by Nalini Singh
After Calypso’s death, Ísa had pumped milk for Esme for a long time.
His mother had talked him into counseling, then driven him to every single appointment to make sure he went. At the beginning, she’d gone with him and done most of the talking while he sat numb and broken, mechanically rocking the bassinet in which he’d carried Esme around, unable to let her out of his sight.
All three of his brothers as well as his father had run plays with him in the backyard to prepare him for selection to a local team after he fell away from the sport for nearly a year. Sailor, the brother who’d never wanted to play professional sports, had watched and rewatched Jake’s training videos—shot by academically inclined Harlow—to figure out minute variations that had continuously improved his performance.
Gabe had become his personal taxi service, private coach, and occasional emergency babysitter, rocking Esme in his arms while he walked the sidelines and conferred with the team coach. Not many people in rugby turned down the Bishop’s advice when he offered it.
Catie’d come along when she was in the city, the faces she’d pulled making baby Esme giggle. Ísa had hugged him so many times, sensing his fear of fucking up and getting it all wrong. Danny, called up to the national squad two months before Jake, had made Jake eat, drink, and train to the squad’s schedule.
So many hands, all there to catch him when he fell.
“Yeah.” Danny’s voice and grin cut through the echo of Juliet’s voice. “The two were sneaking around at six this morning, getting out the cereal and milk. I spotted them in the kitchen from my place and came down to make them waffles. Just so you know—I’m the favorite today.”
Jake felt his cheeks crease. “Did you use the teddy bear waffle maker?”
“You think I’m an amateur?” Danny snorted. “Of course I used the teddy bear one.” The aged trees of the park that surrounded the volcanic cone passed on either side of them, the branches heavy with dark green foliage.
Another one of their teammates ran forward to join them. “I heard your bro got married.” Ambrose’s pale skin was brushed with a slight pink flush from the cold and the exercise, a tight knit cap snug on his shaved-bald head. “Congrats. Damn Bishop.”
Jake was used to that worshipful tone when it came to Gabriel. He probably sounded the same when he talked about his big brother’s exploits on the field. “Yeah, it was a great day.”
“Only you two left now.” The heavily built flanker waggled his eyebrows. “Who will the wedding bells ring for next?”
“Since Jake is a monk,” Danny quipped, “it’ll probably be me. A child groom.”
As the two laughed, Jake put down his head and ran on. He hadn’t felt like a monk last night. Not even close. He’d felt good, that’s what. So, so good. Until he’d wanted to curl up around Juliet and sleep through the night, wake with her in his arms.
“Yo, Jake!” Christian was running backward so he could look at Jake.
“Yeah?”
“Piri wants you to show him that move you did in your final game against us.” A proud member of the Southern Blizzard, Christian scowled at the memory of the game that had put the regional trophy back in Harrier hands. “The one where you fucking defied gravity and set up a try in the last fifteen goddamn seconds.”
“Could do with the help, man.” Piri turned to look over his shoulder. “I don’t want to be on the bench forever.”
Jake considered it. “It won’t work for you.” The reserve lock’s build was too different, his biggest strength his brute power and relentless work ethic, whereas Jake relied more on speed, acute accuracy in passing, and rapid sidesteps. “But I have an idea. Talk when we get back.”
As Christian and Piri turned back around, Jake had a thought—he fixed things on the field all the time. His brain was expert at coming up with strategic plays on the run. In that championship final against the Southern Blizzard, the Harriers’ planned play had actually collapsed in a mess of fumbles and bad passes.
Not only that, but they’d lost a key player to a red card.
So Jake had rearranged the pieces on the rapidly moving chessboard and sent Vili over the try line. The stadium had exploded at the last-ditch win for the Harriers and the attendant loss for the Blizzard as Jake’s teammates swarmed him and Viliame in a jubilant mass.
