Trusting You

by Ketley Allison

  I sigh, leaning against the counter as I watch them with a sad smile and a full heart, the dishrag limp in my hand.

  Can you blame me for being so conflicted?

  40

  Locke

  Lily’s Birthday

  I stare at the unsent text message, wondering if it’s enough.

  Of course, it is. It contains an address and a time. That’s all I need.

  Do it already. Hit send. Not like it’s a dick pic.

  I don’t send those, ever. Don’t need to. I get my point across just fine in real life. Yet…sending this text might as well be a dick pic because the response could be just as emasculating.

  What if she doesn’t show?

  Nah. Carter’ll come. If not for me, then for Lily.

  Carter’s at the cafe for the moment, collecting the paintings that didn’t sell. Pierce, a mystery I have yet to shake hands with, offered to keep three on display, since he liked them so much—or more likely, enjoyed Carter too much.

  Dude. I’ve got to kick this jealousy. I don’t enjoy such insecurity writhing around in my gut. It’s in competition with my disintegrating blood clot for space. I can only do one or the other, and even then, I’ve still got a limp.

  I’m walking well enough that I start work next week, meeting with Coach, setting up a training schedule for the upcoming semester. I’m excited—not nervous—because I have nothing to prove on the field, but I’m hopeful. Ready to begin torturing fresh blood, a pastime I didn’t know I enjoyed until Asher employed it regularly on me this past week. Can’t wait to be on the other side of that.

  Hit the fucking send button already.

  Fine. Done.

  I stuff my phone in my back pocket, spinning Lily in her stroller. We’re downstairs, away from the dreaded stairs, and Ben has taken both Lily and the stroller from my apartment to this spot. I hopped the last staircase step on one leg and settled behind him.

  Ben turns.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “As I’ll ever be,” I admit, and he helps me lift the stroller outside.

  Ben spends time assisting me in setting up the space. There’s not much to decorate since the place itself is decoration enough. The colors are blinding, the noise deafening, but I make sure a frozen Pina Colada sits in waiting on the table.

  “She good in this high chair?” Ben asks, eyeing where Lily sits, surveying her like a mom inspecting her kid’s private school uniform for the first time. “It looks a little flimsy.”

  It’s nice, seeing him attach to Lily like a barnacle over this past week, become the mother she never had. I grin, about to tell him as much, but he preempts me and says, “Shut up.”

  “She’s fine,” I say. “She’s adapted to these wooden things as easy as she’s become a city kid.”

  Ben takes his hands off his hips. “If you say so. But as soon as she figures out how to stand on it, this thing is gonna topple like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

  “As much as your architectural knowledge thrills me, you need to get lost. Carter’ll be here any second.”

  “Right. The cock-block shall be removed.” Ben bends to kiss Lily on the cheek. “‘Bye, Princess Hayes. And good luck, soldier. Can I say one thing?”

  “No.”

  “This is cute.”

  “Be gone.”

  “Really heart-warming. My insides are cotton candy—”

  “Want a punch to the eye?”

  “Can I at least tell the guys you’re doing this?”

  I feint a shoulder at him, and he backs off, chuckling.

  “‘Bye, sweetheart,” he says, and disappears before I can lob a plastic cup at his head.

  I take a seat next to Lily, pretending like I’m anything but a hopeless moron. I try not to check the time on my phone since I did that a few minutes ago.

  Carter’s late, and her simple yes to my text asking her to meet me here doesn’t tell me much. Did Pierce talk her into a cup of coffee? Are they lingering over their empty cups? Is he asking her to come up to his apartment upstairs for a quickie?

  All better left unanswered.

  The restaurant is filling up with tourists and children, lunchtime being a popular time to enter Times Square in the summer. I hate every second of it.

  Pressure builds in my chest the longer we wait. I order some fries for Lily to munch on, dance some upside-down cups in front of her to make her clap. She’s distracted by all the busy-ness, the music, and people, but I’m smart enough to understand I’m on borrowed time with a one-year-old.

