DITCHED

by RC Boldt

  It seems Nathan Tate is only getting started.

  “That’s right.” He smirks proudly.

  “Turn it off!” I yell.

  Tank mashes the button on the remote, immersing us in silence.

  “Jesus.” I drag a hand through my hair. “What the fuck is this shit?” No sooner do I get the words out does my phone start vibrating on the counter.

  I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly before addressing the guys. “Look, I sure as shit didn’t molest anyone, let alone a freaking kid.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Beck.” Dax makes a face and tosses up his hands in exasperation. “We know that.”

  “What we need to know…” Tank’s voice is deceptively calm, and this serious quality is at odds with his usual jovial personality. He settles an assessing gaze on Ivy, who seems to be rooted to the spot. “Is exactly what you had to do with this.”

  “And who the hell you really are,” Mario adds.

  I have to give her credit. Ivy doesn’t waver at being the focus of menacing looks from men who outweigh her and a few who tackle people to the ground for a living.

  She knots her fingers together and presses her lips thin before rushing out with, “First off, I had nothing to do with that accusation. I’ve never actually met that man before.”

  Dax leans forward on the couch, bracing his forearms on his knees, and levels a hard stare on her. “Define what you mean by ‘never actually met’ him.”

  “I can’t say too much because it’s confidential, but—”

  “His reputation is on the line, Ivy!” Dax explodes, jumping up from the couch, his hands fisted at his sides.

  She jumps, clearly startled.

  “Look, I had to help a woman break up with him. We coached her, and it was the toughest case we’ve ever had because of his controlling tendencies. He was a narcissistic psychopath and showed signs that he was edging toward becoming physically abusive. She broke up with him and never looked back.” She looks at me, her expression pleading, and adds, “That was the woman I mentioned seeing last night.”

  “Why’d you lie about your name?” Mario asks quietly.

  Ivy’s expression falls, and for a second, I want to rush to her. I want to hold and comfort her.

  But I’m not certain I even know her at this point.

  She shakes her head slowly, full of regret. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I challenge, my tone steely.

  She raises her head, her features ripe with anguish. “I can’t.”

  I clench my jaw so hard my teeth begin to ache. “I think you need to leave.” I don’t know how I manage to say this so calmly, quiet yet forceful.

  I address the guys. “I need to figure this shit out. Sorry to start your morning this way.”

  “Pfft,” Dax scoffs. “Dude. We’ve got this.” He’s already got his phone out and is texting someone. “By the way,” he says off-handedly, without looking up, “know how I know you didn’t molest that kid?”

  I exchange an odd look with the others before I slowly ask, “How?”

  He looks up and grins. “Because you’re in love with my cocoa skin, of course.” He stands and slaps me on the back before heading down the hall. “I’ve got work to do. Gonna head out and be in touch.”

  “Same here,” the others agree, gathering their keys. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” They give me comforting pats on the back and exit the living room.

  Only to leave me alone with the one woman I can’t bear to be around.

  “Becket,” she starts.

  “Look.” I stare at her hard. “If you’re going to tell me everything and be completely honest with me, go ahead. Because people who love each other don’t keep secrets…not like this. But if you’re not, I’ll say it one final time.” My words are clipped, steely. “You need to leave.”

  I snag my cell phone from the kitchen island and brush past her. I stride down the hall toward the stairs when her softly spoken words reach me.

  “Becket, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I bite out. “What are you sorry for? Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  Her lips part and, for the briefest moment, I think she’s about to open up and talk to me.

  Until she suddenly snaps her mouth shut.

  Goddammit. She’s still holding back, and here I am, the guy who’s actually trying. Yet she’s not even willing to meet me halfway.

  I drag a hand through my hair in frustration. We could be perfect, if only she’d open up to me. At any other time, I’d be willing to give a little leeway, but with Ivy holding a major secret and having information at the center of this scandal, she needs to be the one to give.

  But she’s not willing to do that, so she needs to go.

  I pause at the banister with my foot on the first step. I pinch my eyes closed and ignore the phone vibrating in my hand, most likely Chris calling. I draw in a deep breath and murmur familiar words under my breath.

  Only love.

  For the first time in my life, I’m not sure I’ll be able to achieve this.

  I open my eyes and pin her with a hard stare. “I’ve never held back from you. I’ve been nothing but honest. I expected the same from you.” My voice escalates. “Jesus, Ivy! We’re in a relationship, for God’s sake!”

  She tosses her hands up, features displaying her distress, the volume of her voice matching mine. “I break people up for a living! That’s just what I do!” She gestures back and forth between us. “What did you expect to happen here? I told you I don’t do relationships, Becket!”

  The silence is deafening as I let her response sink in and zero in on one word.

  My voice is muted when I ask, “You don’t do relationships or you didn’t do relationships? Which is it, Ivy?”

  She remains silent for a painfully long moment before she answers. “Don’t.”

  I clench my jaw tight against the anger intermixed with the agonizing pain her words elicit. “I’ve played football long enough to realize certain things, and I can honestly say I’ve put my all into this. But sometimes that’s just not enough.”

