Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  * * *

  At last, the traffic breaks enough for the car to accelerate, and my car pulls up to my home within fifteen minutes of Harper’s last text. During that time, I went through all the versions of what I could say to her and how to explain Jamie’s father, but I come up empty.

  How do you explain a monster to someone who’s never seen one?

  When stepping out of the vehicle and onto the curb, I’m still hyper focused on my phone, not looking where I’m going, and when I stumble and someone catches me, I don’t think anything of it except that I’m a klutz—at first.

  “Careful, Teddy.”

  The low, throaty growl travels up my spin and leaves a spider’s trail well before I find my balance.

  My reaction is visceral. I throw off his grip and spit, “Let go of me.”

  Bryan O’Neil is unfazed. He stands there in the glow of a New York night, collared shirt unbuttoned at the nape, pressed slacks unwrinkled, new crow’s feet under his pale green eyes, his tanned face grim under a mop of thick, graying brown hair. Tousled in just the way Jamie’s does.

  “Been a long time,” he says in his relaxed pose. Seeing my reaction, the corners of his mouth pull up. He tucks his hands in his pockets. “I’m not out here to hurt you, Teddy.”

  I manage to find my voice through the raw rush of adrenaline. “You shouldn’t be out here at all.”

  He shrugs. “You didn’t answer my texts. I had to come here, make sure you were safe. That my child was cared for.”

  My upper lip curls. “You’re a fucking liar.”

  “Such bite. Did you find some fangs while I was away?”

  “You weren’t away. I left you. We had an agreement, and last time you signed your name, you wanted nothing to do with us. So why are you here? What do you want?”

  “If you’d texted, I would’ve given you answers. Instead, here we are, confrontational as always.” Bryan shifts his weight, utterly calm, but I know a coil before a strike when I see one. I take a few steps back.

  “Six years, Bryan. Six goddamned years. You gave up any rights you had long ago.”

  “You have a tiny Chihuahua of a person guarding your home.” He lowers his chin. “I could’ve broken through her and gotten to my son. You know that. What did you tell her? Oh, yes.” He smiles. “Call the police.”

  I swallow. Blink rapidly. I wish Harper had called the police. “Get out of here, Bryan.” I hold up my phone. “Or else I will call—”

  His arm darts out in a blur, catching me before I can spin away. I yelp when he pulls me against him by twisting my wrist and holding my arm against his chest.

  Bryan bares his teeth, pure and white and varnished. “I want my son, Teddy.”

  I force my eyes to his. “You’re not getting anywhere near him.”

  His eyes go dark, and I’m propelled into the past, cornered in a kitchen, with nothing but a rubber whisk to protect myself. His grip tightens. “You’ve had your fun, your pretense of independence, getting a degree, being a smart pussy in a man’s world. All of which you couldn’t have done without my help. My money. But time’s up, Teddy. Your cunt is mine. It’s always been mine. And if it weren’t for me, it wouldn’t have housed that boy up there, so you have a lot of thanking to do.” He leans closer, his breath hot on my cheeks. “Some apologizing to do, too. And I’ll let you do it. On your knees. Starting on the plane ride home.”

  With hitched breaths, I say, “Your control over me is long erased. I got my degree. I raised my son. And I’m going to knee your balls into your throat.”

  The split second before my words hit his brain is when I pounce, my knee driving hard where I promised. On a grunt, his grip loosens on my wrist and he stumbles back. I launch into my courtyard, the iron gate ringing behind me as I slam it shut, and sprint to the front door.

  Harper’s already there, the screeching of the iron gate alerting her, and she throws the door open and ushers me in before locking all the deadbolts.

  “This isn’t over!”

  Bryan’s roar, though muffled by the brick of the building, is no less weakened with its meaning.

  “Big mistake, Teddy.” The wood of the door shakes on its hinges as he punches it. His eyes rage behind the glass. “Big, big fucking mistake.”

