Exposed: New Adult Sport Romance (The Boys of Winter Book 5)

by Violet Vaughn

  “Okay.” His hand is on the handle to leave, and I think he’s going to say something, but instead he shakes his head.

  “I work at Rhinestone Cowgirl. You can get in touch with me there.”

  The door creaks open, and he says, “Got it.”

  After the door slams I’m tempted to watch him walk off. Instead I pick up my phone and check e-mails—most of which are most likely junk—just so I don’t have to drive by him. For a long time I thought hurting Trevor would feel good. It doesn’t.

  Chapter 9

  Even though Trevor is probably back at the bar by now, I get caught up in a link to an article Neal sent me about boutique shops in Aspen and decide to read it before leaving. Anything to get the hurt look on Trevor’s face out of my mind.

  I jump when the passenger door opens abruptly. Trevor slides inside and yanks it shut with a slam, and there’s fire in his eyes. “How the fuck could you not tell me, Ruby?”

  Shit. My stomach clenches again. “I was young. Stupid and afraid. I kept hoping I would miscarry and the problem would go away.”

  He’s shaking his head. “I loved you. I would have done the right thing. Shit, I would have done whatever you wanted to do. How could you not know that about me? How could you be so selfish?”

  Trevor’s voice has gotten loud and defensiveness surges in me as I say, “You cheated on me. I didn’t need you to spell out the fact we were over. And even if we had gotten back together, what do you think would have happened?” I pause, and his mouth is tight, as though he’s holding back evil words. “You would have gone off to the races and screwed the bunnies that wanted to be with a racer while I was home with our baby. You proved it the one night I didn’t go to a party with you.”

  “Damn it, you’re the one that pushed me away. Don’t you remember how you stopped wanting to hang out? You stopped kissing me and telling me you loved me. What was I supposed to think? You’d dumped me weeks before I let Cara blow me.”

  I stare in shock. I did push him away. I avoided him because I was wracked with guilt. My secret was eating me up, and I couldn’t face him. Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” Hot moisture rolls down my cheeks.

  Trevor sighs. “Aw, man. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He lifts my chin up with a finger. “It still doesn’t make what I did right. I’ve been beating myself up over it for years. I’m sorry. Please stop crying.”

  I wave my hand and whisper, “I can’t.”

  He reaches around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. “Okay, then let it out.”

  And I do. I cry because I was so stupid and should have told him when I first knew. I did what I’d always done, kept my fears inside. I cry because if I had told him, he probably would have stood by me. My life may have been very different. And I cry because maybe, just maybe, I would be playing with my little girl right now.

  When I stop I pull back and sniff. Glancing into Trevor’s face I notice it’s tear-stained too. I reach up and wipe one from his cheek. “I used to fantasize that you would find out and come to me. That we would become a family, and everything would be okay.”

  Trevor swallows and takes a deep breath. “I just about died when Beth told me how hurt you were about Cara. I know I shouldn’t have let it happen, and being drunk was no excuse. But I swear I thought you were done with me and doing what you always did, avoiding confrontation.”

  I do avoid confrontation, and it’s not so crazy to think Trevor thought I was hoping he would just break up with me to end things, so I wouldn’t have to.

  He twists a strand of my hair around his finger the way he used to. “Every race I went to I looked for you. I kept hoping you’d come back to me some day. When I went to college I refused to change my phone number just in case you decided to text or call.”

  I think about the years I spent trying to get over Trevor. How I would see blond hair on a slim guy and my heart would race, thinking it might be him, only to be disappointed when it wasn’t. Fresh tears well up in my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. I’m not sure why I just told you that.” He looks down at his hands and then back to me. “I’m going to go.”

  I nod, and he opens the door to leave. Before he steps out he says, “Thank you for telling me what really happened with us.”

  A wry smile turns my lips up, and I say, “Thank you for telling me your side.”

