by Nana Malone
Fourteen
Hell. This was hell.
For two days, Ransom had been fighting with his lawyers to get the photos taken down. Paparazzi rumors about him and his women were one thing. It was a whole other thing when they went after his mother.
To get to his mother’s house that morning, he’d taken the old access road off of Route One and come straight to the back gate. The dirt roads we still a sodden, muddy mess, but since he had his truck it was no problem. And it was the perfect way to avoid the paparazzi.
Getting out of his house though, that had been a gauntlet. As he had no fence, they felt welcome to come nearly as close as his damn doorstep. Granted his proclamation that he had a shotgun had the photographers backing the fuck up.
Knowing he was working on the problem had him feeling calmer. He just wished he could say the same for his mother. She was a nervous wreck and losing it.
"Mom, you have to settle down. Would you please just drink some tea and sit?"
She waved him off and continued to pace. "I just never thought anyone would find out. I know what my mother put on the birth certificate. I know what she'd always told me. I just never had any intention of contacting the Coulters or asking for a piece of the pie. But Jesus, Ransom, I've got paparazzi camped out on the doorstep. I can't even go to work."
"I know. And that's why I think you should let me take you to New Orleans. At least for a couple of weeks until this dies down. Hell, I'll give the press something else to talk about before I let them harass you anymore. Just take a vacation. You can do work from there. They can send you your assignments. Or you could even do travel pieces. I know you've always wanted to travel more, just let me do this. Because right now, this is my fault."
"This is not your fault, Ransom."
The guilt washed over him. What the hell had made him confide in Lexa? "Yes, it is. I never should've opened my mouth, never should've said anything to Lexa. I never even considered that she could do something like this."
His mother's head snapped up. "Listen to me. I know what you think, but she didn't do this. It could have happened any number of ways. There's more scrutiny on you because your team won. And, you do sort-of look like Fox. A lot like him, actually."
The Cajuns hadn't played the Thrashers. But the Cajuns had played the Brawlers, who had beaten them. So he and Fox hadn't gone head-to-head in the Championships. Come to think of it, a reporter had teased they could be long-lost brothers. Fuck. This was so fucked up.
"That doesn't matter. Right now, we have to mitigate the risks. Rory Coulter's lawyers will probably come after us. And we have to be ready. And for the time being, you're safer if you're away from the circus."
"But that's like being in prison. I have a life. I want to live it. And, maybe it's better that this is all out in the open. That there are no secrets."
"How can you say that? She exposed you. I made the mistake of trusting her."
His mother walked over slowly. She ran her hand through his hair. "You have to trust someone sometime. This is a secret that's been eating at me for years. Decades, even. If Rory Coulter wants to come after us and send in his fancy lawyers, he's welcome to. I can get lawyers, too. One DNA test, and he doesn't really have a leg to stand on. The secret is out, now. I can't stuff it back in. And, maybe I don't want to. I'm only sorry that it puts you in the spotlight where you don't want to be. But, it is what it is."
"Mom. You can't mean that."
"You can't go through your whole life not trusting people. Sometimes they will disappoint you. But sometimes you find people that you connect to so well, that you can't imagine not living with them your life. I don't want you to throw away happiness because you're too afraid to trust anyone again. We both had some bad breaks. I, for one, like to look at them as life's possibilities. Ask yourself this. How happy were you in those days locked in the cabin with Lexa?" She waited for an answer. When none came, she pressed on. "How happy are you without her?"
Ransom stared at his mother, his gut churning. How was she so calm? How could she trust in Lexa like that? Maybe because Lexa's worth trusting. Yeah, and when would she have had time to tell anyone? And why implicate herself? It was clearly her in that picture. "It hurts, Mom."
"Yeah, I bet it does. Love can be like that."
What the hell? "No one said anything about love."
She shrugged. "Just ask yourself, how did you feel when Callie walked out?"
