A Game of COURAGE Read online

  This time, however, he squeezed her hand and nodded. “Anything.”

  3

  Anything…

  Mason shook his head at himself. “Anything” turned out to be the last thing he wanted. But if Jules believed marriage counseling would help them, then he would do it.

  The only problem was getting there.

  Mason glanced down at his watch for the third time. “Harlan, when is this going to start? I have somewhere to be in an hour.”

  “Soon,” Harlan Axel murmured, his attention focused on his phone. “Give it about another ten, fifteen minutes. The press room is getting prepped as we speak.”

  “And the reporters understand that they’re just covering my promotion, right? I don’t want my marriage brought up in this thing, or any other crap that’s being said about me or my wife.”

  Harlan finally looked up from his phone, and the shrewd look in his dark eyes was somehow reassuring. “If they want to be invited back, they’ll stick to sports. They know the rules. You stick to your promotion and coaching. I’ll field the rest.”

  Mason nodded, trusting Harlan to run a smooth press conference. It was one of the things their team’s publicist was exceptional at.

  Suddenly his phone vibrated in his hands and Mason glanced down at the screen.

  “Excuse me. I have to take this.” Mason quietly stepped out of the waiting room and found a private nook down the hall to tuck himself in. “Carrie, is everything all right?”

  It was rare that their nanny called him at work. So rare that he immediately thought the worst and tensed with worry.

  “Sorry to call you at work, but Jeremy had a bad day at school today.”

  “What happened?”

  “His teacher told me some of the older students were making fun of him about…what’s been on the news about you. I was hoping you could cheer him up before his new speech therapist gets here.”

  “Sure. Put him on.” Mason leaned against the wall and waited for Carrie to pass the phone to his son. Trying not to let the anger of what Carrie just told him seep into his voice. It wasn’t enough that the vultures were invading his private life, they were now causing issues for his kids. That infuriated him.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, buddy. What’s going on? Carrie tells me you had a bad day at school.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? You know you can tell me, right?”

  Silence filled the line for a moment, but Mason waited patiently until his son was ready to speak.

  “They called me orphan boy.”

  “Who did?”

  “Big kids. They laughed at me.”

  “You’re not an orphan, Jeremy. Your mom and I are still here and we’re not going anywhere.”

  “Divorce?”

  Mason sighed and shoved his fist into his pocket. “No, son, we’re not getting a divorce. Don’t listen to what other people have to say about us, okay? We love you, we love your sister, and we love each other. Don’t you forget that.”

  “Okay.”

  But he didn’t sound convinced and Mason blew out another breath.

  “Jeremy, nothing and no one can ever hurt you. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a Courage and we’re strong. You know what else we are?”

  “What?”

  “Come on, buddy. You know this one.” When Jeremy didn’t take the bait, Mason urged him on. “Who are we, Jeremy?”

  There was a short pause before Jeremy started the jingle they had learned together. “I may be small…”

  Mason smiled and promptly replied, “I may be big.”

  “You’re not a dragon. I’m not a pig.”

  “But we’re quite fuzzy. What can we be?”

  Jeremy’s voice grew louder as he gained enthusiasm for the song. “We have two colors. We’re black and white. We sleep on treetops, both day and night.”

  “We are not monkeys. That, I can see. Am I a bird? Are you a bee?”

  “No, silly.” Jeremy giggled.

  His heart warmed at the sound. Jeremy always laughed at that part, but Mason continued on. “We eat bamboo, but we don’t share.”

  “Because we’re pandas. Because we’re BEARS.”

  They both growled the last word into the phone until Jeremy dissolved into laughter.

  “Mason?”

  He peeked his head out of the nook he’d been hiding in to find Harlan advancing toward him. Mason held up his hand and Harlan stopped then waved him over.

  “We’re ready for you.”

  Mason nodded and mouthed “one sec” to the publicist before slipping back into the nook.

  “Feeling better, buddy?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a noticeable lightness in his son’s voice that wasn’t there earlier and Mason’s smile widened.

  “That’s my boy. I’ll see you later tonight.”

  Mason ended the call and made his way back to the waiting room. Once the press conference was underway, he and Harlan sat behind a row of microphones and fielded several questions about his promotion, Thibodeault’s retirement, and the future of the Cajun Rage. Mason spoke briefly about the team and his plans as head coach. He even managed to dodge a few queries about his players and their recent troubles in the press.

  But no one was as persistent—or sneaky—as Harrison Stacey.

  “Coach, did your recent promotion have anything to do with your wife filing for divorce?”

  Mason clenched his jaw and leveled the bold journalist with a hard glare.

  “Thanks, everyone,” Harlan smoothly broke in. “But that’s all the questions Coach Courage is going to answer for today. If we didn’t get to your question, you can thank Mr. Stacey for that.”

  Mason shoved away from the table as the press began to shout questions at him. He ignored them as he headed toward the exit, Doug at his heels. Harlan hung back, allowing Mason a quick escape before he said something he would regret on camera.

  “Coach, wait.”

  Mason turned to find Harrison rushing toward them. He ignored him and continued down the hall.