  One year old.

  “Holy hell,” I say to her. “When did you get so big?”

  Lily seems to have sprouted in a mere month, is somewhat walking now, and I got to see it all happen.

  My chest releases. No matter what comes next, I have my girl. I get to raise her, be there for her, yell at her, discipline her, chase boys out of her window, and I have Carter to thank for that. She made Lily’s transition easy. She sacrificed a lot to give Lily her father, and whatever she decides, I’m forever grateful to that wonderful, beautiful, addictive woman I can’t get out of my head.

  The restaurant suddenly goes quiet.

  I’m not sure if this actually happened, but ask me later, and I’ll assure you it did.

  The music’s turned down and a crowd of patrons distance from my and Lily’s table, making a path for a dark-headed, golden-eyed lady, who doesn’t have to say excuse me to make space for herself. The way was given to her, people parting as two waves, and she walks up to us with a smile.

  I stand as she approaches, my smile on shaky ground. “Surprise.”

  She returns my smile with a tentative one of her own. “Sorry I’m late. I…” Carter looks around, confused. She lands on the three candy bowls I’ve laid out in the booth. “Are those…are those green Skittles?”

  “They are.”

  She meets my eyes like she can’t believe what I’ve done. “Locke, that’s…that’s…”

  “I wanted Paige to be here, too,” I say. “And this is one of the best memories you have of her.”

  Carter palms her chest like she’s trying to clutch her heart. “I can’t believe this. Locke, this is amazing.”

  “You deserve a whole lot more,” I admit.

  “Aren’t the guys supposed to be here? Astor? Astor’s fiancé—what’s his name again?”

  “Mike.”

  My voice catches on that word. Not because of the name. More like nerves have crawled like termites into my vocal chords.

  “Yeah, him. Where are they?”

  “I asked them to come later. I wanted to, ah—talk to you first.”

  Oh, well done, me.

  “This place,” she says, her lips lifting higher. “I can’t believe you chose it.”

  I shrug it off as if I didn’t plan every single detail to the goddamned second. “I did it for you, Carter.”

  “Wha—me?”

  There it goes again. The restaurant silences.

  “Yeah, you. This place, you remember it?”

  She laughs. Neither of us has sat down yet. Lily looks back and forth between us, happy to be in the middle. “Of course, I do. It’s where you told me you wanted to be Lily’s father.”

  I nod. “It’s also the exact location where you told me you were flying back to Florida, and I let you go. Dumbest decision I ever made.”

  She looks at me questioningly.

  “And I’m not doing it again.”

  Her expression clears. “Locke, I’ve made my choice—”

  “We didn’t know it at the time,” I say. “I sure as hell didn’t. But facing you, sitting across from you at this very table, we spoke as parents. As a unit.”

  She shakes her head, an obvious denial on her lips.

  “You’re her mother, Carter. The minute Paige honored you with the title, you became Lily’s mom.”

  Carter’s eyes are shining, reflecting these mutant, neon lights, but she makes them beautiful. “I’ve had a lot of
time to think,” I continue, before I pussy out. “A lot of days in that hospital bed, figuring out where I went wrong and how I ended up there instead of with you and Lily. But I had no fear of where Lily was, how she was doing because she was with you. And that, more than anything in my past, is the greatest proof I can give you: my daughter. I trusted you, Carter.”

  She’s sniffling, rubbing under her nose, about to dismiss the heavy words. I finish with, “And I love you.”

  Her eyes close. Her shoulders shake.

  Oh, fuck, she’s sobbing.

  “Carter, I—” I look around, helpless, then land on the melting Pina Colada. “Do you need a drink?”

  “No,” she says, but it comes out as wail as she glares at me. “I need to love you. I want to love you.”

  I don’t want to spook her, but hell, does this mean she wants to but can’t? Have I lost my shot with her? Is my past way too much of a plague for her to even want to contend with?

  “I don’t deserve your trust in return,” I say quickly. “Not after what I’ve kept from you. But I was so scared of making you hate me.”