  He stands and shuts the door as a chill runs through me. This time I do watch as Trevor walks across the street, with his head down, toward the Gold Pan parking lot. It’s dark now, and I pull out onto the main road.

  Blasting the heat in hopes I can warm up, I don’t bother stopping at the grocery store as I had planned and decide to eat whatever I can find. Food doesn’t seem important right now. I’m trying to wrap my brain around the idea that I was the one that pushed Trevor away.

  The traffic light turns yellow as I approach, and in my distracted state it takes a moment for me to realize I need to stop. I brake harder than usual, causing my body to jerk forward. I’ve never been an open person. I don’t need many friends and could spend days all alone. Trevor and I struggled with how hard it was for me to share my feelings, and it took me a long time to be comfortable enough to tell him my hopes and fears. I trusted him with almost as much as I do my mother. And he trusted me when I promised to share when things were wrong.

  I thought of what he did with Cara as the ultimate betrayal, and it’s what allowed me to keep our daughter a secret for so many years. But now I’m seeing his cheating with different eyes. While it’s still awful, I understand how the sixteen-year-old Trevor I loved so deeply could be heartbroken enough that he did something to hurt me back.

  My body quivers when I recall how good it felt to be in his arms earlier. Trevor held me tight while I cried, and he stroked my hair. His unique scent comforted me, and I could have been back in high school with the way I melted in his embrace.

  The details of Trevor’s mature face are etched in my mind, and my fingers itch to draw them. I smile to myself as I determine I need to sketch the eyebrow arch he does that still makes my knees weak. But then I shake my head, because what the hell am I thinking, crushing on Trevor after all these years?

  When I get home I drop my things and search for my old sketchbook dedicated to Trevor. I whip off my coat and let it fall to the floor as I plop down on the couch and scratch away madly.

  Surveying the results, I’m pleased that I managed to capture the anger in his eyes when he came back to the car to talk me. That’s what I need to remember, because I shouldn’t be forgiven so easily. I did something awful, and Trevor has every right to be mad.

  I flip back through the pictures I drew of him during my pregnancy. Tracing the lines of the boyish faces, I think about how I’m the one that betrayed Trevor, our baby, and us. If I had done the right thing we might be a family now.

  Curling up on the couch with the sketchpad held close to my chest, I cry again. The metal coil is cold under my chin. This time my tears are for my broken promise and the heart I shattered.

  Chapter 10

  The night I told Trevor about our child I had a terrible dream. I dreamt my daughter was in a lake and drowning. She had slipped below the surface, and I was swimming underwater trying to find her. I felt something and grabbed it only to pull up a dead Trevor.

  I haven’t heard from him, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I tense, imagining he probably hates me right now. Paper rustles as I recheck my notes one more time. Outside Neal’s office I’m pacing as I wait. This time I’m early, and the tap of my feet echoes off the walls of the empty lobby. The scent of something sour and sweet wafts toward me, and I envision spilled drinks on the floor of the Fish Bowl, the nightclub Neal owns.

  As I wander toward the restaurant side, onions infuse the odor, making it turn my stomach. I’m not sure whether I’m nervous to see Neal, or if it’s because I’m insecure about my business sense.

  The door squeaks
open, and feet pound down the stairs quickly as if they’re chasing the cold draft that comes too. Neal appears with damp hair and unusually casual attire. His jeans are faded and have a hole in the knee, and he’s wearing a flannel-lined Carhartt jacket that could use a good washing.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  I smile and return his words from last time. “Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He chuckles, and keys jingle in his hand as he turns the lock. “Let’s talk inventory.”

  Fluorescent lights hum when he flips the switch, and he pulls a chair for me over to his desk.

  I take out my notes, and the paper is cool under my hands as I smooth out the small pile I place next to his laptop. “Okay, I’ve done a quick sketch of the items and listed the sizes and quantities I think I need under each one. Nika has already helped me with the numbers.”

  Neal is grinning, and I ask, “What?”

  “I like the sketches.”

