “Yeah, I just told you that it was going to be a solo project for you. ‘We’ are not mopping up anything. But maybe you could hire someone, if you’re that opposed to working alone,” I suggested. “I’m sure you have a cleaning service, right?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about!” Nico exploded. “I’m talking about you being here, in my apartment, in Miami! That’s what we’re not doing.” He put his hands together, kind of like he was praying. “Why are you here? How?”

  “I came on a bus,” I explained.

  He stared. “What? Seriously?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t make a joke about a bus. Did you see my hair when I came in? It was no laughing matter.” I felt it carefully. I had tamed it down after the shower, but it still gave me pause.

  “I mean, why didn’t you fly?” Nico held up his hands to stop me as I opened my mouth. “No, that’s not what I mean. What I want to know is, why are you even here at all?”

  “Miami is a lot nicer than northern Michigan in February,” I reminded him. “I can’t compare the rest of the year, but it was pretty cold when I left and it’s certainly beautiful in Florida.”

  “You came down here for the weather. On a bus,” he clarified. “And you expect to stay with me?”

  “It’s as good as anywhere else,” I said. “Except for the obvious.” I pointed to the vomit, still on the floor.

  Nico leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. I want you to answer only one word, yes or no.”

  “That’s three words.”

  His hands clenched into fists. “You will choose one of those words to answer me. Do you understand?”

  “Got it. I mean, yes!” I leaned forward also. “Yes, or, no.”

  “Did you take the bus here from Traverse City?” Nico shot out.

  “Yes.” This was easy.

  “Did you come to Florida just for the weather?”

  “Or.”

  Nico looked confused. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Or.’ Did you or did you not say that I could answer yes, or, no?”

  “Yes!” He shook his head. “I mean, no! I did not say—I did say—”

  “Nico, you’re not making a lot of sense. Did you want to make that coffee as I suggested? It might help you out.”

  He jumped up. “I’m going for a run.”

  “Great! My friend Daisy always says that exercise helps her a lot when she’s feeling anxious. Do you feel anxious?” His hands were still balled up in fists.

  He didn’t answer so I just followed him down the hall, but I ran smack into his back at the bedroom door. “Why are you walking behind me?” he demanded.

  “I thought you wanted to go for a run. I’m not exactly dressed for it! Aren’t you going to change too?”

  Nico went into the bedroom and closed the door. It opened a second later and he put my big suitcase next to me in the hall, and then he closed the door again. I rolled it into another bedroom and changed into something more appropriate, not sorry that I’d have to take another shower after we exercised. I wasn’t sure I’d gotten 48 hours’ worth of bus off myself with the first one.

  Nico was in the living room arguing on his phone again when I came out, so I worked on perfecting my ponytail while I waited. “Ethan, yes, I understand. Got it.” He put the phone down, hard, on the matte black kitchen countertop and glared at it.

  “Who’s Ethan?” I asked.

  The glare turned on me. “My agent.”

  “Oh, right, Ethan Tolvaj.” I had known that. “Ready to go?”

  Now he looked at me suspiciously. “How do you know things about me, Tatum? Like where I live, who my agent is?”

  I pushed the button for the elevator to get us moving. “You’re a public figure, Nico. But you haven’t seemed to remember that lately! You seriously got in a fight last night at some club? That’s so…juvenile.”

  “Really? You’re calling me juvenile? The woman who sat on the hood of my car after the Woodsmen practices at the stadium in Michigan and had to be physically removed?”

  “I really wanted to talk to you. And ‘physically removed’ sounds so serious! It was only Lyle the security guard lifting me down. Your hood was really high and he didn’t want me to jump and hurt myself. Why did you sell that truck, anyway? I loved it.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask your opinion before my next car purchase,” he said coldly.

  “Yeah, that would be best.” The elevator door opened to the lobby and I could already see the reporters and camera people still hovering outside. “Is there a back door?”

  “Nope. If you don’t like the press, you should leave now. Go home.”

  God, if his plan was to scare me off, then he was in for a world of disappointment. I destroyed him with a sneer and led the way to the front door, where the doorman waited to let us out. He smiled at me.

  The news people immediately swarmed. “Nico, any comment on last night? Is it true that you’re paying the legal fees of the people in your entourage who were arrested?”

  “Are you aware that three of the clubgoers hurt in the melee are threatening to sue you?”

  “Have you seen the Cottonmouths’ statement? The interview with the president of the Football Confederation about you and the other problem players?”

  “No comment,” Nico growled, and kept moving through the crowd like he broke through the secondary on the football field. I followed right behind him, holding on to the hem of his shirt
.

