Fair Game: A Football Romance (83 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Holland

Right on Birch, left on Stony Creek Drive. It’s been a week since Daddy gave me a lifesaving kick in the ass, and now I’m on my way to see a private investigator.

I checked my bank account, and King left me some money . . . a lot of money. Enough to live on for . . . well shit, for forever, probably. The problem is that I can only withdraw enough for living expenses and a thousand on top of that every month, so hiring a great PI is out of the question. Daddy helped by pitching in some of his savings, and I used my allotted money for the month to hire Mr. Bond.

‘Bond . . . James Bond . . .” Daddy’s said it a million times since I told him the PI’s name. He thinks it’s hilarious. I couldn’t care less about his name. I just want him to find my baby.

I find his office easily enough and park in front of the building.

While investigating my financial situation, I found that King paid for my birthday Mercedes in full and put it into my name. I should be happy, but it actually pisses me off. I know I’ve never had a job, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have gotten one and paid for my own car and my own bills without him.

Its guilt money, and that’s why it pisses me off. He could have stayed here and avoided the guilt. I hate him. I love him. I want to kill him. I want to kiss the living shit out of him.

I slam the heel of my hand on the steering wheel and flop my head against the back of the seat. He makes me nuts. The street sign on the corner blurs, and I feel like my eyeballs are vibrating in their sockets. I take a deep breath, and when I can see clearly again, I exit the car and enter the glass office building.

The first thing I see is a Barbie doll receptionist sitting behind a large marble counter. I can only see her from the neck up, but I’d bet all the money I’ve gathered for this PI that she has double Ds and a plunging neckline. I step forward and cross my arms on the counter while she finishes a call. Yep, low cut, form fitting blouse, double Ds . . . at least add to that long blonde hair and cat eyeliner, and you’ve got a dead ringer for the iconic doll.

“May I help you?”

Oh my God, her voice sounds like a cartoon character. I stifle a laugh.

“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Bond.” I smile and hope she doesn’t make a joke about James Bond, because I’ve heard just about enough of those from Daddy.

“Up the elevator to the eighth floor. It opens right into his reception area.” Her perfect red-lipped smile is bright and genuine as she points toward the elevator, and I immediately feel guilty for judging a book by its cover.

I’m not usually so cynical, but lately my sorrow has been replaced with bitterness. It’s a coping mechanism, or so my therapist says. I can’t believe I have a stupid therapist. Daddy thought it would be a good idea for me to talk to someone outside of the family. He said I should ‘get it all out there’. I love him and I appreciate how he’s helped jump start my life again, but it’s safe to say that I hate therapy—hate it.

I thank Barbie and ride the swanky elevator up to the eighth floor, where another receptionist greets me behind another tall marble counter. Tucked behind this desk is a stunning brunette with sharp blue eyes and flawless skin. She should be on a runway, not answering phones. It’s actually sort of funny that she works for Mr. Bond, because she looks like a Bond girl, all legs and . . . what the hell? I can’t believe I just had that thought.

Who am I to say what anyone should or shouldn’t be doing? It’s the same thing King is doing to me, assuming he knows what’s best for me when he has no idea.

The gorgeous woman clicks a few keys on her keyboard before looking up at me.

“Ms. Bennett?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Bond is ready for you. Follow me, please.”

I nod and follow her down a long hallway, admiring her legs and her walk, which is exactly like a runway model.

She knocks on the open door.

“Mr. Bond, Ms. Bennett is here to see you.”

For some reason, I was expecting to see a Sean Connery version of James Bond, not the Pierce Brosnan version sitting before me, leisurely drinking coffee.

“Coffee?” he asks, holding up his cup.

Ms. Model receptionist waits at the door with her hand on the knob until I answer.

“No, thank you.”

“That will be all, Sarah.”

Sarah nods and closes the door. When I turn my attention back to Mr. Bond, he’s assessing me, head tilted, curious.

“I thought you’d be older.”

Now what does he mean by that?

“Ah, sorry?” I shrug and fiddle with the edge of my sweater.

“No need to apologize. Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair opposite him. I sit on the edge of the chair, reflecting the way I’m feeling . . . on edge.

His office is warm and inviting, unlike the cold, modern design the rest of the building had. His desk is massive and mahogany, probably an antique. A large Persian rug, warm brown walls, and two floor to ceiling windows make the area feel very masculine.