Yeah, he'd felt sad and betrayed, but nothing like this. "Then, angry, hurt, but this is like someone's clawing my guts out. It hurts so much I can't even breathe." He inhaled deeply.
She patted his shoulder. "Sometimes relationships are about giving someone the benefit of the doubt."
He headed home after his visit with his mother. Before going inside, he sat in the car for a long moment. He knew what awaited him. That empty house. A house he loved that now reminded him of Lexa. Always Lexa. To put off the inevitable, he checked his mail from his phone. There were notes and messages from his teammates. His agent. Fuck, even his coach. He ignored them all. He didn't feel like talking to anyone
Ready to face the music, he went inside and tossed his keys on the counter in his cabin, and headed straight for the bedroom. What he needed was a workout. That way, he could work off some of this tension. That's all. His mother had made a few good points. He'd been alone so long that he thought that was what he deserved. Maybe not everyone was going to be Callie. Maybe not everyone was going to be his father. Maybe not everyone was going to be Rory Coulter.
Could Lexa have hurt him like that? Maybe. He’d made a mistake before. But Lexa isn't Callie.
Once in his bedroom, he stripped down quickly, grabbing a set of workout gear from his drawers and tossing the clothes in the hamper. He headed for the bedside table to grab his fitness monitor, when he saw something taped to the side of the speaker. Frowning, he leaned closer and noticed a little, round, button-looking thing with wires and a red light. It looked like an electronic chip. He peeled it off the speaker and held it up, examining it.
What the fuck? Was that a bug?
Holy shit. First question, who the hell would be bugging his place? Next question, how the fuck had they gotten in? But most importantly, how was he going to find Lexa to apologize?
Because, with a listening device in hand, he knew for a fact Lexa would never have done what he accused her of. If he were paying attention to what he knew in his gut, he would have known that right away, and the two of them would be figuring this out together, instead of him pushing her away.
First things first, find Lexa and apologize. Then, beg her to take him back. Next thing on the list, find and annihilate whoever planted the listening device.
A thought struck him and he grabbed his laptop, opening up TMZ. He pulled up that article again, reading it multiple times over. It took several minutes before he found what he was looking for. He leaned closer and stared at the screen. The story had posted at 2:30 in the morning. They'd been in bed. He'd likely still been inside her. She hadn't tried to sneak out of bed until well after three, when he'd insisted on driving her home. She didn't do this. Or maybe she sold the tip? No, that made no sense. He dismissed the idea. Sure, she wanted a good story to boost her career, but he knew, deep down, that she wasn't behind the mess.
The rush of relief in his chest was so big it made him feel dizzy for a moment. The tightness that had been his ever-present companion for the last several days was easing. The devil on the shoulder still whispered in his ear, but he knew. She wouldn't expose herself like that. Anyone who knew her, would know that photo was her. And she wouldn't hurt his mother. He believed that.
She hadn't done this. She hadn't betrayed him. She wasn't Callie. His brain offered up another possible scenario. The chick from his hotel room in New York. She'd clearly been after something. And she'd told him he'd pay for turning her down and wiping her phone. Shit. Had he done this to himself? His heart raced. Was she behind this? Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
>
He quickly clicked through the website, searching for information on contributors. Before long, he struck paydirt. A photo popped up on screen. It was her. Her name was Amber, and she had a credit on the website. So he'd been the one to fuck up. Badly. Not Lexa.
He'd managed to push away the one person he'd always cared about. So, how are you going to fix it? He had no idea, but he had to come up with a way, and quick.
Lexa Carlisle was under his skin. In his blood. He couldn't let her go. Not when he had finally had her in his arms. He was going to get her back. And this time, there wasn't a thing on Earth that would make him let her go.
Fifteen
Lexa twirled in her desk chair as she merrily packed her boxes. She’d turned in the article on Losing at Love, and the magazine was running it.
It helped her save a little face with Amanda. But that didn't matter anymore. Because Lexa had also turned in her resignation. One good thing she learned from this whole mess, she was worth a lot. She wasn't taking scraps anymore.
