Ace: Sports Romance Novel Read online

  “Rude.” I grinned at her. I wasn't going to say anything, but I sort of agreed with Cailie. Rosaline was alright, but I had more in common with her teenage sister than I did her. “I'll be out in 10.”

  I shimmied out of my skirt, craning my neck for a better look at the mail fanned out on my bed. But as I started to reach for one of my bills, I paused. A black envelope with a white-wax seal stood out from the middle of the pile. The front of the letter was blank – no addresses, no postage stamps, nothing.

  I reached for the letter and a nail file on my desk, slicing the seal open. 3 sheets of scarlet letter paper spilled out of the envelope. My eyes rounded.

  The first page caught my eye right off the bat. Colorful cutouts of letters from magazines spelled out the following scripture: “But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by wind. – James 1:6.”

  The second page looked like one of those printer test pages. The numbers “031918” were printed across the page, just over and over again. The last page was just more gibberish, but with random letters.

  I'm not sure what got into me, but something told me to lean in. Gulping, I leaned in and took a sniff. My nose crinkled. It smelled lovely, like roses and sandalwood and vanilla, some real Old Hollywood stuff. This looked like the brainchild of a very disturbed individual – possibly dangerous, too. Or, it could be nothing at all.

  Whatever it was, it was giving me the creeps.

  Chapter Three: Victoria

  “Graham, you hairy-nippled twat, that boom mic is too low!” Bill Kauffman barked at the boom operator.

  “My bad, sir.” Graham turned back his snapback and pulled up the mic, smiling at Kauffman with sleepy pink eyes.

  “I really should have a word with the board before I leave.” Kauffman grumbled. He snapped his fingers at one of the girls from Makeup. She chewed her gum loudly, rolling her eyes as she held up a mirror so Kauffman could adjust his tie. “I don't know which cesspool they pull these morons out of, but they get dumber every year.”

  The pleasant man had been my mentor for the last 2 weeks, and would be for another week until the day of his retirement.

  “Isn't that something.”

  At a loss for words, that was all I could come up with. Kauffman shooed the girl and rounded on me. He shook his blazer by the lapels.

  “I certainly hope you're taking this opportunity seriously. It's not everyday you're mentored by someone with 2 Sports Emmy Awards and a Primetime Emmy to his name.”

  “Oh, most certainly.” I nodded at him, my bottom lip protruding a little. Kauffman peered at me through his silver-framed glasses. This man was completely serious. “I am very, very blessed.”

  “I've taken a gander at some of your work from Star Weekly. A smidge too liberal for my taste, and your audition tape didn't wow me, but you can be polished.”

  “Happy to hear that, Mr. Kauffman.”

  “The rookie they're replacing me with starts today.” Kauffman lowered his voice, beckoning me towards him. I folded my arms and leaned closer warily. “If you ask me, it's best to leave it up to the professionals as opposed to these washed up players – ah. There he is, now.”

  Well, I'll be damned.

  Ace Warner walked through the doors, and boy, did he clean up good. He strutted into the station in a dark blue suit, his long hair no more. His hair was now neat and tapered, and his beard trimmed and clean.

  I thought it was just me, but as I looked around me, everyone else in the room was just as speechless. Ace walked over to the director and his assistant, ignoring – or perhaps, used to – all the stares. As the 3 of them spoke among themselves, everyone else in the room split up into whispering huddles.

  I tried not to stare, but I shared everyone's astonishment. After the death of Ace's wife, he went on to play for another year before announcing his retirement from the field. No one in the industry had seen or heard from him in 2 years.

  All of a sudden, Kauffman's bitter voice pealed across the room.

  “Shouldn't all of you be getting back to work?” He ran a hand past his receding hairline, turning up his nose at the glares around him. “Come, Veronica. We'll take an early break for lunch. We can watch a montage of all my best segments – I had an intern compile the clips last night. It's only 40 minutes long, but as I said, morons.”

  “It's Vic –” I started, but Kauffman was already 3 steps ahead of me.

  XXX

  “Hold the elevator, please!”

