Текст книги "The Game Plan"

Автор книги: Kristen Callihan

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Dex

Has a flight ever been so fucking slow? By the time I land, I’m nearly out of my mind. Usually I’m careful of my size, wary of accidentally bumping into someone and sending them flying. Today, I use it in my favor, shouldering my way past slow-moving people.

My insides are rolling so hard I have to swallow several times to avoid being sick. It didn’t matter that I contacted my phone provider and reported my phone stolen. The damage was already done. Because I’m the stupid, lazy ass who didn’t use password protection. I’m the one who let some spiteful, desperate girl slip out of my room with my phone, and she sold the pictures on there to the tabloids.

And it isn’t just pictures she sold, but text messages between Fi and me. Personal thoughts are now fodder for the world. But those pictures. Fi, my girl, the person I care about most, displayed as if she’s nothing more than a thing.

It makes me so insane I can’t see straight. It doesn’t matter that I have lawyers on my side, threatening to sue, ordering take downs. The pictures are out, and the Internet is forever.

The world has seen Fiona exposed. I fucking hate that. I cannot stand the idea of guys looking at her that way. Not without her permission, without her consent.

A snarling noise comes from deep inside of me. And it’s all I can do not to start screaming or fucking crying. Because it’s my fault. All my fault.

The taxi drive is even worse. The motherfucker recognizes me.

“Hey, man! You’re Ethan Dexter!”

Like I don’t know my own fucking name. I ball my fists and push them hard into my thighs. Hard enough to stress the muscles there. Go. Just Go. Get me to Fi.

“You really a virgin, man?” Clueless fuck who’s about to get pummeled chuckles. “Well, not anymore, eh? That’s some sweet piece—”

“Say another word and you’ll lose your tongue,” I snap.

The cabbie blanches, his eyes bugging out. Hell. He might throw me out of the cab, and I’ll be stuck on the side of the fucking highway while Fi suffers. I force myself to breathe.

“That’s my lady you’re talking about, all right?”

The cabbie nods, his gaze darting between me and the road in front of him. “Yeah, man. That’s cool. Uh…no disrespect meant.”

I grind my teeth, trying to calm. “If you could just get me home as quickly as possible.”

“Sure, man. Sure. No problem.”

With that, my talkative cabbie speeds up.

I expected Ivy and Gray to be at my house; I gave Gray the passcode. They’d been closer to Fi. Gray was playing a game in Atlanta, and Ivy had been visiting her Dad with the baby. What I did not expect, though I probably should have, was Fi and Ivy’s dad, Sean Mackenzie—my co-agent with Ivy—to be here.

Shit.

He does not look pleased.

Sean, or Big Mac, as a lot of us call him, used to play point in the NBA. Six-foot-seven if an inch, he’s long-limbed and gaunt like some sort of modern day Abe Lincoln. He also has a fierce glare that says he’ll gladly tear me a new one. At this moment, I might not give a shit, but he’s Fi’s dad. If I have it my way, he’ll be in my life for as long as we’re alive, which means I’d rather be on his good side.

He doesn’t wait for me to set my bag down before launching an attack. “What the fuck did you do, Dexter?” He takes a step forward as if he might throw a punch.

Gray steps in too. “Easy there, Sean.”

Sean glares and swings his gaze back to me. “I asked you a question.”

“I fucked up.” And it guts me.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

My gaze slides past him to Ivy, who is pale and unusually quiet. “Fi? She here? Is she…” Shit. I can’t get the words out. Regret is an agony crushing my chest.

She gives me a nod and gestures toward the stairs. “She’s sleeping.”

My bag hits the ground and I move.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Sean snaps.

“Where I’m needed most.” I don’t look back. “You can bawl me out later.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Fi

The bedroom is dim and cool, the covers heavy and warm. I love this bed. It’s big, the mattress firm yet plush on top, the bedding soft and brilliant white. Ethan’s bed. Our bed. But it smells of him, spice and warm.

I hug a pillow close and sigh. But the snick of the door opening has me tense. Light angles across the bed then fades as the door gently shuts. I hug the pillow closer, trying to keep it together as Ethan walks in. I don’t have to see him to know. He’s in my blood now. I’m as aware of him as my own breathing.

The bed creaks and he sinks into it, pulling the pillow free and gathering me into his arms. I flow into his embrace, a sob breaking free despite my best effort.

