by Ember Dante
I smiled. “Me, too.”
He kissed me then, not a sexual kiss, but a slow, sensual meeting of our mouths. I knew he most likely would not stay with me that night, but his kiss told me he wanted to and I willed myself to be patient. In my heart, I knew he was trying to straighten our path, the one we began in the middle of the journey rather than the beginning, and I loved that about him.
We broke apart and our gazes locked. “I need to go warm up.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us moved. His lips twisted into a half smile. “Will you hang onto my keys for me?”
“Yes.”
We still didn’t move. “I really need to go warm up.”
“Okay. Go warm up.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he pushed gently, moving me back enough so he could stand. Releasing me, he turned and gathered his glove, a hoodie, and a stadium cushion before facing me once more.
“This is just in case you get cold, but you probably won’t, and this is so your gorgeous ass doesn’t get sore sitting on those uncomfortable bleachers.”
“You are too kind, sir.”
He scowled at my sarcasm and locked the Tahoe before taking my hand and leading me toward the bleachers, stopping at the end nearest the dugout. He pulled me into a quick hug and kissed my forehead.
“See you in a bit, Beautiful.”
“Good luck.” I reconsidered. “Wait ... kick ass.”
“I’ll do my best.” He grinned, winking before jogging toward the rest of his teammates. I finally got a look at his fine ass in those pants. Yeah. Just as I imagined.
Friday wouldn’t come soon enough.
Ian was mistaken on two counts. One, Parker wasn’t exaggerating about Ian’s skill as a pitcher. Two, he definitely had his own little set of groupies. Could I blame them? Hell, no. Did I like hearing the shit those chicks said about him throughout the entire game? Hell, no. Did I take perverse pleasure in their grumbling every time Ian called me over to the fence for a quick smooch between innings?
Hell, yes.
The game was finished by ten o’clock, with Ian’s team winning five to one. I didn’t know what ended his baseball career aspirations, but I would hazard a guess Ian could have been up there with all the truly great pitchers—Koufax, Young, Ryan, Clemens, and Johnson, among others. Someday I’d ask him what happened and why he quit playing. Just watching him, I could tell he still loved the game, and he and Parker made a great team. I think I even heard Parker curse a few times when he’d catch a strike. I’d love to know how fast those balls were.
Ian greeted me after the game by bending me backward for a deep, lingering kiss, making the groupies hiss in disappointment. That’s right, ladies. He’s mine.
“Great game. You were awesome, babe,” I said after he stood me upright.
“I wasn’t out there by myself, Beautiful.”
“Take a damn compliment. I could hear their manager bitching about your fastball. Come to think of it, they didn’t like your curveball, either.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not playing Sunday. My shoulder is killing me.”
“I’m sorry.” I frowned. “Want a massage? I can give you one when we get to my place if you want.”
“That’s tempting.”
He changed into his regular sneakers, moving a bit slower than he was before the game.
“Tired?”
“Yeah. I see a hot shower in my immediate future.”
We climbed into the SUV and fought our way out of the lot. Traffic on the Tollway was moving much quicker, and it only took about ten minutes to get back to my apartment. Jules still wasn’t home, but it was possible she’d gone straight to Parker’s when her shift ended. She’d been doing that a lot. Ian killed the engine, and we sat in silence for several minutes.
“Do you want to come up?” I steeled myself for his negative answer, but hoped that he’d decide to hell with it and stay over. Honestly, I didn’t even care if we had sex. I just wanted to sleep beside him.
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “I’ll even toss your clothes in the wash so you can wear them home tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that. I keep a gym bag in the back.”
“Well, I don’t mind. Come in. Stay.”
He nodded slowly as if giving in to some internal argument before grabbing a duffel bag from the back seat. At first, I was concerned he only agreed to appease me, but then it occurred to me that he was still trying to do what he thought was right. At that moment, I didn’t care about what was right. I knew how I felt, and I was pretty sure he felt the same way. I was tired of fighting it. Tyler was right. It happened when it happened.
We walked up the stairs hand in hand, not speaking, and he reluctantly released me so I could unlock the door, but crowded near me as if he needed the contact. I wasn’t sure what changed, but his mood was off. Immediately after the game he was happy and buoyant, but as more time passed, he became quiet, withdrawn—dour, for lack of a better word. Once we got to my bedroom, he dropped his bag on the floor. For a moment, he looked like a lost little boy, and I didn’t know how to handle that Ian.
“Give me your clothes, and I’ll toss them in the wash while you shower.”
He didn’t argue as he undressed quickly, gathered his clothes, and brought them to me. “Thanks, babe. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
I left him in peace, unnerved by the massive decline in his demeanor and the unknown reason behind it. The only thing that came to mind was baseball, but I had no idea how that would propel him into such a funk. By the time I returned to the bedroom, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, checking his phone. I rested beside him and ruffled his still damp hair, eliciting a contented sigh as he leaned into me.