  “Nico, did you read your mother’s response to what happened? What does she say to you in private about your recent behavior?”

  I saw his shoulders rise and every muscle in his back clenched under the nylon of his fitted shirt. He stopped.

  “Ow!” I threw myself into him, faceplanting and putting my arms around his waist.

  The attention turned to me, because I was plenty loud when I needed to be. “What’s the matter?” Nico asked me. He turned and held me up under my arms.

  “I twisted my ankle. Everyone was crowding around…”

  “Get back from her,” he ordered the reporters, and they did. “Can you move it?”

  “It’s fine. I just want to walk it off,” I said bravely. Nico held out his arm and I leaned on him heavily. “I’m really ok, but I need some space. They’re scaring me.”

  “Leave her alone,” Nico told everyone, and they did take even more steps back. No one wanted a lawsuit of their own, probably. We continued to the sidewalk with Nico carefully guiding me as I limped, then past some palm trees and around the corner of his apartment building. No one followed us.

  “God, how much do they harass you?” I asked him.

  “Every time something happens, it picks up more. They’ll be gone in a few hours, on to the next story.”

  I peeked around the side of the building. “I think they’re already leaving. They probably just wanted to get one more shot of you this morning.” And they had, of him carefully helping me, of the two of us together with him considerate and kind. Job well done, Tatum, I congratulated myself.

  Nico watched me, frowning. “You seem to be walking fine, now.”

  “Yeah, I was lying about my ankle.”

  He turned and took off running, and with the difference in our leg length, I had to haul ass to keep up with him. After a block or two of me puffing like a freight train beside him, he did slow down a little. “Thank you,” I gasped.

  “Why did you lie about your ankle?” he asked me.

  I couldn’t talk much to answer. I didn’t do a lot of running unless I was getting chased by the police or maybe wolves, so I was a bit winded. “Leave you alone,” I said, and he nodded like he got my meaning.

  “I was going to do something I regretted, when they talked about my mom.”

  “What…” That was all I could get out, but he seemed to understand again what I was trying to ask.

  “Some reporter called her at home, and she said she and my dad are disappointed by my behavior. I already saw the story online. It’s the same thing she’s been telling me, leaving me messages, emails, calling my agent…” He broke off and sighed. “Fuck.” We kept running, him slowly loping along, me dashing full-tilt beside him like I was reaching for the finish line in the Olympics. It felt like miles had passed, but when I looked over my shoulder, I could still see the palm trees at the corner of his apartment building.

  “Tatum, why are you here?” Running had helped him. His voice was much, much calmer than when he had asked me the same thing in his apartment. “Don’t talk about the Florida weather.”

  Well, it was a beautiful day. “Not just weather,” I admitted.

  Nico took pity on me and slowed to a walk. “Tell me. Now, or I won’t let you back into my apartment.”

  That was a huge positive! He was already planning to let me back in, or he wouldn’t have bothered with that threat. I took a big gulp of air and stopped panting. “Remember how I was having some problems at home?”

  “No. No, I don’t remember that. How would I?”

  “I’m pretty sure I mentioned it. Anyway, things got a little hot, so I had to go.”

  Now he stopped dead. “‘Hot?’ Are you talking about the police? What kind of trouble are you in?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I kicked at a crack in the sidewalk. “After a lot of soul-searching and deep discussion, my dad and I made the mutual decision to part ways.”

  “You were living at home and he kicked you out,” Nico summarized. “Why?”

  “There were some grade issues. At the college, I mean. And some car problems.”

  “You failed classes and wrecked his car? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “In general,” I told him. Among a few other things that I didn’t want to mention at the moment. “But seriously, I had been thinking for a few weeks about becoming your life coach.”

  “That’s not an available position. I don’t need a life coach.” He started to run again and I had to kick it into gear to keep up. The discussion was apparently over.

  Seriously, we went for miles and I thought I might die, but Nico looked much, much better than he had when I’d first seen him that morning. Especially when we got back to his building and the reporters were all gone. “It is a beautiful day,” he suddenly agreed with me, and grinned down in my direction. Exercise endorphins were awesome. He didn’t even seem to notice the poodle-like growth of my hair from the humidity and my sweat.

  I grinned back as he held open the building door. “See? Now my trip down here makes perfect sense to you, too.”

  “I wouldn’t say that…Ethan.” Nico halted and sighed, staring at the man seated in the lobby.

  “I wouldn’t let him up to the penthouse, Mr. Williams,” the doorman told him. “I made him wait here for you.”

