#Bae (The Hashtag Series Book 8)

by Cambria Hebert

  I tilted my head back. “Me, too.”

  “Rim!” B yelled from outside the door. “Your phone is going off!”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Who would be calling me?”

  I left the bathroom, and Braeden was there, holding out my phone. “It’s my dad,” I said because I knew Romeo was curious.

  “I’ll make you a coffee,” he said on his way past.

  “Dad?” I answered. He didn’t call very often, and when he did, it wasn’t this early in the morning. It made my stomach twist.

  “Hi, Rimmel, honey,” he said. There was no trace of alarm in his voice.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Everything here is fine. I’m still working, and I haven’t missed a rent check.”

  “Oh, well, that’s great to hear,” I told him. Ever since my father lost literally everything and went to treatment for his severe (and frankly, deadly) gambling addiction, he’d been trying to rebuild some kind of life.

  For a while, he stayed at my grandparents’ home while he searched for a new job (which wasn’t too easy to find after all the press coverage).

  But then he got hired on at a construction site as one of the crew (must have been a bitter pill to swallow considering he used to be a foreman for his own business) and was able to save up to rent a small, one-bedroom apartment.

  I hadn’t been back to Florida since everything happened. I’d only seen my father once (at our wedding), but I did still try to talk to him every week or two.

  Up until now, I was uncertain whether or not our relationship could ever be salvaged. Sometimes I still doubted it. But if I could get to a better place with Valerie, then there was hope for my father.

  There was an awkward pause between us while I waited to see why he called. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to let you know I’ve been contacted by the press.”

  “What!” I squeaked.

  I felt several pairs of eyes turn to me from across the room.

  “Don’t worry.” He reassured me. “I told them to shove their pile of cash where the sun don’t shine.”

  “They offered you money?” My eyes found Romeo, and he frowned.

  A spidery feeling crawled up the back of my neck.

  “Yeah, just like Romeo said. And I know he was concerned when I talked to him that I would sell out my own daughter, so I just wanted to let you know I didn’t. And I’m not going to. You’re more important to me than money.”

  What in the world was he talking about? Romeo talked to my dad? When?

  Romeo was watching me carefully, almost as if he were afraid I might explode. I could have. Well, not explode. That wasn’t my style. Unless of course bobbleheads were holding signs for my man. But I could have asked my father for details, found out everything I wanted to know just then.

  The problem with that was loyalty. I was just as loyal as Romeo. I would never throw him under the bus like that. I would show a united front and pretend I knew what Dad was talking about. Romeo was my husband, and I trusted him. Sure, sometimes he did bonehead stuff (like whatever this was), but I still had his back. Always.

  “I appreciate that, Dad,” I replied. “I’m really glad to know you’re doing well.”

  “How about you? Everything okay there? I saw the game last night.”

  I groaned. “That won’t happen again.”

  “I figured. Those gossip hounds have been giving you hell. I was glad to see you giving it back.”

  That surprised me. “You were?”

  “‘Course. You’re a fighter, Rimmel. You always have been.”

  I was a fighter. It was becoming more apparent to me every day.

  I asked about my grandparents, and then we fell silent again.

  “Well, you’ll let Romeo know what I said?” he asked, sensing the conversation was coming to an end.

  “I’ll tell him.” My eyes found my husband once more.

  He grimaced.

  Before we got off the line, I said, “Hey, Dad. Out of curiosity, what did the press want?”

  He made a sound. “Anything that would make a good story. And they were willing to pay big money for it, too.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “If the story was juicy enough, over a million.”

  The choked sound I made caused him to chuckle. “Don’t you worry. I told them no. I’m clean now, sweetheart. I plan to stay that way.”

  “That’s great, Dad. I’m proud of you.”

  After I disconnected the call, I spun, taking in my entire family sitting around with plates piled with eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I put my hands on my hips and pinned Romeo with a hard look. “Care to tell me what that was about?”