Given all that, why the hell was he just accepting that he had to walk away from Juliet? Did he want to look back when he was an old man and wonder what could’ve been? Did he want to go back to how he’d felt before Juliet woke him up with her snark and her wit and her laughter? Did he want to stew in regret and cowardice?
Fuck that.
Jacob Esera didn’t walk away from anything. He figured out how to make the pieces fit, how to fix the problem, how to reshape the chessboard.
His priorities shifted, with Juliet going to the top of his private list. Because this, what was going on between them, it wasn’t just scorching sexual attraction. It was far too complicated for that, even if Juliet would probably gnaw off her own foot before admitting it.
Jake set his jaw.
Sharing cake, picking up spectacles for a little girl, sniffling at the wedding when she thought no one could see, Juliet Nelisi was a complex, infuriating, beautiful package, and Jake wanted to know her inside and out.
* * *
Amped now that he had a plan, he picked up his phone from the squad room when they got back. His family and Esme’s school knew to direct emergency calls to Coach’s cell, and everyone else could wait. Focus was key when you played at this level.
It wasn’t until after he’d showered and packed up his gear that he glanced at his phone again. He grinned at the message from Esme. She’d sent him a selfie using her grandmother’s phone, bright yellow life jacket on, and a child-sized fishing rod in hand. He could count her teeth, her smile was so joyously wide.
He sent her a return selfie of him with what she called his “serious face.”
The team was now scheduled to visit a local school team where they’d watch the end of a weekend game, then throw the ball around with the kids—no doubt while being watched by an audience of parents and other students as well as random members of the public.
It sounded like a cynical PR exercise, but it wasn’t. A lot of men in this locker room had come from grassroots rugby backgrounds and strongly supported junior rugby—Jake included. It was tradition in his family that they didn’t play for the clubs during high school, just their school teams. And okay, maybe there was a bit of superstition involved too.
Gabe had been scouted while playing for his high school’s First XV. Jake and Danny, in love with the game since the first time they’d watched Gabe and Sailor play, had religiously followed their big brother’s path. Whether they’d had it easier or harder was a debatable question—yes, the scouts had turned up to their games to see if the Bishop’s brothers had his magic, but that had meant a level of expectation-based stress Gabe had never experienced.
He’d counseled them to shut it all out. “Play for the love of the game. Play because when you slam the ball down past that try line or kick that goal, it’s a rush you can’t describe. The minute you start playing for the selectors or the crowd, you lose your edge.”
It was advice Jake held close even now.
While he waited for the others to get ready to leave, he decided to scan a couple of news sites. The usual bad news, weather, sports roundups.
Juliet Nelisi…
He snapped his eyes back to the place where he’d spotted her name. The piece featured an old photo of Reid and Juliet coming out of a club. The cricket player was holding a bottle of champagne in one hand, Juliet’s hand in the other. Her hair flew back from her face, her glittery gold dress so short it barely reached the tops of her thighs.
She was painfully thin.
He frowned as he skimmed the article. To call it that was an insult. It was nothing but a “scoop” from a “source close to Juliet” stating that Reid and Juliet had “
reconnected” and spent a “steamy night together.” Since that had apparently been last night, either Juliet was far more energetic than anyone knew, or this was full of shit.
He’d bet his Harriers contract that Reid was the one who’d fed the gossip columnist.
The man was clinging to the last vestiges of his dubious fame even as he pissed away his athletic career—and he was using Juliet to get a couple of column inches. Asshole. About to text Juliet, Jake realized he didn’t have her number.
A second’s thought and he messaged his sister-in-law: Issie, you got a number for Juliet? She left something in my car when I dropped her home after the barbeque. No lie. Her scent was in the fibers of his entire vehicle and it was driving him nuts.
Ísa replied soon after with the number attached.
After thanking her, he tapped out a message to Juliet: You need to sell a subscription to whatever tea you were drinking last night. I was wiped, but you decided to take on Reid too? Legend. – Jake
Her response lit up his phone half a minute later: You’re hilarious, Jacob. She’d added a grumpy panda sticker.
