by Frost, Sosie
And, as a result, the Rivets had dominated the league last year. Now I knew why.
For the past two weeks, I’d cataloged everything I could find. Linked all the illegal photos to the emailed orders passed from Coach Thompson to Peter. Recorded the dates of my conversations with them. I saved my own nudes too, though I was certain the instant I said anything, they’d leak onto the internet.
But I was expected to start my own intelligence on the Atwood Monarchs for the opening game of the season. I was out of time, and I had to do something.
Even if it sickened me.
I only wished someone could have helped me. I trusted no one with the information though…and the only person I might have considered telling had his own shit to deal with. Lachlan wasn’t having a good camp, and, thanks to Sports Nation and loudmouth Ainsley Ruport, everyone knew it.
I couldn’t burden him with this. Not until I had it figured out.
Not until I could figure out why I so desperately wanted to go to him for support. Comfort. A hug. A touch. Another night spent in his arms.
Wasn’t I already confused enough?
I splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth. I couldn’t spend the afternoon pouting over some tossed cookies.
If I wanted to ensure the proper people were held accountable for the cheating, I had to do it by the book and in accordance with the team’s handbook.
Loathed as I was to follow the chain of command, I had to cover my ass and report the problems to my superiors. That meant going above Coach Thompson and our general manager and talking to the team’s current owner—Adam Richardson III.
Fortunately, I didn’t need an appointment. His reception still owed me a favor for doing her wedding photography after her hired crew cancelled the day before the wedding. She waved me into his office with a smile.
Adam was a young man, hardly into his thirties. Third generation money—the kind that hadn’t worked to earn the fortune, just spent it.
“Elle!” Adam knew me by name, but he still owed me for the work I did when he listed his house on the market. “God, you get sexier every day.”
Ah. Professionalism.
I stepped into his office, but I didn’t sit, even though the leather looked awfully comfy, especially to someone who just couldn’t shake her stomach bug.
“Thanks for seeing me,” I said. “I was hoping I could talk with you.”
“Gee, Elle. I’m kinda swamped today.” Adam rubbed his chin. “But if you wanted to meet tonight…”
Vomiting was more preferable. “This won’t take very long.”
“I don’t know what you’re used to, but nothing is really short with me.”
Oh god. That just meant his itty-bitty was definitely a teeny-weeny.
This would be the only time I’d admit the truth with a straight face. “Sorry. I’m…married.”
“Oh right. I heard about that.” He licked his lips. “Wish I could have been there to see the locker room reaction.”
All he had to do was ask Coach Thompson for the pictures . “So, I was concerned with something. I wanted to bring it to your attention.”
“I’m all ears, Elle.”
That was good, cause his eyes certainly didn’t stay on mine. They lingered on my chest. Probably shouldn’t have picked this particular tunic with my leggings, but it was the only shirt that sufficiently contained the girls. I’d caught more men today than just Adam staring at my breasts.
That included Lachlan, but at least he had stopped grabbing them during practice.
Adam gestured for me to continue.
How was I supposed to explain this?
“I just wanted to…make sure the whole organization was on the same page,” I said.
“Okay.”
“I was recently approached and asked to utilize my talents in an…unconventional manner.”
“I don’t understand.”
Now or never. I dug my fingers into the back of the leather chair. “I was asked to visit another team’s practice…to gather a bit of reconnaissance on the team.”
“And?”
“I was instructed to take photographs of offensive and defensive strategies for the teams we’d face in the upcoming season. Formations. Defensive installments. Trick plays. Anything in particular they’d be practicing during their final walk-throughs.”
“Oh.” Adam shrugged. “Yeah. That.”
My stomach twisted. “That?”
“Sure. Coach Thompson and I worked on that a year or two ago.”
Oh no.
I swallowed the biley panic rising in my throat. “So you knew?”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. Look, Elle.” Adam took too much pleasure in saying my name. “The league is tough. Everyone does what they have to do to survive. Just do as Peter tells you, enjoy your new raise, and everything will be fine.”
“But—”
“Elle, you’re a woman. You blend in better. You’re beautiful and a great photographer—plus you understand the game inside and out. Who better to help the team?”
That wasn’t it.
That wasn’t it at all.
They could say that it was some sort of twisted football honeypot, but I wasn’t an idiot.
Peter had handled everything until this season. But something had changed.
They were afraid of getting discovered. And they needed someone who could take the blame in case the league found out.
Who better to take the fall than the only other person on the team with access to the photography equipment, office, players? Someone who had intricate knowledge of the league?
Christ, they’d probably frame me for the team’s blackmail photos too.
Jesus. What had they done to me?
It didn’t matter. This went beyond protecting the players now. I had to take care of myself.
And they’d forever regret fucking with me.
“Okay.” I forced a smile. “Just so we’re clear.”
“No problems here, Elle. You’re doing a great job.”
“Thank you.”
“And if you ever decide the married life isn’t for you…” He winked. “You don’t need an appointment to see me.”
