DITCHED

by RC Boldt

  He turns, the male side facing me. “Becket Jones, NFL star, nice to meet you.” Then he turns and gives me the other side, and his voice changes to a higher falsetto. “I’m Blue, Becket’s best friend for-ev-errrrrr.”

  Creative as hell as his getup is, I still can’t believe this shit.

  “You guys are messed up.” I pad down the hall, intent on grabbing a bottle of water.

  “It’s because we emulate you.”

  I let out a huff of a laugh because he’s full of it. “That’s got to be the first time you’ve ever used that word.”

  “You’re not the only one who has a Word of the Day app on their phone,” he protests, his voice laced with amusement. “But, yeah, you’re right.” He slaps a hand on my back good-naturedly. “First time for everything. Now, where’s this woman of yours I’ve heard so much about?” Myers glances around, and when his eyes land on Ivy, they widen dramatically.

  “Well, hell.” We all exchange odd looks of confusion. Myers turns to me and shakes his head, appearing regretful. “I can’t believe you stole Miss January out from under me.” He pokes an index finger at my chest. “I specifically recall putting a star beside her name on the Sports Illustrated calendar and staking my claim!”

  I laugh and look over at Ivy, whose cheeks are flushed.

  She steps forward. “Who’s this smooth-talker friend of yours?” she asks me, her eyes dancing with amusement.

  He takes a step toward her and holds his arms out wide. “Come to Uncle Myers. Hug it out, girl.”

  Ivy laughs and…God, she’s so damn gorgeous my breath lodges in my chest. When she steps up to my teammate, and he wraps his arms around her, eyeing me smugly, I can’t contain the growl of disapproval.

  “Oh, no he di’in’t!” Tank whoops and proceeds to give everyone a play-by-play. “Jones thought he was going for a pick six, but he should know Myers was pulling some trickeration.”

  “Simmer down,” I command. “Especially if you plan to show my lovely lady your karaoke game.”

  Tank bounds up from the couch and preens, running a hand down his bare chest. “Son, you better prepare to lose your woman to me tonight.” Addressing Ivy, he holds out his meaty hand. “Come sit by me and prepare to be wooed by my stellar rap skills.”

  Collective boos sound as everyone teases him.

  And this is how our pre-party starts.

  “Car’ll be here in twenty!” I holler to be heard above the loud din of conversation between karaoke songs.

  The guys bought me a home karaoke kit as a housewarming gift. Of course, that merely means they end up coming over to use it, but I don’t mind. They crack me up.

  I twist open another bottle of water and take a long drink when Ivy sidles up beside me. “Your friends are something else.”

  I laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “I like them.”

  I glance over at her only to find her eyes flitting over my teammates, a soft smile playing on her lips.

  “They’re good guys,” I mutter. “Just don’t tell them I said that.”

  Her lips part to respond, but she’s interrupted by Tank.

  “Ivvvvvvyyyyyy!” He waves her over. “Come ’ere, gorgeous. Sing with me.”

  Ivy’s spine stiffens, her smile tightening slightly at the edges. It strikes me as odd at first, but I reason it must be related to her aversion to having attention on her.

  “I’m a terrible singer,” she deflects, waving him off.

  “Nonsense! Now get yo’ ass over here!”

  She looks at me for help, and I laugh before I lean in. “It’s okay. Just humor him. He’s harmless.”

  Five minutes later, I’m leaning against the back of the couch in my living room, surrounded by my four closest teammates and the woman I’m in love with. Tank’s trying his hand at singing a Cranberries song, “Zombie,” and doing a poor job of it. He’s left the chorus to Ivy, who’s singing softly and a bit off tune, her nervousness apparent in her white-knuckled grip on the microphone. But something strikes me as odd.

  I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s almost like she’s actually trying not to sing well, which is…bizarre. I scan the expressions of the other guys, but none of them appear to register anything, so maybe it’s just me.

  Still, as the night progresses, my confusing observation plagues me.

  32

  Ivy

  I’ve been toying with the prospect of throwing caution to the wind tonight. To pretend like I don’t need to hide, that I can be free to simply be with Becket like any other normal woman.

  I decide the moment our extended limo pulls up to the entrance of the resort hotel where the Halloween party is being held. The guys start filing out, and Tank has offered numerous times to be my escort, claiming he’s a “diamond in the rough” that no one notices or cares about.

  When he holds out his enormous paw of a hand to me from outside the limo door, Becket’s hand on my wrist draws me to a stop.

  “Ivy?”

  His questioning gaze is filled with concern. I offer him a comforting smile.

  “I’m going to—”

  “She don’t want yo’ pretty face no more,” Tank supplies readily with a cheeky grin. “Why would she want some kale when she can have a rack of baby back ribs?”

  “With barbecue sauce!” Dax and Mario chime in before snickering like fools.

  With eyes shining with laughter, I look at Becket. “I’ll be fine.” Reaching to grasp Tank’s outstretched hand, he helps me out of the vehicle.

  Becket exits and trails behind his teammates and me. Even though I’d give anything to be by his side, I’m grateful for his friends. Mario and Tank are on one side of me while Dax and Myers are on the other, serving as a human barrier of sorts.