  She inhales. Meets my eye.

  “It’s not an excuse,” I say. “But by some miracle, you started to like me. And I couldn’t fuck that up.”

  Carter still doesn’t speak. I’m about to combust. “It took me too long to realize I was wrong. I should’ve told you everything, should’ve trusted you wouldn’t despise me all over again.”

  “I’ve never hated you,” she whispers, and I’m bolstered by her voice. “I hated the image you created for yourself, the makeshift personality and ego.” She takes a deep breath. Lily makes a noise, and we both glance down, but Lily’s blissfully distracted by the laminate menu.

  “Because that’s not you,” she continues. “The player, the dumb jock, the asshole. You’re amazing. You’re a wonderful father. A terrific man. And it makes me so sad you couldn’t see it before I did.”

  Carter’s nailed me. Right between the pecs. Exactly where my heart beats for her.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” I play dumb because she’s made me speechless. The first woman, other than my mom, who’s ever successfully tucked my tail between my legs.

  Carter shakes her head. Licks her full lips. “Something Sophie said to me before she left…that all I want to do is love. It could be seen as a flaw or a strength for anyone on the outside, looking in. But to me, it’s both. I love this little girl like she’s my own. I want to love you, but I don’t know what’s left of me. But I…you don’t have to say these things. You don’t have to say you love me out of some obligation. We can make this work without—”

  “Jesus Christ, is that what you think? That I have to force myself to love you because you’re more of a mother to Lily than any woman, ever, who will come into my life?”

  She nods, too choked up to speak.

  “Oh, honey, hell no.” I move. I crush her to me because if I’m at a loss for words, she can at least feel how much I want her, adore her, love her.

  “I’ve loved you since the moment you crashed into my apartment and called me a wimp,” I say. “I loved you when you couldn’t let go of this baby, when you shrieked yes once I asked you to stay with me until Lily and I were more than strangers. I’ve loved you every morning, every afternoon, every evening, you’ve been here. And I want to keep loving you. You.” I pull back to see her. “This woman. Not simply a mother to Lily but a lover and supporter of me. A best friend. You’re my person, my perfect. You’re everything I didn’t know I was waiting for to feel whole again.”

  “Locke…” She raises her arms to my waist. “You pulled me from the grave of my best friend. I feel alive, like an actual, breathing person, because of you. It isn’t just you who needed the spaces filled.”

  I smile wide. “So…does this mean we love each other?”

  She laughs, tears glistening against her cheeks. “We do. I don’t want to fight it anymore. I love you.”

  “C’mere,” I say roughly, and pull her against me.

  Lily bats at our stomachs, begging to get in on the hug. Her lips are covered with cracker crumbs. God knows where she found those.

  “No—Lily!” Carter admonishes. “Don’t go for the gum under the table!”

  I chuckle as we separate, Carter lifting Lily into her arms while I cross mine and say, “You ready for this new chapter of ours?”

  Carter meets my eyes over Lily’s blonde curls and smiles. “I’m ready for anything you two want to throw at me.”

  Locke and Carter are living happily ever after, but what about Astor and Ben? Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next Players to Lovers novel, Daring You!

  Daring You comes out November 15th. One-click now!

  Epilogue

  ASTOR

  My co-counsel’s fucked me, my boss is yelling at me, I missed my salon appointment to cover the gray hairs I know are peeking their grizzled selves through my normal gloss, but I am not missing my niece’s first birthday.

  I didn’t get to be around for her birth. Didn’t know she existed at six months. I’ll be damned if I miss her first cake.

  But try telling that to a room full of middle-aged men who want a merger contract perfected on a Saturday afternoon. Appeal to their suit-clad egos as their own wives, mistresses, and children, are being tended to by nannies and housekeepers and glam squads. Ask them to understand I want to be with Lily in person, instead of having my assistant send a diaper cake.

  Or was that only meant for baby showers?

  Damn it. Maybe I should give Phoebe, my assistant paralegal, a call anyway. Because I sure as hell don’t have a present resting beside me in this car.

