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They bunched together, all of them, and stared up at Johnny.
Don’t, he told himself. Hell, don’t…
He got to his feet. Trotted down to the field. No uniform. No equipment. Santos didn’t bother with a huddle. He waved them all into formation, rattled off an audible, and Johnny fell back five steps, spun past the defender, ran toward the end zone and leaped high, high, high in the air…
The ball fell into his hands as if it had been waiting to welcome him home.
The guys cheered and crowded around him, and Johnny...
Johnny was glad he was sweating, because maybe then nobody would notice that he was crying.
* * * *
He drove home forty minutes later, downed half a gallon of OJ, showered, changed into clean jeans and a white T-shirt, phoned Connie and drove to her house.
It was time to break things off.
She was waiting for him on her porch. And, man, she really was mousy-looking. Why had Alden chosen her when he could have had any girl he wanted?
Well, no.
Alden wasn’t the Wilde brother who could have any girl he wanted.
Johnny was.
And despite what Amos had said, he was willing to bet that Alden had never been with a girl. Not with this one or any other.
Johnny felt a stirring in his loins.
The Wilde brothers. One who’d never have a girl, one who hadn’t had one in almost a year.
He rolled down his window.
“Hey,” he said, and motioned her over.
She looked a little surprised. He hadn’t done that before. Until now, he’d done what he figured Alden had done, gone to the porch or the door, then escorted her to his truck.
Yeah, well, things were about to change.
He leaned over and flung the door open. Connie reached for his hand and he drew her onto the seat beside him.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he said, his truck tires spitting gravel as he peeled down the driveway.
“I didn’t expect you to see you tonight.”
“Change of plans.”
He made a left, not towards town but towards a lake that was the kind of hangout he never took her to.
“Where are we going?”
“To the lake.”
She looked at him. “I thought maybe we could see that new Goldie Hawn movie.”
“I’m not in the mood for a movie tonight.”
He drove fast. It felt good; he hadn’t gone over the speed limit since the accident. When they reached the lake, he drove straight through the parking lot to a place where the branches of magnolia trees, heavy with blooms, formed a natural screen. He pulled in, turned off the engine and looked at Connie.
Her hair was loose. He reached out, tugged at a frizzy curl.
“So,” he said, “you ever come here with my brother?”
She blushed. She knew what he meant.
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
He smiled, ran a finger down her arm, watching the goose bumps rise on her skin.
“Too bad. That nothing ever happened between you, I mean.”
“We were good friends,” she said. “Don’t do that.”
“What? I’m just touching you. You feel nice.”
“John…”
“Johnny.”
“Johnny. What’s the matter with you tonight?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m going to be me and Alden, all rolled into one.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I don’t think so.”
He reached for her, drew her towards him.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“John. Take me home.”
“Not yet.”
“Please…”
She sounded scared, but something in her eyes said she wasn’t scared, she was excited.
She was wearing a sleeveless blouse. He started to unbutton it.
“No!” She pushed his hands away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what Alden would have done, if he’d had more time.”
He leaned forward. She turned her face away. He wrapped her hair around his hand, brought her face to his and kissed her.
“Oh,” she gasped, “don’t…”
He kissed her again. Cupped her breast. She squealed into his mouth…and then she sighed and leaned into him.
He fumbled in his pocket for the rubber he’d thought to bring with him.
And as he unzipped his jeans, drew her onto his lap, pushed her skirt up and her panties down, he thought, This is for you, big brother.
He didn’t think again until he’d almost fucked her blind and she was sobbing his name, and then what he thought was that Miss Cleary was wrong.
He didn’t deserve anything good.
Not in this lifetime, or in any other.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE FLEW TO Washington with Amos. Two of Senator Duncan’s staffers took them to lunch; the next morning, having evidently passed the staffers’ scrutiny, Johnny met alone with the senator.
A couple of weeks later, he and his father flew to Stewart International Airport in Newburgh, New York. They rented a car, drove to the Point and had breakfast with guys in uniforms that bristled with medals. After, Amos settled in for more coffee; Johnny toured the campus with a cadet.
Driving back to the airport, Amos flashed him a big grin.
“You’re as good as in in,” he said. “How’s that sound?”
Johnny said it sounded fine.
It didn’t, not really.
Everything he’d seen indicated rigidity, discipline and obedience. Those had been pillars of Alden’s way of life, not his; he felt as if he were stepping into a pair of shoes that wouldn’t fit, but that really wasn’t the right analogy.
He was stepping into shoes that were too big for him.
That was what he’d have to remember.
* * * *
That last year at Wilde’s Crossing High was tough academically, but he studied his ass off and ran a perfect 4.0 average.
And he was unstoppable on the football field.
The state and the school awarded him trophies, and the girls flocked to him.
Amos warned him about the girls.
“Some of them are bound to be underage. Some will see you as an excellent catch.” Smiling, he slapped Johnny on the back. “You’re the prince of El Sueño, son. You need to remember that.”
Johnny nodded. He didn’t give a damn about being a prince, but hearing his old man address him as son…
That wouldn’t grow old.
“When it comes to sex,” Amos said, “learn to make friends with your trusty right hand.”
He boomed out a laugh and Johnny forced a smile. Actually, it didn’t much matter. After that night with Connie, he hadn’t thought much about sex.
He didn’t think much about Connie, either. When he passed her in the hall, she looked at him with big cow eyes.
He simply ignored her.
She was out of the picture.
So was Agnes Cleary.
He’d thought about calling her after receiving the acceptance letter from the Point, but he’d put it off and put it off until, finally, it was his last night at home.
Amos had thrown a party at the ranch. He made a speech welcoming everyone, and said how proud he was of his son. It was a term that had always been reserved for Alden. He’d been the one Amos called son.
Now, the designation was Johnny’s.
He was his father’s son, heir to half a million acres of rich land, prize-winning horses, herds of cattle, gushers of black gold. He was what Alden had been, the crown prince of El Sueño, and he waited to feel the excitement that should have gone with the title.
All he felt was the awful realization that he wouldn’t be his father’s heir if he hadn’t killed his brother.
At midnight, high on the first beer he’d had in m
onths, he slipped into the den and dialed a once-familiar number.
Agnes Cleary answered on the first ring, almost as if she’d been waiting for the call.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny blurted. “I should have come to see you.”
“That’s all right, “she said gently. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“For West Point. I know. Congratulations.”
“I don’t deserve congratulations. My old man pulled strings.”
“You did most of it yourself. Your grades, your determination…”
“It’s what Alden wanted! Not me!”