Grinning, he tucked away his phone just as Leo reached him.
“Jeez, what the hell is that on your face?” the other man quipped. “Could it be that the Saint is having a moment of hilarity?”
Jake groaned; he hated that nickname, born of his serious on-field nature and ability to “miracle” difficult passes, but it showed signs of sticking like superglue. The Bishop and the Saint. People thought they were geniuses. “You forget I’m your ride home, Simba? I think you want to walk.”
Throwing back his head, Leo roared. “King of the jungle!”
Multiple rolled-up towels hit his head.
18
NO ONE Messes with Jake’s People
Esme was waiting for him on the porch of his parents’ house when a frustrated Jake drove up late afternoon that day. Reid had screwed up all his plans regarding Juliet. One shot of him anywhere near her and the small media squall would blow up to nightmarish proportions.
So he’d gritted his teeth and stayed put… and kept checking his phone like a besotted teenage boy. But Juliet hadn’t messaged him again. So he’d messaged her. No pain, no gain. I found a picture of Reid and printed it out for your new voodoo doll.
I’m trying to work here, had been the response.
On a Sunday?
I’m a vice president. Attached had been the meme of a serious-looking cat at a desk, spectacles firmly on. I have admin stuff to clear at the office since I had to babysit a bunch of rugby players who think they’re models.
So, he’d written, no to the voodoo doll?
Find a piece of his clothing, minion. Then I shall do my spells. Now, this VP is going back to work.
Realizing she was serious, he’d stopped with the messages but had gone online and ordered a bunch of flowers to be delivered to her office. Roses in darkest red. Lush and bold and sexy. Like Juliet.
He’d paid the exorbitant Sunday rate to ensure delivery within the hour.
Knowing the attached note might be seen by nosy parkers, he’d written: These reminded me of you. (Except for the lack of thorns.) – J.
Another woman would’ve seen that as an insult. Juliet, however, had replied with: My thorns are extra stabby today. Keep your distance.
That had been four hours ago, and while Jake had let her get on with her work, he wasn’t planning to heed the warning. For the first time in his adult life, he felt like taking risks. It was scary as all hell, but so had been holding Esme for the first time. So had been trying out for a team after his grief-and-shock-fueled hiatus.
With risk came incalculable rewards.
“Daddy!” Esme flew down the stairs to him.
Grabbing her in his arms, he spun her around. “Did you catch any fish for dinner?”
“No! My fishies was small, so I threw them back!” She wrapped one arm around his shoulders as he climbed the stairs.
He bumped fists with Sailor when he walked into the kitchen, unsurprised by his brother’s presence. He’d seen Sailor and Ísa’s vehicle parked outside. After putting his daughter down so she could run outside to play with Emmaline and her grandfather, he hugged his sister-in-law.
When he bent to peck his mother on the cheek, he got hauled down for a proper hug. “We’re having fish and chips for dinner,” she told him. “You’ve just volunteered to grill the fish. Ísa, you set yourself down and take a load off.”
Jake caught his sister-in-law’s faint blush, saw the glance exchanged between her and Sailor, and narrowed his eyes. “You two are keeping secrets.”
Ísa burst out laughing, gray-green eyes sparkling. “I told you.” She pressed one hand to Sailor’s chest. “I said your brothers would figure it out the instant they laid eyes on us.”
Hooking one arm around her neck, blue-eyed Sailor kissed his wife’s temple. His expression and grin were that of a man living his happiness. “You’re going to be an uncle again, bro.”
A huge smile cracked Jake’s face. “An oops, huh?”
Sailor threatened to deck him while Ísa laughed and said, “No, a planned joint project.”
A backslapping hug between brothers, a gentler hug for Ísa.
“You better tell the others,” he said afterward. “Gabe will beat you dead if he’s the last to know, and Danny will sulk.”
Sailor glanced at his watch. “Where is Danny anyway?”