“Is it okay if I sleep on this side? My shoulder still hurts, and I don’t want to turn my back to you.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” My fingers smoothed the curls from his forehead. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head and twisted his lips into an ironic smile. There was a deep sadness in his eyes that made my heart ache.
“Ian, please tell me what’s wrong.”
Placing his phone on the bedside table, he hunched forward and rested his elbows on his knees. My hand trailed from his head down his back to stop just above the waistband of his boxer briefs. The fingers of his left hand skimmed across his right forearm, and at first, I thought it was another nervous gesture, but as I continued to watch his movement, I realized he was actually tracing a faint scar that began above his wrist and ended just shy of his elbow. I’d never noticed it before.
“This and a blown shoulder are the reasons I had to quit playing,” he explained, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Unsure if he expected a response, I caressed the length of his back before prompting him further. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
He emitted a ragged sigh that sounded as if it came from the depths of his soul. His fingers stopped their movement to form a fist, squeezing so tightly his arm began to shake. My free hand lay on his thigh, an additional source of comfort. Blowing out a breath, he let go, flexing his hand several times before threading his fingers through mine.
“It was summer, the end of my sophomore year at UT. I was twenty and somewhat of an asshole. Maybe arrogant is a better word. I probably believed my own press a little too much, and I think this was Karma’s way of paying me back for that, among other things.”
“You were young. What could you possibly have done that made you feel you would deserve that?”
“It’s stupid, I know,” he mumbled with a shake of his head. “My father was a county judge at the time and had several powerful friends. Still does. As the oldest, I always looked out for my brothers. Finn because he needed me, and Mason because Dad demanded it. He had Mason’s future all mapped out, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. When I was younger, I never considered go
ing against his wishes, but by that summer, it just pissed me off. There I was, poised for a career in pro ball, and I’m charged with keeping my cocky sixteen-year-old brother out of trouble. I took a lot of heat for that kid over the years, and told more than a few lies to do so.” He tilted his head enough to glance my way. “The only lies I’ve ever told have been on his behalf.” His head swiveled to face the floor, and his right hand scraped over the whiskers covering his jaw. “Through it all, there was dear old dad to clean up any legal issues that arose—a gift for allowing my father to manipulate me.”
I had so many questions about what little he just told me, but I held my tongue and gave him time to tell it his way. He had yet to meet my gaze, but tightened his grip on my hand.
“But I let Mason down the one night he truly needed me. He and his best friend, Brad, wanted to go to a graduation party for our friend Todd. Our families have been friends for as long as I can remember. Mason drove there, and since he and Brad were already more than a little drunk, I forced him to give me his keys so I could drive us home. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he gave me Brad’s keys instead. The boys slipped out when I wasn’t looking and left without me. Todd’s older brother, Jason, offered to help look for them, so I rode with him. By the time we caught up to them, the car was rolling into a pasture. It was bad—it’s a miracle they survived. Dad was beside himself. Not because Mason could have been killed, but because a DWI would ruin his chances at getting into Harvard. He wanted me to say I had been driving because I’d only had a couple drinks, and should have been safely under the legal limit. I wouldn’t have to worry about a DWI conviction.”
“How did he expect that to work? Mason was driving.” His weak laugh matched the look on his face, and pure horror flooded my body. I didn’t want to know, but at the same time, I had to know what happened. “Ian?”
Turning toward me, he lifted his right arm, twisting it so the scar was more visible. “Both bones, broken in two places. Five hours in surgery, four titanium plates, twenty screws. Add to that a broken nose, bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and torn rotator cuff.”
I opened my mouth, clamped it shut again, then asked the question I was afraid I already knew the answer to. “Your father did that to you?”
“No, no. He orchestrated it,” he sighed. “The details don’t matter as much as the fact that he sacrificed my future so that Mason could have his. He and his friends paid all the first responders to go along with the story, and we filed a false insurance claim that I was the driver. Neither Mason nor Brad was conscious, so they believed what we told them.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath. “That was the night I learned to hate my father.”
“What happened tonight? You seemed so happy during and right after the game.”
“It just reminds me of what I lost. Sometimes it’s a little harder to deal with.”
“Why keep playing and putting yourself through that if it makes you feel that way?”
“I love the game. I’ll take what I can get.”
Things were starting to make sense. “Why couldn’t you sleep the other night when you were here?”
His right hand found the back of his neck, squeezing the flesh in that familiar nervous tick. “Bad dream.”
“About that?”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I climbed into his lap and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. It only took a moment before he returned my embrace, holding me tight against him, his face buried in the curve of my shoulder. We sat like that for several minutes before he finally broke the silence.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Why are you apologizing?”
He didn’t look up. “I started to go home so you wouldn’t have to put up with me like this. I know I’m not in the best mood.”
“I’m glad you stayed. I wanted you here. I don’t care if you’re a little surly.”
That irreverent comment earned a soft laugh. “Parker is the only other person I’ve told about that night.”
“I won’t say anything.” I backed away slightly so he could see my face. “I know I haven’t met your father, but I hate him already.”
