“You wouldn’t,” I say, trying to call his bluff. “You’re not going to put Ryan on blast because that just paints you as the weak man who couldn’t keep his woman. You don’t want the bad press of this any more than he does—”
“I’m past caring,” he shouts. “You don’t get to make a fool of me and make demands and just expect me to roll over and take it. That’s not how this works.”
“Troy, please—”
“We made a vow,” he shouts over me. “And I’ll be damned if you’re gonna waltz away with a flick of your little finger and break it. Who’s the weak one here, Tess? The one ready to stand and try and make this work, or the one on the run?”
I shut my eyes, trying to block out his cutting words. The way he oscillates between cutting me down and claiming he wants the marriage to work has my head spinning. I’m dizzy, I’m distracted, which is his whole freaking point. He wants me confused. He wants me upended.
I take hold of the only thing that provides me any point of anchor.
Ryan.
“Troy, you leave him out of this,” I demand, knowing my traitor of a voice sounds more like a plea. “He has nothing to do with any of this—”
“That’s not the story I’ll tell in the press. And that’s not the image those pictures will paint,” he counters, his self-righteous dominance seeping through the phone. It covers me like a toxic ooze, and I actually feel myself lifting the phone away from my ear. “Keep trying to have your way with me, and I’ll ruin you both, I swear to fucking God.”
“Leave him alone!”
“Then do as you’re fucking told for once in your spoiled goddamn life!”
I close my eyes tight, not letting the tears fall. He’s won this round. We both know it. He found my weakness. Love is always a weakness. Caring for other people leaves you open for heartbreak. When am I ever going to learn that lesson? Ryan is my weakness now, and Troy has a knife to his throat. I can’t even pretend not to care. Troy will see right through it.
“What are you telling me to do, Troy? What do you want? How do you win?”
“Come home,” he replies. “You’re done playing turtle rescue. And you’re done playing house with that jock asshole. Get on the next plane for Cincinnati. Come home, and we’ll discuss the terms of an amicable divorce in person. Two parties, behaving as loving, reasonable adults. Not one reasonable adult and one wild runaway.”
“I can’t just leave,” I cry, glancing around the office. “The fundraiser is tomorrow. I’ve been working on it for weeks, Troy. I can’t abandon it now. I can’t do that to Ilmari, to my volunteers. I can’t—”
“Fine,” he calls over me. “Then first thing Monday morning. Say your goodbyes to Rachel and her pack of assholes, then get on that plane. And don’t even think about playing house with your boy toy for another night. That’s over. Now. Break it off, or I’ll end you both.”
It’s a lie. I know it’s all a lie. If I go back to Cincinnati, he’ll just find more reasons to stonewall me. He’s never going to give me this divorce. The hope of an uncontested settlement is dead, bleeding all over my desk and the floor in the shape of these grainy photographs.
And now he has a hand at Ryan’s throat too. I never thought he’d take this step. I wanted to believe he was a coward, too spineless and weak. He’s like a boy picking the wings off a dragonfly, only bullying creatures he sees as too weak to fight back.
That’s when my heart stops cold.
Troy Owens always does the math. Always. He’s weighed Ryan and found him wanting too. What else does he have on him? What am I missing? Troy has always had a flair for the dramatic. This isn’t his last move. This is merely the setting of the board. His rook is sliding down the squares, boxing me in. The checkmate is yet to come. The thought terrifies me.
“I need your word that you’ll leave Ryan out of this,” I say, knowing I can’t believe him either way. “He’s innocent, Troy.”
“Don’t ask me for clemency,” he replies. “You’re the one with all the power here, Tess. You’ve always been the one with the power. You’ll decide whether he keeps his job or if he becomes tabloid fodder, just another disgraced pro athlete who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“I hate you,” I whisper, a tear slipping down my cheek.
“Hate and love are two sides of the same coin, honeybun. I’ll see you Monday.” Always needing to have the last word, he hangs up, leaving me standing in this mess, alone with my anguish and all my unanswered questions.
57
I walk off the ice from pregame warmup and, I can’t explain it, but I feel on edge. I want Tess. I’ve been here for a few hours now, trying to get my head in the game, but it’s not working. The whole time I was on the ice I was watching and waiting for her, but she didn’t come.
Now I’m back in the locker room, mechanically taping my sticks. At this point, I could do it with my eyes closed. Rock music pounds through the speakers, rumbling in my chest. Morrow has the aux cord, so it’s a Metallica afternoon.
Normally, the music revs me up, building my energy so I can hit the ice hard. But right now, it’s grating my last nerve. I can’t just sit here, wondering where she is. How many times am I going to check my phone, hoping to get a picture of her in my jersey? I left it wrapped on the bed for her while she was in the shower. I figured she’d put it on and snap a pic, maybe with a wink face or that pouty-lipped smile I love so much. I was going to save it to my home screen.
My Tess. My ginger goddess. Ruler of my fucking universe.
Fuck, I can’t sit here. I have to check again. Setting my stick aside, I shove off the bench. I exit the locker room and turn right, trotting down the hall in my skates, thick plastic guards protecting the blades.
“Hey, Mr. Langley,” a security guard says with a wave.
“Hey, Ramon. You haven’t seen a gorgeous redhead wandering around, have you?”
He just chuckles, the walkie-talkie at his hip buzzing with chatter. “Man, I wish.”
“Keep an eye out, will you?” I say over my shoulder.
“Will do,” he calls.
Leaving him behind, I peek my head inside the WAG room, peering around with my eagle eyes, ready to stop at the first sight of red hair. The room is full of laughing and chatting women in their bedazzled Rays shirts and jerseys. Kids dart around as a loud cartoon plays on the TV. A long table is set with food—sandwiches, cookies, salad.
But no Tess.
Shelby sees me almost at once and hurries over with Baby Josh balanced on her hip. “I told you I’d send word when she gets here.”
I groan, sagging against the doorframe. “Where the hell is she, Shelbs?”
“Traffic?” she says with a shrug. “You know game days can be a mess downtown with parking.”
Yeah…traffic. I’m not buying it.
I’m trying not to take this so hard, but this is my first game back off my injury, and I wanted my girl here to watch it. I’ve never been ‘that guy’ before, even when I was going steady with a girl. But then again, I’ve never been with Tess before. I just need to know she’ll show up for me the way I’ll always show up for her.
“Hey,” says Shelby, her hand brushing the sleeve of my jersey. “She’ll come, okay? She’s crazy about you. If you asked her to come, she’ll be here.”
I nod, wanting to believe her.
“But you should really get out of here,” she adds, checking the clock on the wall.
My gaze darts to the wall too. “Fuck—”
“Langley!”
I push off the doorframe and peek back over my shoulder to see Assistant Coach Denison marching towards me.
“What the hell are you doing down here, planning a picnic? Get your ass back in the locker room!” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, glaring at me.
“Uh-oh,” Shelby teases with a smile in her eye.
“Busted,” I mutter.
She laughs. “She’ll come, Ryan. Go play your game.”
I shove off the doorway and start moving back down the hall towards the locker room, passing Denison as I go.