Page 130 of The Risk Taker
“You’ve met Denver. And that’s Frank, he’s handling the press for us. And Killian and Jenson look after security,” Sterling explains.
“Hello.” I wave politely.
Slade squeezes my hip reassuringly as though he can sense how weird I feel being here with them all.
Two small dogs with tufted hair race over to the men and roll around their feet, play fighting. The smaller one, which looks like a puppy gets its front paw caught inside its collar and struggles to run after the bigger one when it scampers away. Denver calmly reaches down without halting his conversation with the other three men, and lifts the small puppy into his arms, freeing its paw with a great deal of care for a guy his size. The puppy squirms in his arms, licking his face before he sets it down and it tears away again.
A small girl with dark curls wearing an orange onesie with ears laughs as the dogs race past. She’s sitting on the floor with a baby doll in her arms and a red-haired woman beside her.
“Molly,” I breathe, unable to take my eyes from her.
She watches the dogs, her face lit up with pure joy. She’s Sullivan’s daughter so of course the resemblance will be there, but the way she looks so much like Slade has my heart pounding. It’s the hair, her curls a little unruly, like Slade’s hair was before he cut it. And it’s her eyes, holy hell, it’s hereyes.
She glances in my direction, and it’s like looking into Slade’s—only hers are filled with a happy freedom that makes my mouth dry.
It's how Slade could have been if he hadn’t been through what he has.
The redhead beside her climbs to her feet and comes over. “I saw you outside the store,” she says, smiling at me.
I nod, taking her in. She’s stunning. Curvy and just… sexy. She’s not polished or groomed like everyone else in the room. But she looks amazing in her worn jeans and a T-shirt—with what looks like a coffee logo on it, complete with a dusting of flour on the chest like she’s been baking—knotted at her waist.
“I’m Tate.”
“Sullivan’s fiancée,” I say, blinking at her.
“Uh-huh.”
She grins, oblivious to the mental chugging of my brain as I try to understand how a woman who appears so easy-going and friendly is engaged to the aloof, tense man I collided with on the sidewalk that day. I don’t know him, so it’s unfair to make a snap judgment, but from what Slade’s told me about how Sullivan was always the sensible sibling growing up, needing things done in a precise order, I didn’t expect him to be marrying a woman that’s so clearly his opposite. But I guess that’s why it works. She must loosen him up.
“And that’s Mal and Trudy,” Sterling says.
I follow his line of sight to an older man with swept-back silvery-blond hair and a deathly pale face sitting beside a woman rubbing his back. She gives me a kind smile. “Nice to meet you, Jude,” she says. The man nods a greeting alongside hers but barely glances my way.
“Uncle Mal’s not feeling great,” a female voice says.
My attention is drawn to the woman who’s appeared in front of us. Her height and long blonde hair give her away, as well as the fact she’s the member of the family who came up the most during my cyberstalking.
“I’m Sinclair, Slade’s sister,” she says, looking at me with interest. “You met him in South Africa, huh?”
She isn’t being rude, just direct. And I can tell by the glossy sheen in her eyes that she’s just desperately trying to get her head around seeing her brother again. Her voice even pitches a little as she speaks, as if she’s struggling a lot with having him back.
She would have been twenty or twenty-one when her mother died. So young. Something about the heartbreak in her eyes that she’s obviously trying to mask has me wondering if she was apart of the decision to outcast Slade from their family. She must have known what was happening, Slade said she was at the press conference. But she didn’t speak at it. Maybe they all made the decision, and she had to go along with it, or maybe not. I have no idea.
This is all just so… weird.
“Yeah, I did,” I reply.
She nods, pursing her lips. “Did he tell you why he did it?”
I reel back.
“Enough, Sinclair,” Sterling warns in a low voice.
I glance at Slade. A vein pulses in his temple and his jaw is set. To anyone else he might look angry, but I know him. He’s hurt. He’s holding it back, but he’s in pain.
“Slade?” I place a hand on his chest, and he looks at me, forcing his brow to smooth from where it’s scrunched up.
“It’s okay, Jude,” he murmurs.
