Three hours later, Kennedy had a list of Doctor Martin candidates and she’d left a message with them all. She’d heard back from one. He wasn’t the guy. So she focused on the office while she waited for her phone to ring.
She was currently cleaning out a cabinet. Another cabinet. She’d already been through five of them. Five cabinets sorted into three stacks. Three years. One stack for each year. Funny enough, it felt like she’d been working on this for three years.
She sifted through another pile of paperwork. Considering the soccer club started this year, why did they have paperwork spanning the past three years? It looked like they were paying and documenting things the whole time they were setting up the club.
Speaking of club… a sandwich would be good about now. Unfortunately, she’d have to leave the arena to get anything to eat. And as it was nearly three, she was too hungry to make the trek out into the world.
That might be a bit dramatic, but she’d really hoped Darcy would be done with her meeting by now so they could go grab lunch together.
The door to the office flew open. “What a nightmare.” Darcy stomped in, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Didn’t go well?”
“If by well, you mean the board members are a bunch of jerkwads, then yes. It went swimmingly.”
“Why are they jerkwads?”
“Poor upbringing. Their mothers didn’t breastfeed them long enough. Their fathers didn’t play stickball with them.” Darcy dropped onto the couch. “I have no idea.”
“Not how did they become jerkwads. What did they do?”
“Oh, that.” Darcy leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Ummm… Kennedy stood up. “Are you dead or just asleep?”
“Neither, but I’m up for the former. You own a gun, right?”
“I do, but it’s back in Chicago.”
“Dammit.”
“Do you really need a gun?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” Darcy didn’t say a word, but Kennedy could see thoughts spinning in her head, trying to break free.
“I have a degree.” And here we go. “I get that I didn’t get it till after my kids were born, but it’s still a degree. It proves I’m not a complete idiot.” Darcy opened her eyes and pointed at Kennedy. “Do not say a word.”
Kennedy laughed. She almost commented that a degree didn’t necessarily mean the lack of idiocy, but Darcy looked like she wouldn’t hesitate to kick Kennedy’s ass right now. And Kennedy couldn’t really fight back since Darcy’d had a shitty couple of days.
“They treat me like I don’t know what a soccer ball is used for.”
“It’s used to sock her, right?”
Darcy’s eyes actually rolled to the back of her head. “If I’d said that joke back there, they would have believed I thought soccer was some sort of domestic abuse.”
“So, misogyny, huh?”
“Misogyny, with a little assholism.” Darcy leaned her head back before it popped up again. “And don’t forget the cattiness thrown in for good measure.”
“Cattiness?”
“Yeah, Deborah is a raging bitch. You’d think girl power—let’s stick together—but nope. She hates all women, or maybe just me.” Darcy sat up and opened the top drawer of the side table. She pulled out a small plastic bottle and shook it. No telltale sound of tablets rattling. “Shit. It’s empty.” Darcy lobbed the bottle at the garbage and dropped her head onto the arm of the couch. “Why won’t this headache go away?”
“Am I interrupting?” A Latin god stood in the doorway. Dark hair with gray at the temples and smoldering brown eyes. Yes—they smoldered. He had adorable dimples and wore a collared shirt that clung to his body like a second skin. He must love all things laundry, because his shirt was an ode to washboards. His arm muscles bunched as he fidgeted with a manila folder in his hands.
Don’t even get her started on the hands.
Darcy sat up and smiled. The woman asking for a gun ten minutes ago was now all smiles. “You’re not interrupting anything but my breakdown.” She leaned back. “Do you have anything for that? Maybe some Paxil, or some cannabis?”
“Those are two very different things.”
Darcy’s smile was all for the Latin god. “I wasn’t going to take them together.”
His dimples danced as he smiled. At Darcy. Kennedy might as well not have existed.
Darcy smiled some more. “What can I do for you?”
“I have the test results for Tad Markham.”
“The look on your face isn’t promising.”
He sighed and handed over the folder. “Torn meniscus.”
Her sigh was much louder than his. “Shit.” She glanced through the pages. “Surgery.”
“Yes, that would be the best course of action. He’ll be out for at least six weeks, barring any complications.”
“And if there are complications?”
“It could be longer.” Latin god shrugged.
Darcy tapped the folder. “Are there options?”
“We could focus on physical therapy but there’s no guarantee, and then we’ll just find ourselves back here in three months. It’s not the best scenario for Tad. He deserves to have this treated properly so he can have a long career.”
