Page 10

CHAPTER TEN

oakley

Forget about Corbin Shearer. It’s obvious he hates me, even if I did feel a warm current circulating through my bloodstream every time he moved closer to me last night. It’s Friday, exactly one week since he rescued Dixie and me at Buc-ee’s truck stop.

I’m not experienced in wooing men or boys for that matter, and for now, I have settled that Corbin and I will never be. There are bigger fish to fry—my father.

After scouring the internet in search of my father’s real name and occupation, I finally learn who he is and where to find him. I meticulously search for images of Mr. Gould and the Notes until I find several photos of the guy who walked out of Mr. Gould’s office. The articles portray him as a family man, handsome and how he bought a portion of the Nashville Notes when the team needed it most.

When I’m through with him, he’s going to wish he held me as a baby and took me to the father-daughter dance in elementary school. I read through his profile once more, committing it to memory.

As I’m in the shower and let the water run hot over my shoulders, the tension releases, forcing a moan from my lips. My father owns part of the Nashville Notes and is a full-time record label executive. But why was he at Bryce’s wedding who plays for the Georgia Jets? In my mind, there’s a large parchment paper with my dad as the red dot in the center, and I try to tie him to all the people I’ve met.

How does he know Bryce? He knows the lawyer who called me to his office and Corbin from the Notes. Of course, everything comes back to Corbin. I can’t get the asshole out of my mind. Let me rephrase, caring, generous, hotter than a hockey stick asshole.

The water runs cold, so I grab a towel for my body and one of my turby towels for my hair. I’ll never forget my mom giving them to me at Christmas before she died. She shopped online because she was so sick, she couldn’t get out. I ran all the errands, went to school, and started beauty school so I could work as an apprentice.

“Thank you. They’re so cute,” I said as I admired the set of three turby towels. They have elastic so it stays put while you brush your teeth and put on your makeup. I hugged her so tight and when her hair fell out from cancer, I would put them on her head. The red one was her favorite. She said it made her feel in style .

I feel a lump forming in my throat as I think about my mom, but I straighten my back and look in the mirror, encouraging myself. “You can do this,” I say into the mirror, as I finish applying my makeup and drying my hair.

Soon, I’m on the morning bus, taking it downtown to my father’s record label. It takes forty minutes because I had to change buses three times. My car is still sitting in Buc-ee’s parking lot as far as I know. I need to find a way to pay for a tow, but I don’t have enough to do it right now. I’m booked solid this afternoon at the salon so if every client shows, I may be able to afford it.

When I get to my father’s office, Spinnin Records, a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, but I quickly hit reverse and get into pissed-off daughter mode. The receptionist says, “Mr. Beech isn’t in right now. You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“When do you expect him?” Because I’m going to wait outside and pounce as soon as I see him.

“Mr. Beech is a very busy man, and I can’t give his whereabouts to just anyone,” she says as she taps her pen against her bright red, obviously surgically enhanced lips. I don’t have money to pay for my car, and his receptionist has enough money to get her lips plumped.

Since he’s not here, and I don’t want her to tip him off, I respond, “I’m sure he’s busy, and I don’t want to be a famous singer. I met him at a wedding last weekend, and he left something behind.”

I swear, a flash of jealousy clouds her eyes. Oh, she thinks we… ew! “I’ll just send him a text. Thank you, Miss Brumfield.”

Exiting the office, I decide to walk to the hockey arena. It’s not far, and I need to save every dollar I have.

The Nashville Notes Arena parking lot is mostly empty with cars parked in one corner, close to the parking garage. I read the signs with directions and find the one with Executive Offices listed.

I take the elevator to the third floor and cross a small skywalk. The doors open, and it requires a key card. Just my luck. The Notes logo is painted on the concrete wall. They’re purple, black, and gold, reminding me of a jazz logo. I wave my hand back and forth, but nothing happens. A large man sneaks up behind me and swipes his card.