  B whistled under his breath. “Scrappy makin’ a comeback.”

  “Romeo,” I said, ignoring my brother.

  Romeo didn’t balk; he just gave it to me straight. “The press put a bounty out on you, Rim. They want dirt. Anything they can get.”

  I felt my shoulders slump. I wasn’t surprised, but I was weary. “How do you know that?”

  “Because they called me,” Drew put in.

  I looked at Drew. “They called you?”

  He nodded, and Trent’s face went sour. “They offered me and T two million dollars for a no-holds-barred exclusive tell-all about you and Romeo.” He cleared his throat. “Mostly about you.”

  I felt lightheaded. Two million dollars!

  That was insane!

  “They’re willing to pay that amount of money just so they can continue to basically bully me in the media?” I asked, my voice slightly hoarse.

  B stood, but Romeo was closer and came to my side. “That’s why I didn’t tell you right away, baby. I didn’t want you to get upset.”

  “I am upset!” I exclaimed.

  Nova made a sound, and I felt contrite. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I crooned, stepping away from Romeo and lifting her out of Ivy’s arms.

  Ivy smiled at me encouragingly.

  I kissed Nova on the head, and we found her a clean spoon and an empty plastic cup to play with. It always amazed me that kids would rather play with random stuff than a bag full of actual toys.

  Once she was settled with her new discoveries, I turned back to everyone. Ivy sat forward and cleared her throat. “Rim has a right to be upset.”

  “Did you know?” I asked her.

  She shook her head slowly. “Not about this. Of course I know the media is always looking for a story. I do work at People. But they usually don’t talk about our family in front of me. I think they know it wouldn’t go over very well.” She paused, then cleared her throat. “I do know, though, they would pay a huge sum of money for any kind of exclusive with you guys.”

  “And my father?” I turned to Romeo.

  “I called him. I wanted to know if the press called him, too. I was concerned.”

  “Concerned the addict in him would see all those dollar signs and jump back into gambling.”

  “It’s not a stretch,” Romeo said.

  “No. It’s not.” I relented. I wouldn’t defend my father. He lost that privilege the second I found out he basically let my mother pay for his gambling debts… with her life.

  I pinned Romeo with a stare. “You should have told me.” Then I glanced at all three guys. “You all should have told me.”

  Ivy made a sound of agreement. “Mm-Hmm.”

  We girls had to stick together. We were outnumbered.

  “Look,” I said, lowering my voice and trying to sound reasonable. “I know I haven’t been myself since, um, since Evie. But I can’t hide forever. I need to know about this stuff. Otherwise, I get caught off guard, like yesterday at the game.”

  Braeden snickered.

  I gave him a dirty look. It only made him laugh harder.

  “And then again this morning with my father. From now on, no more shielding me. Let’s all just deal with this together, as a family.”

  Romeo wrapped his arms around me from behind and hunched
in around me. “You got it.”

  All my brothers made sounds of agreement.

  “Now, is there anything else no one has told me?” I asked, going forward to the coffee Romeo made me.

  “I have an ingrown toenail,” Braeden announced and shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth.

  “I think my underwear might be too small,” Trent added and shifted uncomfortably.

  “Just go commando,” Braeden cracked. “Drew would be thrilled.”

  Drew wagged his eyebrows, and Ivy made a sound. “There are some things you just shouldn’t say out loud,” she announced.

  I laughed and went over to the huge cart with the food. My stomach rumbled. Romeo came up behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder when I reached for a plate. “We good?”

  I tilted my head back. “We’re good.”

  “I was just worried it would be too much.”

  I nodded, understanding. “Did you make a plate yet?”

  “I was waiting on you.”

  I kissed him, then started piling eggs on the plate in my hand. “No pancakes,” he whispered in my ear. “It’s bad enough I ate candy and half your cake last night.”