“If you’re a private investigator, why don’t you know how old I am? And what’s my age got to do with anything?”

“You’re King Romero’s girlfriend, yes?”

“Yes. Was.” I straighten my back and perch even further on the edge of my seat.

“King’s older than you.” His brows lift, as if that answers everything.

“And your point is?”

Mr. Bond sets his coffee cup down and places his elbows on the desk in front of him, steepling his fingers.

“My point is that you’re very young, Ms. Bennett, and King is very dangerous. It’s an observation, that’s all. So you’re trying to find him?”

“Yes, and our baby.”

If the age thing had him curious, the mention of a baby has him drooling.

“You and King have a baby?” he says, lifting his brows.

“Yes, and he disappeared with her three weeks ago. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

Frowning, he leans back into his chair, lacing his fingers over his abdomen.

“Any idea why he would do that?”

I look at my lap, where my hands are balled into tiny fists.

“I’m a violinist.”

“And? He doesn’t like musicians?”

A smart ass. Great. His attitude makes me want to take my business elsewhere, but after researching, I know he’s the best I can get with the money I have. Actually, he’s way out of my budget. I had to clean out my savings account to pay for this.

“He likes musicians very much, or at least he did.” I thought I’d cried every tear there was left to cry. Wrong. They spring to my eyes, and one escapes down my cheek. I wipe it away. I’m so sick of these conflicted feelings I have for King.

“So why do you think he left you?”

“Our relationship was unexpected. When we decided to make a go of it, we promised each other something.” I snuff, and he leans forward, pushing a box of tissue toward me. I take a couple without making eye contact and dab at my nose.

“What did you promise?”

“I was accepted into Juilliard. We got pregnant, and he didn’t want the baby to interfere with my career, and I wanted him to . . . find a less dangerous occupation.”

“I know he’s a drug kingpin, Ms. Bennett. It’s all right, you can speak freely. I’ll admit I only saw you today because my curiosity got the best of me. I can’t take your case. Nobody can if they want to wake up and live another day. There isn’t a person alive in the state of Texas—or anywhere, for that matter—that would look for King Romero. He’s
that
dangerous. I understand that you’re upset that he’s disappeared, and I’m sure you’re dying inside without your baby, but being associated in any way with that man is the same as a death wish. His enemies are your enemies, and believe me, you do
not
want his enemies.”

I move my trembling hands from my lap to grip the arms of the chair. My heart begins to pound, and it falters a beat or two. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. King’s reputation can’t be working in his favor. It’s so unfair.

He could have left me all the money in the world, and no one would have taken it. From what Bond is telling me, opposing King is as good as nailing your own coffin shut. How did I never see the dangerous man that the rest of the world knows so well? How could I have been in love with such a monster? And now that monster with those very dangerous enemies has my baby. No one is going to help me find Juliette. I’m never going to see her again unless King wants me to, and he won’t want me to if I don’t go to Juilliard, period.

I had no idea how serious he was about my future. I thought Mama was demented, but King has her beat a million times over. Hate is winning the war over love for King big time right now. I’d like to bash his head in with my fucking violin and shove my bow up his ass. I hate him for making this decision for me. I hate that he has taken control of my life. I hate that he’s robbing me of even one minute of my daughter’s life. And most of all, I hate him for loving me. He gave me the most precious gift, and then he snatched it away.

I.

Hate.

Him.

I don’t even feel him prying my hands from the arms of the chair. He stands me up, scoops my lifeless rag doll body into his arms, and carries me across his office to the sitting area, where he lays me on the couch and places a pillow under my head. When he’s arranged my hands over my tummy, he sits on the edge of the couch with his hip touching mine.

His lips are moving. He’s saying something, but I can’t hear. I concentrate on every breath. I slide my hand over my heart to see if it’s still beating. It is. He reaches out to brush my hair away from my face. I can’t move.

“Ms. Bennett? Can I call someone for you? I don’t think you should be driving. If there is no one, I can take you wherever you need to go.”

‘If there is no one’

His words penetrate my soul. I don’t have anyone.

“There’s no one,” I whisper.

He looks away, avoiding my eyes for a moment and sighs deeply. And then he closes his eyes, and he speaks the words that keep me from driving my car off a bridge on my way home.

“I will help you.”

The sun comes out from behind the dark black cloud, and my life instantly has purpose again.