  My cell vibrates in my blazer pocket as I’m idling in Times Square traffic.

  Why the hell did you choose Tourist Central, Locke? I think as I pull the phone out.

  “Mike, hey,” I say in greeting.

  “Babe. Where’d you say this place was? I’m stuck in traffic.”

  “So am I. Somewhere…I dunno, Locke talked about a shrimp?”

  “I’ve lived in this city my entire life and have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Probably because you lived in the Upper West your entire boyhood and only descended below fiftieth street to try coke and loose college women.”

  “Isn’t that how I met you?” he asks dryly. “Now tell me where this laser light-up shrimp is.”

  I give him the coordinates and we say our goodbyes. Mike’s running about twenty minutes behind me.

  I haven’t seen Mike since this morning, when I crawled out of our TriBeCa condo before the sun rose, so I could get a head start on this contract meant to bring in a cool million for our firm. Mike and I are junior associates at the same firm, but we met long before that, in law school. At first we competed with each other, then fucked each other, and now we’re each other’s fiancees.

  I’m happy, Mike’s excellent in bed, and he doesn’t mind that I don’t speak to him in twelve-hour increments, since we’re both so busy continuing to compete against each other.

  It’s healthy, I think. Keeps the relationship on its toes. I won’t ask a therapist about it, though.

  Finally, the driver double parks near a curb throbbing with children, backpacks, and visors. I thank the man and step out, my Louboutin’s stiletto nearly sticking in a sewer grate. This, I’m used to, considering sewer and subway grates could be found in any part of the city and was a direct threat to most women in heels and skirts.

  I pull it out seamlessly, hook my large, heavy leather tote over my shoulder, and make my way to the bright lights that call to the rest of the world, but act as a blasphemous cross to native New Yorkers.

  “‘Scuse…pardon me, I just need to…” Thwack. Some guy in a t-shirt and khakis bowls into my shoulder. “Why, thank you, sir! How kind of you to step aside!”

  I yell at his back then flip him the bird. Another tourist takes a picture of me.

  “Ugh, Locke, this better be f
ucking…” I don’t finish my sentence, because a large, firm, scarred hand grabs my arm and pulls me into a gap under the awning of the restaurant.

  It’s Ben. I know it before I recognize the scars, because I’ve felt that hand on me before. I inhale deep and stare at the restaurant entrance instead of meeting those sea glass eyes of his.

  “Is this the place?” I ask breathlessly, looking up.

  “A thank you would be nice.” His voice rumbles beside me, his mere presence hitching my exhale, but I won’t let him know that.

  “I didn’t ask for assistance,” I say.

  “No, you cursed at strangers instead. Typical.”

  “I’m so glad you made it out of that mob at Easton’s concert okay,” I retort.

  Ben leans on the door, sweeping his arm out in an exaggerated gesture for me to step in first. I do. Tartly.

  “They’re in the back,” he says behind me.

  “I know.”

  I stride with purpose, well-versed in four-inch heels, and I’m aware of Ben’s attention during the entire walk to the back. We may have parted minds and bodies a year ago, I may be with someone else now and he’s probably screwed many others, but I still enjoy showing off what he’s missing.

  And that’s my perfect, well-rounded, taut Pilates ass.

  I turn my profile a hare so I can catch him in the act, but I’ve lost him.

  Stopping to the side of the aisle, I frown when I spot him.

  Most of the stares in this restaurant are directed at Ben. He’s a big name in NYC, a sports hero that women and children adore in equal parts, and he’s busy signing autographs for a family with three boys goggling.

  One hand on my hip, I try not to smile at the way Ben engages the boys, arcing a neon pink straw like a football and and clapping the nearest boy on the back. He’s generally interested in what they have to say, and he poses as the parents rip out their phones and photo blast him.

  “Shoulda figured this kind of place would swarm him like ants,” Locke says as he comes up beside me.

  “That’s anywhere,” I say before I can stop myself.