  The elevator doors jerked back to let me through.

  “Thanks!” I slipped into the elevator, catching my breath.

  “Don't worry about it.”

  My toes tingled. It was Ace. I stood next to him, folding my hands. What felt like a full minute rolled past.

  “You look familiar,” said Ace thoughtfully. “Don't you live in Alcott Heights?”

  “Yup. Just started here, too.”

  “Cool. I'm Ace, Ace Warner.”

  “Victoria Vaughan. Moved into Alcott about 2 months ago. I live with my cousin – it's actually her place.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yup.”

  Again, silence.

  “I didn't think you were a suit kinda guy. You look nice.”

  “Huh? Oh, right. Thanks,” Ace mumbled. His eyes fell on his phone. “Corporate wanted me to get a haircut.”

  Ding.

  “See ya.”

  Ace flashed me half a smile and shuffled out the elevator doors.

  “See ya.”

  I bounced my eyebrows at him coolly, but as I marched off in the opposite direction, I dabbed at my glistening forehead.

  Chapter Four: Ace

  I topped off the last drops in the bottle and swiped at the left desktop screen. My eyelids were starting to sag. I rubbed my eyes and stretched them as far back as they'd go, but the spots weren't going anywhere.

  I sank back in my chair with a grunt and checked the time. 2 minutes till midnight. Shit. I had to be up in 6 hours. The headache coming tomorrow morning wasn't gonna be pretty. I turned back to the desktops.

  46 tabs were open on the left desktop, crammed with news articles, blogs, online obituaries, and Camaro manuals. I had the right desktop in a 4-screen split, with 4 clips from different news stations playing simultaneously. The anchors all showed the same glum expressions, and the words scrolling across underneath them screamed the same headline: “BREAKING OVERNIGHT: TILLARY STREET TRAGEDY.”

  I tapped the bottom right corner of the screen. The clip went full-screen. The voice of the anchor in the tan pantsuit started to drone out of the speakers. I scooched forward in my seat, locking my fingers under my chin.

  “Fans and members of the community gathered outside the corner of Tillary and Adams tonight, mourning the loss of Brooklyn Cunningham, wife of New York Jets quarterback, Ace Warner.”

  I flinched. The green screen behind the woman switched to live footage of people in thick coats, carrying candles, flowers, pictures, and gifts. One by one, they set their gifts down on the pavement. The candlelight was beautiful, but seeing the fresh remnants of the wreck just 3 feet away felt like a fucking kick to the throat.

  The bald patches on the trampled grass. The skid marks on the asphalt. The burn marks on the curb. The crooked trunk of the tree, nearly pulled from its roots upon impact.

  “Today, at approximately half-past 1 in the afternoon, Warner and his wife were involved in a fatal car crash. Witnesses reported seeing the quarterback's Camaro swerving and plowing head-on into a tree. Warner, who was driving, was pulled out of the vehicle, suffering a sprained neck, scrapes, and non-life threatening injuries. Unfortunately, Warner's wife, Brooklyn Cunningham, was ejected from the vehicle upon collision. She died tragically before EMTs arrived to the scene.”

  The green screen switched to a picture of Brooklyn and me on our wedding day. Her head was resting on my shoulder, and her arm looped around mine. Brooklyn always turned h
eads in a room, but that day, stunning didn't even begin to describe her. She wore a small crown of daisies over her light blonde hair, and there was this beautiful, radiant smile on her face.

  You had no clue what was coming. You didn't deserve this. Anyone but you. I miss you, and it hurts everyday. It hurts to think about you. It hurts not to think about you. It hurts to sleep. It hurts to eat. It hurts to breathe. There's still so much we haven't done.

  I still need you.

  “Shortly after Warner was pulled out of the vehicle by heroic bystanders, the vehicle was consumed by flames. Firefighters were able to contain the fire, but the vehicle was beyond salvageable. Authorities later determined that the fire was triggered by the impact, which sheared fuel lines and perforated the gas tank.”

  It should have been me.

  “Ace?”

