Page 52 of The Game Plan

I consider the drink, then him. “No, thanks, I’m working.”

“It’s a mocktail,” he tells me, continuing to hold out the offering. I take it, if only to end the standoff in case anyone is watching us.

I’ll have to be the one of us to take the moral high ground because clearly my ex doesn’t have any morals.

As I take hold of the drink, Carl fixes on my wedding finger. “I see the kid splurged on an extravagant wedding ring for you,” he says.

I turn away from him, setting my unwanted drink down on a high table and folding my arms across me, unintentionally hiding the ring beneath my opposite arm, which I’m sure he takes to mean I’m ashamed of it. Clearly, he doesn’t recognize this as my own ring, which goes to show how much attention he’s paid me in recent years.

“Not that it’s your business but my ring is being sized, so this is temporary, a symbol to let people know that Jax and I are the real deal.”

I seek out Jax in the crowd. He’s deep in conversation with a group of fans, his back to me as he signs their shirts.

“Oh come on, Sienna. You and I both know you would never settle for a guy like Jax Harris. He’s immature, irresponsible and, after hockey, he’s got nothing to offer you or anyone.”

“Actually, you don’t know him, Carl, because he, like most of the sports players we acted for, was my client.”

He scoffs. “Okay, yeah, sure, Sienna. I am what I am because you made me. What is it between you two, a media stunt? What happened in Las Vegas, huh? Were you reeling from my mistake so much that you got trashed and married that guy? Now you have to make it seem legitimate to spare yourselves embarrassment and the public image of making a mockery of marriage? Why? Why do it and put the nail in the coffin for us?”

I see proverbial red mist. It’s so unlike me but it comes over me as if I’ve been slashed in a Stanley Cup final. How did I never see how much of a dick this guy is?

“You think I’m the reason we ended, Carl? Are you incapable of seeing your own reflection in a mirror? You were fucking our secretary!”

I whisper-shout the expletive but it’s clear from the fact I’m pointing a digit in his face that we’re having an argument. I rein it in, straightening my spine and putting my pointy index back beneath my other arm, trying to fold away my temper.

“That’s it,” Carl says. “The penny’s dropped. I’m such an idiot.”

Yeah, you are, I refrain from saying.

“This is about your visa, isn’t it?”

Oh shit. I swallow deeply, not sure where to go with this, and seek out Jax, again. This time, he’s not only looking my way but he’s heading over. I don’t need rescuing, I’m not Cinderella, but the idea that he’s coming to support me makes me wish I’d genuinely been married to this man. I lived with Carl for years, owned a home with him, ran a business with him, yet it’s Jax’s imminent presence that puts me at ease.

I have a feeling Carl spots him, too, as his next words come with urgency, as if he needs to say them before the six feet three inches of hunk that is my guy comes to put an end to this conversation.

“Sienna, look, I made a mistake with Marcela, okay? I can call it off. Is that what you want? I can stop it any time.”

“Yet, you haven’t?”

“Because I’m sad, Sienna. I’m lost without you and she’s just a distraction. Comfort until I can win you back and make you see that I’m sorry.”

I’m stunned into silence by his words. Is this guy for real?

“We’re great together, you and I,” he continues. “We’re a power team. The dream team.”

“I can’t get over what I saw, Carl.”

“But you could. I can help you. We can fix this mess with Jax.” He glances Jax’s way – he’s making strides for us. “We can have the wedding we deserve, that you deserve. We can make you co-owner of the company, officially.”

Jax is finally here. He sidles up to me and, though we’ve agreed to always be professional in public, especially at official events, he slips a welcome arm around my waist, tucking me into his side. I need his comfort right now and I go willingly, looking up to him with a gentle smile of thanks and slipping my own arm around his waist in return.

“Hey, is everything alright here?” he asks as my body seems to lean into him of its own volition, like a magnet finding its polar opposite. I remember the way I looked at him as he carried me across the threshold in Las Vegas, certain now that the warmth I felt in the moment was real.

“Get out of it, kid,” Carl snarls. “This is between the adults.”

Suddenly, Jax isn’t holding me; his chest is puffed out and he’s fronting up to my ex, a proverbial glove drop. I get between them, facing Jax, resting my hands on his chest and forcing him to look me in the eye.

“Jax, don’t. Not here. He’s not worth your reputation. He’s not worth any of this. I’m yours. Yours. He doesn’t matter anymore.”