Page 77 of Xander

The article was published a few hours ago. It was filled with anonymous tips and speculations by mysterious “family friends.” Did my father really think a cheap, baseless article would scare me into returning Jordan to him?

The coward wouldn’t come to Canada to face me like a man and was sending the tabloids to do his dirty work.

Technically, it was one column in some nondescript third-tier gossip magazine. My father had picked the magazine intentionally and then forwarded me the link. It was a warning shot to demonstrate the repercussions if I kept ignoring his demands.

I had to get ahead of the matter before the story gained traction. An online article was easy to gloss over, but if more credible magazines picked up the story, my agent, Coach, and the owner of this team would get wind of it.

As my PR representative, Jordan was the first person I should inform. She was adept at devising foolproof stories and spinning the narrative in her clients’ favor.

However, I wanted to shield her from reality for a little while longer.

At least I could relish the fact that my game wasn’t absolute shit today.

The fury over my father’s audacity fueled me, and I lay the aggression out on the ice. It was the same reason I had picked up hockey in the first place. I could pummel someone against the rink glass and be applauded for it.

The drills were a joke. I charged the biscuit at the net so many times that Coach was forced to mumble the Trojan Warrior was back for blood. There were several pats on the back by the time warm-up ended, but my traitorous eyes searched for only one woman’s approval. Disappointment set in when I only saw an empty stadium instead of her—though I was the one to send her away—and I vowed to make this a game she’d never forget.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

JORDAN

As much as I didn’t want to indulge in a shopping spree on Xander’s dime, the harsh weather made it difficult to hold on to my resolve. The scarf I had borrowed from him was comically long on me, and his gloves engulfed my small hands. Investing in proper winter gear was a necessity to survive the Canadian winter rather than a luxury.

However, I was also determined to change my fate, especially after Xander flushed my birth control pills down the toilet. And when Jamie casually dropped a brand new MacBook in my hands—claiming it was a gift from Xander—it propelled me right into work mode. I’d never been a “kept” woman, even during my marriage. If there was any chance at rebuilding a new life, I couldn’t keep relying on unsolicited gifts or his Christian charity. Instead, I needed to guarantee myself a weekly paycheck and pay Xander back for everything he’d spent on me. Given that he was my own client, it did complicate things somewhat.

Purchasing winter clothes took less than thirty minutes, and once Jamie dutifully stowed away the shopping bags in the trunk of Xander’s car, I asked to be driven to a nearby café. I pulled out the laptop from my Marc Jacobs Tote Bag, yet another gift from Xander, and spent the remainder of the afternoon with a singular focus in mind—advancing Xander’s career.

I reached out to my liaisons at various companies and kept at it until I had secured Xander three new endorsements. It wasn’t a difficult task because his work ethic, charm, and manners superseded his name. I couldn’t bring him up without him being adored and revered. After spending the afternoon listening to people moon over him, an odd emotion adjacent to pride stirred in my heart.

I felt it the day before as well when I saw how quickly his teammates welcomed me into their tight inner circle. I knew it was because of Xander, not me. Today, too, they talked to me like I was one of their own, and I couldn’t deny that I had never felt so much like a part of the group within any of Henry’s cliques. It warmed my heart.

It also gave birth to a perspective I hadn’t considered since arriving in Canada. If everyone loved Xander, could he really be the monster I painted him out to be?

I spent enough time with him while he was in college to attest that Xander was a good man, but I hadn’t particularly appealed to that side of him. Instead, I’d been distracted by my hurt feelings over him controlling my life and anger at his recent possessiveness. We hadn’t engaged in a conversation with compassion to understand each other’s perspectives.

Maybe if I put myself in his good graces, he would relax around me and exercise some of that maturity he was known for. Only then could I make him understand it’d be a terrible mistake to take over my guardianship or to have a baby with me? Instead, he should be advocating that I no longer needed a conservator at all.

I couldn’t—No, I wouldn’t fall into the same trap again. Whatever was driving his need to possess me had to stem from something. Arguing with him had gotten me nowhere, and as my liaisons reminded me today, I was an excellent diplomat.

It was time to test out the theory.

By the time I closed the lid of the MacBook, the glare from the screen left me with a migraine. The several drinks from last night didn’t help the matter, while the marathon sex this morning still had my body throbbing. I was exhausted and hadn’t wanted to return to the stadium, but I knew arguing with Xander wouldn’t fit my new motto of playing nice.

The fatigue, however, faded the moment we stepped inside the arena. The crispy, cold air greeted me, along with the delicious aromas of beer, snacks, and… humans. I hadn’t seen this many people in years. Where it should’ve been overwhelming, the chaos had the opposite effect. The energy of the crowd revitalized me.

Gone was my lethargy, replaced with flamboyant excitement. As I got to my seat, my eyes pulled to the vibrant colors flashing across the jumbotron. It wasn’t just me. The entire stadium was bursting with enthusiastic fans in orange jerseys, many with Xander’s name on their backs or waving signs that read “Go Trojan Warrior!”

Jasper hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t know how his conversation with his brother went last night; by the time Xander finally let me up from the bed, he was gone, and I hadn’t seen him since.

The security guards also maintained their distance. The only other people in my section were a few girls who looked half my age. I assumed one must know the players to score seats in this section as it appeared to be more exclusive than general seating.

My stomach dropped when I saw some of them sporting Maxwell jerseys… just like me. Perhaps Xander invited these puck bunnies?

Nausea swirled in my stomach.

My eyes were glued to the youthful girls, meticulously studying their manicured nails and highlighted hair. They tied their jerseys in the back to show off their slim bodies while I swam in mine like a figureless whale. They were vibrant and jovial. In comparison, I resembled a washed-up actress whose best days were behind her.