  “Oh. I’m kind of visual, and it helps me know what I’m talking about.”

  “It’s awesome, and this helps me too.”

  “Good.” I move the paper to rest above the next sheet and say, “Now on this page I have how many hours each garment should take to create from cutting till the end. But I do streamline some of the process, like cutting a bunch of things at once, so it’s an estimate leaning toward the safe side.”

  Neal nods as I go on explaining the process and then give him the range of how many man hours I need for the bare minimum of inventory, enabling me to fill my store in time to open mid-December.

  As he reviews everything, I try not to fidget. My hair is tickling my neck and face, so I gather it in a bun and grab a pencil from the cup Neal has on his desk. I shove it in the mass to secure my updo.

  Neal looks up from the paper and glances quickly at my hairdo before he says, “Well done, Ruby. I think we can pull it off.”

  “You do? Because ideally I need to hire three girls by tomorrow.”

  “Do you have anyone you can use from before?”

  “Yeah, there’s one that’s a patroller, and when I talked to her she said she’d work full-time through November and part-time after that. Between the two of us we could get the bare minimum, but that doesn’t make me comfortable.”

  “I might have people for you. One of my waitresses sews, and so does a girl at The Wine and Cheese Shop.” Neal leans back in his rolling chair and twists it side to side. “And if you’re not too sexist, I have a guy for you too.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not sexist, I know plenty of guys that sew. Where did you find him?”

  “He’s a freestyler and washes dishes for me for extra money. He’d probably only be able to help you part-time for a month or so.”

  Freestylers compete in skiing bumps, and while they travel to do so, there’s a lot of down time too. I have no problem with someone who has random hours available. “All right then. Let me have their numbers, and I’ll get started on hiring them.”

  Neal stretches out a leg, and it brushes against me as he pulls out a piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans. “Here. I wrote the names and numbers down for you.”

  “Great, I’ll do that this afternoon.”

  “Is it your day off?”

  I nod. “Nika has moved me to part time until our shop opens so I can devote myself to getting ready.”

  Neal smiles and licks his lips as he leans closer to me. “Other than phone calls, what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “I was going to sew up the rest of my samples. Why?” I’m tempted to trace my finger along his lower lip, and warmth spreads in my lower belly. I let it because this is the guy I should be lusting after.

  “I have something fun for you to do. Want to help me knock down the wall between our shop and Rhinestone Cowgirl?”

  “Really?” I chuckle.

  “Really. But first I need lunch. Join me? I know where they make the best burgers in town.” He winks at me as he stands.

  As if on cue my stomach rumbles, and I say, “I’d love to. Can you order me a cheeseburger, medium rare, and I’ll make the calls right now?”

  “Sure, you can do them here.” He hand me his keys, and metal is cool against my fingers when I take them. He says, “I’ll be at the bar when you’re done.”

  This time of year not many people have work, and it was easy to set up interviews for tomorrow with the three people Neal gave me. I decided to do them at the shop space in case Neal will be working there tomorrow. Not that I want to see him or anything.

  The music seems loud when I walk into the restaurant, but that’s probably because there are very few customers. It’s easy to find Neal at the bar, and I slide onto a wooden bar stool next to him. I set his keys on the counter in front him.

  He lifts a glass of cola and asks, “How did it go?”

  I watch his lips wrap around the straw and answer, “Good. I’m meeting with all of them tomorrow at the store.”

  A pretty brunette sets two plates down before us with a thump and asks, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Water, please.”

  The odor of beef and French fries makes my mouth water as I move the lettuce and tomato off to the side of my plate. Neal has the ketchup, and I wait for my turn.

  I ask, “So what’s next on my list of things to do?”

  Neal has taken a bite of his burger and points to his mouth, indicating he’ll talk after he swallows. When he does, he answers, “We should go over the design of the store. I know you said I could do what I want with the plans you drew, but I want your input on what I’m thinking.”