Ew. He had all the tact of Lachlan but none of the charm.
I turned from the office, but I didn’t make it to the doorway. Adam’s next visitor shadowed the room.
Coach Thompson crossed his arms, glaring at me with a cold stare I thought he only reserved for Lachlan.
“Elle.” He growled my name. “Little far from the field, aren’t you?”
My stomach heaved. “Just heading there now, Coach.”
“Everything okay, Adam?”
Adam practically licked his lips as he stared at me. “Oh yeah. We’re fine.”
Coach Thompson leered, baring his teeth in a wolf’s smile. “Good. I’d hate to think we’d have any problems with our little Elle.”
“Nope. All good. See you out there, big guy.”
Big guy? I should have slapped him on the ass as I left too. That might have been more suave.
The bile surged again. I hurried from the office, skipping the exit to the field and ducking back into the safety of the women’s bathroom.
My new home away from home.
I heaved again but nothing else wanted to come up. That didn’t mean my scrappy little stomach didn’t try its damnedest.
I was totally and utterly screwed.
“Are you okay?”
I recognized Louisa’s voice.
Great. I flushed away the rest of my pride. No way the best trainer on the team would let me out of the bathroom without an interrogation about my health.
I retreated from the safety of the stall, flinching as the door swung and smacked my ass. Louisa awaited my response with crossed arms.
“I’m okay.” I splashed some water on my face and toweled it off. “It’s just stress. That’s all.”
“How far along are you?”
I crumpled the paper towel
. “How far from where?”
“I mean, how many weeks?”
“Weeks from what?”
Louisa wasn’t amused, but I had no idea what I’d done. She tilted her head.
“How many weeks are you?” She drew the word out. “In the pregnancy?”
“In the preg—in the what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I am?”
“You’re not?”
My voice shrilled, echoing off the bathroom walls hard enough to smack me upside the head. “I’m not pregnant.”
Louisa laughed. “Are you kidding? You’ve been sick for three weeks.”
“So was half the team. We’ve got a cold.”
“No. They have a cold. You have a baby.” She counted off on her fingers. “You’re sick. You’re exhausted. Your breasts have swelled.”
“Thanks for noticing?”
“Is your period late?”
“No, my period is not…”
Uh-oh.
I whipped out my phone.
No, no, no.
I checked the date and did a bit of mental math in my head. “Okay, wait. This is ridiculous. I’m not…I can’t be…Lachlan and I haven’t really…”
I counted the days.
The river!
No way.
I gripped the sink. Louisa offered me a smile.
“I’ve seen it a lot lately,” she said. “All these new girls floating around the Rivets’ players. Girlfriends and wives. First Leah Carson. Then Piper Hawthorne. I mean...it’s an epidemic! I don’t know what it is about these football players. This team is just built to breed.”
She gestured for me to follow, though I had no idea how I willed my feet to move. I followed her to her office as she rifled in her desk for a stack of pregnancy tests.
“Just thought it was prudent to keep some around,” Louisa said. “No fertile woman is safe around this field. If it was my decision, I’d make the guys put on a condom under their cups.”
“This isn’t happening.”
“Go.” She sorted through stray bits of equipment, tape, ice packs, and other bits and ends from her first aid kit. “You’ll wanna know.”
“Will I?”
“First comes love, then comes marriage.”
Yeah right. Maybe if the orders were reversed.
I was under no obligation to love Lachlan until that third date, and I sure as hell didn’t have the space in my apartment around the shelves and other breakables for a baby carriage.
Taking the test might have been without a doubt, the single most humiliating moment of my life, but the two minutes it took for the test to register positive was a trial by fire.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant.
I wasn’t ready for two whammies in the day.
First team-wide espionage and a corporate controversy. Now a baby?
Lachlan Reed’s baby.
I wasn’t entirely sure he could tie his shoes without tourniqueting a finger. And now I was carrying his child?
Louisa didn’t seem surprised. She moved a chair behind me before I plunked down on the floor.
“Congratulations,” she said. “New husband. New baby. How’s that for a Happily Ever After?”
How was it?
How about un-freaking-believable?
No one told me I had even started a Once Upon A Time!
14
Lachlan
“You look weird.”
Sebastian sat on the bathroom counter, getting comfortable in my tux’s jacket.
Apparently, he took the role of fashion police seriously. Or maybe he was just a ball buster. At least I was raising him right.
He pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. It didn’t help. The jacket cocooned him. I batted his arm away before he dragged the sleeve through a line of toothpaste.
“The truth is, you look weird.” I finished shaving and rinsed the razor. “We just don’t talk about it.”
“Na-uh. You said I’m cuter than you.”
“I’m just sparing your feelings, little man.” I studied him and faked gagging. “Yep. You’re grotesque. Remember the Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
“Quizzytomato?”
“Yeah. That one. He’s got a better shot at the gypsy than you.”
“Okay, well…you’d only get the goat.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a b-a-a-a-a-a-d boy, Bast?”
“It’s Sebastian.”