“I’m not making any promises, but I can’t watch . . .”—He waves his finger in a circle over my body before finishing his sentence—“this.”

I sit up and wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tight, so tight it hurts. When he doesn’t return the embrace, I let him go and apologize for the uncomfortable moment.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so grateful you’re willing to help.”

“You apologize unnecessarily a lot.”

I swipe the tears off my cheeks and he stands, allowing me room to get up too.

“Not usually.”

“I can see what King saw in you. You’re endearing and a tad addictive. It’s hard to say no to you,” he says, walking away. Is he flirting? God, please don’t let him think he’s going to get anything other than money in return for his services.

“I’m only paying you with money, Mr. Bond.”

His hand is on the doorknob when my words stop him cold. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath before he turns to focus his piercing blue eyes on me.

“I don’t work like that, Ms. Bennett, and please call me Dax. I’ll be in touch with you when I have something, but I do need to ask you what do you plan on doing if I find him?”

What kind of stupid question is that? Isn’t it obvious? Maybe I shouldn’t have hired this guy after all. I retrieve my purse from the chair and walk toward him with my shoulders back and my chin held high.

“I’m going to get my baby back, of course. What else?”

Dax shakes his head and opens the door.

“I’m only going to be responsible for finding him. What happens after that is on you. I’ll be in touch. Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Yes, and thank you again. Apparently, I’m asking you for a lot.” I place my hand on his arm. His eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw.

“That’s an understatement.”

He briefly covers my hand with his own. Something in his eyes makes me believe in him. I don’t know if I’m just that desperate and he’s my only hope, or if he really wants to help me, but right now, I don’t care why. I just want my baby back.

Chapter Thirty-Four

King

“When are you sending Candy home?” Sebastián asks.

“Soon. How’s Holland?”

“She’s still looking for you. She’s obsessed, King. She’s never going to go to Juilliard without knowing where you and Juliette are.”

“She still using Bond?”

“Yes, and I’m warning you, he’s getting close.”

“Stupid fucker must have a death wish.”

“King, can I say something and have you promise not to freak the fuck out?”

“No, but you’d better say it anyway.”

He takes a deep breath and blows it out before speaking.

“I think Dax has a thing for her.”

I drop my pen onto the desk and turn my chair around to face the French doors that overlook the ocean.

“What makes you say that?” If he’s touched her, I’ll be on a flight there in twenty minutes to kill him myself.

“He’s very attentive. He’s at the house all the time for meetings over dinner, and he helps her with more than just her case.”

I’m on my feet now, pacing outside on the balcony.

“Sebastián.”

“I don’t mean
that
. Well, not as far as I can tell, anyway, but he takes her grocery shopping and to her shrink, things like that. The guy isn’t taking any new cases. All of his focus is on Holland.”

“Fuck. Get rid of him, Sebastián.”

I let her try, but now she needs to just fucking go to Juilliard. School starts in a few weeks and they’re expecting her.

“So you want me to warn him first, or just take care of it?”

“Find out how close they are and use your best judgment. I trust you. And if you don’t kill him, make sure he stops looking for me. I don’t care how, just do it.”

“I’ll call you later and let you know which way it goes.”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t be long. I’m uneasy about this.”

“Two hours, and one way or another it’s taken care of. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Sebastián.”

When we hang up, I want to hurl my phone into the fucking ocean. I want to go home to Holland, I want to kiss her lush mouth and touch every inch of her silky bronze skin, I want to lay tangled in her arms and talk with her about everything and nothing. I want to hear her play—it’s been so long. I have a constant pain in my chest where her essence used to live. I’m sure Juliette misses her too, although she’s doing very well. Babies adapt easily.

She’s happy, and we have a good routine going now. I was planning on sending Candy back in a week or so, but I think she needs to go now. Sebastián misses her, and so does their son, and I need closer eyes on Holland to make sure the infamous Bond isn’t making a play for her. I know the guy. He’s a good PI—handsome, well-known, and the ladies love him. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he took to Holland. After all, it only took me twenty seconds to fall in love with her.

I also know that I can’t kill every man who’s interested in her. Well, I could, but I won’t. It’s not their fault she’s irresistible. Bond is too risky, though. He just might be able to find me, and that can’t happen. Holland is safer without me, and she absolutely must start school next semester. I’ve got a lot of pull at Juilliard, but they won’t hold her spot forever.