  “I’m calling the police now,” Harper says in a rushed voice. She pulls out her phone as we shake in the hallway. “He’s not—”

  Bryan disappears. Part of me thinks he’s trying to find an open window. But, a car’s engine roars to life, and the thin, vertical windows bordering the front door glint with red as Bryan reverses, then throttles down the road.

  “He left,” I say on a breath. “He’s gone.”

  “T? What the hell is going on—”

  But I’m grappling with the lock to my apartment door and stumbling in, blindly making my way down our short hallway to Jamie’s room.

  Please be okay. Please be okay—

  Opening the door, I find him outlined in the soft glow of his window, curled up on his side, asleep and hugging a teddy bear he swears he’s outgrown and no longer wants.

  With the swell of relief comes an instant buckling, and I’m falling against the doorframe until Harper catches me and I turn into her, sobbing.

  “T? Taryn? Oh, Jesus.” Harper’s arms come around and she ushers me out of Jamie’s view, shutting his door and guiding me to the couch.

  “I’m sorry,” I say into my hands once I’m seated. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

  The couch dips as Harper sits beside me, rubbing my back. “In the half-decade I’ve known you, nothing like that has ever happened, so don’t apologize for it. Life smacks you in the face sometimes.”

  I shake my head, still covering my face. “I should’ve expected this. I don’t know why I thought he’d actually never want to see us again.”

  Harper says softly, “Maybe because you went half a decade without seeing his sorry ass.”

  After a big inhale, I lower my hands. “I have to figure out what to do next. Before he does.”

  “Hang on.” Harper shifts so she’s facing me. “Back up a little. It’s been a big night, and I’m kinda lost on the details. If you would be so kind as to…?”

  “That was Jamie’s father,” I say.

  Harper nods grimly. “Caught that much. I know a deadbeat dad when I see one.”

  “He’s a deadbeat in the sense that he’s a jerk. But officially … to the public eye, he’s rich, good-looking, powerful, decent. A politician.”

  “Ah.” Harper’s expression clears. “It all makes sense now.”

  I spin in my seat, gripping Harper’s arms. “That’s it. That’s why he’s here.”

  “Because he wants your vote?” Harper’s mouth screws up. “Sorry. Bad joke. I get awkward in tense situations…”

  “Because he’s running for something,” I surmise. While I’m talking to Harper, I’m not actually talking to her. My mind’s cranking away. “We lived in Massachusetts for a while, when I was at Harvard. But, while he worked in finance, he always wanted to move back to Ohio. Run for office. When I refused him—I mean, when I left him, that was his goal. He went back to Cleveland, and I decided to stay in Massachusetts with Jamie and put myself through law school. God, maybe Bryan’s finally going for higher office, like the Senate. And he wants a complete family unit in order to do it. Nobody likes a broken family, or, more likely, Bryan doesn’t like the public’s horror of the idea that he’s ignored a ‘special needs’ son for years. Bryan has to clean up his mess before he ever has a shot at the White House.”

  “Dear God, that man wants to be president?”

  I physically feel my face lose all its color as I regard Harper. “He’s arrogant and impulsive, underneath his clean-cut demeanor. Going through with the separation six years ago made sense to him. I was young, annoying in that I wanted to go to law school and not stay home, and with a demanding child that couldn’t just go to preschool and be ignored for most of the day. Jamie
and I … we were hurting his reputation. Now, though—oh, now, he needs us.”

  “You don’t need him.”

  I clench and unclench my jaw. “Never again. He’s arrogant, impulsive, and mean.”

  “Taryn…” Harper finds my hand on my thigh and covers it with hers. “Did he hurt you? I mean, physically hurt you? Or Jamie?”

  I squeeze her hand, then let go and rise. “I’m a very private person. I’m starting to understand that it may be my weakness. I’m going to need help to keep him away. Hardcore, heavy-hitting help.”

  “That scary woman who works with you is a good bet.”

  “Astor.” I nod. “Yes. Maybe I’ll bring her in. Bryan’s here now. There’s no more ignoring him, pretending to exist without him.”

