Overkill(9)

“Huh.” He took another sip of his coffee, then set down his cup with exaggerated care. “In my defense, yesterday when I acted like a complete ass, I didn’t know what was in that envelope you pushed on me. I mistook you for fresh bait.”

“Fresh bait?”

He waved that off. “It doesn’t relate to this.”

“The property plats and topographical charts?”

Seeing no reason not to explain, he shrugged. “The company that’s developing the other side of the mountain is after my side, too.”

“It has a coveted view.”

“They won’t take no for an answer.”

“They’re thinking that every man has his price.”

He placed the pads of his fingers around the rim of his coffee cup and gave it a few quarter turns. “We’re talking about something else to avoid the subject, aren’t we?”

“Yes. We are.” She arched her back slightly as she took a breath, then relaxed it.

The motion called his attention to the two brass buttons that formed the third row on her jacket. The topographical charting that instantly sprang to mind wasn’t that of his mountain.

“Under the circumstances,” she said, “you get a pass for your rudeness.”

“Thanks.” He made out like he hadn’t been looking at her chest. “From here on, I’ll try not to act like a complete ass, and confine myself to acting like a regular ass.”

Giving another half smile, she tipped her head down and fiddled with the stud in her ear, a small gold sphere. With any other woman, one could read coyness in the action. But with her, it was just a moment taken to pull her thoughts back on track. When she looked over at him again, she was all business.

“Let’s start with the provenance of the MPOA. What prompted it?”

“Is it important?”

“It could be.”

“For this thing we’re going to get to? At some point. In the not too distant future. I hope.”

“That sounded like a complete ass.”

He gave a short laugh then stacked his forearms on the table and leaned on it, hoping the thing wouldn’t tip over. “You know I played pro football?”

She gave him a look.

“Okay. We were playing an away game in Detroit. In the second quarter, our safety, Chadwick, hell of a guy, hell of a talent, collided with a running back on the other team. Both were going full throttle, because the back was charging toward the end zone, and Chadwick was our last hope of preventing a TD. Anyway, when they hit, Chadwick’s spine snapped. You could hear it from the sidelines. He’s living out his days as a paraplegic.”

She murmured an unintelligible word that conveyed remorse.

“Flight home seemed to take forever. When I got to the house, I woke Rebecca up, told her we had to talk. She was sleeping off half a bottle of vodka. Pills, too, I suspect. She was cranky, said she didn’t want to talk, couldn’t it wait till morning. I said no.

“I told her we were going to see an attorney without delay, ‘Tomorrow,’ I said. She asked why. I told her we needed to get advance directives in place. I didn’t know the term then, but that’s what I meant.”

He looked into his coffee. “Football is a contact sport. You zig when you should have zagged, and it’s kaput for you. End of career, end of life as you know it, or end of life, period. With every snap of the ball, the risk is there.

“But you’re taking a much greater risk when you get in your car to make a milk run. Or, hell, when you step into your shower.” He paused, expecting her to take issue with his rationalization. When she didn’t, he continued.

“I’ll admit that what happened to Chadwick shook me. It happened quicker than a blink, but it was a life-changing blink, and no going back. It didn’t change my mind about playing, but it made me think of what I would want to happen if I suffered a head injury that left me totally incapacitated. Or unresponsive.

“I wanted those directives in place, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave the decisions up to Rebecca, who had a hard time deciding what color to paint her toenails. I asked my old coach Bing Bingham to be my primary agent. And my sports agent to be the alternate.”

“Rebecca didn’t take offense at your choices?”

“She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Our marriage was already shaky.”

Kate Lennon raised an eyebrow. “Earthquakes are shaky.”

He gave a wry laugh. “True. Ours was the Big Bang of breakups.” He squinted one eye and looked her over. “Are you even old enough to remember?”

“I was in college when you won the Super Bowl. Law books didn’t hold a candle against the latest issue of People.”

Groaning, he dragged his hands down his face.

“Sexiest Man Alive,” she said and clicked her tongue.

“I was way down on the list of contenders. Number forty-two, I think.”

“Actually you were fifth runner-up, and the competition was fierce that year.”

He gave a huff and a half grin, but actually found little humor in it. For all the razzle-dazzle that had enveloped him during that period, his personal life had been a public train wreck, at which everybody rubbernecked. It was hard to smile about any aspect of that short-term but extremely volatile time with Rebecca.