“You need in?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you.”

He cracks the door open but before he lets me in, he says, “You look familiar.”

“Just one of those everyday faces,” I say, hoping he doesn’t connect me with Corbin and all that’s been going on.

“Umm, who are you here to see?”

“I was told Mr. Beech was here, and I have something to return to him.”

The blond-haired, hazel-eyed man in a tailored suit grins and says, “I’ll show you to his office, but he doesn’t come here on a set schedule.”

Once inside, the hallways give off a warmth with honey-colored oak wood floors and large photos of the Nashville Notes players in gold frames, highlighting their high points in their careers. I hesitate when I come to Corbin Shearer’s larger than life photo. Even in his uniform, with his muscled body hidden, he’s a Calvin Klein model on crack—gorgeous.

He leads me to a place where there is a wall of windows and shows me to my dad’s office. “The lights are on, so hopefully he’s here. Have a pleasant day,” he says with a wink.

Great, he thinks I’m Mr. Beech’s plaything.

This is nothing like a corporate office. Instead of stark and cold, it’s warm and inviting. Brass instead of chrome. Richly colored, teal-painted walls on one side and ivory on the other and hanging on the ivory wall is the logo and name for the Nashville Notes in some type of golden wood.

“You, too. Thanks.”

I look around and notice several men in an office around the corner. My father is probably in there. Inhaling a deep breath, I gather my thoughts and decide how I’m going to address him. With fire ready to spew, I take a few tentative steps when the door slams, then opens. I hear a familiar voice forcefully say, “I could care less what you think. I’m not going to sit by and let a teammate hit a woman. He’s the one who should be in trouble.”

Eavesdropping, I hear a man say, “Corbin, you’re turning into a distraction for the team and for yourself. Find yourself a girlfriend and stay out of everyone’s business.”

Corbin’s hand is on the knob, and his shoulders lift and fall like he’s trying to contain his anger. “How about you stay out of my business? I’m on this team to score, and that’s what I’ve done for the past five years. If you don’t want me, trade me.”

He storms out of the office, bumping into me and swearing under his breath. “Fuck me,” rolls off his tongue. “Why are you here? The Notes aren’t going to pay you off. You stole my vehicle. Why is everyone forgetting that fact?”

His voice holds a hint of hurt and vulnerability, which makes me empathetic toward him, and I don’t want to feel that way about him. I hate him.

However, I can’t deny the sparks I feel when his arm brushes against mine as his heavy footfalls rush away.

I march straight into the office and for a moment, all three men are quiet, and I catch a glimpse of my father’s questioning eyes. Does he even know who I am?

“Can I help you?” the man behind the desk asks. “Oh wait, you’re the girl who stole Mr. Shearer’s truck, aren’t you?”

God, I will never live this down. “No. Well yes, but I borrowed it.”

“So, you say. Mr. Shearer didn’t press charges, so our legal team has dropped it.”

I roll my eyes and pop my hip, then turn to my dad. I look nothing like him. “I’m here to see this piece of shit who never gave me a chance.”

My dad’s brows furrow.

Anger boils within me. “How could you abandon me and my mother without a second thought, then think you can just buy me off with a trust fund?”

He rises slowly from the leather tufted chair. “Are you Oakley? Oakley James?”

“The one and only.”

He looks at the other two men and says, “She’s the one?”

They nod in agreement. I look down at the nameplate on the desk. Jim Garner, the majority owner of the Nashville Notes, and I think the other one is the general manager because I’ve seen him in commercials and on television.

“You don’t even recognize your own daughter. I was at the same wedding you were. I saw you coming out of Mr. Gould’s office the day before the wedding, then I overheard you talking to him at the reception. That’s why I borrowed Corbin’s truck.” My voice cracks as the volume rises. “I can’t believe I was in the same room with my father, and neither of us knew the other one. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

A million questions scroll like a movie through my mind, being face-to-face with the man who could care less about me.