  I cocked my head back at the sharp knocks on the front door.

  “Hello? Ace?”

  More knocking.

  “Come on, Ace – we can hear you in there!”

  Grunting, I switched off the desktops and pushed myself off my seat.

  “Coming.”

  I unlocked the door and swung it open. A woman in a frilly black dress and long gloves was leaning against the doorway. A young man in a gray shirt and jeans stood next to her, armed with 2 pizzas and an extra-large bucket of fried chicken.

  “Wow. You stink.”

  “Good to see you, too, Tabitha. Aiden.”

  Cracking a smile, I stepped aside and let them in. Tabitha wheeled in her suitcase and parked it next to the couch. Behind her, Aiden set the food down on the coffee table and reeled me in for a hug.

  I broke away from him, grinning. The kid was twice as jacked since the last time I'd seen him, which was a little over 6 months ago. Kid's even got some scruff coming in.

  “How've you been, man?”

  “Busy, but good. The new semester started last month – enrollment was crazy. Had to open up 2 new classes and get 2 new teachers on board. Things got a bit hectic, but we're starting to get the hang of the new schedule.”

  “That's dope, man. Glad to hear that.”

  “I stopped by at Soul Food earlier,” Tabitha chimed in. She tossed her hat aside and let her flaming-red curls flow over the back of the couch. “Aiden's just being modest – the place looks amazing, and the kids are having the time of their lives.”

  “I don't doubt it. Brooklyn left the place in good hands.”

  “Thanks,” said Aiden quietly, joining Tabitha on the couch. “While we're on that, I'm going to need you to come down to the studio. There's some paperwork you need to –”

  “Send them here.”

  “It's been a while since you've been down to the studio for a visit,” said Tabitha gently, holding onto her knees. “You should see the mural Thumper and the kids painted for Brooklyn in the lobby. It's breathtaking –”

  “I'm sure it is.” I swallowed hard, turning away from them. My throat was starting to sting. “Send me a picture.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Tabitha and Aiden exchanging looks of pity.

  “We'll talk later,” said Tabitha lightly. She popped the lid off the bucket of chicken and opened a pizza box, fanning the steam to her face. “Mmm. Come on. Let's dig in before the food gets cold –”

  “You guys go ahead. I'm not hungry.”

  “You've been real thirsty though, haven't you?” Tabitha pointed out crossly. She narrowed her eyes at the empty bottles and crushed cans around the coffee table. “Sit down and eat something.”

  “Fine. I'll have 1 slice.” I grumbled, sitting on the armchair next to Tabitha. I grabbed a slice of pepperoni. “Congrats on that Tony win, by the way. Sorry I couldn't make it, but I saw it live. Who's that dude you were kissing?”

  “Why, thank you very much.” Tabitha beamed. Her teeth looked blindingly white next to her brown lipstick. “That's William – he's a chef at Nolte's – that Michelin star restaurant on 24th Street? We've been going out for 3 months now. I'd say it's getting kinda serious, but I don't wanna jinx it.”

  “Dope. I'm happy for you, Tabitha. I mean that.”

  “Right,” said Tabitha softly. Her smile faded. “I wish I could say the same to you. Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled sarcastically.

  “I like the haircut,” Tabitha continued, unabashed. “But you definitely need some sleep. If you keep up with this, you could get yourself seriously sick.”

  “And slow down on the liquor,” Aiden added tersely. He took a breath, sucking in his lips. “You know this isn't going to bring her back –”

  “The fuck is this, an intervention?” I snapped, wiping the grease off my lips with the back of my hand. “I'm fine, I don't need you 2 to come down here and –”

  “Stop it, Ace,” Tabitha cut me off. She wasn't raising her voice, but her icy tone was cutting. “I lost my best friend, too, you know. Aiden's hurting. And believe it or not – losing Brooklyn broke her parents, too. They can't bring themselves to leave the house. Last time I went to visit, they'd gotten rid of all 28 of the household staff. The place was a mess – half-eaten food and dirty clothes everywhere, broken furniture. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought they'd been robbed.”