“On an orchard out Kumeu way,” Alison answered. “Birthday dinner for a friend from his sports psychology course.”
While Sailor called Gabe, then Danny, Jake got more details out of Ísa, including that the couple had found out the week before the wedding but hadn’t wanted to steal Gabriel and Charlotte’s moment—but that had meant amusing stealth shenanigans where Ísa avoided alcohol without tipping anyone off.
“I have to apologize to the plants in Charlie’s home,” she said with a giggle at one point. “Poor things are probably drunk from all the wine I poured into the pots!”
The happy, celebratory mood continued through dinner—and Jake kept thinking of how much Juliet would enjoy this casual get-together. If Reid hadn’t stirred up the media, Jake would’ve had his mother invite her. Jules might tell Jake to take a hike, but she’d say “Yes, ma’am” if it was Alison who made the call.
Alison Esera hadn’t raised no idiot.
It was post-dinner that the trouble hit.
Helping with the cleanup, he emptied the kitchen garbage bin, then walked out into the early-evening dark and over to the hidden spot behind the garage where his parents stored their external garbage bins. Once he’d dumped the slick black trash bag inside, he pulled the wheeled green bin out to the curb, having remembered it was trash pickup day on this street tomorrow.
It was as he was about to return to the house that he spotted the media van parked down the road. He frowned, but the reporter getting out of the passenger-side door wasn’t looking in the direction of his parents’ home. She was motioning for her cameraman to follow her to Reid’s place.
Glad it was dark enough that the reporter hadn’t spotted him, he melted away into a pool of shadows cast by the large jacaranda tree his mother had planted when she and his father first bought this place. It had grown as Alison’s sons had grown, and come spring, it’d carpet the entire front area of their home in a shower of purple-blue blooms.
Jake had seen the photos of what had been a run-down and neglected villa back then, its paint flaking and its plumbing shaky at best. Gabriel and Sailor had helped their mother and new stepfather strip the paint, clean the gutters, replace old boards, and in the doing, they’d laid the foundations for the unbreakable family unit into which Jake, then Danny, had been born.
Across the road, the reporter and cameraman pushed open a little wooden gate and strode up to Reid’s front door. Instinct telling him to stay put, he watched as the reporter knocked. Reid’s model girlfriend opened the door, all masses of mahogany-brown hair
and stacked body.
Jake had actually met Lisa Swan once or twice. She was one of those women who hung around pro athletes. He wasn’t into groupies, but she’d cornered him at a teammate’s anniversary party. He’d come away from the conversation having revised his opinion of her—she was good at giving the impression of being an airhead, but she was highly intelligent once you chipped away that surface.
Now he saw her gesticulating. Though he was too far away to catch her words, it was clear that she wasn’t telling the reporter to get lost. No, she seemed to be speaking into the camera.
A cold and angry feeling began to coalesce in the pit of his stomach.
Shifting so that he was behind the hedge, out of sight of the street, he pulled out his phone and looked up the news sites. The gossip sections had exploded. What had begun as a small and titillating piece about Reid and Juliet’s imaginary renewed romance had turned into a huge cheating scandal.
He knew without a single doubt that Reid’s girlfriend was doing the wronged-girlfriend bit right now.
Which cast Juliet as the evil mistress.
Muscles bunched and blood in his eye, Jake called Juliet. He knew both her closest friends were currently away from her. Charlotte was out of the country and yesterday, at the barbeque, Aroha had mentioned she’d be leaving the city today for a week in the Bay of Islands.
Juliet had been handling this on her own all day.
The phone rang and rang on the other end, and he was beginning to think she wasn’t going to pick up when she answered.
“What?” Her voice was curt, tight, sharp echoes of the angry girl he’d known in school.
Jake wanted to crush her to him, just hold her close so she’d know he had her back, that she didn’t have to do this alone. “I wanted to check in, see how you’re doing. I just caught up with the bullshit online.”