Page 58 of Playing for Keeps

I can’t let them run my story, can’t be guilty of a monumental betrayal.

This mean starting over. So what? If I have to start at the very bottom again, I will. I’ll do freelance print reporting if I have to, I’ll turn into a pathetic vlogger and scrape together an audience from the internet masses if need be. Not the station or Henry will stop me from my ultimate dream.

As I get in my car, I wonder if they have any openings at Barstool Sports and laugh out loud as I toss my file and bag on the passenger seat and slam the door. I need to call Henry before Sarina does, if she hasn’t yet. But I’m betting she’s on her way into the studio now. Pulling out of the garage, I tell my Bluetooth phone in the car’s dashboard to call Henry.

“Smitty—what the hell—”

“I resign, Henry. As of now.”

“What the fuck is this about? What are you doing? Don’t go off the deep end about some guy—some player. They come and go, but you and I, we have staying power. I can see you going places—”

“I am going places, Henry. But not with you. Not like this. I quit and I’m taking the story with me.”

He laughs. “You can’t take the files, they’re on the hard drive.”

“I erased them.” He’s silent for a few blinks, the kind of blinks where I’m squeezing the tears, trying to keep them from falling as I drive. Trying to keep my hands steady on the steering wheel, even while the rest of me keeps shaking.

“You can’t know how to do that…”

“Think again. You know me better than that. Dad prepared me for every eventuality in this business. First and foremost, how to protect the work.”

“You—"

“I gotta go Henry,’ I say, because it sounds a lot like his next sentence is going to be a threat, “before either of us says things to ruin a perfectly good niece and uncle relationship.” That quiets him. I end the call, damning hands-free technology because I don’t even have a phone in my hand to throw as I sit at a stoplight.

Without realizing it, I’m driving to East Boston. To Tate’s house. I need him. I don’t know what we have or don’t have, but I need whatever it is right now.

I need this one last untroubled night with him before I confess my sins, before I’m forced to wait for his forgiveness because I know he will. After all, I pulled the plug, didn’t I?

He has to forgive me. Because I’m falling in love with him.

* * *

When I getto his underground garage, I realize I can’t get up to his floor on the elevator without a key card, so I call him.

“I’m in your garage. I need to see you,” I say.

“I’ll be right down.” He ends the call. No questions asked. No doubt. No hesitation. I swipe at my eyes and squeeze them shut, demanding that I not shed another tear, not in his company. I want this one last night with him before I tell him. Because I know, my screaming heart knows, that this could be our last night.

The elevator door opens and I rush into his arms, knocking him against the back of the elevator. When his arms close around me, wrapping me tight and he whispers something soothing into my hair as I bury my face in his chest, the anxious part of me calms. And the rest of me gets all excited.

But he has to know something is wrong and I don’t want to tell him what it is.

He reaches a hand out and presses the button to move the elevator.

“Chloe, what is it? You act like someone’s chasing you—”

“No, nothing. I’m fine. Stress at work.” I take a breath before I say my next words, but I’ll tell him the truth tomorrow. “I miss my father.”

He strokes my hair and holds me tighter and I push past my flaring conscience to let his comfort get to me.

It’s so late and I’ve clearly gotten him from bed. Backing up, I look up at his messed hair.

“Were you asleep?”

He smirks, but the tenderness doesn’t leave his expression. “For hours. But it doesn’t matter. Because I’m wide awake now.” He’s shirtless and wearing worn out sweats and no shoes. My chest tightens and a well of strong emotion rushes through me knowing he’s charged to my rescue from a dead sleep. He pulls me back into him as the elevator doors open and he takes me back to his bed. All the pent-up energy in me, the tension, coalesces and regroups into passion and lands between my legs. I can feel my juices flowing as I lay on the sheets, still warm from his body.

Watching him slip off his sweats, I lick my lips at the glorious sight of him, all rippled muscle and hard protruding cock pointing in my direction. Kicking off my shoes, I sit up and shimmy out of my dress.