  “Sure, escort Tatum personally, but not my agent,” Nico agreed, and I nodded. Exactly as it should be.

  “You’re not answering your phone,” Nico’s agent said. “I need to be able to reach you at all times.”

  “I left it upstairs.” Nico wearily pushed the elevator button. All the endorphin happiness from his run was gone.

  “It’s fine. You don’t need to be constantly connected. I don’t even have a phone,” I assured him. “No one can reach me, ever. By the way, can I borrow yours when we get home?” I turned to the agent. “I’m Evangeline,” I told him.

  “No. Ethan, this is Tatum Smith,” Nico corrected. “Tatum, Ethan Tolvaj.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, but he ignored me entirely.

  “We have to talk upstairs,” he told Nico.

  “I’m Evangeline,” I said to the doorman instead, and he introduced himself as Del and answered that it was nice to meet me, too, unlike that dick of an agent. We, minus Del, piled into the penthouse elevator, and Ethan started right in on Nico about what had happened the night before.

  “I was on a call with the Cottonmouths’ GM, and he’s pissed out of his mind,” he told Nico. “You haven’t played one down for them and already he’s saying he’s sorry he traded for you.”

  “Nothing happened last night,” Nico answered. “It was blown out of proportion.”

  “Well, let’s be honest with ourselves,” I said. “It wasn’t nothing, because two people got arrested and at least five more got hurt, according to my cabdriver. I couldn’t understand the sports radio station he was listening to because it was in Spanish, but he said a lot of people were calling in really pissed about you causing trouble. Again.”

  Nico stared at me as the elevator doors opened but I ignored his angry face and wiggled past him into the apartment.

  “Who is that?” Ethan Tolvaj demanded as he followed me out. “She’s right.”

  “Evangeline,” I reminded him. “You can call me Vangie or Eva, I haven’t settled on a nickname.”

  He returned to ignoring me. “People in this city are riled up, and you can’t alienate the fans without it affecting the organization. They don’t know yet what you can do for the Cottonmouths,” he told Nico.

  “But they’re reading about you getting in trouble on the Cottonmouths’ dime, and also talking crap on social media about your coach,” I added, putting one of the throw pillows underneath me before I sat on the couch. “And according to the cabdriver, Coach Cattaneo is really popular after the Cottonmouths made the playoffs last season for the first time in five years. And Salvador, the cabdriver, he said that the team brass made the decision to trade fo
r you over Cattaneo’s objections. Fans were already taking the coach’s side about the trade even before you started acting like an idiot.” Nico was giving me a look of pure hatred. “I’m just repeating what Salvador said!”

  But Ethan the agent was pointing at me. “Whoever this girl is, she’s right again.”

  “Evangeline,” I pronounced slowly and carefully. “E-van-gel…never mind.”

  Nico came to sit next to me, but before his ass hit the iron cushion, I slid a pillow under it, too.

  “Nico, you have to start listening to me. And her,” Ethan Tolvaj said, pointing my way.

  “Tatum,” Nico said absently.

  “You need a stabilizing force,” I told him. “Someone to help you stay on the straight and narrow.”

  “Let me take a wild guess as to who that would be,” he said, and for the first time since we’d seen his agent in the lobby, he grinned again. “Miss Tatum Smith as my stabilizing force.”

  “I thought she said her name was Virginia,” the agent said. He sniffed and looked around the apartment. “What’s that smell?”

  “My name is Evangeline,” I told him, annoyed, and I pointed to the vomit that still decorated the floor and looked directly at Nico. It did smell, so I got up from the couch to wander into the kitchen because I had been surviving on vending machine delights for the past two days, and after the marathon we had just run, that type of nutrition just wasn’t cutting it. But Nico’s refrigerator was basically empty except for something sticky spilled across one of the shelves and some cans of protein shakes. No wonder he looked thinner. “I’m going grocery shopping,” I called, and let myself out while Nico and his agent continued to argue. Hunger took precedence over showering at the moment.

  Del the doorman pointed me in the right direction and suggested I get things delivered, because he was worried about me carrying so much. I was too hungry to wait, and I let him know that maybe I was small, but they didn’t call me Evangeline “Tough as Nails” O’Callahan for nothing back in Texas. I loaded up on groceries at the store he had recommended and also got myself a flip phone that could have stepped out of the 20th century so I could text my friend Daisy. I sat on a bench outside of the store, under another palm tree, and wrote to her to say hi, and that here was my new number. As I suspected, she had been worried, and got more worried that I had changed things up.