  “Come on, Courage,” Harrison said as he fell into step beside him, his blonde hair still neatly in place. “Give me something. I just need one statement. Haven’t I always been good to you and the Rajuns?”

  Mason’s brow inched up, but he didn’t slow his stride. Did Harrison honestly consider his mundane stories and gossip-filled coverage of their team good reporting? The man spent more time prying into their team’s private lives with cynical commentary than actually reporting on their games. His last so-called article had managed to send one of their players to a dark, destructive place that had nearly gotten him banned from the league.

  Mason had no tolerance for this particular reporter.

  “No comment, Harrison. Now, if you don’t want to lose your press pass, I suggest you get lost.”

  “Why don’t you want to put those rumors about you and your wife to bed? Your silence only makes it worse.”

  Mason refused to dignify that bullshit with a response.

  “He said no comment.”

  Harrison disregarded Doug’s crisp response and forged on. “Who’s the guy in the picture? Is he the reason behind your divorce?”

  “Hey, I have a headline for you,” Doug said. “‘Sports journalist gets a red-hot Rajun kick in the ass.’ Now, seriously. Get lost.”

  Mason couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. His personal assistant certainly had a way with words. Maybe he should have Doug double as his enforcer.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Harrison continued, ignoring the jibe. “You’re married to a beauty queen. With a wife like yours, every guy in the county has been waiting out your marriage.”

  Mason came to a complete stop and whipped around to Harrison, his shoulders bunched. “What did you just say?”

  “Uh oh…” Doug muttered.

  Harrison shrugged. “It’s no se
cret your wife’s a knockout. There must be guys lined up waiting to take—”

  Before the journalist could finish his sentence, Mason drove his fist into Harrison’s jaw. It connected with such impact that the man lifted slightly from the ground and landed on his back.

  In a distant part of his mind, Mason registered the gravity of what he had done, but he couldn’t think of the consequences right now. His attention was focused solely on the man on the ground and the fury pulsing through him.

  Mason took another step toward him, but the blood on Harrison’s mouth stopped him cold. Clearly dazed, Harrison touched his lip, then stared down at the blood on his fingers. He scrambled to his feet. To Mason’s surprise, the man started to laugh.

  “You just gave me an even better headline,” Harrison muttered. “‘New Rajuns coach wins Cup, then loses wife, temper, and job.’ How does that sound?”

  Searing rage crackled inside him, but Mason forced himself not to take the bait again. Instead, Mason balled his hands at his sides to keep from grabbing the bastard and slugging him in the eye this time.

  Without another word, Mason spun on his heels and continued to his office. He barely made it there before Harlan chased him down. His typical composure and flat expression were unusually ruffled.

  “Damn it, Mason,” he snapped. “What the hell did you do?”

  “If you’re referring to Harrison Stacey, that son-of-a-bitch had it coming the minute he started talking about Jules.”

  Harlan ran a hand through his neatly groomed brown hair. “Everyone’s talking about her. She’s a rocket. She’s also America’s former beauty queen who filed for divorce from the hottest coach in the league right now. Get used to it.”

  Mason ground his teeth together, hating to be reminded of that bit—and hating that Harlan was right. Being in the public eye wasn’t anything new for them. It had started ten years ago when the media had gotten wind that the beloved American beauty queen was now dating a Canadian jock—or “hockey’s short-tempered bad boy,” as they had put it. The media had built their relationship into some kind of fairytale, when all he had wanted at that time was to build something special with the most fascinating woman he had ever met.

  Luckily, he and Jules had managed to privately build a strong, lasting relationship. He would be damned if he let the media or anyone invade their privacy and further destroy their marriage.

  “Harrison is a gossip columnist, a wannabe sportswriter, who has no business in our press room. If he wants to report this to the league, let him. I’ll pay the fine and you can work on getting his press pass revoked.”

  Harlan frowned. “The league is the least of our worries, and revoking his pass will be the last thing I do now, thanks to you. If we want to keep this little incident from hitting the papers—or worse, land on a police report—I now have to play nice with the guy.”

  Mason muttered a curse. Once again, Harlan was right. Harrison wasn’t a player and had never been one. Throwing the occasional punch might be how some of them in the league settled disagreements, but a weasel like Harrison could make serious trouble.

  As if he needed any more.

  “Fuck.”

  Harlan sighed. “Why don’t you take off and I’ll deal with Harrison.” He pulled out his cell phone and was nearly down the hall before he called over his shoulder, “Try not to slug anyone else on your way out.”

  Mason watched him leave, then caught a glimpse of Doug hovering nearby. He blew out a weary breath.

  “You should head home too, Doug.”

  “All right. But can I just say how freaking epic that was! You were like”—Doug threw a swift jab in the air—“Bam, motherfucker!”

  Mason cocked a brow. Though it had felt good hitting that son-of-a-bitch, the fleeting moment of satisfaction was about to cause a shit storm of problems.

  “Goodbye, Doug.”

  Doug glanced at him sheepishly and cleared his throat. “Right. I’m leaving. But just so you know, it’s three thirty.”