“What did Tad say?”
“I haven’t told him yet.” Latin god went into the adjoining bathroom. After a clink and some rustling, he came back out.
“I can’t have him out for most of the season.” Darcy shook her head. “They already think I’m in over my head. If he’s out, we’ll never win a game.”
“Here.” Hot doctor guy—Kennedy assumed he was the doctor, given the conversation—held out his hand.
“You are a god.” Darcy took whatever he offered, popped it in her mouth and swallowed. That sounded much dirtier in Kennedy’s head. How anyone could swallow pills without liquid eluded Kennedy.
“Thank you so much.” Darcy’s stare lingered a bit too long on hot doctor dude, and blood pooled in her cheeks. She sighed. “I’ll have to talk to Coach Brighton.”
“He won’t be happy.”
“No one will.” Darcy poked at her cell phone and the ring-back tone dinged through the speaker. After a few tones, the phone clicked. “Belinda, where are you?”
“Down on the field,” Belinda replied.
“Are you near Coach Brighton?”
“Yes, he’s meeting with the other coaches.”
“Can you call me when he’s available for quick talk?”
“Sure.”
Darcy leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. “Well, that’s as done as I can make it for now.”
“I’ll stop by later to check on you.” Doctor Hottie turned to leave, but his eyes caught on Kennedy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Obviously. He was too busy oogly-eyeing Darcy. “I’m Kennedy.”
“Ah, so you’re the famous Kennedy. I’m Louis Guzman, the team doctor. I’ve heard all about you and your shenanigans in college.”
She wished she could say the same, but Darcy seemed to have forgotten to tell Kennedy about Louis the Hot Doc.
“Nice to meet you, Doctor Guzman.”
“Please, call me Louis.” He focused his brown eyes on Darcy. “Don’t do too much today.” He ran a hand down the side of her cheek before heading out the door.
Speaking of doing… “How long you been doing the doctor?”
Darcy’s face dropped. “Wait. How did you know?”
“Really?” Kennedy could feel her eyes pop out of her head. They didn’t believe the words coming out of Darcy’s mouth either. “I almost had an orgasm just watching you two.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Bad? No. Sizzling? I have scorch marks.” Kennedy rubbed at the fictitious marks on her arms.
“He is nice to look at.”
“Understatement. How long have you two been dating?”
“A few months, but no one knows… well, Selma knows, but she put two and two together.”
“You mean she saw your hands roaming all over his body and figured out you were playing doctor?”
“You’re judging me.” Darcy’s eyes filled with tears. She was about to cry, and given that her late husband wasn’t exactly a saint, she didn’t deserve this.
“No judgement. But Selma said the guy was bald.”
Darcy shook her head. “That was someone else.”
“Who?”
“It was a fling. Some guy from the country club. But he moved back in with his wife, and I don’t mess with married men.” Definition of irony right there—seeing she was a married woman. “You’re judging again.”
“Why would you say that?”
“It’s in the eyes.” Darcy held up two fingers and pointed them at Kennedy’s face.
“I’m not judging at all. If you’re going to play doctor with someone, he’s a great choice.” Kennedy hated to see Darcy cry again, but… “How did you and Chuck get here?”
“Get to a place where we were both getting some on the side?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. It started as, you know, he cheated and I forgave him. When it happened again, the kids were in junior high. I didn’t want to let him get away with it, but I also didn’t want the kids shuffled between houses and everybody fighting over holidays. I couldn’t put them through that. So I had to make a choice. Either I let him do whatever he wanted, or I left. Then I figured there was a third choice. What’s good for the goose was good for the gander.”
“Didn’t it bother you, though?”
“Of course, but I couldn’t do that to the kids.”
“But what about you. What about your happiness?”
Darcy cocked her head to the side. “Eh. Happiness is overrated.”
“What about Doctor Hottie? Does he make you happy?”
“Yeah.” The smile on Darcy’s face could power the scoreboard. “I’m in love with him, and I think he loves me.”
“That was obvious. He didn’t even know I was in the room.”
“Right.” Darcy giggled. An actual giggle, and it sounded so normal and good.
Someone tapped at the door to Darcy’s office and her smile dropped. Detective Disagreeable stood in the doorway, and he looked about as welcoming as his name. His eyes were fixed on Darcy… probably on her megawatt smile.
Was it too soon for a grieving widow to smile without looking guilty? Given the look on his face, Kennedy thought that was a yes.
Shit.