“Ethan.” I wrap myself around him, clinging tight.

“Cherry, baby.” His hold is so hard it aches. I love it. He holds me like he’s trying to make me part of his body—strong, capable, a sentinel against all the shit the world has thrown at us. His hands stroke my hair, my back, everywhere he can touch.

“Darlin’,” he whispers. “Cherry…I…” A ragged breath tears out of him and he shakes. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I cling to him, fisting his hair. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he snaps, low and angry. He takes a deep breath that ruffles my hair. “It was my fault. I let you down.”

He sounds so broken that I turn my head and kiss the sweaty crook of his neck, feeling his throat move as he swallows.

“What happened?” I ask.

Ethan swallows again, another tremor running through him. His lips press against my head as he takes deep, hard breaths. And I’m afraid. What has he done?

When he begins to tell me what happened, I’m no longer afraid. I’m enraged. It runs through me like wildfire, heating my blood and setting my heart racing.

He finishes on a garbled sigh, his head sinking as if he can no longer hold it up.

I lean back to face him, touching his cheek so he lifts his head. His bleak expression hurts to see. “You want to hear the fucked up thing?” I ask.

He frowns. “What?”

“My brain stalled out at the naked woman in your bed.”

A sad smile drifts across his face. “That was the least important part of the whole story, Cherry.”

“I know. But I have this mad urge to hunt her down and punch her in the tit.”

Ethan laughs as if he can’t help it. “Her tit? That’s…oddly specific.”

I shrug. “I’m not thinking very rationally at the moment.” My eyes begin to water again. “I guess I have tits on the brain.”

As if the word tit flips a switch, I start to cry, an outright bawl that has my chest heaving. Ethan curses and pulls me tight against his body once more. “Fi…angel, baby…” He murmurs endearments as he strokes my back, runs his fingers through my hair.

Gently he rocks me as we lie in bed and I cry.

“You’re killing me, Fi,” he whispers brokenly.

“I know.” My breath hitches. “I just can’t seem to stop.”

I want to pull it together, get on with life, and forget all of the shit. But it doesn’t work that way. I have an endless supply of tears and rage.

His embrace goes tighter, near the point of pain, but I welcome it, want him to hold me this way forever. He nuzzles my temple. “Then cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

Strange thing is, the moment he gives me permission to let loose, I calm. After a while, my body stops shaking and feels heavy with fatigue.

Ethan never stops caressing me. My nose is pressed into the center of his chest. I breathe in his scent and clutch his shirt.

When he speaks again, his voice rough and cracked as if he too has been crying. “Gray texted me a joke the other day. Want to hear it?”

“Knowing Gray’s terrible jokes, probably not. But okay.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “What do you call a cow with no legs?”

I caress his waist where muscles ripple. “What?”

“Ground beef.”

We’re both silent for a moment, then I burst out laughing. “God, that’s just wrong.”

“It’s terrible.” Ethan turns to his side and touches my cheek. “But it made you laugh. That’s all I care about.” Pain and regret darken his eyes. “I want to fix this, Fi. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.”

For a guy like Ethan, being helpless must burn. I can feel it in the way his muscles keep bunching and releasing, as if his entire body wants to act, lash out.

My gaze drifts past him, focusing on a distant point, and my voice comes out hollow. “Thing is, Ethan, you can’t.”

I know it doesn’t sit well with him. He’s scowling like he wants to punch something. I empathize. But for the first time, I really don’t care. I’ve lost the ability, it seems.

Dex

As soon as I tell Fi her dad is here, she sits up like a shot, her eyes wide, and her hair sticking up at odd angles. She looks heartbreakingly beautiful and completely freaked out.

“Mother fuck.” Hauling her little ass out of bed, she pads to the bathroom and starts washing her face. “Just fuck it all. I do not want to face Dad right now.”

I get up and follow as she starts to put makeup on with a deft hand. I have no idea how she doesn’t poke herself in the eye with that mascara wand thing. Regardless of the situation, watching Fi make herself up is fascinating. It’s such a private thing, and I get to witness it.

“Well, he’s here, and I don’t think he plans on going anywhere,” I say as she dabs some sort of ivory cream under her eyes. “Why are you putting on makeup, anyway? You look perfect.”

She huffs. “I’m a freaking mess. I’m not facing my dad looking like I’ve been crying.”

