Free Agent (Connecticut Kings #10)

Chapter 1

AURORA

I was in my happy place.

Most people kinda gave me a look when I explained that tuning myself into debug logs and code repositories and sandbox mode and all the other developer fixings was where I found the most peace.

Kinda nerdy, sure, but… I was a nerd, so that tracked.

What the hell is that?

Eyebrows lifted, I pulled my gaze away from the lines of code filling my screen, reluctantly releasing the deep focus state I’d been in for… shit, I didn’t know how long. My eyes darted around the view in front of me, leaving me confused when I couldn’t find the source of a nagging, discordant sound that wasn’t coming from the buds nestled deep in my ears.

The only sound there was Vanity, and whatever this other thing was, this non-bassline thumping, it was fucking up my vibe.

I narrowed in on my main notification bar, noting that it was set to ignore interruptions, just as I preferred.

Not the culprit.

Annoyed, I pulled my earbuds out, killing their sound-dampening effect on my environment.

Oh.

Oh.

Someone was knocking.

Cool, cool, cool.

Except, my “hot and ready” light was not on, and not interrupting me unless it was, was one of very few “rules” I had around here.

“This better be important!” I called out to whoever was on the other side of the door as I unwrapped my legs from their folded state so I could stand up.

A soft hiss escaped my lips as that too-familiar tingly feeling exploded over my skin, from the blood rushing back into full circulation after being choked off for however long I’d been sitting there crisscrossed.

Whew.

It was probably good for me to take a break anyway.

“Important enough for you?” Shannon asked as soon as I opened the door, shaking a fragrant paper bag of food in my face.

Immediately, my stomach growled.

“Barely,” I teased, taking the bag from her to look inside. There was no logo or anything, but as soon as the crinkly paper sides parted, the aroma told me instantly what it was. “Okay,” I amended, already taking the bag into my office. “This is actually the most important thing all day.”

“Greedy ass,” she laughed, following me inside. “You don’t feel like those damn tacos have too much of a hold on you?”

“Not at all.”

I stared her down as I took a big bite of the Korean BBQ steak taco I’d already fished out of the bag, tearing through the wrapper like a raccoon.

I was hungry.

Starving, damn near.

Did I have breakfast today?

Shan rolled her eyes, watching me chew with her arms crossed, trying her best to hold a stern look on her face. “Why do you do stuff like this? Is this your first meal today? And have you eaten literally anything besides this exact meal for the past week?

“Does that bother you?” I laughed, taking another bite and continuing with my mouth full. “Actually, better question, if it bothers you, why would you feed it to me?”

“I didn’t. Monty sent it.”

Oh.

Despite myself, a brief grin bloomed on my face, and Shan rolled her eyes before stepping past the desk to look at my screen, a no-no for nearly everybody else around here, but she wasn’t “everybody”.

“Really, Rori? You’re serious about getting this update pushed out today?” she asked.

My eyes went wide and I stopped chewing. “Are the rest of you… not serious about getting it out?” I countered, alarmed.

“No, we are,” she quickly assured. “And now that I see where you are, we’re basically ready to deploy, but still. Today? Shouldn’t you be at home?—”

I held up a free hand. “There is nowhere I would rather be than here. And I will be here until I have to get ready to go to this game with Sierra.”

“Oh thank goodness! So you’re going to a game tonight at least,” Shan remarked with a little sigh.

Of relief.

Damn.

Was I that bad that hearing I had plans was a relief?

“It being today is purely coincidental,” I chirped, bursting her bubble and earning myself another eye roll as I shoved the last bite of my first taco in my mouth.

Shan immediately twisted her lips, the “yeah, right!” looming right at the edge.

“Noope!” I said, before she could get it, or anything else, out. “I don’t want to hear a single thing about today being special unless that update is deployed, I told y’all that already. I’m going to go look around,” I declared, grabbing a napkin to wipe my hands. “I need to stretch my legs a bit, keep the circulation going.”

Before Shannon could respond, I was already out the door, stepping into what I lovingly referred to as the Hive. Our tiny office was small but packed a punch, all working to support BabyBee, an app I made for parents worldwide. Despite not being a parent myself, I was passionate about pregnancy, postpartum, and early childhood, and had managed to cultivate a hybrid that serviced all three timeframes.

My enthusiasm for assisting people through pregnancy and the early years after childbirth, combined with my software development skills, resulted in a user-friendly experience for parents and caregivers using our app. The app aimed to minimize stress and address various parental concerns -- feeding, sleeping, developing motor and language skills, mental health, the whole shebang.

For nine hundred thirty-two thousand, three hundred eighteen subscribers and counting.

I was quite proud.