  As Becket follows a few feet behind, I can’t help the surge of emotion that reverberates through me. These men—his friends, his teammates—are protecting me without really knowing me. And that concept is foreign to me. Being protected by someone who barely knows you, by someone who doesn’t hesitate to do so even when there’s nothing in it for them.

  “Becket!” His name is called by a few photographers on the outskirts of the ropes separating the area for attendees from paparazzi. I don’t turn around but can imagine he’s pausing and smiling briefly on his way to the entrance.

  “Who’s your lovely lady, Tank?”

  Every muscle in my body tenses at the shouted question to Becket’s teammate, whose arm is slung around my waist.

  Tank stops short, dropping his arm from me, only to place his palm on his chest dramatically. “Why, y’all are just makin’ me feel like uncooked grits.” He pouts. “Don’t you care ’bout me no more? What about…” He yammers on and on, in what I’ve come to learn is typical Tank-like style.

  All the while, the guys continue walking, escorting me to the entrance doors. Something draws my attention toward the far end of the crowd. A man who stands without any camera draped around his neck or braced in his hands. He simply stands with his arms crossed with a fierce scowl etched on his face. Though I can’t make out his eyes or determine exactly where his focus is centered due to the faint shadows the edge of the building casts, the sensation of heaviness from his attention is undeniable. It’s alarming in an oddly distressing way, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s just something about him.

  When he abruptly turns around and begins walking away, I release the breath I hadn’t realized I’ve been holding in a slow whoosh and dismiss his presence. Lord knows plenty of creepy people are obsessed with athletes and famous people at events like this. He was probably trying to figure out how I fit into this crowd and realized I don’t, that I’m not worth his time or attention.

  As soon as we make it inside, I turn back to where the doormen continue to hold the doors open, waiting on Becket and Tank to enter. Of course, Tank’s delaying things since he’s hamming it up.

  “Well, lookie here.” He breaks out a wide grin, tha
t gold tooth flashing amidst the camera flashes. “Turns out I’ve got myself the hottest date around.” He reaches out a hand to pet the back of Becket’s head. “My favorite QB in the world.”

  Becket gives him a hard side-eye that doesn’t faze his friend one bit.

  “If y’all will excuse me now, I’ve got to get on with my night.” Tank loops his arm through Becket’s and starts toward the door, arm in arm.

  Once the doors fall closed behind the two men, I stop and wait for Becket. His eyes don’t leave mine as he approaches. Like I’m the only person he cares about.

  I’m his focal point in a gallery filled with priceless art.

  Becket stops in front of me and reaches out to toy with some of my hair. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I smooth down the front of his shirt.

  “Shall we?” He extends a hand to me, his eyes smiling down on me.

  I place my hand in his, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the happiness he exudes as he watches me, elicits flutters in my stomach.

  I smile up at him and beg for my stomach to calm. “We shall.”

  I finish brushing my teeth and rinse my mouth. Daisy’s already curled up on her bed in the corner. She appears to be recovering well, thank goodness.

  Becket and I are both exhausted and began sagging in our seats on the ride home with the others. His teammates are all sprawled either on his couches or in the spare bedrooms down the hall by now, the entire house far quieter than when they arrived.

  When I slide into bed beside Becket, I can’t withhold my sigh at the sensation the cool sheets elicit.

  “That good, huh?”

  He shuts off the light, and I turn to him. “Tonight was a lot.”

  “I’m sorry.” He lets out a long sigh. “Their events can be overwhelming.”

  Boy, was that an understatement. The event had been overflowing with athletes, many of whom Becket was acquainted with, and a few faces I recognized from my own work.

  I’d instantly recognized a particular woman, accompanied by her fiancé who had tugged Becket in for a brief hug. She’d had a difficult time breaking things off with her boyfriend—a widower with a young son—a little less than a year ago. I’d nearly declined her application due to her boyfriend showing distinctive traits of an abusively controlling nature. If things got out of hand, I’d be risking everything I’d worked so hard for. My reputation, my business, and my identity. Not to mention, I’d be putting Darcy and Leif at risk for being associated with me.

  My two friends had been insistent that we help Karla, regardless of the cost. They had pooled their additional resources and contacts, and I’d had to do something I hated doing. I’d asked Dr. Robicheaux for help to assist me in assessing the boyfriend. It had been like swallowing my pride, turning back to a man who had intimate knowledge of me and my past, but I couldn’t bear to turn this woman away and live with the knowledge I’d refused someone help.

  Thankfully, we’d managed to help her break free. Seeing Karla tonight, glowing and so obviously in love with the man at her side, made me proud to know I played a role in helping her escape that relationship. We both, when introduced, had feigned as though we’d never met before.

  It wasn’t until I had exited the ladies’ room and passed her that she’d stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm and spoken two simple words that resonated so deeply.

  “Thank you.”

  I’d simply nodded. She’d disappeared into the restroom, and I’d made my way back to Becket.

  Thank you. The sincerity of that sentiment was all it took to make me truly realize that we—Darcy, Leif, and I—are doing something good. The situation might not always be so grave in nature, but no matter how you look at it, we’re helping people.