“Sometimes I hate myself for acquiescing to his demands. I wouldn’t fault you for feeling the same. I should have stood up to him much, much sooner.”
I framed his face with my hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Hate is the last thing I could ever feel for you.”
He offered me a weak smile before kissing the tip of my nose. “Can we talk more about this later? I’m really tired.”
It was emotional fatigue, but I wouldn’t argue with his need for sleep. “Sure. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
He was in bed when I returned, and for a moment I thought he was already asleep, but he pulled me to him, spooning behind me as soon as I slipped between the sheets. He didn’t say a word. He just placed tender kisses over my shoulder and held me close. Sleep began to pull me under its spell, and my last wakeful thought was what an unconscionable human being Connor Walsh must be.
12
Emmy
I tossed and turned all night, haunted by Ian’s revelations about his father. By the time I got to work, I was a little curious, and a lot pissed off. Any man who would allow his child to suffer the way Ian had suffered was beyond evil. I hadn’t been lying when I’d said I already hated the man.
As soon as I’d completed my early morning tasks, I opened a browser window and typed Connor’s name into the search box and hesitated, knowing I wouldn’t be able to go back once I’d started down the path toward knowledge.
Did I really want to know more? Yes, of course I did, but should I? Would I technically be snooping and invading Ian’s privacy? I couldn’t decide. I tried to rationalize things by telling myself I was being proactive in the event Kyle really had learned more about Ian and his family through his own research.
Wasn’t it true that forewarned was forearmed?
I drew in a deep breath and pressed Enter, catapulting myself past the point of no return. The initial results didn’t get me anywhere, so I added District Judge and searched again.
Jackpot.
There were at least ten pages of search results, so I started working my way down the list. Several sites covered basic biographical information, including birthplace (Houston), an undergrad degree in science and a Juris Doctor, both from the University of Texas in Austin, and his rise from private law practice to assistant district attorney followed by his election to County Judge for Travis County. He was appointed to the Dallas Division of the Northern District Court during President George W. Bush’s second term.
Wow. His resume was impressive. On the surface, there wasn’t anything overtly unusual about Connor. For all intents and purposes, he was an honorable servant of the law.
All the text on the screen eventually began to run together, so I clicked on the Images tab at the top of the search results. Reading about the man’s accomplishments made me even more curious to see him, and as it happened, Connor was an active member in several legal associations and participated in their social gatherings as well as speaking at educational events. I finally found a good quality head and shoulders shot from one of his speaking engagements and studied him, straining to learn as much as possible from a two-dimensional photograph.
His features were softer than Ian’s, probably from carrying some middle-age weight, but I definitely saw the familial resemblance—except the eyes. Connor’s eyes were cold, piercing, lifeless like a doll’s eyes. It was difficult to ascertain the color—they were either green or light hazel. The smile on his face gave him a jovial appearance, highlighting deep laugh lines and a few crow’s feet, but it was superficial at best. Maybe I just read that into his expression because of Ian’s story.
I clicked on a few more photos and ran across a candid from a charity event at the Dallas Museum of Art that included Ian’s mother. According to the caption, her name was Virginia. She was, in a word,
lovely. Her dark hair was swept back into a loose, low bun, revealing an oval face and slender neck. A brilliant smile illuminated her well-defined features and made her instantly likable. Everything about her, from her joyous expression to her open and relaxed body language, reminded me of Ian. Her entire demeanor was the complete opposite of Connor’s, and it made me wonder how they ever got together. The only conclusion I could draw was that perhaps he hadn’t always been an asshole.
Once I had a visual of Ian’s parents firmly planted in my mind, I returned to my research into Connor’s background. There had to be something that could give me better insight into his character. All the top search results were related to his tenure as a District Judge, specifically opinions he’d written and court rulings he’d made. It was all very interesting, but I felt as though I was spinning my wheels...
Until I clicked through to the third page of results.
There were several listings for Mason’s accident, and they mirrored exactly what Ian had told me. When I reached the last two links on the page, my heart stopped.
Son of Respected Travis County Judge Implicated in DFW Campus Scandal
College Tennis Coach Resigns Due to Inappropriate Relationship with Student
The accompanying descriptions were vague, and my imagination began to run wild. I released a shaky breath and wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs before reaching for the mouse. I didn’t know what I had found, but I’d come too far to stop. Both articles described the fallout after an alleged affair between Ian’s brother Finn and the tennis coach. Holy shit. I was horrified and wanted to stop reading, but it was like driving past a car wreck. I had to force myself to close the browser window. Assuming it was all true, I couldn’t help but wonder about Connor’s reaction to Finn’s indiscretion.
My mind was spinning from everything I’d uncovered, and I could only hope that Kyle hadn’t learned about any of it. Maybe, for once, Kyle would be happy with the cursory information about the connection between Ian and Miles Shaw and he wouldn’t dig any deeper. I didn’t even want to think about the damage he could do with the knowledge about Finn.