Driven_589066

There was good, and there was great. Haley Locke surpassed both of those by a long country mile. She was the kind of person who made you feel good;

about yourself, and about her. She would have made a great preacher, or a horrible one—the type who would lead you to a bridge and tell you to jump,

and you would, willingly, a smile on your face as you plunged to your death.

Lunch had turned into dinner, dinner had turned into drinks, and before Hodge quite knew what was happening, she found herself standing in front of Mac,

Haley at her side. Her only consolation was that Mac looked as stunned as she knew she did. The expression on his face as he willingly handed over perk

after perk would have been laughable if Hodge hadn’t been feeling exactly the same.

She came away with more than she’d ever thought possible, along with a very nice signing bonus tucked comfortably in her wallet. Part of that bonus was

going to send her parents on the trip of their dreams. They would fight it, she knew, but stubbornness was an inherited trait, and she had inherited it in

spades.

As the plane taxied to the runway and began to pick up speed, she stared at the ground rushing beneath her. It was the perfect axiom for her life.

Dylan used the hem of her jersey to wipe the sweat from her face. The sun shone brightly down on the court, causing heat to rise up from the clay in wavy,

visible lines. Siegfried lay on his belly in the cool grass, head on his paws, eyes darting from the ball lying on center court to Dylan, whining.

“Hush,” Dylan said fondly as she walked over to the stone bench and lifted a warming bottle of spring water to her lips. Her cell phone rang just as she

began to drink. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she traded bottle for phone and held it up to her ear. “Lambert.”

“We’re even.”

Dylan chuckled.

“I’m serious, Dylan. Everything I ever owed you is now officially paid back. Understand?”

Dylan laughed louder as she reached out for the water bottle and took a healthy sip.

“Hello?”

“I’m here, Mac.”

“Yes, well, just remember….”

“We’re even. I’ll remember.”

“Hmmph.”

“Oh come on, Mac! You put the job of finding an agent in my hands. Who’d you think I was gonna pick, huh?”

“Certainly not the Bride of Satan!!”

“Oh, please. She’s not that bad.”

“Oh yeah? I’m lucky she didn’t take the shirt off my back while she was at it!”

Dylan grinned. “She doesn’t swing that way, Mac. Not even for a stud such as yourself.”

“Ha. Ha. That woman should be outlawed.”

“Is the contract signed?”

“Well, yes, but….”

“Then everything worked out the way it was supposed to.”

“For you, maybe. When Johnson gets wind of this, I’ll be lucky to get a job digging ditches.”

“Who says he has to get wind of anything? As far as I can tell, the last time he looked at a player’s contract, Moses had just brought the tablets down

from the mount.”

“Yeah, well if your mouthy little friend has anything to say about it….”

“Come on, Mac, you know better than that. Haley might be hell on wheels, but she’s not a braggart. She’s not gonna tell anyone anything about that

contract. And I don’t think Catherine will either.”

“I agree with you there. She was about as flummoxed by Ms. Hot Shot New York Lawyer as I was.”

“Well there ya go then. Maybe next time, you’ll stick to doing your own job instead of foisting it off on me, hmm?”

“Hmmmph.”

Dylan laughed. “Bye, Mac. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

Ending the call, she tossed the phone back on the bench and finished off her water. Siegfried, still as a statue, whined again. Dylan rolled her eyes.

“Oh, alright. Fetch!”

With a happy bark, Siegfried jumped to his feet and ran after the ball. His huge mouth opened wide, and Dylan watched as sharp teeth, made to tear and

rend, dimpled the ball’s tough skin.

“Pop it and you’re a throw rug.”

Siegfried whined, looking at her with sad eyes. After a moment, he pushed the ball toward her, barking.

Dylan stuck a foot out and hefted the ball high into the air. Siegfried barked again and leapt up, using his nose to bat the ball back to her. Taking the pass,

Dylan put up a sweet, easy shot from the top of the key, smirking as it went through without touching the rim. “Nothin’ but net.”

Siegfried scrabbled after the ball, leaving claw scrapes in the brick colored clay. A fast learner, he nosed the ball back to her, then leapt in the air, his

teeth snapping as she kicked it to him. The ball went off in an errant direction, but Dylan roped it in easily and, spinning, got off a shot whose arc was

perfection itself. The ball swished through the net, and Siegfried happily tore after it.

They played like that for some minutes until the dog’s tongue lolled out and his muscled sides heaved with the strength of his panting. Still, he whined and

shot her a pathetic look as she tucked the ball under her arm and gathered up her things from the bench.

“That’s enough for now, buddy. Maybe later after it’s dark, alright?”