  “And don’t forget me. I’m small, but I’m spritely. Jamie’s safe with me, T. I promise.”

  For the first time tonight, a genuine smile crosses my face. “I believe you, Harper. But I’m going to call Jamie’s school first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure they release him to no one but you or me.”

  “Also, let’s not forget the very good-looking rock star who’s nearby. He can probably throw a good punch. Or poke your ex in the eye with a drumstick.” Harper shifts on her butt but is otherwise unaffected by my warning stare. “Say, how’d it go at the hospital, anyway? Is there some light at the end of the tunnel in this shit-fueled night?”

  Sighing, I make my way to the kitchen, searching for a cold, frosty, open wine bottle in the fridge. “That’s a story for another day.”

  “Didn’t go so well, huh?”

  I don’t even bother with a glass.

  23

  Easton

  The hospital releases me without any issues.

  Unlike the last time, I can make my way out on my own two feet. I had one of our roadies drop off my bike in short-term parking this morning while I waited for the discharge papers to go through, and I’m headed there, trying to ignore any memories of the lecture from the audiologist a few hours ago.

  Your hearing is going. Yes, I know.

  It’s only a matter of time—yep, got it.

  You need to start making plans for the—my future is my music. I’ll play until I can’t play anymore.

  You are now definitively at 65% hearing. Does that mean I can still create songs, write lyrics, smash those hits on my drums, and live my life the way I want it? Yes? Good. I’m leaving.

  Spinner visited this morning, his laptop open in his hands well before he stepped in. There was some damage control to unleash, and he was communicating with our PR person about how to go about explaining to the press why I collapsed.

  “Dehydration,” I said to him. I’m starting to lose meaning of the word, I’m saying it so much.

  But Spinner isn’t one to argue, especially when there’s an easy answer to be had, and he left it at that.

  Otherwise, it’s a good start to the day. My ears are back, I can still get on my ride, and the band is at the studio, crunching out some new songs and experimenting with our set list.

  I can go there right now and pretend everything’s good again.

  Except, when I’m on my bike and growling through the streets, swinging through city blocks and passing by the wails of sirens and hubbub of pedestrians, I don’t head to the studio.

  After finding a spot on the street to park, I stride into a midtown building. It’s only when I reach the 38th floor and I duck behind a column as Astor walks by that I think maybe I’m doing something stupid.

  Taryn won’t get out of my head. The way we left things … I’m not sure I’m making the right moves anymore. All I know is, I have to see her.

  From memory, and after a carefully crafted sin of a smile to the receptionist, who let me pass with a gasp, I make it to Taryn’s office.

  As soon as her blonde head comes into view, bent over files spread out on her desk, a sense of relief overwhelms me.

  Just the sight of her makes things a little better. I can’t explain it.

  I knock lightly on the open door. “Taryn?”

  She looks up, eyes flaring subtly, but she collects herself and leans back against her chair. “Easton. What are you doing here?”

  “Would you believe it if I said I’m checking up on my case?”

  She offers a tired smile. “If I were still your lawyer, maybe.”

  After a few awkward seconds, I say, “Mind if I sit for a minute?”

  “Sure.” She gestures to one of her visitor’s chairs. I don’t hesitate.

  I splay my legs, folding my hands in between and leaning forward. “I, uh, came to apologize. For what I said to you at the hospital last night. I wasn’t—well. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

  “It’s understandable.” Her smooth demeanor softens the longer she studies me. “That kind of diagnosis, it’s not easy to digest, no matter how many times it’s repeated to you. And the more I think about it, the more I realize, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

  My brows jump.

  “Throwing my son in your face like that, I mean,” she clarifies. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that every person is different. Deaf, hearing, when you lose sound, when you don’t. A cochlear implant is a very, very personal decision. And…” Her brows pinch. “I didn’t mean to make Jamie sound like he had any less of a life. He’s a happy, healthy boy, and approaches the world with the same gusto anyone else would—”

  “Taryn,” I break in gently. “I know.”