A project of the scope and magnitude we covered required a team—developers, cyber security, designers, researchers, and customer service to name a few. There were only sixteen of us—not counting the consultants, dieticians, therapists, pediatricians, and countless others we contracted with—so it was workable at this level for everybody to have their own office. Often though, people worked at the large, hexagon-shaped conference table set up in the landing spot that all the offices opened to.

Even with the partitions up, it was abuzz, heh, with activity, energy that instantly got me excited. I moved around the room, stopping to speak to people, letting them show me what they were working on, and honestly, simply showing my face.

It was good for morale.

I usually made a point of being present and accessible here at the BabyBee office, but sometimes—like today—I needed to get locked in to get things done. Still, I wanted my team to feel like I was right in there with them, rather than dropping my concept into their laps for them to do all the work.

The corporate bullshit of it all was very easy to get lost in, and I never wanted to lose the actual heart of my company, or my connection to the part of it I really loved.

“Ah, are those the new milestone icons?” I gushed as I stepped behind Tionne, one of our graphic designers. The cutesy, bee-forward theme was in full effect in the illustrations she was clearly still working on, but I loved seeing them in the early parts of the process.

Which was why I stepped forward to see her line drawings better. She wasn’t working on them from her monitor, just had them up, with notes from our creative director, while she worked from the tablet on the desktop in front of her. Being nosy, I leaned in to see the scribbled notes.

And then immediately wished I hadn’t.

I must’ve let out a gasp or something, because Tionne startled like she hadn’t realized I was there. I noticed now that she had earbuds tucked in, and that plus the deep focus… of course she hadn’t.

She tried to click away from the browser window that made me take a step back once I noticed it, half tucked behind the window with the illustrations.

But I’d already seen it.

My face was already hot, heart racing.

Not again.

Not another headline.

Not another picture.

Ha.

If only it really was that simple, to just wish away whatever the rest of a headline declaring “Montgomery Rudolph Caught—” said.

He wasn’t a receiver.

Whatever he caught was undoubtedly going to be some bullshit.

“Can you send your sketches to my email, please?” I asked Tionne after clearing my throat. “I’d like to see the notes. I won’t have any at this stage, I’d just like to see them. Curiosity.”

Her eyes were wide with fear as she nodded. “Yes ma’am, of course. And I… um… I’m sorry. I had lunch at my desk, and I was browsing, and I saw it, and I just clicked?—”

“Please,” I interrupted, waving her off before she could continue stammering. “You have nothing to apologize for. And please don’t call me ma’am. It’s just Rori.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything else, I walked away.

Not because I was mad at her, I just desperately did not want this whole room of people to see me crying over Monty.

Again.

As I backtracked through the hive, chatter was noticeably lower, and all eyes were on me, on the back of my head as I passed.

They’d all seen it.

Shannon had seen it.

A guess that was confirmed when I stopped walking at the door to my office and turned to see she was right on my heels, eyes full of concern.

“Are you okay?” was all she asked, after a moment of us just looking at each other.

Not all she wanted to ask, but all she did.

Shannon and I were friends—good ones, in fact—and she was my lead developer, but not that kind of friends not quite yet, where she could say, “fuck him, I hate his ass” to me.

It was bubbling under the surface though, I could see it in her eyes.

“I’m fine.” I nodded, even though the damn taco felt like a charcoal briquet, still smoking, in my stomach now.

Was this why he’d sent lunch? ’Cause he knew what was coming?

“I know I said I wasn’t leaving until later, but I think I’m going to head out shortly,” I told Shannon. “I’ll submit my code to the repository when I wrap up, can you?—”

“Have the team finalize, test, debug, deploy?” she finished for me. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” I said, stepping back into my office. The smell of the tacos had permeated the room, and what I would’ve found pleasant was nauseating to me now. The bag was going straight to the trash.

“And… Rori… by the way…”

My head whipped around just in time to catch the mischief on Shannon’s face, an attempt to lighten the moment, and I held up my hand.

“Nope! Don’t you fucking say it until that update is deployed.”

“Still?!”

“Still.”

Are you familiar with something called the law of diminishing returns? – S. Ward

I rolled my eyes at that text and then put my phone face down. Out of sight, out of mind.

Now that was a principle I believed in, a little too heavily lately, but whatever it took to make it through the day, right?

Wrong.

That’s why Sierra is on your ass now.

I shook my head, as if I could literally shake away a thought.

God, I wish.

Except for my business-related ruminations, my thoughts were far from a safe space for me right now.

There were more pressing matters at hand anyway.

Ring or no ring, Rori?

That was the question, wasn’t it?

On a shallow level, it was about wearing my ring to the game, being photographed with it on, giving the voyeurs their answer on if I was going to stand by my man.

Again.

