Connell (Carolina Reapers Book 3)

by Samantha Whiskey

  Cocky Scotsman.

  A warm chill soared over my skin at just how wrong I’d been. At just how much Connell had taught me over the last few months.

  Not solely about sex and pleasure, either, but about life. About laughing and letting go and not taking things as seriously as I had. He’d loosened me up in a way I never knew I needed. And the friendship? Sweet mercy, that man made me laugh. And he listened, really listened instead of just waiting for me to stop talking. He cared, took an interest in what was important to me, and good lord the man could wear the hell out of a brown jumpsuit. And I mirrored his enthusiasm for digging deep to the roots of what was important to him too—a perfect balance between us.

  I turned the corner, hunting for a loaf of bread, and smiling like an idiot.

  I loved that man.

  I wanted to marry that man.

  The shock of the truth in that thought pulsed through me like a lightning strike. It was enough to pause my search for bread, and there was little I loved more than carbs.

  My eyes glistened slightly, but I blinked the happy tears away and shook my head. It was way too soon to think about marriage, but I couldn’t help it. I was tragically, helplessly in love with Connell.

  I took a deep breath, slowing the giddy thoughts of our future together.

  One step at a time.

  A pang of loneliness hit me as I gathered the rest of my groceries. I hadn’t seen him in days. Joy of away games. Though, the distance did create a sort of charged anticipation that buzzed the entirety of the separation. It made it that much sweeter when he came home.

  Finally checking off each item on my list, I headed toward the registers, but Lacy darted into my path, her cart forgotten feet behind her. I tilted my head at her frantic look.

  “Lacy?” I asked, rounding my cart to touch her shoulder. “Is everything all right? Don okay?” My heart raced at the pain in her eyes.

  She opened her mouth, then shut it as she scanned my face.

  “What is it?”

  “You haven’t seen it,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Seen what?”

  She pressed her lips together before shaking her head. “Nothing. Not…a thing. Let’s get out of here.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling like the floor beneath my feet tilted.

  “Lacy, what in the world is going on?” My patience left me, replaced with a hollowing panic I couldn’t understand.

  “I was just here to grab a few things, then Don messaged me a funny meme, and then that led to some unintentional scrolling through social media. And I saw…I read…” she huffed. “Then I saw you and figured you’d already read it…oh, Annabelle, I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around me, but I quickly shoved her off.

  “Is someone in my family hurt?” I quickly asked. “Because I’m clearly oblivious to what you’re talking about.”

  “Everyone is fine…” she said, eyes dropping to the cell phone in her hand.

  I reached a palm toward her. “Show me.”

  She hesitated. “Let’s go to your place first.”

  I rolled my eyes, snatching her cell from her. “Honestly, Lacy, I know you get wrapped up in social gossip but what could possibly merit this reaction—”

  The floor completely dropped from beneath my feet, my stomach flying with it.

  Because there, on her cell phone screen, was Connell. He stared at me from the website showing the cover of Charleston’s top men’s magazine, with the headline:

  Defenseman for the Carolina Reapers, Connell MacDhuibh admits to infidelity and shallow standards for what he prefers in a woman.

  I don’t remember scrolling down to read the article, but suddenly there were words and my eyes were widening at the pictures of Connell with numerous, gorgeous women. In lingerie. In a hotel room. Models. Picture perfect social stars.

  “This can’t be right,” I said as Lacy placed a supportive hand on my back. “They had to get these pictures from months ago. Years ago.”

  But no, there was the tie I’d given him last month.

  My mouth went dry, my stomach churning with acid. Lacy’s cell trembled between my fingers as I read the article, read the quotes gathered from Connell himself. Read how he’d responded to questions about the romantic lifestyle of a Reaper.

  “We all fuck around on the road because our relationships are only to keep our beds warm at home and raise our kids, and hey, it’s not cheating if you’re in a different area code. I mean, what bampot could possibly resist all the beautiful women throwing themselves at us, right?”

  Fuck, it even sounded like him. Not the content that shredded my soul, but the way he worded it, I could almost hear his accent rolling around the words. Understood the Scottish slang word for idiot because he’d said it countless times before. Hear the confident and playful tone in his voice.

  My eyes darted from the article and up, realizing I now had the attention of every single person in the grocery store—George, the cashier, the customers, the bag boy.

  “I’m an idiot,” I whispered more to myself, my heart pounding as I looked at Lacy, then past her.

  Every single person looked at me with pity in their eyes.

  Sweat slicked my palms, heat rushing up my neck and to my cheeks.

  My entire body shook from the mortification, from the judgment in their eyes.

  It’s happening again.

  Everyone saw it before you.

  “Lacy,” I said, my voice cracking as I barely held back the tears. “I…I have to go.” I backed away from my cart, no longer caring about the contents inside.

  “I know,” she said, nodding. “I’ll grab these.” She nodded to my cart. “I’ll bring them by in a few.”

  I nodded my thanks and sprinted out the glass doors, tears already streaming from my eyes before I’d even gotten behind the wheel of my car.

  By sheer will I made it home, and locked the door behind me, instantly slumping to the floor.