  I glance down briefly. “This is one of those times when I have to call it a game and face defeat. I fell in love with you only to have it turn out like this. So, congratulations. You’re the winner.”

  Confusion lines her features. “How am I the winner?”

  I shake my head, self-recrimination flooding me. “You won my heart, Ivy. And I’m the moron who handed it over to you.” I turn to head up the stairs to escape her.

  “But—” she starts.

  I whip my head around and cut her off with a look, our eyes clashing, and my features hard. I finish with a lethally quiet, “Your bottom line—your endgame—was accomplished. You got what you wanted.” I pause at the sensation of multiple fissures destroying my heart.

  “You ditched me.”

  34

  Ivy

  November

  I’ve basically holed myself away in my office ever since shit hit the fan with Becket. It’s the one place I feel safe since our front desk is manned, and we have a security guard who ensures no one uses the bank of elevators without confirmation they have an appointment.

  It doesn’t mean there hasn’t been an influx of people claiming to have appointments. Nathan Tate put our business on everyone’s radar, it seems. We went from being discrete and operating only by word of mouth from former clients to complete and utter pandemonium.

  I’m stressed, and there’s this god-awful tightness in my chest that won’t quit. I rub my fingertips over the center of my breastbone. “Darce! Do you have Tums or something?”

  A muffled response sounds, but I can’t make it out. I start to rise from my desk chair when she suddenly pops in the doorway. “What’d you say?”

  “Tums. Do you have any?” The urgency in my voice is evident.

  She frowns and slowly shakes her head. “No. Why?”

  “I have indige
stion that won’t quit.” I point at the center of my chest. “It’s right here, and it’s killing me.”

  My sister assesses me with her gaze. “What did you eat?”

  I furrow my brow in thought because what did I eat today? Crap. Have I eaten?

  “Okay.” Darcy strides in and sinks into the chair across from me with a sigh. “You’re not going to want to hear this, but it’s not indigestion.”

  “What is it?”

  She makes a sound of exasperation. “Ivy, it’s called heartache.”

  I rear back in my chair. “What? No.” I shake my head emphatically.

  She jumps up and comes around my desk and reaches for my laptop.

  “What are you doing, Darce?” I ask warily.

  Her fingers fly across the keyboard, and when she pulls up the familiar ESPN home screen, I tense and protest.

  “No. I don’t want to see anything—”

  “Hush!” she reprimands forcefully. “Just watch and listen.” She clicks on a video that shows the Jags’s most recent games with the commentators’ voices in the background providing a play-by-play. Soon, they shift to focus solely on the two men in the booth, calling the game while a play is under review.

  “Becket Jones’s appearance has certainly undergone a change.”

  “That’s an understatement.” The other guy chuckles. “He’s got the mountain man beard look going on now.”

  “Dark beard to match his darker demeanor.”

  “Where did our lighthearted QB with the perma-grin go?”

  “Well, watching him lately, you can’t deny he’s playing his heart out. Hell, we’ve seen him run the ball in for touchdowns himself. But it still looks like he’s battling demons—on and off the field.”

  “He’s refused to fight those damaging allegations and simply released a statement saying, ‘Those who know me and have worked with me can attest to my character, integrity, and morals. I refuse to lower myself to the level of this individual and his outright defamation.’”

  “Well, he certainly looks like he’s pooling all his energy into the game. He plays with a near desperation, almost.”

  “Teammates have compared it to back when he lost his mother.”

  “Ah, yes. Betsy Jones was loved by all, and it was sad for the entire Jags family when she passed away.”

  “And there it is again!” Excitement infuses his tone as they transition back to the game, which picked up after the call on the field was confirmed. The cameraman follows the sight of Becket sprinting, the football securely tucked in his left arm, to score a touchdown.

  When the camera zeroes in on Becket as he makes his way to the sidelines after the play, he removes his helmet, and I drink in the sight of the man I’ve missed more than anything. He appears to have lost weight, and his eyes look hollow, missing that familiar sparkle I’ve come to know. He looks like he’s just going through the motions. And that beard makes him look dangerous, intimidating.

  Darcy pauses the video, leans against the edge of my desk, and crosses her arms. “We need to talk about what you’re going to do about this.”

  “About what?”

  “About you and Becket!” She tosses her hands up, clearly losing her patience with me. “You love him, and he told you the same!”

  “I never said I loved him.” I shake my head, my throat tightening painfully as panic surges through my veins.

  Darcy narrows her eyes and points her index finger at me. “Even if you want to ignore that”—she gestures to the computer screen, paused on the still frame displaying Becket’s face—“you still need to address the shit storm that’s going on right now with our business.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I dart up from my chair and begin to pace the office. “Everything is insane, and now people know my real name and everything I’ve been working so hard to get past—”

  “But you haven’t.”

  I whip my head around to stare at her. “What?”

  Her expression is etched in sadness. “You haven’t worked to get past it. Not really.” She walks toward me before drawing to a stop. “You’ve simply buried it and hoped it would stay that way.”