Axel had been a scrap. This job at Blink had been a scrap. She was aiming big now. She'd put out her resume and feelers to over a dozen magazines, and now it was a waiting game. She had enough in her savings to last for a little while. If push came to shove, she'd waitress. She'd do whatever it took, but she wasn't selling herself short anymore. Not again.
The phone at her desk rang, and she stared at the unknown number. It was a New York area code, but not one she recognized, and it wasn't in her contact list. "Hello? This is Lexa."
"Lexa Carlisle? This is John Anders from HIS magazine."
Lexa sat straight up in her chair. HIS? She hadn't even applied there. Their articles were on par with GQ and Esquire. They were smaller, but very quickly making a name for themselves. They had a tiny office in the city, mostly for advertising and sales, but all their writers worked independently from anywhere. Hell, she knew one of them lived in Bali, as she always posted photos of herself at the end of every article and on Instagram.
Lexa hadn't even submitted to them. They had a very small stable of trusted writers, and they made it clear they rarely went looking for new talent. How in the world did they come to be calling her?
"Hi, what can I do for you?"
"Well, I received a submission of your work. The articles that you've done for Blink, as well as the ones that you posted online, and your freelance stuff. I'd like to talk to you about doing some writing for us."
Her heart stuttered. "For you? For HIS? Is this a joke?"
He chuckled. "No, not at all. You're a very talented writer. I'm sure I'm not the first person to ever tell you that."
Holy cow. John Anders was complementing her writing. "Thank you. Thank you so much." You know this is too good to be true. "Can I ask? How is it that you got samples of my writing? Not that I don't want to write for you." She was such a dumbass. "It's just, I know that you have a very small group of writers. And it seemed like a pipe dream."
"Well, you shouldn't sell yourself short. Your portfolio was passed on by a friend of a friend. It was put on my desk yesterday morning with a note that said that I needed to read it. And now I'm calling you. I understand you're located in the city? Do you want to meet for lunch? We can talk about what you're looking to do, and I can fill you in on the kind of stories we need."
Even if she was scheduled for surgery, she'd find a way. Even if she was having a baby, she'd make herself available. Sorry, fictional baby, you're not getting born today so I can write for HIS. "Yes, absolutely, whenever you need me, I can make myself available." Way to sound desperate.
He chuckled again. "Fantastic. I'll send you a calendar invite?"
She rattled off her email address for him, and then when she hung up, she collapsed back into her chair, looking at the box of her belongings on the desk. Holy cow, she had just gotten one of the most coveted interviews in publishing. What the hell had she done to get so lucky?
Ransom watched as Lexa fumbled with the box at her front door. It had taken some convincing to get Ella to give him her address. He'd had to endure being read the riot act. Ella was protective of her sister. As she should be. Lexa hadn't had it easy, and he'd made that shit worse by being a total asshat. "Lexa?"
She whipped around, using the box as a shield. Her eyes darted right and left. "What are you doing here?"
Ransom took several steps towards her, and then reached for the box, lifting it up out of her arms and depositing it on the floor. Lexa stood motionless, staring at him.
"Well, for starters, I owe you a huge apology." He ran his hands through his hair. She gave no indication in her expression that she'd heard him, but he pressed on. "I acted like a total asshole. I should have believed you. Should've known. I was so caught up in my own bullshit, that I couldn't see straight."
She sighed, and crossed her arms. "Explain to me exactly what it is you're looking for here."
Oh boy. Now or never time. He wanted her back. And he was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. "I can't think, can't sleep, I can't eat. I can't fill this hole in my chest. I've always had that hole. But for those two-and-a-half days, when we were locked the cabin together, I couldn't feel it. You made me talk more in those two days than anyone usually makes me talk in a month. I wanted to tell you things. The deepest, darkest things. All of my secrets. I wanted to share them with you. And that should scare the shit out of me. But what scared me worse was thinking I've lost you. I never should have let you leave that day. All I could see was potential betrayal. All I could see was Callie all over again, my dad. Hell, my supposed grandfather. That's all I could focus on. So I couldn't hear you. Please. I'll do anything. I need you to forgive me. I want you to take me back."
