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to her. Oddly, though, he was not all that upset. He’d given his share of money and time to charities over the years, but he’d never been attached to something so big, something so … personal from the beginning.
    The New School. The name was lame, but he hadn’t come up with it.
    Truthfully, he was amazed at how far Tara and Luc had taken this idea he’d had in his head for years. Though, considering the way Tara Jean was railroadinghim, he was sort of surprised she wasn’t the governor of Texas by now.
    The phone in Billy’s back pocket vibrated and he dragged it free, wincing when the scabs on his knuckles broke open again.
    “I’m not paying you to talk on the phone.” Tara Jean eyed him sideways.
    “You’re not paying me at all.” Billy sucked on one of the cuts. “In fact, I urged you to pay someone else.”
    Her blond ponytail, speckled with white paint, shook as she laughed. He totally understood why Tara Jean wanted to paint her own house despite having Luc Baker’s fortune at her disposal. She had never had a house before and she intended for every inch of it to be her own. Including the paint on the walls of the living room.
    The phone buzzed again and he glanced down. Relief that it wasn’t Hornsby made him answer a bit more cheerfully than he usually would have.
    “Hey, Super-Agent Man,” he said.
    “Do I have the wrong number?” Victor asked.
    “Very funny. What’s up?”
    “Well, clearly paying thousands of dollars in fines and being suspended for the first four games of next season agrees with you, Wilkins,” he joked.
    “I’m just hoping you’re calling with a big time endorsement deal. Surely someone wants my face to sell something.”
    Tara Jean scowled at him before walking out of the room to give him privacy. She didn’t like his jokes about his looks—a little squeamish, clearly.
    “No, actually, but I do have an opportunity for you.”
    Billy returned the roller to the tray at his feet and turned around to face the window. Luc and Tara Jean had bought a pretty farmhouse on an acre of land outside of Dallas. The stream in the backyard was surroundedby big cottonwood trees, perfect for a tree house in a few years. And that stream actually had fish in it.
    Maybe he wouldn’t teach Luc how to fish after all. Then he’d have an excuse to come over and spend time with the kids his friends would one day have. He smiled at the thought, even as he rubbed away the stabbing ache in his chest.
    Upstairs there were four empty bedrooms just waiting for kids to fill them with all the crap kids came with. Diapers and toys. Little shoes. Bikes.
    It was a house with a future.
    A million years ago, he’d wanted that kind of future. Fishing, tree houses, painting rooms, a pretty woman to boss him around.
    In fact, Luc’s life was a lot like the life Billy had had in the palm of his hand.
    Until he’d ruined it.
    And now he only had visitation rights.
    “What’s the opportunity?” he asked. He wasn’t all that interested, but if it could fill some of his empty off-season hours, that would be good. Though with his reputation and looks he couldn’t imagine what opportunity would come looking for him.
    “A morning show wants to give you a makeover,” Victor said.
    Billy laughed. “You’re hilarious. Be serious, man.”
    “I am serious. A producer called my office wanting to talk about doing a four part series on you.”
    “A makeover? Have they seen me?”
    “They have. And it’s sort of a lifestyle makeover. Manners, clothes, they want to do a cooking segment, an anger management—”
    “I hope you told them to fuck off.” Billy turned away from the window as his temper started to simmer.
    “I didn’t, Billy—because, frankly, you could use something like this.”
    “Like what? Public humiliation? No thanks.”
    “It doesn’t have to be humiliating. It could actually be humanizing. You could show the rest of the world the softer side of Billy Wilkins.”
    “I