Page 70 of Touchdowns and Temptations

“Because of the injury?” I ask. “What's wrong with him?”

“It’s his shoulder,” Alex says and sighs, “at least three weeks off.”

“Shit!” I blurt out. “How is he doing with that? Has he had physical therapy and does he need surgery?”

My questions are so stupid and not useful at all, but I don't want to lose the conversation before it has really started.

“How should he be, Cara?” Alex shakes his head in disbelief. Ashamed, I bite my lip and look down at my cup. “Sorry” he rows back. “Noah is in Nashville getting his shoulder fixed.”

“He's in Nashville?” I look at him. “How long?”

“I think two or three weeks,” Alex says. “But I don't know ... he ... he's ... weird.”

“Weird how?”

“He won't admit it, but he misses you, too.” My heart speeds up at his words. “But he'll hardly be able to bring himself to talk to you again.”

“I can tell,” I murmur. “He is ignoring me...he rejects my calls, my messages, even our business appointments.”

“I know,” Alex replies, leaning back in his chair. “He can't be persuaded to reach out to you either. I'm sorry, Cara. I've really tried everything, but he just shuts down.”

“I don't understand him,” I say. “I realized my mistake, but now he has to listen to me.”

Alex nods and sighs.

“I know,” he says again. “I'm sorry.”

Talking to Alex doesn't help either. He can't or won't tell me anything more. No one will be able to make Noah talk to me and forgive me.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks when I get up.

“I have to work,” I answer evasively. “See you around.”

Alex's expression is pained and I sigh. Slowly, I reach out and stroke his upper arm.

“Thank you, Alex,” I say. “Really, thank you, but it's no use.”

“I'll keep trying,” he says, smiling at me. I believe him, but have little hope. Then I turn and walk out of the Starbucks.

***

Late in the afternoon, I'm not getting out of my Porsche in Boston to go to dinner with Marina, but out of a taxi in Noah's hometown, because I don’t remember where his parents live.

“Thank you,” I say to the friendly and very helpful cab driver, giving him a hundred dollars. “That's way too much, miss.”

“No, no,” I say with a smile. “You've helped me so much.” And he really did. I tried to describe to him the exact neighborhood of Noah's parents' house, but the man couldn't help me either. I wish I'd remembered the address and written it down.

The taxi driver offered to drive me around the streets, but that didn't help either. Now he's dropped me off on the main street, and I've decided to eat at a diner and ask around. It’s a small town, Noah kept reminding me that when I visited. Someone will be able to tell me where the parents of the famous McCarter brothers live.

“Then I wish you good luck, miss,” he says, smiling at me. “The man would be a fool not to forgive you.”

I smile shyly.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “And I hope he forgives me.”

He nods at me again and gets back into his cab. I reach for my bag and realize he dropped me off in front of a small diner. I go in and look around. The place is decorated in typical American style. The walls are covered with merchandise from the local sports teams and the local high school teams. There is also a photo of the McCarter brothers, how surprising. I find a table and sit down. Sighing, I sit back and run my fingers through my hair. I desperately need a game plan.

“Hi!” A young man smiles at me. “What can I get you?”

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