She studied him. Her hazel eyes clear, and direct. "I fell in love with you in that cabin. Against all my better judgment, I fell in love with you. Even now, my body is telling me to lean into you, and take the scraps that you have to offer me. But for once, I'm not selling myself short. No, you can’t have me back." She squatted down, picked up the box, and walked into her apartment, gently closing the door behind her.
Ransom stared at the closed door. Oh, shit. Now what the hell was he going to do? Panic set in. His heart thundered against his ribs, and his breathing grew shallower and shallower. She didn't want him. No, you dumbass. She wants you. You just have to work hard to get her.
Good thing hard work was something he knew a little bit about. Game on, Lexa. Game on.
Sixteen
Lexa practically skipped along the sidewalk as she rounded the corner to her street, a pretty dangerous prospect in stilettos. The shoes were new. Normally, she would never have let herself spend that kind of money on anything personal. But, she deserved it. She just had the interview of a lifetime for HIS. And, she'd been barely a block away, when John called to offer her the gig. Full-time features staff writer for HIS. And the benefits were freaking amazing. She could travel as much or as little as she wanted, it was a dream come true. More like she'd won the job lottery. She didn't know who passed on her stuff, but right about now, she didn't care. Because she was getting everything she ever wanted.
She sent a quick text to Ella with the news. Her sister had been in the middle of a meeting, but had sent her a Yay with five full exclamation points and a little GIF of a baby shaking its booty. They'd catch up later.
Lexa pushed to open the door to her building and nearly tripped over the roses in the foyer. "Shit. Again?" Ransom had sent her flowers every day this week. Yesterday, he sent them twice. And every day of the week he sent her different ones. Lilies, gardenias, even carnations. Today it was damn roses. White, tipped with a light-lavender color. They were gorgeous, but they were in her way. As they were in the way of all her neighbors. She didn't need three dozen of any kind of flower.
Mrs. Weber, her elderly upstairs neighbor, closed her mailbox and slapped the envelopes against her thigh. "I'd say someone is in love with you."
"No, Mrs. Weber. He is not in love. He
just thinks he lost, so he's in fight mode. So, we are all benefiting from his loss. Why don't you take these up to your apartment? I know you love roses."
Mrs. Weber's wrinkled, leathery face, broke into a wide grin. "I knew I liked you. Give him hell. Make him squirm."
Lexa laughed. "I'm not making him squirm on purpose. I just know I deserve better than half of someone's love. No more pieces for me. I get the whole shebang."
Mrs. Weber nodded. "Now that's a woman who knows what she's worth."
Lexa took one vase, and put it on the doorman's desk. They only had a doorman at night. The rest of the time, the cameras acted as the unofficial doorman. It wasn't the safest building, but she had nice neighbors, and they all looked out for each other. And because she couldn't resist, she took one of the vases up to her apartment. When she reached her door, she saw a large envelope taped to it.
"Dammit." She was in no mood. She snatched it off her door, and the thick envelope weighed her hand down.
She flipped it over, opening it, noting the thick paper, and heavy cardstock inside. She read it quickly.
You're cordially invited to a ball. The date and the time were noted, and she sighed. He hadn't signed the card, but she knew who had sent it.
Well, she wasn't going. But you want to. Didn't matter. She wasn't going to. She'd meant what she said to Mrs. Weber. She wasn't doing this to make him grovel. She loved him. Fallen in love with him and those two days in his cabin. There was a little bit of her that had fallen in love with him when they'd been locked in a science lab seven years ago. But none of it mattered. Because he didn't love her.
When she walked into her apartment, her roommate grinned from the couch. "I see you got your flowers again."
Lexa groaned. "I swear to God, the man is relentless. He'll give up, though. They always do."