  She takes a breath. “How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly? I’m not sure. The audiologist noticed I’m looking at mouths more than eyes when people talk now. I guess my body’s getting ready for the big transition.” I laugh hollowly.

  Her eyes shimmer. “Oh, Easton.”

  I wave off her concern, mostly because her sweet attention causes my gut to sway. “That’s not why I’m here. Last night was big misunderstanding, and I didn’t want you walking away thinking I’m an ass.”

  “Well, I already thought that.” Her grin this time is genuine. “So, you’re safe there.”

  The need to be honest with her is quick and sharp. “It’s because of this secret, my hearing loss, that made me end things with us before they began. My fear. My cowardice. I met Jamie and it was so unexpected—so real—that I fucking balked. It wasn’t that you had a son. It was because I was suddenly facing what I’ve been … running away from, for so long. Deafness.”

  Her grin falters, but Taryn remains soft. “I’m realizing that.”

  The tendons in my neck become tense. “Tell me I made the wrong decision.”

  Taryn’s eyes flick up to mine. “What?”

  I stand, placing my hands on either side of her desk. Leaning down, I want her to see my intentions behind my stare. “My secret’s out, Taryn. And I’m fucking flailing. You know what the only thing keeping me afloat is?”

  Unexpectedly, her expression turns to anguish. She breaks our stare. “Easton, I—”

  I state the obvious, mostly because the word makes my mouth curve in the way it would if my lips were on hers. “You.”

  She shakes her head, but can’t disperse the sorrow. “I wanted so badly for you to say this to me, before things—so much has changed in the span of twenty-four hours. I can’t—”

  “You’re talking about my diagnosis.” I bend closer, needing her to smell the testosterone, the masculinity emanating off me in waves. An animal sensing its mate. I can’t stop myself. It’s like last night opened Easton’s box. I don’t want to put a stop to the disaster, I want to dive right in.

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Stand up.”

  Taryn lifts her chin. “I think you should leave. I’m sorry.”

  “Then stand up and say goodbye to me.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she rises. I take in every inch of her as she moves, from her tight gray pencil skirt to the sleeveless white blouse, buttons stretched over her breasts. Her collarbone heaves with every br
eath.

  As soon as she’s at eye level, I say, “You have a lot on your plate. Last thing you need is a failing rockstar who could lose everything. I get it. The problem is, I fucked up. I lost you before I even had you. Usually, I love having regrets—it usually means I’ve done something worth risking—but I don’t want to regret not having you. I want a chance, Taryn.” I work my jaw before I continue. Those coffee eyes, simmering with caramel, call like a Siren. I’m about to lay my weakness at her feet, and that stare of hers tells me not to give a fuck. She’ll absorb anything I have to say, melt it with her fingers, taste it with her tongue.

  “I want you under me,” I say gruffly, and I swear her irises swirl. “I want to hear you whisper my name, the way you moan, how you sound when I stroke you, before I can’t anymore. I want the true sound of you etched into my memories before I lose it forever. And I have no clue when forever will come for me.”

  A flush creeps over her exposed chest, coloring her cheeks and heating her gaze. I’m about to jump over this desk and start with her lips, but I control the urge to claim.

  Her voice comes out in a hitched, throaty sound. “Easton. You make this so hard.”

  “You’ve made me rock hard, Taryn.”

  The blunt fact is said with fortitude. I’ve never been this straight with anyone, and it feels fucking freeing. If she says no, at least I can walk it off knowing I did—

  I notice her resolve building before she does, but I don’t let the negative come from her mouth. I reach over and lift her from her side of the desk, coffee cup spilling, pens clattering, papers floating, and I press her against my chest and possess her.

  24

  Taryn

  I’ve been kissed before.

  Obviously. I’ve had a baby.

  But I’ve never been so utterly ravished, so simply taken, that I flail helplessly, hands spread, floor shifting, that all I want to do is fall into Easton. Have him hold me with a body so lean and hard, it seems invincible, but with precious, buttery lips that explore recklessly.