  Romeo was strict with his diet during the season, something I just didn’t envy. I bypassed the carbs and sugary syrup for bacon and fruit to go with his eggs. When the plate was full, I handed it to him, along with a fork.

  “Thanks, baby.”

  Quickly, I made my own plate, which was the opposite of Romeo’s. Two pancakes with maple syrup and butter and a side of fruit.

  All the chairs in the room were taken, so I sat on the bed, stretched out my legs, and used my lap as a table.

  “So the press called your dad?” Romeo asked when everyone was quiet.

  “Offered him over a million dollars,” I said, cutting into my pancake.

  “I really fucking hate the press,” Drew muttered.

  “He said no, right?” Romeo wanted assurance.

  “That’s what he said.”

  He nodded, looking a little worried. I understood. It wasn’t as if I didn’t feel the same. My father was a good liar. “I’ll call my grandmother later. See what she says.”

  Romeo nodded.

  Braeden pushed out of his chair and came over, flinging himself onto the mattress beside me. The next thing I knew, he confiscated my fork and started eating my pancakes.

  “Get your own carbs!” I exclaimed.

  “Can’t,” he said, taking another huge bite. “They don’t count when I eat them off your plate.”

  I glanced at Ivy. She shook her head. “I can’t help you. I’ve tried to fix him. It’s impossible.”

  “You know you love me, Ives.”

  Nova laughed from the floor. B grinned. “Tell your mama!”

  “Drew…” Ivy began in that sisterly tone only she seemed to have. “Did you even comb your hair this morning? Or yesterday? You need a haircut.”

  He groaned. Beside him, Trent snickered.

  “Rim doesn’t comb her hair either,” Drew muttered.

  Braeden was still inhaling my breakfast, but he paused to pat me on the leg. “You’re prettier than Drew.”

  “At least she attempts to fix hers!” Ivy retorted.

  Nova pulled herself up using the side of the bed and peeked at me and her father.

  “Hey, Critter, want some pancakes?” Braeden leaned down and picked her up. She settled on the other side of me so I was sandwiched between her and my BBFL.

  “Help yourselves,” I muttered but cut off a small piece and held it up to Nova’s lips.

  She sucked it into her mouth and smiled. My heart turned over. She was so beautiful. I caressed the side of her cheek while she chewed and then laughed when she pointed at the plate for more.

  As I was feeding her (and Braeden was still helping himself), I felt Romeo’s stare. Our eyes connected.

  Ivy was giving Drew a fashion lecture, Trent was laughing, Braeden was food stealing, and my niece was waving her spoon around with a mouthful of pancake.

  We smiled at one another. Everyone else fell away.

  Today was a good day.

  Romeo

  Another state, another game. Another practice.

  Rim was home. She and Ivy drove back to our compound not long after we finished up pancake Sunday (in disguise as Monday). Drew and Trent followed them.

  It was probably torture for them, considering they never drove the speed limit, but the girls did.

  After the night Rim and I had and the way she finally opened up, I just wanted to be home. I wanted to spend time with her. I wanted to make sure all the ground we recovered didn’t crumble away.

  I loved Rim—more than myself. Our marriage was still work, though. All marriages were. We might have the perfect love, but life wasn’t perfect. It seemed it came at us, tested us, tried to pull us apart. Usually, circumstances—life—pushed us together.

  Losing Evie didn’t push us apart, per say, but it didn’t push us closer either. It left us in this stagnate state that we had to fight to get out of.

  The way we sometimes circled the issues taking up space in our minds made it seem we weren’t fighting at all. We were. I’d always fight for her. For us. Some battles were just quieter, and some took more time.

  I was practicing hard today, running the ball more than usual. It felt good to run, to power down the field and exert so much energy.

  By the time practice wound down, I was drenched in sweat. My arm quivered from throwing, but it didn’t worry me. It would hold out. The way it felt now was normal; it wasn’t so exhausted I wouldn’t be able to recover. In fact, I’d be better in the next game for it.

