Page 45 of Punked By the Playmaker
“Austin.” My voice cracked as I uttered his name. “I’m doing everything I can to protect the image you had of her before she got sick. Glimpses of the woman who raised us are few and far between. More than half the time, she doesn’t recognize me, and I leave with a new crack in my heart. I don’t want that for you.”
Standing, he folded both arms over his chest. “I don’t care if she remembers me or not. When I get there, I’ll just tell her stories about us together until she does.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him it didn’t work that way. If he pushed her too hard, she’d get upset, potentially aggressive. The first time I’d witnessed it, I sat in my car and cried for an hour. I couldn’t imagine what it would do to Austin.
The doorbell rang, and I was quite literally saved by the bell.
“That’ll be either the officiant or the witnesses. Can we table this conversation for now?”
Austin grumbled something under his breath, likely cursing the day he was ever placed in my custody, as he moved toward the bedroom door. Opening it, he paused on the threshold, looking back.
“I’m really disappointed in you.”
His words acted like an arrow shot through my chest.
My list of regrets was a mile long—so many things I wished I could go back and do differently—but letting Austin down would always rest at the top. He was the most important person in my world, but every time I thought we were making progress, I went and did something to fuck it up.
All my efforts to bring us closer were probably in vain anyway, when every day, I carried a secret that loomed over my head, like a guillotine ready to fall.
If he ever found out, he would never forgive me.
The whole ceremony was a blur. I vaguely recalled Austin walking me “down the aisle” toward where Levi and Maisie stood on the beach, the officiant saying words and me repeating them like a robot, then the chastest of kisses. Despite Levi’s lips barely brushing against mine, the brief contact was enough to have my toes curling in my sandals, highlighting the reality that if I didn’t get off soon on my own, I would probably mount the man in my sleep.
After a dinner of grilled steaks with roasted red potatoes and asparagus on the patio, Levi and his teammates-turned-witnesses started a fire on the sand before a bottle of sparklinggrape juice was popped for me and the kids, and bottles of beer were cracked open for the men.
Now, those of us gathered sat around the dancing flames, the crash of waves in the distance providing a soothing soundtrack.
But all I could think about as the bubbles from my drink danced across my tongue was how I would have killed for it to contain alcohol. The day—the situation—stressed me out so much that I was tempted to just say fuck it, and raid Levi’s liquor cabinet. But I knew from experience that one sip would turn into a whole bottle before I went in search of something stronger.
I was forced to remind myself that the cravings would never fully go away, no matter how much time had passed, but giving in to them would derail my whole life, and that was something I refused to let happen.
Mind over matter. You can do this.
Hauling in a cleansing breath, I trained my ear on the chatter between my new husband and his friends. They were going on about something to do with hockey—I would be the first to admit I knew absolutely nothing about the sport—when Crew, the identical twin brother of my former client Cole Astor, stopped mid-sentence, addressing me.
“I’m sorry, but you look really familiar, and I can’t figure out where we’ve met before.”
His brother nudged him with an elbow. “She was my realtor, remember?”
Crew shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he assessed me. “No, it was definitely somewhere else.”
Immediately, my heart began to race. There were far too many men in this city who had seen my tits or felt the heat of my pussy grinding against their hard cocks, and the thought of my two worlds colliding—let alone having to explain myself to Levi—was beyond terrifying.
Please don’t let him figure it out. Or better yet, please don’t let him have seen me dance at all.
I plastered a brittle smile on my face. “Maybe you’ve seen one of my ads on a park bench or on the side of a bus stop.”
He frowned. “Maybe . . .”
Mercifully, Crew let it drop, but I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that, at some point, he wouldn’t remember where we’d crossed paths in the past. I could only pray it was limited to him slipping cash in my G-string and he hadn’t paid for a lap dance, or worse, some private time in one of the back rooms—the mere thought made me sick to my stomach.
I was about to excuse myself from the “celebration,” needing a minute to get my head on straight, when Levi caught sight of Cole dumping half the contents of his bottle onto the sand, and teased, “Dude, you’re wasting good beer.”
His teammate lifted the glass container toward the sky before draining what was left. “Had to pour one out for Russ. It’s tradition, since we know he’s watching.”
Levi cocked his head. “Who’s Russ?”
“Bennett Russell,” Crew supplied.
