Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

20. Aurora

TWENTY

AURORA

I emerge from the bedroom, smiling. “Good morning, Ricky. Ready for prenatal yoga?”

It’s impossible not to be happy here. Sam, the concierge, calls every evening to arrange meals, activities, and any other requests for the next day. The penthouse is unbelievable. The infinity pool overlooks the ocean, and the plush king-size bed is to die for—like sleeping on a cloud.

The kitchen has all my favorite foods and beverages—coffee, bubbly water, fresh fruits and vegetables, hummus, Greek yogurt, kettle corn, cheeses, pasta, and bread.You know, all the essential carbs.

Jackson must have specified what to bring. He always teased me about my picky eating habits. That boy is a garbage disposal. He can eat anything and everything without aversion or consequence.Not me. If I even taste a tiny sliver of pickle or olive, I’m throwing up and avoiding food for days. Don’t get me started on slimy foods—eggs sunny-side up, clams, oysters, mayo—I gag thinking about it.

Ricky stands beside the elevator door, the same as yesterday. I offered him a chair, but he declined. When I texted Jackson about not needing a bodyguard, he insisted, stating that Ricky is well-compensated to ensure my safety. Now I feel a little less guilty having him follow me around.

“Good morning, ma’am.” He gives a sharp nod. “Wherever you want to go.”

I toss my gym bag over my shoulder. “How old are you?”

Midnight-blue eyes focus on my belly, and a frown creases his brow. “Twenty-nine, ma’am. Should you be carrying that?”

“Should you call me‘ma’am’ when I’m much younger than you?”

The corner of his lips twitch. “Suppose not.”

“Then we have a deal.” I hand him my bag. “You can carry my bag and follow me as long as you stop calling me ma’am. I’m not ready to be thirty.”

He shakes his head in amusement and leads the way into the elevator.

Driven by excitement and a hint of guilt, I invited Emily to stay tonight. Being alone at the penthouse solidified my decision to move into our own place—baby and me. While here, I plan to break the news to her. She’s not only my assistant, she’s also the only friend I have. I hope she understands, and we can fix this tension between us, but I doubt that’ll happen.

The viral elevator videos haven’t helped. I’ve been brushing off her incessant texts about Jackson, and I didn’t tell her I was staying in a place he’s paying for.She’ll figure it out as soon as she walks through the door. There’s no way she’ll believe Felicity afforded me this luxury, and Emily will demand the full rundown of our current relationship , which I’m unsure of myself.

In case I needed anything, Jackson had me unblock him before he left for the start of the season. Now, we text back and forth, and every time my phone lights up, a wave of anticipation hits me. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I have to fight a smile. I blame my stupid, stupid heart.

He called before flying out yesterday. Initially, it was awkward, and neither of us knew what to say. He broke the silence by asking how my day went and how I felt. He listened as I blabbered on about the baby, morning sickness, food cravings, and going to prenatal yoga.

A few hours later, a Morning Sickness Emergency Kit arrived, containing everything from ginger pops to essential oils to wellness tea. After was a delivery of organic cacao dark chocolate bars, free of heavy metals—something I hadn’t realized was a concern. Next was books and a plush pregnancy pillow.

Again, it’s impossible not to be elated when you’re being spoiled.

Except whenevery package is signed Love, Jax and you’re confused and reminded of your painful breakup.

When we were first together, we fell hard and fast. I was certain I loved him before his anger and drinking overshadowed all else. Deep in my heart, I know I’ll love him forever, just not enough.

The illusion of unconditional love shatters when your abuser shares the same face as the one you love.

Jackson is an entirely different person when he uses, and there’ll always be a lingering fear of what will happen when he faces a situation that challenges his sobriety. Will he relapse? Will he lose his temper? He’s sober now, but for how long?

Yet none of these concerns stop the thrill of finding a missed call from him after yoga. It doesn’t stop me from thinking about him in the shower, and it doesn’t stop me from returning his call, as his text asked.

Settling into the oversized couch, I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring.

“Hey, babe.”

His voice is somber, and my stomach takes a dive.

“Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Are you at the penthouse? I have something to tell you.”

My heart hammers. All I can think is: He’s about to confess to cheating. What else could it be? It’s the one thing we haven’t talked about yet.

“Yeah?” Uncertain, I draw out the word.

“Listen to me, okay? I love you. I want to be together, no matter what. Nothing will?—”

Impatient, I cut him off. “Jackson, spare me the song and dance. If this is about you cheating on me, forget it.”

The idea of him and another woman kills me. Cheating has always been my worst insecurity. Given his lifestyle, how could it not be? Women throw themselves at him.

