Page 62 of Playing Hard to Get

“I hope Mitch isn't giving you too much hassle.” My eyes flicked to her. My peripheral vision caught the swing of a dozen heads in her direction. She was smiling, relaxed, Corey’s arm around her as he chatted with Lee and Cael.

Cael’s brow furrowed as his lips pursed, a hand brushing at the back of his head. “No, he hasn't been there.”

This was it. The moment we let loose a sliver of truth. Mitch and I discussed this at length, decided if the topic came up, we wouldn't deny, that we’d let Frankie in on the secret only a few people in this world knew.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her head tipping to the side, her own brow furrowed as her eyes fell on Mitch.

“I didn't want to be in the way, darlin’,” Mitch told her, jumping into the flow of conversation as if he was listening to them the whole time. “I gave up my room to young Cael here.”

Both Lee and Frankie looked as if the news was spoken in a foreign language.

“Where you staying?” Lee’s gruff voice bellowed across the room.

Silence settled upon us. The deep bass of the beast at the table quieted all.

Mitch shrugged. Threw one of his flirtatious smiles at Frankie. “Vivian was nice enough to lend me her spare room. Just while Cael needs the safe house for his clients.”

Lee relaxed in an instant, Frankie less so. Mitch jumped into a conversation with Jackson and Will and I tried to follow. Couldn’t help but notice the cold silence emanating from the space around Frankie’s side of the table.

Vinny leaned into me. His eyes questioned every word said in the past two minutes. I tried to play it off, raised my brow at my inquisitive twin. The dark skin around his eyes—how did I not notice that before? —twitched minutely.

“You okay, Vin?”

Vinny’s eyes widened as his brows shot toward the ceiling. He sat back in his chair, pulled his head back like I’d slapped him. A quiet mask of fake slid slowly across his face.

“I’m fine.” His tone betrayed him, his words not the ones he always used. He realized too late. He looked away, ignoring my inquisition.

Our secrets were pulling us apart. Pushing space between us where before there was none. I missed my brother, but this was not the time nor the place to try to come clean. I let it go and leaned closer. Rested my shoulder against his and tried to give him comfort as I took some back from him.

An hour later, after the servers returned to clear the dessert dishes from the table and placed fresh bottles of wine and beer at the ready for any of us still wanting to imbibe, the party moved to the comfort of the living room. The sofas and chairs filled up quickly, the ledge near the windows the next place to fill. A few of the couples, security team and ballplayers alike, said their goodbyes and took their leave.

I was chatting with Cael’s wife, Chrissi, and Matt’s wife, Ellen, about their soon-to-be-born babies, when Frankie stepped up to my side.

“Vivian, can I have a word?”

I knew that tone. The softness of cashmere covering icy razorblades. She took my arm, her hand biting the bare skin at my elbow, and dragged me into the quiet of the dimly lit kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?” Her stare could burn the building down.

Pulling my arm out of her grip, I rubbed at the skin that was sure to bruise. “I was chatting with your guests. What the hell are you doing?”

“He’s fucking living with you?” she asked, her voice low and cold.

My eyes narrowed as I fought the urge to tell her off, tell her the truth, tell her I was in love with him. But there was hurt behind those eyes. Hurt that killed me, because I’d put it there before.

“He didn't want to be in the way,” I told her, my voice shaking. “He’s just staying while Cael is at the safe house.”

“He’s staying with you?”

“What else was he supposed to do?”

“Fucking find someone else to stay with?” she hissed.

“Like who?” I asked. “You want him living here with you? You want him to go beg a friend to let him live on their couch? Or maybe he should go spend his hard-earned money on a hotel room so your company can use his place for your clients? Tell me what you want him to do, Frankie. You want me to turn out my friend? Would that make you feel better?”

I realized too late that my voice was raised. That the din of conversation in the other room had been silenced. Mitch and Vinny appeared at the doorway, their heads creeping around the jamb as they peeked in at us.

Frankie didn’t answer. Her wide eyes stared at me, so full of hurt and pain, anger and sadness, that I let out a cry.