  “What's your point?”

  “My point is,” Tabitha continued. “You're not the only one that's hurting. You need to stop beating yourself up over this, Ace. I know how hard this must be to accept, but accidents happen, and this wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself –”

  “Tabitha's right,” Aiden joined in. He rubbed his hands together nervously, peering up at me. “The cops couldn't find a trace of alcohol in your system –”

  “I know, I remember,” I fumed. I shot up from my seat, shaking my head. “I never blacked out – I remember every fucking second of what happened that night. For fuck's sake, every time I close my eyes, I can still smell the burning rubber. I'm telling you my brakes were rigged, and if that car hadn't burnt up the way it did, the assholes from the NYPD would get off their incompetent asses and find the motherfucker that's behind this –”

  “Ace, please,” said Tabitha sadly. Her eyes gleamed. “I know you think –”

  “I don't fucking think anything. I know this for a fucking fact –”

  I was cut off by the roaring of a motorcycle engine from 11 stories below. I screwed up my face. That tool's been revving up his bike for over a week now, most times at ungodly hours. I walked up to the window and yanked the curtains apart.

  The biker parked his black Suzuki cruiser next to the curb and hopped off his bike. But as the biker crossed the walkway, I stirred. The steely clicking of his boots sounded an awful lot like heels. And when I squinted down at the figure in the fitted leather jacket and jeans, the curves of the biker's hips were unmistakable.

  My bad – she.

  As the biker started up the front steps of the building, she removed her white full-face helmet and shook out her wavy dark hair. I'd only seen that face a handful of times, but I recognized her instantly. It was Victoria.

  “Everything okay?”

  I closed the curtains.

  “Yeah. Everything's fine.”

  Chapter Five: Victoria

  “Care for a tartare, miss?”

  I looked back at the waiter, who was balancing a massive tray of finger foods on his shoulder.

  “And what, if I might ask kindly, is that delightful purple goo?”

  “Hmp.” The waiter sniffed, seeming to take it personally. But ever the professional, he carried on. “The purple goo of which you are referring to, Miss, is Chef Baptiste's multiple award-winning beet tartare. It is made of freshly picked beets and spiced with lemon zest, balsamic vinegar, endives, and topped with corn smut.”

  “Corn what-now?”

  “Corn smut. Fungus, Miss.”

  “Aww, shucks.” I grinned at the waiter, patting my stomach. “Thanks, but I had a cheeseburger bef
ore I got here, and I'm not so sure fungus would sit too well with me right now. Don't want to corn-tract anything, if you know what I mean.”

  With another haughty sniff, the waiter wandered away from me.

  “Sorry – a little too corny for ya?” I called out after him.

  Chuckling to myself, I slipped my lace mask back over my eyes.

  The grand ballroom of the Oneiro Country Club was the picture of elegance. Glittery chandeliers were floating across the domed ceiling. The inside of the dome featured haunting but gorgeous paintings of Greek gods and mythical creatures in battle. Arched windows with rose-gold trims displayed a ravishing view of the Hudson River at night, the vibrant city lights reflecting in the river surface.

  Banquet tables were set up on all 4 sides of the room. Gourmet chefs manned every station. A ballroom orchestra in the left corner of the room played big-band swing music. Masked women in flouncy flapper dresses and men in pastel suits swung around in pairs across the waxed dance floor. This was charming and all, but holy crap, this party was a drag.

  “Victoria! Over here!”

  Rosaline waved me over from the standing limestone fountain by the entrance. I joined her and her friends, each one in a low-cut fringe dress shorter than the next. Rosaline smoothed the pink feathers of her gold festival mask. My cousin remained the only 30-year-old I knew who could pull off an uber-sparkly dress and lipstick in that shade of Barbie-pink.

  “Cute dress, but haven't I already seen you in this before?” Bianca, the buck-toothed girl to Rosaline's left, smirked at me.

  “Probably.”

  Annoyed, Bianca's lip curled.

  “And where'd you get that mask? Party City?”