“Tell me why you’re giving me a trust fund? We could have both gone through life not knowing each other. We never had to face each other, but you had to try to ease your guilty conscience by giving me money. And why do I have to be married? This is the twenty-first century. It’s freaking ridiculous. Well, I don’t want your money, so you can go to hell.”

My muscles are tight, and my face feels like it could explode at any moment. It’s so hot that I can barely control myself. I mean, I’m not in control, but that’s never been me. I say what I want when I want. I don’t believe in keeping the peace when someone hurts you. Worse, he hurt my mom.

“Oakley, please listen. It’s how your mom wanted it.”

“I call bullshit.”

He reaches for my hand, and I jerk away, not wanting his filthy hands on me. “Jim, Clay, do you mind giving us a moment alone?” he asks.

“Sure.” They leave and shut the door behind them.

He walks to the windows that overlook a small green area of the parking lot and stares out the window.

“I loved your mom, but she didn’t love me and didn’t want to be trapped in a marriage.”

“Oh no. Don’t blame this on a dead woman. You were already married. I’ve done some research since meeting with Mr. Gould and overhearing your conversation at the wedding.”

Turning away from the window, he faces me with fire in his eyes. "You think I don't know that?" he snaps.

“All I want to know is why I have to be married to receive the monthly allowance from my trust fund. I’m not even sure I want it. And why do you want me to have any of your money?”

“Because I promised your mom that if she passed away, I would look out for you. She had ovarian cancer once when you were three or four. She would post pics of you so I could see you.”

I scream, “Just freaking tell me why I have to be married. I really need to get my car towed back here and fixed, which is why Corbin rescued me and took me to a damn wedding where I was having fun until I heard you talk about me like a piece of property. So don’t act like you love me… or used to love me or wanted to know me. I know my mom. I’m the one who took care of her when she was sick and dying. I was the one who didn’t get a full childhood so I could help pay our bills.”

His eyes fall to the floor before they land on mine. “She wanted you to find love before you had money.”

“You fucked her nearly twenty-two years ago. How did she even know you would have money?” I ask with poison lacing my voice.

“I’m from a wealthy family, but after she had her first bout with cancer when you were young, she called. We met up, and I agreed to her deal.”

A few beats pass, and I’m moments away from falling apart. “Why didn’t you want me?”

“I always wanted you, but it’s complicated. I’ll get your car towed and fixed, just let me know where it’s located.”

I can't believe the audacity of this man. A scoff escapes my throat, which quickly turns into a maniacal laugh. "You've got to be kidding me," I say through gritted teeth. "I don't want anything from you. Nothing."

My eyes flare in fury and humiliation, and my voice reflects the resentment and pain burning inside me. “You didn’t even show up to her funeral. Didn’t pay a dime for it. Instead, you made the teenage daughter whom you didn’t even know work to pay the funeral expenses and for the hole in the ground where her body lies. Do you know how hard that was?” Tears of anger fill my lids, and I try to blink them away.

“I’m sorry, Oakley. I thought I was doing what your mom wanted.”

“Say it again, and I swear to God, I’ll make you wish you never met her… or me.”

He takes a tentative step toward me and says, “I hope you find a man worthy of you. You have so much passion that I know he’ll be a lucky man.” His hand brushes my arm and even though I want to succumb to my father’s touch, he doesn’t deserve to be let off the hook so easily.

I make a mad dash out of the office, passing Jim and Clay who give me a tight-lipped smile, and get on the elevator. I’m so lost in thought and furious that I get off and realize I’m at the arena level instead of parking. So, I walk in and see Corbin and a teammate practicing.

He skates like it’s easier than walking, just gliding through the ice. Something about it is healing, mesmerizing, actually. Corbin is smoother than the other guy, but they feed each other repeatedly, scoring from different angles.

This is how Corbin works out his frustration. He’s now calm and focused, but we left the same office in much the same way—enraged.