It was a significant reason we broke up. He must have been with someone else when he couldn’t return my calls. He’s probably with someone now.

And why do I keep torturing myself? We’re friends. Nothing more.

“Aurora, stop. I’ve never cheated on you. Ever.”

“Then…what is it?”

He blows out a heavy exhale. “Ethan Blackwood is our head coach.”

I bolt upright into a sitting position. “What?”

“Ethan is my coach. Take a deep breath, okay?”

My thoughts drift through a thick fog of panic, my voice weak. “Why?”

“Fuck,” he curses. “I wish I was there. I don’t wanna tell you this, believe me, babe. But he found out about the baby.”

I gasp for air, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision, and blood rushes in my ears. “How?”

“He overheard me and the guys talking about you and the ultrasound. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tears roll down my face, and my chest tightens at the thought of facing Ethan.I’ve come to terms with being a single mother. I’d much prefer it over losing my son or a custody battle.

“I’m sorry, Aurora,” Jackson repeats. “He approached me last night, shitfaced and asking for your phone number.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you first and didn’t want him drunk dialing you.”

“What does he want?” My voice trembles and cracks. “Does he want the baby?”

“He said he wants to be involved.”

“He’s married.”

“He’s not.” His tone is harsher and more abrupt. “He’s divorced.”

We’re silent for a moment, lost in thought. I recall how Jackson began this conversation, by telling me he wanted to be together, no matter what, and now the bite in his tone…

“Wait. Are you worried I want him?”

“Yeah,” he says, heavy with dejection.

“I don’t know him. It was one night. More than my worry about raising this child alone, I fear what Ethan might do.” I sniffle, unable to stop from crying. “What if he wants custody, Jax? What if he decides to take him from me?”

“I’ll never let that happen, and Ethan won’t do anything irrational. He’s…a good guy.” It sounds as if Jackson is gritting his teeth when he says that last bit.

I snort through the tears. “Did that hurt you to say?”

“Fucking awful. I almost choked.”

We both laugh, lightening the mood.

“I hate being away from you already,” he mutters and sighs. “Ethan being the father changes nothing for me. I want you and the baby in my life. I’m not pressuring you, but I don’t want to lose you.”

My head is a jumbled mess, but one thing stands out. “I can’t believe you’re calm right now. You’re keeping me from falling apart.”

This is undoubtedly difficult for Jackson. Ethan is his coach. He’ll have to see him almost daily, and the fact that he’s not losing his shit is a testament to how much he has changed.

His voice deepens. “I’ve wanted you back, but I needed to sort myself out first. Kyle’s no longer breathing down my neck, and I owe Ethan for that. He’s, uh, the person who helped me get clean.”

“Wow, that’s… ” I falter, my mind blown. “I don’t wanna screw things up between you two.”

“You won’t. He’ll get over it.” There’s that hint of jealousy.

“Jax,” I scold and dry my tears with the back of my hand.

“What, babe? He already knows about us.”

“About what?” My tone elevates.

“Pretty much everything.”

Again, I’m speechless. Jax rarely confides in anyone, me included.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, thankfully changing the subject.

I crisscross my legs on the couch, relaxing into the cushion. “I’m fantastic. It’s hard not to be. This place is truly amazing. I wish I could stay forever.”

“That’s interesting.”

“What?”

“You can. Stay forever.”

“Pardon?”

“I own that penthouse. When I said I was meeting a realtor, it was to finalize the contract.”

“You own this penthouse? The one I’m in right now?” I don’t know why I’m whispering. I’m astonished, I guess.

“Yes, babe.” He chuckles. “I own that penthouse, and you can stay as long as you desire,” he purrs, his voice smooth and flirtatious.

“Holy shit.” Then, I remember myself and add some sarcasm. “It’s a shame I have to leave in a week.”

He huffs. “I’ll be home in two days, and we’ll talk more. Watch my game tonight. I’ll score for you.”

There’s a trace of disappointment in his tone but also determination, making me wonder what he has up his sleeve.

Doesn’t matter, though. I’m leaving for New York. Nothing is stopping me from succeeding—not when I have a baby to support.

If I still have a job, that is.

“I’ll do my best. Oh, by the way, Emily is coming over later. Is that all right?” I guess I have to ask, since it’s his penthouse.

“Of course. It’s your place too,” he says, a cocky grin clear in his voice.

“Jackson…” I draw out his name in warning. “I never agreed to stay here.”

“Have to go, babe. Love you. I’ll text you Ethan’s number, and you can decide what to do.”

The call ends before I have the chance to argue—typical Jackson.