After the doctor escorted them outside, via the back doors, Duke and Willis found Roland and Aaron waiting at the end of the alley, anonymous behind the tinted windows of an SUV. As father and son ducked into the back, Roland twisted in the passenger seat, appraising Duke. “So?” The retired player asked. “Does it feel better? You good, bro?”

Duke refused to meet his eyes. “Let’s just go.”

“Where am I taking you? Home?” his agent asked, anxiety in his voice.

No one answered him.

Chapter Nineteen

Angel was refilling glove and sanitary lotion stations when she saw the doctor drift down the hall, toward the back doors, holding a briefcase. Trying to stop herself, she peeked into Duke’s room, only to find it empty. He had not stopped to say good-bye.

Typical male. Got what he needed and left. So glad I could be here for him.

Terrified of what was expected of her the next day, she wanted to leave, too, and never come back. But she was going to have to pull up her big-girl panties and face the doctor sometime.

I want to keep my panties on, though, she thought miserably. She had a choice, sure, but it wasn’t a good one.

She was sitting at the nurse’s station, filling out paperwork, when her pager went off. It was Dr. Collins. She was to be at his office at nine a.m. the next day.

A few hours later, Angel begged Theresa to cover her. The doctor was gone, but her stomach would not quit rolling. When her feet hit the sidewalk outside, she almost cried in relief.

Her final exams were to start on Monday, assuming she made it through tomorrow. If Dr. Collins didn’t sign off on her practicum, she would not have to worry about next week. She’d have failed the program. And if the doctor was provoked enough to fail her, he’d probably also give the press the real details about her and Duke—and Jose.

Twenty minutes later, she opened the door to House of Beauty, intent on closing herself up in her apartment. The salon was quiet, only Latisha and Gabriela working. Latisha was in the back, giving an elderly blind woman from the neighborhood a perm and telling her racy stories about the people on the block.

The only other customer was in Gabriela’s chair.

“Valgame Dios!” Angel blinked, to be sure her tired eyes hadn’t given up. “Oh my God,” she repeated. “What are you doing here?”

Duke sat with a black apron tented over his long body, his green eyes shining under the lights, not dimmed by a hat brim. Gabriela trimmed his curls, moving her hands as if handling spun glass.

“Angel.” He started to stand, but Gabriela put a hand on his chest and pushed him back.