  I toss up my hands, my movements agitated. “Look, I was right! Becket and I tried. We were barely together and look what it did to him! I’ve practically destroyed his life just by being close to him!” I deflate, my shoulders drooping. “I was right all along. Relationships hurt people. That’s why we do what we do, right?”

  “Ivy.” Darcy eyes me curiously. “You don’t realize what it is we’re really doing, do you?”

  Warily, I stare. “What do you mean?”

  “You think you’re holding true to your whole stance against happily-ever-afters and love, but you’re not.” Her voice softens. “By helping these people break up with those they’re not really in love with, you’re helping them be free to find the ones they are meant to be with.” Darcy falls quiet with a meaningful pause. “You’re actually helping them find love.”

  The blood leaves my face, and a slight dizziness washes over me. “No,” I protest. “That’s not…that can’t be right.”

  She takes my now clammy hand in hers. “It’s something I’ve known all along. Leif, too. But we knew your thoughts—your beliefs.”

  I shake off her hand and back away. “You didn’t say anything?” My tone is accusatory.

  Her voice is resolute, features stern. “You and I both know you would’ve lost your shit if we had.”

  “This is…I just…” I pace frantically, my feet eating up the floor.

  “Ivy.” Darcy’s somber tone draws me to a stop, and I turn my gaze on her. “You need to stop letting your past dictate your future.” She steps close and grasps my shoulders lightly, her eyes steady on me, expression somber. “You’ve become an incredible woman. You’re smart as hell, and this business was your idea. But you’re still hiding. Hiding from your past. Hiding from your potential. Hiding from”—she quirks her lips in a tiny smile tinged with sadness—“love.”

  We stand here, and I allow her words to sink in, ruminating, and when she pulls me in to wrap me in her arms, I lose it.

  The tears I’ve held at bay for so long come pouring out, and I cry for the young girl who was robbed of so much. The girl who had no one to turn to, no one to trust in times she needed it the most. I cry for the woman who’s shut herself off to living freely without being held down by the past.

  Most of all, I cry for the woman who’s lost the one man who managed to breach all defenses for the first time.

  The man who made me fall in love.

  “I come into work, and this is what I’m greeted with? Do I need to crack the whip around here?”

  I jerk from Darcy’s embrace, quickly wiping my cheeks before I turn and face the man I haven’t seen in forever. And I hate that my lips quiver at the sight of my dear friend.

  “Leif.” My voice is thick with emotion, and he sets his large laptop bag down on one of my chairs before striding over and pulling me in for a hug.

  “You certainly know how to get people’s attention nowadays, don’t you?” he teases softly.

  I give a little laugh against his shirt. “You can say that again.” I lean back. “What brought you in today?” I ask curiously.

  “Well.” He steps back and glances over at Darcy. “I figured you’d need my help to get this Nathan Tate thing under control. And since it’s this serious, I figured I should come in and strategize face-to-face.”

  I nod slowly, and my gaze flickers between Leif and my sister. “I’m sorry about this mess.”

  Leif waves me off. “Ivy, trust me. This is going to be water under the bridge soon.” He holds up an index finger. “Not only that but once people realize how we helped that woman break up with him and find real happiness in a healthy relationship, our demand will increase.”

  I blow out a heavy breath. “I guess.”

  “First, we take care of Tate.” He grabs his laptop from his bag and sets it on my
large desk. “I’ve already devised some possible plans of action.”

  35

  Becket

  “My bouquet’s better than yours.”

  “My tulip bulbs are bigger than yours,” I shoot back at Brantley, who laughs.

  “That was a little more like the old Becket.”

  I stiffen at his comment and choose not to respond. Of course, he continues with his yammering. “You know she wouldn’t be happy about this.” We draw to a stop at the large headstone, the Saint Augustine grass crunching beneath our shoes. “You being all surly and Mr. Pouty-pants.”

  “That’s enough,” I practically growl at my brother, who merely smirks.

  “Hey, Mom, guess what?” he addresses the grave. “It’s your birthday, and Becket’s being a douche. Want me to slap him upside the head for you?” He leans in toward the marble headstone and cups a hand around his ear. “What’s that? Was that a yes?”

  I take matters into my own hands and swat the back of his head playfully.

  “Ouch!” He rears back from me before exclaiming loudly, “Mom! Did you just see that?”

  I stare at him like he’s lost his mind, which I’m convinced, some days, he has. “You realize you don’t need to raise your voice for her to hear you, right?”

  He shrugs and flashes a silly-ass grin. “You don’t know that. Heaven’s far away.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and mutter under my breath, “I can’t deal with this shit.”

  A swat to the back of my head startles me. “Hey!”

  “What?” Brantley looks back at me, his expression one of pure innocence. “Mom said to do it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Both of us stiffen in alarm at the female voice. Brantley’s wide-eyed look transforms into one of faux amazement. “I told you she could hear us!”

  “You’re a damn numbnuts.” I can’t restrain the chuckle that escapes.

  A light, feminine laugh greets my ears from behind, and I feel a fraction of the tension ease in my body. Blue slides her arm around my waist and hugs me from the side. “Hey, you.” She stares up at me, concern evident in the depths.