Chapter 5

A few years ago, knowing San Antonio was still the place he wanted to put down roots, Matt bought a large townhouse in the northwest area of the city. It was furnished in what one woman had called industrial male. So what if everything was steel and leather and monotones. The couch was comfortable, the flat screen television huge, and he spent most of his time in the third bedroom anyway, which he'd set up as a gym. Off-season was devoted to developing his upper body strength and getting laid. In his very large bed with the leather headboard.

"I think you're missing your sensitivity gene," one woman teased him after a night together.

He hadn't asked her what she meant. He hadn't really wanted to know. But he'd discovered on the long drive from New Orleans that if he took a good look at himself, he didn't like much of what he saw. He was furnished much like his apartment - without warmth or emotion. Now, with his career so abruptly ended, he had two choices. He could turn into a very bitter person and shut everyone out of his life, or he could get his shit together and start mending fences. He just hoped the fences weren't irrevocably damaged.

He had called his parents last night after he arrived from New Orleans, then again last night when he arrived. Those were the first calls he'd made to them since the surgery and damn it! His mother broke down and cried. She kept telling him they were happy tears but all he could think was, Way to go, Matt. Another woman you treated poorly. And his mother, of all people.

"You come over first thing in the morning, Mattie," she kept saying.

"I will, Ma. I don't want to show up too early.

She laughed. "Your dad still gets up with the sun. You come over as early as you want. I'll have coffee and pastry." She paused. "And a big hug for you."

"Will you call Brenna? I tried her but her phone goes to voice mail."

"She's out at some party from work. I'll get hold of her. She'll be here, too."

"Yeah." He sighed. "She'll probably want to chop my head off. I can't believe the way I acted to all of you."

"It's okay," he mother assured him.

But it wasn't and he knew it. He'd finally taken off the blinders he'd been wearing all these years. Maybe something good could come out of the injury that destroyed his career. Maybe he could figure out how to build a new life, if he could mend things with a lot of people His family first.

"Brenna loves you, Mattie. We all do. And we are so glad you came home. Just get here early in the morning and we'll start new."

At six thirty in the morning Matt met Bear Thompson at the airport and took possession of the cup from him.

"Six thirty, man?" he said. "Really?"

"Making connections and this was the best flight I could get," Bear told him. "Gotta get back to someone special."

Matt just stood there for a long moment, holding the trophy, awed by the history of it and the fact that this year he had been part of the winning team. For a moment the turn his life had taken and the personal wreckage he'd left behind in his climb to the top faded away.

Last night as he lay in bed reaching for sleep that wouldn't come, he'd had so much running through his head. First and foremost was how he could use this to move forward with his life, especially with the woman he'd been such an ass to. Would she even speak to him? He thought he might need some grand gesture to open the door but since he had never been much of a one for those, no ideas popped into his head.

He was very nervous about what he wanted to accomplish today. And, he'd probably need some help. In addition, the team secretary had called him to tell him he had a meeting with a reporter and photographer from the San Antonio paper at five thirty. He hoped that didn't happen in the middle of a crucial part of his plan. Okay, first things first. He placed The Cup lovingly in the back seat of his car and took off.

Although his parents were early risers he still waited until seven thirty to show up. His mother must have been watching for him, because he'd barely parked his car and gotten out when she threw open the front door.

"Mattie?" His mother stood in the open doorway, a big smile on her face. "Ohmigod. Mattie. You're really home."

"Where else would I be?" he joked.

"I was so worried you might not be able to make the drive. I felt much better when you called last night." She took a step back and looked him over from head to toe. "How is the knee? How do you feel? What's going on with you?"

"Let the boy in," her father called from behind her. "Don't make him stand out there on the porch all day."

"Oh! Of course, of course. Come in." She tugged him into the house, cup and all, and ran her hands over his face. "Oh, Mattie, I'm so glad you're here."

His reception was more than he expected and probably more than he deserved, Matt thought, considering how he'd neglected everyone in his fight for fame and success.

"Ma?" He put The Cup down so he could give her a big hug. "I'm sorry I was such a miserable jerk in the hospital. You didn't deserve it. None of you did."

"It's okay. We understood. A very bad thing happened to you. Anyone would be angry."

"But I didn't need to take it out on you all." He cleared his throat. He might as well try out his new outlook on her. "I've come to terms with the fact my career is over and I need to move on."

She gave him a coy smile. "Does that mean you're going to try and patch things up with Lizzie?"

He swallowed a sigh. "Things may not be patchable there. I was terrible to her all those years ago, arrogant enough to think she'd just hang around waiting until I had my career where I wanted it." A sick thought struck him. "She's not with anyone else now, is she?"

His mother shook her head. "Not that I know of. Brenna sees her now and then. She could tell you better."

Matt snorted. "If she's even talking to me."

"You're her brother, aren't you? She'll be okay with you."