  Shaking off my reflection of the evening’s events, I lay my hand on Becket’s chest and prop my head up on my other hand. “It was fun. Your friends are hilarious.” I give a little laugh, thinking back on the evening. “They made me feel welcome.” I lean over to dust a kiss on his lips. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “The guys think you’re great.” He pauses. “And they made you feel welcome because they know you’re important to me.” There’s another pause. “Will you come over here?”

  I know what he’s asking, and I can easily blame it on my tiredness, but it wouldn’t be the truth. I want to be near him.

  I want to fall asleep curled up in Becket’s arms.

  Without a word, I scoot closer to his side, the instant warmth of his body comforting me in ways I could never manage to describe, and settle my arm across his chest. My hand lies over the center of his chest. When he places his hand on top of mine, I close my eyes and release a contented sigh, the steady beating of his heart beneath my palm lulling me to sleep.

  Just as I’m dozing off, I swear I hear him whisper, “It’s all yours, Ivy.”

  33

  Becket

  “You have to head to work today, don’t you?” I pour the protein shake I’ve just blended into two large cups, one for me and one for Ivy.

  “Yes.” She quietly sets the small bag she’d brought with her on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, cognizant two of my teammates are still passed out in the living room on the couches. She flashes me a regretful smile. “I’ve got some new applications to go through and need to plan a case with Darcy and Leif.”

  “Speaking of Leif,” I start. “When will I get to meet this notorious tech guru?”

  She laughs. “He’s kind of a hermit, so he doesn’t leave his apartment much.” She shakes her head, and her smile is filled with affection. “He has an office, but it’s rarely used unless we really need him to come in for a big case.”

  “How often has that been?” I take a long drink of my shake.

  Wrinkling her brow in thought, she twists her lips before answering, “Actually, only once so far.” Her features turn somber. “We had a woman who needed help escaping a rough relationship.” Her eyes regard me thoughtfully. “I actually spotted her last night, and she’s…much happier now.”

  “Wow.” That’s all I can say even as I attempt to rack my brain and figure out who it might be. “You’re amazing, you know that?” And I mean it. She has no idea how much I admire her.

  She waves off the compliment. “It’s not all me. The three of us work well together, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything without them.”

  “Go ahead and try your shake.”

  She reaches for the cup I’ve placed a straw in for her and tastes it, her expression morphing into surprise. “That’s actually pretty good.”

  I wink. “I’ve been telling you my shakes are good. In fact”—I break off in a casual shrug—“one might even say they bring the girls to my yard.”

  “Is that even remotely true?”

  “Not even,” I answer quickly, with a sheepish look.

  She grins. “You’ve been dying to say that for a while, haven’t you?”

  “Yep,” I answer, popping the “p” at the end.

  Ivy laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and the sound of her laughter wraps around me, filling me with a happiness I’ve never experienced before.

  I walk around the island and draw her into my arms and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Ivy, I—”

  The sound of heavy footfalls on my stairs at rapid speed draws our attention. “Jones! Turn on the TV! Now!”

  With amazing speed for as large as he is, Tank moves swiftly past the kitchen and into the living room, Myers following him, rousing the others asleep in the room. Reaching for the remote, he turns on the television, and the first thing I see is my face, a photo of me clad in my Jags uniform, which is nothing noteworthy.

  What causes me to nearly lose my grip on my protein shake is the headline beneath the photo.

  Beloved NFL quarterback and Heisman Trophy winner accused of child molestation

  “What. The. FUCK?” I bellow and slam down my cup on the kitchen counter, uncaring at the spattering of
shake that it causes.

  My photo disappears, only to be replaced by one of me with an arm draped around Sammy Tate as he hugs me. It must’ve been taken from that final day of Youth Football Clinic.

  Beneath the photo, the same headline remains, accusing me of child molestation.

  I stare in disbelief. The photo, what should appear as nothing more than a simple and friendly hug that lasted a mere two seconds, now looks vile and perverted.

  The news anchor’s face now fills the screen.

  “Joining us live from Gainesville, Florida, we have Nathan Tate who alleges Jaguars quarterback Becket Jones inappropriately touched his son numerous times while his son attended the Youth Football Clinic Jones participated in.”

  The screen splits to show her on the left and the man I’ve come to dread on the right.

  “Mr. Tate, can you tell us when these incidents took place?”

  “I do, and I can. My son will corroborate everything, but as you can imagine, he’s not comfortable being on camera or with talking about it publicly.” He shakes his head, and I see right through the sham of sadness he’s trying to portray. “It’s just too painful.”

  “I can understand that,” she says in a soothing tone. “And can you tell us how this transpired?”

  He turns his eyes to stare directly at the camera. “His girlfriend played a role in this, as well. Ivy Hayes”—his tone shifts, a threatening edge to it—“or maybe I should say Ivy Donohue.”

  The anchorwoman darts a glance off camera, appearing startled, before she turns back to Nathan. “Ivy Donohue?” she repeats slowly. “The former child star?”

  My eyes shift to where Ivy stands a few feet away, her face pale in color. I can only manage to stare at her in dazed disbelief before returning my attention to the TV.