  Connell had played me for a damned fool.

  All the doubts I had, all the fears I’d expressed…he’d hushed them, shooed them away. Assured me with kisses and accent drenched words that they weren’t merited.

  And I’d been dumb enough to believe him.

  Anger flared hot in my chest, not at him but at me.

  Because I was the one who fell.

  I was the one who allowed myself to love a man who couldn’t possibly remain mine alone.

  How could he? With the lifestyle he lived?

  Like I’d said from the beginning.

  Did he think I’d never find out? Did he care?

  You know better.

  Some deep, wounded voice in the back of my head argued for him, begged me to call him.

  I clenched my cell in my hand, his number up and ready.

  But I locked my screen, my heart aching at the photo there.

  He should’ve been honest with me. I told him from the beginning we didn’t need to be serious. We didn’t need to push it that direction.

  A summer convenience until the season started.

  Well, it’d started now.

  And he was gone, doing God knew what.

  Disgust rolled through my body at the too-ready images that flashed in my mind—Connell and all those beautiful women. Did they laugh about me? Did they joke about the curvy woman who thought she held his love?

  I raked my palms over my face, forcing the tears away.

  Hours later, long after Lacy had kindly dropped off my groceries and hugged me, I walked into Scythe.

  The place was crammed wall-to-wall in customers draped in their Reaper best, the game up on all the TV screens. I ignored those, heading straight to the bar. I needed my best friend. Needed Echo to help me figure out what to do about the situation, but she was swamped with customers on the other end of the bar, so I took my seat and waited.

  The second she was free, she hurried over to me. “Okay, this can’t be true,” she said, foregoing a greet
ing.

  I’d texted her the links to all the articles before I’d come over.

  “Pretty hard to deny, Echo.” I sighed. “It sounds like him.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “I mean not what he said,” I clarified. “That was an ugly shock.” I swallowed hard. “But his voice. It’s his.”

  “You have to call him,” Echo said, and I gaped at her.

  “I don’t want to speak to him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You need to confront him with this. Hear his side—”

  “His side?” I cut her off. “You think I need to listen to him explain why he thinks cheating outside of zip codes isn’t considered cheating? That I want to hear him explain that he prefers his women on the road rail-thin and easily tossed around?” I choked on the last words, and Echo immediately poured me a vodka tonic, sliding the glass in front of me.

  I gulped the contents down in three swallows, using the time to collect my breath. I would not cry in public.

  “I know, babe,” Echo said, leaning close to me. “But it doesn’t add up.”

  “Doesn’t it?” I shook my head. “I said it from the start.” I shrugged. “I’m more mad at myself for ever thinking differently. After Atlanta...I should’ve known better. Should have—”

  “Hey!” A customer called from the end of the bar. “Can we get some drinks down here please!”

  “Calm your tits, Stan!” Echo hollered back, and the old man pursed his lips at her. “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I nodded, fiddling with my now empty glass.

  “Omigod, Annabelle.” Blaire’s voice sounded just before she squeezed past another bar-goer and settled in the seat next to me. “I saw it all over my feed on the plane ride home from Atlanta,” she said, her hand on my back. “How are you handling this?”

  I parted my lips, but no words escaped.

  Obviously, I wasn’t handling it too fucking well.

  “That’s okay,” she said when I didn’t answer. “This kind of thing happens a lot, and believe you and me, you are going to make him pay.” She raised her brows, her lips shaping like she’d sucked a lemon.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You have to go public,” she said, setting her phone on the bar. “What have you collected on him? Anything we can use?”

  I tilted my head. “Collected?”

  She huffed. “Yeah, pictures. Records. Things he admitted to you about his past?”

  I shook my head.

  “You’ve been with him for this long and you didn’t collect one single thing you could use against him if something like this happened?”

  I gaped at her like she was from another planet.

  She waved me off. “That’s okay,” she said. “Unfortunate, but we can make something up.”

  “Make something up?” I repeated like some sort of confused parrot.

  “Yes. We’ll come up with the best, most heart-wrenching story. Oh!” She smacked my shoulder. “We could say he bought your ostriches from the black market or something. People will hate him for that.”

  “No—”

  “And then,” she cut me off. “You can tell him you’ll only retract the story if he pays you compensation for your time and pain.”

  “You’re joking right?” I asked, looking from her and then back to Echo who made her way toward us.

  “Like hell I am,” she said. “You deserve to make him pay. Now, let’s roll with this ostrich story, ‘kay? Trust me, they’ll hate him. His PR rep will totally tell him to pay you to take it down. It’ll be magic.” She reached for her cell on the bar, but Echo snatched it up first.

  “Echo!” Blaire chided.

  “I don’t know where the fuck you get off spouting this poison to my friend, but you sure as hell aren’t doing it in my bar.” Echo glared at her.

  Blaire narrowed her gaze. “Don’t pretend like we aren’t the same, Echo,” she snapped. “You’d do the same thing if Sawyer did this to you.”

  Echo rolled her eyes.

  “You would! We have to protect ourselves. These Reapers are primed for two things—heartbreak and fame.”