A heavy weight sits on my heart. “But you have. There’s no shame in that.” Fuck, I want to cry too. And that’s the truth. It took all I had not to sob right along with her. I feel so fucking helpless right now, I want to punch a hole in the wall.

I cross my arms over my chest and clench my fists so I don’t do just that.

Fi flits past me, going to the dresser to pull out a clean shirt. “Well, I am ashamed.” Her face twists. “He probably saw pictures of me naked, Ethan.”

I duck my head and follow her out.

As expected, Sean is waiting in the living room. He bolts up as soon as we enter, his attention solely on his daughter. “Fiona, honey…” He takes two steps, as if he wants to hug her, but Fi’s body language is stiff, and she backs up, bumping into me.

I let her rest against my chest, but I don’t put a hand on her either. It’s clear that physical comfort is the last thing she wants right now.

“Hey, Dad.” Her pained gaze goes to Ivy and Gray, who are also standing—baby Leo secured in his sling against Gray’s chest. “Hey.”

Ivy glances around. “I’m going to make some coffee. Gray’s going to help.”

“I made soup for later,” Gray tells us, then clears his throat and abruptly turns to follow Ivy into the kitchen. More like runs out of the room. I can’t blame him.

Fi looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole, and Sean has turned his attention to me. I’m pretty sure I’d be dead on the floor if he had his way.

“I want to know what the fuck happened, Dexter,” he demands. “Why did some bimbo have your phone?”

From the kitchen I hear Gray say, “Bimbo?” and then grunt. I’m pretty sure Ivy elbowed him. Resisting the urge to run my hand over my beard, I tell Sean what happened.

Even though she’s already heard the story, Fi’s body grows stiffer and stiffer as I speak. I know I’m causing her more embarrassment, and I mentally curse the little gold-digger who stole my phone and sold our privacy.

Sean glances as Fi again. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’ve already sent out a cease and desist order.”

“Which is utterly useless,” she says in a dead voice. “The damage is done.”

“Damn right it is,” Sean snaps, glaring at me. “Of all the fucking moronic, idiotic, stupid, fucking, brainless—”

“Dad, stop,” Fi cuts in with a hard tone. “Yelling at Ethan won’t change anything.”

“It’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I trusted you to protect her.”

“I know,” I manage past the lump in my throat. “You aren’t saying anything I’m not saying to myself.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Fi says. She sounds remote, her gaze lackluster. “It was that opportunistic bimbo’s doing. Let it go.”

Sean runs a hand through his hair. “Look, why don’t you pack a bag? Come back to New York while this blows over.”

At that, my hands grasp Fi’s shoulders. “Like hell.”

“You don’t get a say anymore, Dexter. Not after you fucked up her life.”

The truth of his words is an ugly blow but not enough to keep me quiet. “I appreciate that you are upset, Sean, but there’s no way I’m letting you take Fi out of here. I’m not letting her face this alone.”

He growls in disgust. “Because you’ve done such a fine job of caring for her so far?”

Fi shrugs out of my grip, stepping away from me. She might as well have ripped my hands off. She doesn’t even look my way as she moves closer to her dad. Away from me. I want to snatch her back, haul her out of this room and back to our bed.

“Dad,” she says with a soft sigh. “I need you to go home.”

He blinks at her like she’s not speaking his language.

Ivy and Gray slowly walk out of the kitchen as if they can’t keep hidden for this. Sean doesn’t notice. “Fiona—”

“I’m sorry,” she cuts in. “I know you want to help. But you being here, saying these things to Ethan. It just makes everything more real. More…humiliating.” Her small hand shakes as she runs it through her hair in a gesture just like her dad’s. “I can’t handle real now, okay? I want to be left alone.”

Her dull gaze slides to Ivy and Gray. “You too. I’m so grateful that you guys came here for me, but now I want you to go.”

Ivy nods, her expression broken. “Okay, Fi. We’ll give you space.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Sean starts, only to be cut off by Fi again.

“Please, Daddy. I can’t.” Her chin quivers, but she stays firm. “I need this. Please go now.”

I feel sorry for the guy; he looks gutted. For a second we all stand there, no one making a sound. And then Sean sighs. “All right, Fiona. I’ll go.”

He moves like the walking wounded, slowly gathering his phone from the table. Gray clears his throat. “We’ll go with you, Sean.”

