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“Sure.”
“You sleep good?” she asks.
“Not really,” I admit. Instead, my brain swirled with all the trouble my brother is causing. I thought about my conversation with my financial manager. Two big withdrawals in a few weeks’ time is unusual, and even stranger is the fact that I’m wiring the money to my brother.
That means there’s a paper trail. Evidence that I gave him money to cover something up.
If people dig hard enough, they’ll find it.
But there’s no reason for anyone to dig, so I’m crossing my fingers we can do this silently and walk out the other side without any trouble.
“You?” I finally ask, reciprocating her question.
She blows out a breath. “Not really.”
“How come?”
“I was worried about you. You had a visitor you didn’t want to talk about, and then you disappeared for an hour after you invited me to spend the night with you. You didn’t talk to me when we went to bed, and I was worried you were mad at me or I did something to upset you.”
My chest tightens. “Fuck, Jolene. I’m sorry.” I move across the room toward her and pull her into my arms, and instantly I feel a measure of relief. Instantly. That’s how goddamn powerful this is. “It has nothing to do with you, and I’m sorry you felt that way. The visitor…” I trail off as I debate how much to tell her. I finally blow out a breath. “Don’t worry about it. It’s between a player and me, and I’m sorry, but I can’t say more than that.”
She nods as she presses her lips together and backs out of my arms to stir the eggs. I don’t miss the look of disappointment on her face as if I’m keeping something from her. I am keeping something from her, but it’s not something I’d tell her even if she wasn’t a reporter. It really is something to be kept between my player and me, and some things in life are confidential. This is one of them, and I shouldn’t feel guilty about that.
So why do I?
Oh, right. Because he committed a terrible offense against both the team and the league, and a reporter is the last person I need finding out about it.
She’s quiet as she finishes making the eggs, or maybe she’s always that way and this is just the stress of holding onto all this talking. It’s causing problems where there simply don’t need to be any.
“Are you upset?” I ask as she sets the plate beside me.
She shakes her head as she shoves a forkful of the eggs into her mouth. “No,” she says once she swallows. “I get that you have confidential things with your players. You should. It’s the nature of the job to form close relationships with them so you can learn how to motivate them on the field.”
I take a bite. “These are fantastic. Thanks for cooking.”
She nods, and she finishes her plate quickly. “I need to go.”
“I do, too. Thanks for coming over. I’m sorry it wasn’t the night we were hoping it would be.”
“It’s fine.” She offers a tight smile, and then I walk her toward the front door. She grabs her duffel bag, and she pulls her hood up over her hair and walks out the front door…without kissing me first.
She runs across the yard to Sam’s car, and I’m left wondering what the hell that was all about and whether we’re going to be okay.
CHAPTER 2: JOLENE
Pull yourself together, Bailey.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my years as a reporter, it’s that there is rarely only one option on the table.
I need a minute to think. To strategize. To find my way out of this mess.
I ignore Rivera’s text for now, and I don’t mention anything to Lincoln about what I overheard last night. I think the hardest part about all of this is that I literally have nowhere to turn to ask for advice. I guess that’s part of the perils of being in a secret relationship.
I don’t want to tell Sam about Asher. I don’t want to tell anybody about it. The fewer people who know, the better the chances are that nobody will ever find out. And for right now, protecting Lincoln is my top priority. But the amount of guilt I feel over that is un-freaking-real.
I can’t avoid Rivera forever, and I’m well aware of that. I head home for a quick shower, and the boys and Sam are already gone. And then I need to get to the office, where Rivera will be waiting for my response.
My heart thunders in my chest as I pull into the parking lot, and I see Rivera’s car already there, which causes my stomach to twist violently. I glance at the building. He’s inside there, waiting to pounce, and I hate him.