***

Candy, Juliette and I stand in the hangar waiting for the jet to taxi down the runway. Sebastián flew down with their son, Leo, to take Candy home.

She’s been distant with me since I forced her to help me leave Holland, but right now she’s holding onto the sleeve of my shirt, bouncing up and down on her toes, watching the plane move closer to us.

“I miss them so much. I can’t imagine how Holland must feel being away from you and Juliette, and she doesn’t even know where you are.”

She takes every opportunity to make me feel like shit about my decision . . .
every single opportunity
. As helpful as she’s been, I can’t say I will miss her when she’s gone.

I roll my eyes and peel her hands off of my arm to check on Juliette in the stroller. She’s wide-eyed and kicking her little legs, but she’s not crying. I thought the sound of the plane would scare her, but this little girl never seems to be bothered by loud noises. I tickle a dimple on her left cheek, and when she smiles, it warms my heart.

Candy catches the smile and decides to throw in one last dig.

“I bet her mama would love to see that smile.”

“Candy, stop. I know you don’t understand, okay? I get it, but nothing is going to change my mind. She’s safer without me, and I’m staying out of her way until she’s fulfilled her dream . . . period.”

Candy huffs and turns her attention back to the plane that has stopped right outside the hangar doors. Before the doors are completely open, she sprints up the stairs.

I’ve had a few pangs of mild guilt since leaving Holland, but I just keep reminding myself that I’m doing it for her. I’m keeping her safe. But when Candy steps out of the plane holding her five-year-old son, raining kisses all over his face, it hits me so hard that I grab my heart and stagger back a step.

The love between a mother and her child is a powerful thing. Could I have underestimated Holland’s drive and determination to find her daughter? Maybe Candy is right, maybe leaving pushed her further away from music. Maybe if I had waited a little longer . . .

I look into Juliette’s eyes that are so much like her mother’s stormy greys, and all of my doubts are erased. She is safe, she is safe, she is safe.

If we had stayed, she never would have gone to Juilliard. There’s no doubt in my mind. She’s a good mother, and she would have put Juliette first before her career. At least with us out of the picture, she has a chance. The people pursuing her now will be looking for her talent, not her blood.

Sebastián’s family makes their way across the tarmac into the hangar. Candy gradually loses her grip on Leo, and he slides down onto his feet. Straightening her back, she slowly turns Leo by his shoulders to face me so she can introduce him.

I can’t believe I’ve never met Sebastián’s son. That’s a hell of a secret to keep all these years. It makes me wonder what else Sebastián has kept from me.

“Leo, I want you to meet Mr. Romero, sweetie. He’s my boss—Daddy’s too—say hello.”

I blink and blink again. This kid is a miniature me. He looks exactly like me when I was five. Tousled, wavy hair, big brown, deep-set eyes with long, black feathery lashes, naturally light brown skin and generous lips. There are probably ten family photo albums at the house full of pictures of me at this age.

Leo extends his hand, waiting for me to shake it. I think he introduced himself, but I’m frozen, stunned into silence. It’s mind blowing.

“King?” Candy says.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Leo,” I say, snapping back to reality. I shake his little hand and look into Candy’s proud, sparkling eyes; this boy doesn’t look a thing like his mother. Sebastián is standing just behind Candy with his hand on the small of her back. I see wistfulness in his eyes for just a second before his trademark poker face returns.

“You’ve got a good looking boy. He looks a lot like me when I was his age—actually, he looks
exactly
like me. I have pictures. I’ll show you sometime, Candy. It’s startling.”

Sebastián coughs and clears his throat.

“We should probably get going to dinner so we can make it home in time for Leo to go to bed. He has school tomorrow,” Sebastián says.

But I’m staring at little Leo, who has wandered over to Juliette’s stroller where he’s peeking inside. He feels me looking at him and he turns his face toward me as he places his hands behind his back right away.

“I’m not touching,” he says, shaking his head back and forth.

I frown at Candy and Sebastián.

“We’ve taught him never to touch other people’s babies or pets.” Candy laughs, hustling over to Leo.

“It’s okay, baby, she’s King’s little girl. Her name is Juliette, isn’t she beautiful?”

“Uh huh, where’s her mama?”

Oh God, this kid must have ESP or something, and Candy is feeding him mental guilt messages to torture me with.

“Oh, um, she’s back at home. She didn’t feel very good, sweetheart, so she won’t be having dinner with us.” Candy says, eyes darting back and forth between Leo and me.

