Chapter 17

Part Two: Unnecessary Roughness

"Did you see this? Are you actually looking at this?"

Ryan McCabe leaned back in his chair, aviator shades covering his eyes, and wished his agent, Walt Alston, would disappear. And take his tablet with its vicious headlines with him.

They were sitting on the back patio of Ryan's home on Davis Islands, an archipelagos formed by two small islands at the mouth of Hillsborough Bay and minutes from Tampa's bustling downtown area. The rest of the property sloped down to the bay, a scene that up until today had given him a great deal of pleasure. Today he was wondering how many of the pleasure boats cruising past his house were doing so with their sole purpose being to get a glimpse of a headline-busting football player.

"Ryan?" Walt's voice increased in volume and frustration. "Will you please open your eyes and take a look at the mess you made?"

Ryan lifted his shades enough to see the words leaping off the screen.

Shit. No, double shit.

RUNNING BACK MCCABE TRASHES GIRL FRIEND'S CONDO

And beneath that: Is the famous running back out of control?

They went hand in hand with the other screaming headlines that called him a stalker, an out-of-control jock, a nutcase, and other less favorable terms.

"I explained that," he said in a gravelly voice. "Let me tell you again. I. Did. Nothing. It was all Marlo. How many times do I have to say it?

"Probably a lot," Walt ground out, "since she got her licks in first."

Marlo Andrade. What an idiot he was to ever hook up with her. The physical attraction had been mutual and he'd tried to make sure she understood he wasn't looking for anything permanent. Anything that even smacked of a relationship. She'd seemed agreeable to everything. Nothing but a fun time for the two of them until it ran its course. How was he supposed to know she was an out of control psychotic?

He was sure he'd never forget the day she broke into his house and trashed it, breaking and destroying things. He'd paid out a fortune to clean up that mess. After that she went to her own place and did the same thing then called the police to tell them he'd done it because she wanted to break up with him. It didn't help when the team owner insisted he fork over the money to clean and repair her condo. Nobody listened or cared when he told them she'd damaged it herself.

"Because it was all a lie," Ryan went on. "She wanted center stage here. A way to get back at me for breaking it off with her."

"Maybe it was," Walt said, his voice filed with frustration. "But that isn't the point."

"Then tell me what is?" He rubbed his temples, wishing the damn headache would go away.

"It's a goddamn disaster. This female went to every tabloid, every blogger, every shock jock she could contact and spilled her guts." Walt blew out a breath. "And before you say a word, no one cares any more if it's true or not. The people she went to never fact check, as we all know. Now the story has taken on a life of its own and it's gone more than viral. Every social media site is overloaded with it."

Ryan swallowed the curse words that wanted to leap out of his mouth.

"You think I'm enjoying this? I'm so pissed off I'd like to—" He shook his head. "Never mind what I'd like to do."

"Listen, stud." Walt was using his voice of reason tone now. "When you have a rep as a ladies' man, everything you do is news. You're always on the Internet and in magazines. You're the leading trend on Twitter, for god's sake. Every escapade is news and people eat it up."

"I know. I know."

He rubbed his temples, trying to hold back the bitch of a headache threatening to explode. His life seemed to be spinning out of control. The media had invaded exclusive Davis Islands like rats after garbage and he'd had to upgrade his security system and hire security guards to keep them away. His social life was down to zero. He couldn't even go out for a burger or beer with any of his teammates because the minute he showed his face the media and the public were all over him. He'd tried going out for dinner one night and ended up on so many Facebook pages he lost count of them. He could only blame his very poor choice of a woman for all his troubles. He'd be a lot more careful in the future, if he even had one.

"Frank Morgan wants to have you for lunch, and Tony Amato wants to beat you with a big stick." Frank owned the Tampa Bay Rough Riders, the team Ryan played for. Tony was the general manager.

"What, nothing yet from Coach Muller?" he snapped.

"He's letting the others say it." Walt heaved a sigh. "This is making the team look very bad, Ryan. They don't like it one bit. No one is giving interviews. It's all going through the public relations office. Those people are working overtime to spin this, but I think it's spun out of control."