  “And?”

  “And you have an appointment now. I would have rescheduled it, but it’s marked private on your calendar.”

  Mason glanced at his watch, then shut his eyes. Shit.

  Jules was going to kill him.

  4

  Mason rushed into the therapist’s office and hurried pass the startled assistant at the front desk. The petite young woman jumped to her feet as he continued toward the frosted glass door with Dr. Priya Kahn’s name etched on it.

  “Excuse me, sir. You can’t go in there!”

  Mason ignored the short blonde and pushed open the office door. Two pairs of stunned dark eyes swung in his direction. He glanced from the older woman sitting on the edge of the sofa, a tissue wadded in her hand, to the younger woman sitting across from her, a notepad resting on her lap. Before he could say anything, the office assistant rushed in behind him.

  “Sorry, Dr. Kahn. I tried to tell him you were with a client, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  The therapist plastered a smile on her face and nodded. “It’s all right, Debbie. You’re Jules’ husband, correct? Mason Courage?”

  He nodded stiffly. “We had an appointment with you. Where is she?”

  “You did, but your wife left here about an hour ago. As you can see, I’m with another client. If you would like to reschedule your session, please see my assistant Debbie about my next availability.”

  Mason glanced down at his watch. “Our appointment was for three thirty.”

  “No, it was for two thirty. We waited for you until three before she left.”

  He grimaced. Fuck. “Why didn’t she call me?”

  Dr. Kahn shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  But deep down, Mason knew why. He was the one who had pushed for a second chance, yet once again he had let her down.

  How could he have screwed this up?

  “Did she make another appointment?”

  “That, you’ll have to check with Debbie about. Now, if you’ll please excuse us?”

  This time, her tone was sharp with irritation. Her client, on the other hand, simply shook her silver-gray head as she peered at him over her large eyeglasses. The disapproval on her face only added to the heavy lead settling in his gut.

  Mason backed out of the office and followed the assistant to her desk. From her hard expression and the annoyance in her blue eyes, it was clear she didn’t take kindly to his antics either.

  “Can you please check to see if my wife rescheduled our session?”

  “I can tell you now that she didn’t. I tried to ask, but she was pretty upset when she left here.”

  Mason winced internally at the thought of Jules leaving here angry and hurt. She was good at keeping her composure and not letting strangers know when she was upset or in pain. The fact that this woman had been able to see that made him think Jules’ pain was too great for her to mask.

  That thought made him feel more like shit.

  “Would you like to reschedule a session with Dr. Kahn?”

  “I’ll have to circle back with my wife. Can I have her card?”

  The assistant handed him Dr. Kahn’s business card, and Mason skimmed it. All of her accreditations were listed under her name, and her areas of expertise were outlined on the back. Mason now understood why Jules had selected her. He slipped the card into his pocket.

  As he made his way to his car, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Jules’ number. Her voicemail instantly picked up.

  “Jules, it’s me. I’m at the therapist’s office now. Somehow I got the times screwed up. I’m sorry, baby. You know I wouldn’t miss this.”

  He reached his car, but instead of getting behind the wheel, he leaned against the trunk. He was at a loss for the words that would redeem him. “I’m sorry” just didn’t seem to cut it. He shut his eyes, wanting to kick himself again for this huge blunder.

  “Let’s reschedule, all right? I won’t screw it up next time. We can even ride over here to
gether.” He swallowed hard, his disappointment in himself constricting his throat until it moved down to his chest. “We’ll talk more when I get home, all right? I love you.”

  Mason ended the call, his shoulders stooped.

  You’ve really screwed this up.

  He allowed himself that last moment of self-pity before he squared his shoulders and climbed into his car. He rushed home, secretly hoping she would return his call during his twenty-minute drive. She didn’t. Instead, his phone buzzed with messages from Doug and Harlan. He ignored them all.

  When Mason pulled up to their two-story Acadian-style home, he was relieved to see her car in the driveway. In his place on the driveway was a silver sedan he didn’t recognize.

  He pulled up alongside Carrie’s car and got out. He thought of what he would say to his wife as he made his way into the house. Whatever he had thought up quickly vanished when he caught sight of a dark-haired man sitting in his living room. Right beside his wife. Their backs were turned to him, but the image of the unidentified man having dinner with his wife instantly came to mind.

  Juliette Courage’s Mystery Man.

  That was what the local news stations, and practically everyone on social media, were calling the man in the photo. Mason clenched and unclenched his hands into fists.

  “Jules, who the hell is this?”

  They both snapped their heads around to face him, clearly surprised by his presence. Or was that alarm? Either way, it didn’t lessen his irritation, and he didn’t wait for her to answer him.

  He turned to the man, who had risen to his feet. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Mason!” Jules shot to her feet. “Language. Jeremy’s right here.”

  He pressed his lips together and came fully into the room. At the foot of the sofa, he found his son sitting on the rug, his knees curled up to his chest. To his relief, Jeremy was completely engrossed in his tablet. But that reprieve was short-lived when he realized Jules had brought some strange man near his children.