“Okay, Seba-a-a-a-a-a-stian.”
I hauled him off the sink and stole my suit jacket back. He followed me to the bedroom, jumping on my bed as I attempted to straighten my bow tie.
“Why are you wearing that?” he asked.
“Cause I was invited to our quarterback’s charity gala. Gotta dress up.”
“Why?”
Good question. “It’s a fancy party.”
“That stinks.”
“Nah. Wearing a tux impresses girls. They like it.”
“Ew. Why do you want to impress girls so much?”
“When you’re older, you’ll spend most of your day trying to impress a girl.”
“Not me.” He shook his head.
“Even you.”
“No way!” Sebastian jumped higher and nearly flew off the bed. I caught him before he impaled himself in my drywall. “When I’m older, girls are gonna impress me.”
Oh, the naivety of youth.
“You think that, little man, but trust me…” I fit the jacket over my shoulders and surveyed the damage in the mirror. At least it covered the bruises from training camp. I almost looked respectable. “One day you’re gonna find a girl you like, and you’ll turn into a complete idiot because of it.” I pointed at him. “So, for God’s sake, make sure she’s the perfect girl.”
“Why?”
So he didn’t end up like me—ignoring calls from a crazy ex-girlfriend who thought she had a right to make any demands of me.
I’d deleted three voice mails from Victoria this week. If we were lucky that’d be the most I’d hear from her.
“Okay. How do I look?” I spun for the kid.
“Still stupid.”
“That’s good enough for me.” I shoo’ed him from my room and back to my mother who was far more supportive.
“Oh…” She held a hand over her chest. “Gosh, how handsome you are!”
The compliments were backhanded. She immediately wet her finger and rubbed an invisible spot on my cheek, brushed non-existent lint from my jacket, and re-did my bow-tie.
“She called again,” Mom straightened my sleeves. I stopped her before she jiggled the pants to see if they fit right. “Maybe we should get a lawyer.”
“Not necessary,” I said. “Victoria can’t do a damn thing.”
“You have to think about what’s best for this family.”
“This is what’s best. Don’t answer if she calls. She only wants money.”
“We hope.”
“Don’t worry.” I mused Sebastian’s hair. “I’ll take care of it. Right now, I gotta go to this gala thing.”
“Meeting Elle there?” Mom gave me that knowing smile and wink. Christ, she’d make me fucking blush.
“That’s the plan,” I said. “Thanks for bringing the tux over.”
“She’ll be charmed, I’m sure.”
Fingers crossed. I needed any break I could get.
Elle had acted stranger than usual this week, and I didn’t think it was just her illness. Both of us were stressed at the field. I had a right to be—blown plays, coaches in my face, the upcoming exhibition game. But Elle wasn’t getting reamed out on television by Ainsley Ruport and all of Sports Nation. She kept whatever was bothering her close to her chest.
And she wouldn’t tell me.
Or couldn’t. Whatever got her sick settled in her throat. She’d squeaked the whole damn practice through a bad case of laryngitis.
All the more reason to make sure she had fun tonight.
Jack’s formal ga
la was a charity event for his personal foundation which helped children suffering from leukemia. Apparently, he’d lost his little brother to the disease a few years ago. He took the charity seriously, but he was Jack Carson, and he never missed an opportunity for a party.
I arrived in style. Alone. But in style. Fortunately, most of the team had already filled the ball-room. I expected some high-class, pinky-finger raised sipping tea sort of event.
But, for ten-thousand dollars a head, the party was wild. The ballroom pumped with music and swaying lights—a club scene complete with flashing floors and the occasional haze of a smoke machine near a dance floor. It filled with people in evening gowns and tuxedos, grinding to a hard beat.
My kind of party.
And not the sort of shindig that suited Cole Hawthorne. He sat at a corner table with a scowl. His hair had been pulled into a respectable ponytail, but the tux was one Hulk-smash away from ripping off his body. Piper tugged on his arm, trying to pull him to the dance floor.
“Come on.” Her gold skirts puffed out—the real-deal ball gown fit for a princess. “You dance at home.”
“Yeah, with the meatball.”
“Please?” Piper gave him a sly grin and patted her swelling tummy. “What about our other meatball?”
“Go on, Cole!” I grinned at him. He didn’t like that. “If you don’t dance with her, I will.”
Piper took my arm. “See. Some of my clients know how to treat their agent.”
Cole scoffed. “Yeah, knowing Lachlan, that dance will end after midnight, when you’ve both crossed the border with warrants out for your arrest. Let her go, rookie.”
Instantly. I wasn’t getting between The Beast and his pregnant woman. That was grounds for certain dismemberment.
I grinned. “Just trying to show the lady a good time.”
A champagne glass appeared before me. Leah Carson winked and offered me a toast. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Jack appeared beside her, chugging his drink before snaking a hand around Leah and her skin-tight silver dress. “Cole, you’re not dancing?”
“Do I look like a man who dances?” Cole said.
Piper smirked. “You’ll look like an ass if you don’t.”