"They can't cut me," Ryan pointed out. "It would cost them a ton of money, thanks to the very nice contract you negotiated."

"If we can't put a lid on it, they may think it's worth it to them. You may be the best running back in the league but, at the moment, you're more of a liability."

"Shit."

"No kidding."

Football had been his life for as long as he could remember. First Pop Warner then high school then college and, finally, his dream job with the NFL Tampa Bay Rough Riders. After ten seasons, with two conference championships and one Super Bowl ring under his belt, he'd been really riding high. Not to mention winning the award for Offensive Player of the Year when they won the Super Bowl.

Sure, he'd gotten a rep as a player, but he'd never been over the top or even over the line. He liked women, plain and simple. Unfortunately, this last time he'd picked the wrong one to like.

"So what am I supposed to do? I'm already a prisoner in my own house." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't even want my friends to come over here and have them exposed to this circus."

"Yeah. About that." Walt cleared his throat.

Ryan lifted his sunglasses. "You mean my friends? Now what the hell?"

"Uh, Amato doesn't want any of the players hanging with you until this gets cleared up."

"What?" Ryan practically shouted the word. He sat up abruptly and slammed his feet down on either side of the lounge. "What the fuck? Are you serious?"

Walt nodded. "As a heart attack. This has turned into one huge clusterfuck."

"No shit." Ryan took a long swallow of the soft drink sitting on the table next to him. The ice had melted but his throat was so dry he needed it. "So they, what, want me to hide out here until this blows over? If it ever does?"

"It will blow over," his agent assured him. "If you aren't around, the media will get tired looking for you. And I hired a private detective and put him on Marlo Andrade's tail. He'll tear her life apart from the day she was born. This can't be the first time she's done something like this. Her history will give us clues where to look."

"And I'm supposed to do what while this is going on?" Ryan felt the anger rising in him. "I suppose they had a suggestion about that, too."

"As a matter of fact, they did. Amato has a friend who rents out a lot of cottages at Ft. Myers Beach. I already asked him to make the necessary calls. He's waiting for the go ahead from me."

"What's to stop people from finding me there?" Ryan demanded.

"Got that covered, too." He watched Ryan carefully. "As soon as we have the lease taken care of on the cottage, a security guard who looks a lot like you is moving in here while you're gone. He'll—"

"Wait, wait, wait. Wait just a damn minute. Someone is going to live in my house while I'm gone?" He waved a hand at the house. "Sleep in my bed? Hang out with my stuff?"

"Jesus, Ryan. It's not like we're putting a derelict in here. He's been thoroughly vetted. And we have to have someone for the paparazzi to see or they'll start looking for you elsewhere. You know how single minded they can be."

"Exactly how do we get him in here and me out without anyone being the wiser?" Ryan demanded.

"I have a plan. Trust me on this. When it's all worked out, I'll give you the details. I don't want any argument about it. You hooked up with a damn psycho. This is the price you pay."

Ryan clenched his fists. At the moment, if Marlo had been in front of him, he'd have…he'd have… He didn't know what he'd do but he was madder than he'd ever been in his life. At himself as much as her, for getting himself into this mess. If he ever got it cleared up, he wouldn't date another woman until he was fifty.

Oh, right, his inner voice taunted. Big fib.

Well, okay. At least for a good long while.

"Training camp starts in a month," he pointed out. "I can't miss that or I really will get tossed off the team."

Shit, shit, shit.

"If I can't get this cleaned up by then," Walt said, "then you should fire me. And I like getting paid too much to let that happen."

"Good to know." Ryan drained his glass and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

"Okay. I'm going to get on this. I already have some stuff in the works. Started it when this all first blew up. I'll go meet with Norm. Then I'll make the arrangements for the cottage and get back to you. Meanwhile, get yourself ready. Figure a month at the beach, so pack accordingly." He paused. "And stay away from goddamn women. Can you do that or do I need to tie your cock in a knot?"

"Yes, Dad," Ryan snarked.

Walt reached out his hand. "Trust me on this, will you? I haven't done you wrong yet."

"You're right." Ryan shook his hand. "But I'll be damn glad when this is over."

"As will we all."