Ivy looks around as if she suddenly doesn’t know which way is out. “I’ll just… There’s coffee, and I baked you a pecan pie, and…right.” Her gaze goes to Fi, but she doesn’t make any move to hug her as if she knows Fi won’t want it now. “Call me, okay?”

“Okay.” Fi stares at the floor, her body stiff, her arms clutching her middle. She looks so small and defeated, I’m crushed all over again. I murmur my goodbyes but keep my eyes on Fi.

It isn’t until we’re alone in the silent house that I move to hold her. But her hand swipes up, coming between us. “I meant it,” she says. “I want to be alone for a while.”

Leaving her alone goes against every instinct I have. But I do it. Because whatever Fi wants, I’ll give to her.

Chapter Forty

Dex

Walking down the dark tunnel from the locker room toward the bright light of the field beyond is an activity I’ve always paid attention to. I think a lot of guys do. And it sounds crazy, but the imagery is unavoidable—the dawn of a new game, a new opportunity to change your fate, to win.

It’s different at halftime. You can be on top of the world, kicking ass, or lower than sludge, down by horrific numbers, or somewhere in between. In those minutes, those steps between cool darkness and harsh brightness, you make a decision within yourself—quit or to keep fighting.

All the inspirational speeches, tongue lashings, or hand clapping can’t do it for you. It’s something every man has to find in himself. Sure, we’re a team. But no matter how you cut it, a team is made up of individuals, and is only as strong as its weakest link.

I’m almost at the end of the tunnel when it comes to Fi. I can see the light and the possibilities of us. But right now, it’s fucking dark. I’m afraid for her. She’s been battered by this shit, and I don’t know how to fix it.

God, I want to fix it. I want to keep her safe, shelter her from all this ugliness. Just keep her. Forever. She’s mine. Mine to protect.

But I give her the space she asks for. Fucking hate that word now. Space just means I’m alone in my courtyard, and Fi is holed up in our room, napping. That’s all she does now: nap.

And I can’t snap her out of it. She doesn’t want to go out—not that I can blame her. Far too many people recognize her now for all the wrong reasons. It probably isn’t a good idea anyway, considering I’m likely to beat the shit out of someone if they make the wrong remark.

I try to entice her to at least come out of the room, watch a movie, work out with me, anything. Sex is out of the question. She changes in the bathroom and crawls under the covers before I can get near her. She always cuddles close in at night, but if I try to touch her in any way that’s sexual, she freezes.

When I ask what’s wrong, she shakes her head and says the same thing. “I just keep thinking of all those people looking at me naked. It turns my skin, Ethan.”

What can I say to that?

Sitting on my tractor tire, I stare up at the window to our room. I ache for Fi.

It’s fairly cool outside, the air laden with humidity. I feel it in all my joints and along my shins. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s Drew calling.

“Hey, man,” I say as I answer.

“Hey. How’s Fi?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not great. She’s listless, not interested in anything. It’s like she’s just…slipping away, you know?”

“Sounds like she’s depressed.”

“I know that, Battle,” I snap, then sigh. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

I gave a press statement, saying Fi was my serious girlfriend and someone I admired and cared for. The implication being that all the Fi-haters needed to fuck off. It did precisely dick.

Drew’s voice is low. “You need to get her out of the house.”

“She won’t go.”

“Tough love, Dex. Be the guy who kicked my ass every time I moped. You’re the anchor, our Big Daddy, and so on.”

I laugh without much humor. “I really don’t want to play Big Daddy for Fi.”

He laughs too. “Yeah, okay, not that. But the other shit.”

I glance up at the window again. “She’s fragile right now. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”

“You won’t. But that’s kind of the point of tough love, isn’t it? You do what has to be done no matter what.”

No matter what. I push off from my seat on the tire. “I gotta take care of some things,” I tell Drew. “Call you later.”

“Good luck, man.”

I’ll probably need it. I hang up and head into the house.

Fiona

For the most part, I avoid the phone. I answer Violet’s call because I know she won’t give up until we talk, and it’s rude to leave her worried.

“I am going to fucking rip this fucking company wide open,” she promises, her voice shooting through the phone like street justice.

“No, you aren’t,” I tell her sternly. “I won’t have you risking jail time for me. Revenge doesn’t get my pride back.”

“It’s a start.”

“No, Violet. No,” I repeat again because I need her to hear me. “Promise me you won’t touch them. I’ll just worry and be upset if I think you’re breaking the law.”