  “And we can clearly tell which one you value most, you piece of trash.” Echo tossed Blaire’s cell at her chest, and she scrambled to catch it. “Get the fuck out of my bar.”

  Blaire opened her mouth to protest but Echo cut her off with a raised brow. Blaire raised her chin, spun off the chair, and clicked out of the bar.

  I turned to Echo, my eyes wide. “Poor Logan.”

  Echo shook her head. “Doubt he even knows.”

  “I didn’t know,” I said. “She’s always been nice to me.”

  “Well,” Echo said, leaning against the bar. “Shit like this shows people’s true colors.”

  I nodded.

  “So, what are you going to do?” She asked, her voice softer in the loud bar.

  My heart, what was left of the broken pieces, cringed at the question. I wanted to call Connell. Wanted him to tell me it was all a lie, but my survival instincts had kicked in the moment I read the article. The moment I saw the pity and judgment in everyone’s eyes as they witnessed my downfall. My walls rebuilding, reinforcing. Pulling the pieces of myself back together so I could withstand this heavy a fallout.

  “Can I have another drink?” I asked instead of answering her.

  She sighed, but gave me a generous pour.

  I scooped up the glass, raising it to her in thanks, and in a silent pledge to sit here and drink until I could no longer feel the pain.

  17

  Connell

  “Did you get ahold of her?” Logan asked, coming to sit next to me on the wide leather couch that held down the far wall of the first class lounge in Chicago O’Hare.

  “No,” I answered, looking at my cell phone like it would hold the answers.

  “Weird. Did you try texting?”

  “Yeah.” I thumbed through at least twelve unanswered texts. The last she’d replied to was this morning, and nothing had been wrong.

  Was this one of those girl moments where they said everything was fine, but really they were secretly plotting your death?

  “Did you do something to piss her off?” Logan raised his eyebrows.

  I scoured my memory, trying to think of something—anything that would explain what the hell was going on back in Charleston. “I can’t think of a single thing, honestly. Maybe her cell phone died?”

  He looked away and nodded slowly. “Right. Her cell phone died and that’s why she hasn’t answered a call or a text in the last seven hours. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe a bird got out at the reserve.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure it’s nothing. I just wanted to tell her we’d been delayed.” We’d been delayed again and again and again.

  “We can’t really control the weather,” Logan said with a shrug.

  “You get through to Blaire?”

  “Yeah. She said something about Echo going off on her, but I’m not getting in the middle of it. I mean, Echo is pregnant and hormonal and Blaire can be… a little overdramatic.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked across the room to where Sawyer sat with Axel and Lukas.

  Cannon plopped down in the overstuffed armchair opposite our couch and pulled out a book.

  “But everything is good there?” I asked.

  Cannon looked up quizzically.

  “I was asking Logan about Blaire,” I explained.

  He grunted and went back to his book.

  “Yeah, I mean, I think so. Don’t get me wrong, she drives me batshit crazy with some things, but when it comes down to it, she puts up with our schedules and my shit, which we all know can’t be easy.”

  “She wasn’t complaining when she dropped thirty-five k of your money on a handbag,” Cannon said without even looking up from the pages.

  “Okay, that was…” Logan sighed. “That was utterly fucking ridiculous, but when push comes to shove, I guess it was important to her and it was within my means to
give it to her, so why not?”

  “Because you didn’t give it to her, she gave it to herself?” Cannon suggested.

  Logan’s head tilted.

  I flattened my lips and looked anywhere but at him.

  “Connell gave Annabelle a hundred grand in fucking ostriches and you have a problem with thirty-five?” Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Holy shit. Listen to what I’m saying.” Cannon put his book down with obvious annoyance. “Connell gave his woman a hundred grand worth of birds. While insane and maybe a little psycho, that was a choice he made. Your woman bought herself a thirty-five thousand dollar purse on your credit card. There’s a difference.”

  “She loves me,” Logan said quietly. “And that money was nothing. A drop in the bucket. So what does it matter if it makes her happy?”

  “She loves your social media following,” Cannon muttered.

  “Don’t fucking go there,” Logan snapped, then turned to me. “Do you feel the same?”

  Oh, bloody hell. “Why are you dragging me into this?”

  “Because I want your opinion!”

  “Look, if anyone said something even remotely off-color about Annabelle, I’d rip their heart out and shoot it at the net. I’m not going to say shit about your girlfriend, that’s for sure.” I leaned back and prayed for a miracle. For the weather to clear so we could take off, or for lightning to strike me dead. Immediately. Right fucking now. Anything to get out of this conversation.

  “Okay, I’m giving you a free pass.” Logan pinned me with narrowed eyes.

  “There’s no such thing as a free pass. No matter if you say it’s a free pass or not, you’ll remember exactly what I said. And then you’ll marry her and it will be really fucking awkward at your wedding when you remember that I said something, and even when I tell you that you said I had a free pass, it won’t bloody matter!”

  “He’s right,” Cannon said, tapping his fingers along his jaw. “However, I have no such problem telling you what I think.”

  “Already noted,” Logan retorted.

  “Let’s try this a little differently,” I suggested. “Is there anything about the lass that worries you?”