  We didn’t practice much during the actual season, mostly one good practice a week. Sometimes it was nice to just get out here and fuck around. Blow off steam. B and I were like magic out there tonight. He sensed my aggression, and it seemed to power his own.

  So why did I play so hard?

  Because that’s how I was. Go hard or go home.

 

  Well, mostly that. Then there was this other small reason.

  Rimmel opened up to me about her own dark thoughts. She was brave, wanted to try again even though she was still scared.

  Made me feel like a coward.

  I didn’t relish this feeling. In fact, I fucking hated it.

  It tasted vile. It smelled like rot, and it darkened my mood.

  I hadn’t done the same. I’d kept quiet about my biggest torment. What would she think of me if I’d spilled? Would she still respect me? Would she still look at me with the same warm brown eyes that made me feel like I hung the moon?

  I was protecting her; I’d reasoned with my subconscious. It was a pansy-ass excuse. She didn’t want protecting. She’d announced as much during pancakes, when everything came out about her father and the press.

  I should have pulled her aside and confessed it all.

  I didn’t.

  The loud drone of the music playing in the background brought me back into focus. These thoughts didn’t belong here right now. Right now, it was football time.

  On the sidelines, I watched our players go at it. Practice tonight was an ass-kicker.

  “Romeo!” My name floated through the noise, along the breeze.

  I didn’t pay much attention. My name was yelled a lot during games and practices… and in general.

  “Anderson!” The use of my last name had me glancing around. No one ever called me that, at least not fans. Or hell, even the team. Anderson wasn’t even on the back of my uniform. I was simply Romeo.

  Note: watch out for imitations. There is only one.

  And it’s not that guy Shakespeare wrote about either.

  One of the team staff members was rushing toward me, a headset perched on his head, a Knights jacket around his torso. He carried a clipboard and pen. In his hand was a phone.

  “Romeo!” he called out again as he drew closer.

  I turned my back on the tea
m and stepped forward, leaning down so I could better hear whatever he had to say over the noise.

  “Urgent phone call.” He shoved the phone between us.

  Urgent phone call?

  I didn’t even have a chance to panic—you know how your stomach drops and you automatically assume the worst because the word urgent was being thrown around? I didn’t have any of that.

  It was like my mind was suddenly stuffed full of cotton. I felt my blood pressure spike, but even that was muted.

  I grabbed the phone. “This is Roman Anderson.”

  The voice on the other end of the line was strange and unfamiliar. He spoke fast, and it took my muddled brain a second to catch up. I pressed a finger to my other ear, trying to mute out some of the background noise so I could focus on his words.

  All the blood drained from my face.

  “What!” I yelled.

  He started talking again, rambling really… All that blood that drained from my head? It rushed right into my chest. Adrenaline spiked inside my body so fast my head spun.

  I stopped hearing. I barely even thought.

  The phone hit my foot when I dropped it, but I didn’t pick it up.

  I started running. Not out to the field where I was supposed to be, but away. People called my name. I didn’t even pause.

  I ran as fast as I could; I ran for my life.

  Rimmel

  To go or not to go? That was the question.

  The day after Ivy and I returned home from Romeo’s game, I called my obstetrician. I spoke to her nurse and requested the doctor herself give me a call back when she had a free moment.

  That free moment came the next day. Have you ever waited for a phone call and every minute, every hour seemed extremely dragged-out until you thought you might scream? Yeah, it’s no picnic.

  I was at the shelter when my cell finally rang. I told her exactly what I told Romeo—I wanted to come in. I wanted to be sure everything was as it should be. I wanted peace of mind.

  I requested an appointment for early the next week, when I knew Romeo would be able to make a quick trip home between games. Unfortunately, my OB was going to be out of the office all next week.

  Apparently, she was going to Bora Bora.

  It was very inconvenient. I refrained from telling her that, though.