She huffs, loud and sharp. “Okay. Fine. But I have to do something.” I can hear her nails clack on her desk. “I know! I’m sending you a kickass bag.”

“A bag?”

“A new handbag always makes me feel better. Oh, Prada has the cutest little turquoise clutch. I’m sending you that. My cousin works at Vogue. She can get anything.”

We chat for a while but it exhausts me. I beg off by saying Ethan is home. A lie. But it sounds better than telling her I just don’t have it in me to talk anymore.

A text follows a short time later, one that I can’t ignore. It’s from my old co-worker Alice.

AliceW: Thought this might cheer you up. Elena’s out. Felix gave her the boot this morning.

Me: Get the Papa Smurf out! Why?

AliceW: Apparently her designs for Cecelia Robertson’s apartment ended up being an exact copy of Janice Mark’s new penthouse. Cecelia was humiliated. Which means Felix was too. He’s in the shit now.

I blink at the phone, my mouth hanging open. Holy fuck. Elena used the designs anyway. I’d told her they were bad. Then again, I hadn’t exactly explained why they were bad. Maybe she took my words to mean bad quality.

I wait for the guilt to hit but it doesn’t come. I can only shake my head. Part of me hopes she’s learned her lesson. The other half of me doesn’t give a good ripe grape what happens to her. Once a thief always a thief, I guess.

I answer Alice.

Me: I am agog.

AliceW: Take care of yourself, kid. We (and by that I mean all of us lowly workers) are giving Bloom the finger on your behalf.

Me: Thx. Give everyone (and by that I mean all of you lowly workers) a big hug.

After that revelation, I drift off for a while. Then I call my mother. I can’t help it. All I want to do is sleep, hide under the soft protection of the covers, and I know it isn’t healthy. I know this, and yet I can’t stop doing it. I’ve pushed Ethan away, ignoring the pain in his eyes. Ignoring everything, even the thoughts in my head.

My eyes are gritty from too much crying, and my skin feels swollen, as if I’ll soon split down the middle. I know I’m being maudlin and dramatic. I can’t keep on like this. So I call my mother.

Even as the line rings, I sweat and wonder why I had to turn to Mom. She answers before I can gather the courage to hang up.

“Fiona, darling girl,” she says by way of greeting.

“Hey, Mom.” My voice wobbles, and my eyes smart.

“I was going to call to tell you I’ve booked a flight to see you.”

I clutch my phone. “No. Don’t do that. Please.” I suck in a breath. “It’s harder when I have to face you guys.”

Silence ticks for a beat. “Sean told me you gave him his walking orders. He was quite put out.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, Mom. I just couldn’t deal with…anything.”

“You don’t want to be coddled,” she says. “I understand. More than you know.”

An ugly memory stirs, of Mom taking to her room after dad’s numerous affairs became public. Which was kind of a joke because his cheating surprised absolutely no one, including her. But the public humiliation was too much.

“I don’t know how to get past this,” I tell her, my eyes welling up.

“You just do.” Her voice is soft, soothing. “Time goes on, and things get easier.”

“I tried to go out, but people looked at me…” My stomach clenches, remembering the way the delivery guy seemed to leer at my chest when I’d gone to pay for the carryout Ethan had ordered.

Ethan had stepped in a second later, gently putting me behind him and paying the guy. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. It was obvious to the terrified delivery guy that he was a few seconds away from breathing out of a tube. He took his money and practically sprinted away.

It might feel good to have Ethan to stand over me like a protective bear, but he can’t be there all the time. And he can’t keep people from thinking what they want.

Some jackhole reporter pulled up pictures of me kissing Jaden—that silly stunt that feels like an eternity ago—and now they’re calling me a money chaser, the same type as the woman who made my mom cry and my dad stray. I shouldn’t care what strangers think. It’s a horrifying realization to know that I do.

Mom is talking again, drawing my attention back to the present. “Why don’t you come to London instead?”

“I don’t know…”

“No one here gives a fig about American football. You can relax. We can go Christmas shopping, have hot toddies, perhaps attend a musical.”

It sounds so perfectly lovely that I tear up again and sniffle. I miss my mom. I miss being a kid under her care, when the biggest worry I had was doing my homework on time and whether she’d let me have cookies after school.

Mom’s voice is coaxing, working over me like spun sugar. “Think about it, darling girl.”

I close my eyes and take a breath. “Okay.”