  “Okay, that’ll be fun.” I take a sip of my water and say, “I’m kind of looking forward to crashing down a wall.”

  Neal grins. “Is there an angry side I don’t know about?”

  Thoughts of Trevor enter my mind, and I recall how mad he got over my news the other day and how I reacted to his accusations. “No, I don’t rage. I just like the idea of smashing something you aren’t usually allowed to ruin.”

  “You really never get mad?” A mixture of condiments and beef juice drip onto his plate.

  “Not really. I’m pretty mellow.” Read, conflict adverse.

  “And a homebody, too.”

  I nod. “Yeah, that too. I don’t enjoy noise and crowds, or getting drunk.”

  “I know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out at night.”

  “Do you go out a lot?” French fry salty goodness coats my tongue.

  “I work a lot. If I’m not at Stone Soup, I drop by here and at the Fish Bowl to help keep things running smoothly.”

  “You don’t take much time off, do you?”

  “No. Not unless I have a good reason.” Neal looks at me for a moment as if he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. I let myself hope he’s wishing I’d give him a reason not to work.

  I snap out of my fantasy, and I look down at my shirt to make sure I didn’t drip grease on it. When I glance back up, Neal seems to be holding back a laugh. “What? Do I have ketchup on my nose or something?”

  “No. But now I wish you did.”

  I frown. What the heck does that mean?

  We’ve both finished eating, and he says, “Ready to go be destructive?”

  “I am.” I stand and reach in my bag to find money. While I know the meal is on Neal, I don’t want to assume he’ll take care of the tip too. I place a five on the bar and am met with Neal’s smile when I turn to leave. My silly heart flips because it must have been the right thing to do.

  Trevor floods my mind once again as I remember how a simple smile from him used to make my day. But the memory gets pushed aside pretty quickly when I notice how nicely Neal’s jeans hug his butt as he leads us up the stairs. And my smile grows when I imagine how his muscles should ripple under his tight tee when he swings a sledgehammer to crash though a wall.

  Chapter 11

  Neal and I enter a small space with utilitarian carpet that is li
ttered with scraps of paper, dust bunnies, and other items one might find under a couch that hasn’t been moved in years. In short, it’s filthy.

  I ask, “Is this how the previous renters left it?”

  Neal nods as a crease form between his eyebrows. “Yeah, the ones that don’t make it tend to do this, like it’s my fault they failed.”

  I walk over to the wall that separates us from Rhinestone Cowgirl and run my hand over a dent that has broken through the drywall. Chalky residue coats my fingers, and I swipe my hand on my jeans as I say, “I don’t suppose they paid you for this, did they?” There’s a note of disgust in my voice.

  Neal cocks his head at me. “Don’t let this bother you. That’s what security deposits are for. It’s covered.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t understand blatant disregard for things that don’t belong to you. That kind of disrespect upsets me.”

  Neal smiles at me. “Let me guess, you take in strays too.”

  I squint my eyes a little as I think about the feral kittens I took in back in Maine. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No. But I am teasing a little. You’re a kind soul, and it’s sweet.”

  I snort. “Sweet? Where’s my sledgehammer?”

  Neal chuckles and walks me over to the far back corner where a toolbox is on the floor and a big yellow-handled hammer is leaning against the wall. A large roll of clear plastic is next to it.

  I lift the hammer up and take a practice swing. It’s heavy, and I lose my balance for a second at the momentum.

  “Whoa, slugger. There are a few things we need to do first.” Neal picks up the plastic and a roll of blue masking tape and hands it to me. “First I need to turn off the breakers for that section, and then we’ll cover the floor so it’s easy to gather up the debris.”

  A metal door clangs as he opens the electrical panel, and the switches click loudly as I walk over to the wall with our supplies.

  Tape tears from the roll when I break off pieces to hand to Neal so he can secure the plastic tarp he’s laying out. When it’s done he says, “Now we have to mark the wall so we don’t take away too much drywall. Go find the rulers in my tool box for me.”