He shrugs his shoulders, accepting his mother’s explanation—and why wouldn’t he? It sounds logical. She’s a good liar, which is one of the reasons I hired her to be my personal assistant.

“You need to make sure Candy and Leo don’t bump into Holland. He might accidentally slip up,” I say under my breath to Sebastián, and he nods, agreeing with me.

“All right, let’s get going,” Sebastián says, clapping his hands together. Ten minutes later, with the kids all buckled in the back of the limo, we’re on our way to dinner. Leo chats with his mother. I stare at Leo, and Sebastián stares at me. He’s waiting for something. I don’t know what, but I feel nervous energy rolling off of him.

Sebastián has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. He’s always been there for me, encouraging, protecting and supporting me. When my dad couldn’t be at my sporting events, Sebastián was there. He was there for every birthday party, every school event, even parent teacher conferences. He was there with my mother. He was my father’s head of security—that’s where he was supposed to be. It never seemed strange to see him in the bleachers of a swim meet with my mom instead of my dad. It was his job to protect us.              

But this boy, Leo . . . I know I’m making him nervous, but I can’t stop staring. He has the same long fingers; his top eyelid has the same tiny fold where they meet the bottom lid in the corner . . . the way Sebastián’s do . . .

I’ve been leaning forward to see Leo better, but when it hits me, I slump back against the seat and raise my arms and cover my face with the heels of my hands. Could Sebastián be . . . did he and my mother . . . Oh, God. This kid isn’t just Sebastián and Candy’s son, he’s my half-brother.

“Stop the car.”

The driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“Sir?”

“Stop. The. Car.” I glare at Sebastián as the driver maneuvers the car to the side of the road, and I know I’m right when all the color drains from his face. Fuck. I buried my father two years ago. This is wrong, wrong, wrong. How could my mother do this? She loved my father . . . didn’t she?

I open the door, step out, and start walking with Sebastián right on my heels.

“King. King, wait,” he says, but I can’t. I’m not looking at him right now. He and my mother had an affair. My father isn’t my father, and my mother wasn’t the saintly, devoted wife and mother I thought she was.

“King. I wanted to tell you, but your mother was afraid Arturo would kill me. He ignored Isabelle. She was always alone and I was always there. He practically forced us into each other’s arms. I loved her, King. I loved her more than anything or anyone in the world. I still do. It’s been eating me alive for twenty-five years. You needed to know; this situation with Holland is insane. I asked Candy to bring Leo here because I knew you would put two and two together.              

You can’t keep doing this to Holland. Juliette is a baby, King. She needs her mother. Don’t deprive her of that. I was there for you every day, and I got to be a part of your life even if you didn’t know it. It killed me, but I was more involved than Arturo, so I knew in my heart I was a good father to you. Please don’t make Juliette grow up without her mother . . . King, please, King . . . she’s my granddaughter . . . please.”

I keep walking. My hands are clenched into fists at my sides, my jaw so tight that I may break a tooth, but I keep walking. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I turn around. When he stops trying to follow me, I shake out my hands and take a deep breath.

God, I need a minute alone. This is some fucked up shit. My entire life has been turned upside down and inside out.

My father wasn’t my father, and my real father’s not dead; my mother didn’t love my father—or whoever—shit, this is a mess. And I have a little brother.

I come to a bridge, lower myself onto the ground, and dangle my feet over the edge. I can hear Sebastián’s feet crunching under gravel. The limo door slams, and the driver floors it until the car is right behind me. I wish they would just go and let me sort through this for a while, but Sebastián probably thinks I’m going to jump off the bridge or something. He hates heights, and he isn’t fond of water, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would jump in to save me. He’s always been there to catch me when I fall, and now it’s clear why. He’s my dad.

The car door opens and I hear Candy’s voice. “Shush, you just stay here. Let me talk to him.” I don’t look up, but I feel her sit down next to me. She’s too close. I need space. I can’t breathe. I scoot away from her. She seems to understand and even wiggles a little in the opposite direction.

“King . . . I want you to know that I didn’t know about this. I found out just now like you did, and I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine why he didn’t tell you the minute your father—um, I mean Arturo—died. Hell, this is so confusing. He loves you, though. I do know that. I’ve always known that. He talks about you with such pride, and he worries about you all the time. I just thought it was because he was like family to you.”