Free The Recruiter (A Thriller) by Dani Amore Page A

out. A small school, she herself so small that only one school showed any real interest. And then her knee…gone, just like her chance of escaping.
    What was it the doctor had said? They’re performing miracles in rehab now. Miracles. Fuck miracles. I need money , she thinks.
    Can she conceivably recover, go through rehab, get back into shape, and get a scholarship next year? Next season?
    Maybe. But can she realistically wait around here for another year, while all her friends go off to college?
    Tears come to her eyes.
    She grabs for her crutches, knocks them to the floor, and struggles to pick them up. Her vision is blurred by the tears, but she gets a hold of the crutches and tucks them into her armpits, then lurches to her feet.
    She hobbles to the wall of pictures. Slowly at first, then with gathering speed and intensity, she tears the photos from the wall, ripping them in half and into quarters, leaving them to drop on the floor.
    When she’s done, she’s out of breath and the tears have stopped. The anger is gone, replaced by…nothing. She feels empty.
    Empty, like her future.
    She flops back onto her bed, her gaze drawn to the night table, to the small picture of her father. It’s one of him spinning a basketball on his fingertip, a goofy grin on his face. She stares at it for a long time. It’s her favorite picture of him.
    “I really fucked this one up, didn’t I, Dad?”
    Beth hears a small gasp from the doorway.
    Her mother is watching.
    “Has it ever occurred to you,” Beth says. “That I might want a drink too?”

Twenty-Seven
    Peter Forbes sits in his car in the driveway of Beth’s house. He looks up and sees the small window at the front of her house.
    “Shit,” he says and pulls the letter from the inner pocket of his jacket. There’s a part of him—no, check that—one-hundred percent of him that wants to turn the key over, jam the car in gear, and hightail it out of there. Avoid Beth and those beautiful eyes of hers. He knows she’ll take it well, she always does. She’s smart, she’s strong, and she’s tough as hell. A person only had to watch her play basketball to know that.
    But she is even more than that.
    As invincible as she could seem on the court, he knows she is vulnerable off the court.
    Will this crush her?
    He hopes not.
    He gets out of the car, rings the bell, and waits for Beth’s mom to answer the door. When she does, he says, “How is she?”
    Anna shrugs her shoulders and steps back. She doesn’t need to tell Peter where Beth is.
    Peter climbs the stairs, his stride easy and strong on the steps. He has to duck slightly when he gets to the top of the steps.
    Beth is on the bed, a plastic water glass filled with coke and ice. Is she drinking booze? he asks himself. Isn’t she on painkillers?
    “Hey,” he says.
    “Hey back.” He can tell by the lack of focus in her eyes, the smirk on her face, that there was booze in her glass, in her body, the hell with the painkillers.
    “Well at least you’re not operating heavy machinery,” he says.
    She raises her glass toward him. “I’ll drink to that.”
    “Beth,” he says, his voice firm. He’s ready to scold her when he stops himself. What right does he have to scold her? Her fucking knee is blown to shit, she lost her scholarship, and she’s about to lose…
    …me…
    “Aw, come on, I’m just feeling sorry for myself,” Beth says. “I’m not getting drunk. Living with the eternal poster child for Teetotalers Anonymous will do that to you, you know.”
    Peter responds by sitting down next to her. He has been in her bedroom many times, feels comfortable there, even though they’ve never slept together.
    “You were great, you know.”
    “Tell me.”
    “The way you got your teammates involved, held back, and then let loose in the second half. You played that team, that coach, like a fiddle.”
    Beth blushes at the praise. “Thanks,” she says.
    They sit in silence, neither one of them wanting to say