Andrea ignored Barron’s interruption, concentrating instead on his labored breathing and the familiar stench of fear. She’d worn it herself four years ago. Behind his sunglasses, she thought she saw his eyes flick left, then right. “You’re the starting point guard and the team captain. You’re supposed to lead the team. Instead, you sat on the bench watching them win the game that decided if they’d get to the play-offs.”
Anger curled Barron’s lips. “Mind your damn business.” He spun on his heel and marched toward the arena.
Andrea rushed to keep up with him. “Your teammates and coaches think you’re being selfish and irresponsible. But that’s not it at all.”
“I said mind your business.” Barron sounded desperate. Afraid.
Andrea took heart from the player’s agitation. It meant he was almost ready to listen. She remembered that feeling. “I know what you’re running from. Talk to me. I can help you.”
Barron stopped again. He spun to face her. “I’m not running away from anything.” He growled the denial.
“OK. We’ll use the term avoidance.”
Barron snatched the wraparound sunglasses from his face with his right hand and rubbed his bloodshot eyes with his left. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I want to help you.”
His pained dark gaze searched hers. Andrea saw the hope warring with suspicion in his eyes. “How?”
“Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling, what’s on your mind.”
“You’re going to help me by interviewing me for your newspaper?”
Andrea shook her head. “This isn’t about Sports. I just want to help you.”
“Help me do what?”
“Face whatever’s bothering you. That’s the first step toward your recovery, being able to admit you have a problem.”
Barron shoved his sunglasses back onto his face. “Yeah. Sure. And if you happen to get your story while you’re helping me, it’s all good. Right? Wrong. I don’t trust you.”
“I know what’s bothering you, but you have to admit it to yourself.”
Barron barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re good. You pretend something’s wrong with me. Then you try to sucker me into telling you exactly what it is so you can slap your byline on the story.”
Andrea moved closer to him, taking hold of Barron’s forearm to prevent him from moving away from her. “I’m not trying to trick you. I promise.”
Barron looked from her hand on his forearm to her face. “You expect me to believe you’re doing this for my sake?”
“No.” Andrea held onto his gaze, willing him to believe her. “I’m doing this for my sake.”
Uncertainty flashed across Barron’s dark face before his features hardened. “Nobody does anything for anyone for free.” He shook off her hand and marched into the arena. This time, Andrea let him go. What could she do to get through to him? He wasn’t ready to talk about the reason for his erratic behavior.
Andrea checked her wristwatch. Barron may not want her help, at least not yet. But there was another Monarchs employee who might.
Minutes later, Andrea stood in front of Constance Street’s desk. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”
Constance stopped typing. Her green eyes filled with suspicion. “Why?”
Andrea spied the New York Daily News’s Apartments for Rent section neatly folded in a corner. “My friend, Faith, and I are looking for a roommate to help with the rent. Our last roommate just got married and moved out.”
Suspicion became uncertainty. “I have a three-year-old daughter. I can’t see two young, single women welcoming a toddler who isn’t theirs into their apartment.”
Andrea quirked a brow. “You make us sound like swingers. We’re actually pretty boring. But it’s just a dinner invitation to get to know each other. No commitments.”
Constance stared at her keyboard. “I don’t know.”
Andrea stepped closer to her desk, needing to persuade this single mother of modest means to accept her help. “It’s just dinner. Faith is a great cook. I’ll pick you and Tiffany up at the shelter after work.”