I hadn’t actually read the headline, hadn’t seen what Monty had been caught doing, but I wasn’t dumb, wasn’t na?ve.

Addicted?

Sure.

Unable to accept defeat?

Certainly.

Refusing to let go?

Yeah.

Definitely that.

Not stupid though.

Not pathetic, or passive, or whatever half the internet seemed to think. The other half was convinced I was some long-game playing, calculated mastermind, getting to the bag, all that, which was better, I guess, but neither thing was the truth.

But more than that, it shouldn’t even be any of their business.

Perils of connection to an all-star athlete.

Especially one who couldn’t even seem to keep his mess behind closed doors.

That was the part that almost pissed me off more than him doing the shit in the first place.

I blew out a sigh, scratching at the skin under the ring as I ruminated on the other possibility of my ring or no ring question. Because wearing it, really, didn’t have to mean anything other than having it on.

I could wear it and still be done.

Done wondering.

Done worrying.

Done wishing.

The rumor mill could do whatever it wanted, Monty could do whatever—whoever—he wanted, and I could just… go about my day without it meaning anything to me.

But it does mean something to you.

Yeah.

That was the problem.

I blew out another sigh and moved my hand out of sight. I didn’t have to decide right now, not about anything. I focused on the much less emotionally taxing matters at hand.

Blush or no blush.

Curls or sleek layers.

Heels or sneakers.

The shallow shit that would still be a matter of conversation, but much less personal than the decision I managed to put off another thirty minutes, but would still, ultimately, have to make.

Ring or no ring.

That was the question.

Still.

A decision that was sure to launch a thousand think pieces, no matter which way I went with it.

I stared down at the offending jewelry, hating how good it looked glittering on my finger.

A perfect specimen, gifted with love, or so I liked to believe, from someone who had been a friend as long as I could remember. From the person who’d—cheerfully, generously—funded not just my passion project with BabyBee, but the deeply personal, traumatic experience that predated it.

Shit.

It was hard not to be torn.

When my phone buzzed again, I grabbed it from the countertop, fully expecting another text from Sierra. It was not her.

Immediately, I put it down again, not wanting to read another empty apology that wouldn’t change anything. But when I picked it up a few moments later, I quickly discovered it was not another empty apology.

It wasn’t an apology at all.

Dear girl that I’ll give anything she asks, but already has access to my accounts, can a nigga get a hint at what I can possibly do for you on today? – Money Monty

Originally, that nickname had been a joke, a very private one between just me and him when he got his first “big boy” contract in professional-level football.

It was a big fucking check.

But, to his credit, the money hadn’t changed him. He’d always been generous, charming, funny, and all those things… he remained.

I still wasn’t sure where we went wrong.

Or if we had gone wrong.

Maybe just he had gone wrong.

I typed out several replies, deleting them without sending before settling on one that wasn’t a full-blown curse out, but got the message across that I was not pleased.

Today without a non-football headline would’ve been great.

I can’t control anybody but myself. I’m sorry that it’s today. – Money Monty

That response made my eyes bloom wide.

What?

What?!

Admittedly, I purposely hadn’t sought additional information about what was making the news now, but it certainly wasn’t touchdowns, like it should’ve been.

He definitely got those, was easily the best of his generation, a hall of fame level talent.

And instead of that being the focus… it was mess.

Always mess.

Messy Monty.

No, he couldn’t control anyone but himself, but goddamn, could he at least do that?

Seriously? That’s wack.

How can I make it up to you? I’ll come back to Blackwood tonight, instead of flying with the team in the morning. – Money Monty

For what? What you do with your dick is exactly the problem, so it can’t be the remedy. Don’t fucking bother.

I didn’t have the energy.

I suppressed the urge to fully block him, since I’d done that in fits of rage countless times already, and it never mattered, since I never stuck to my guns.

Instead, I took his ring off.

Which also never mattered, since I never stuck to my guns.

It didn’t even make me feel better.

My phone buzzed again, and this time it was Sierra, responding to my request to know what she was wearing tonight, so we weren’t looking mismatched sitting next to each other. When I got the picture of her clothes all laid out, I had a nagging suspicion she was going less casual than usual so that I would go less casual than usual as well.

Which… fine.

Maybe the distraction of getting dressed up, going outside, looking cute, would make me feel a bit better, take my mind off the shit with Monty.

Often, the ritual of it all was just what I needed to lift my spirits.

But not tonight.

Tonight I still felt shitty at the end of it all, even after a nice long stand in the mirror to survey how good I looked.

And it was, indeed, good.

The pretty face, high quality bundles, custom jewelry, designer clothes, all those things were nice—great, actually.

I liked all that shit.

It just didn’t make me feel any less like fucking stabbing my fiancé.

But I had to press on.