Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

39. Aurora

THIRTY-NINE

AURORA

Gram throws down another pair of aces. She may be in her seventies, but the woman is ruthless and sharp as a tack. “You have a picture of your man?”

My bags are packed, and Ricky is waiting in the car. Visiting my grandmother is the last stop before heading to New York.

And she’s mercilessly killing me at rummy.

I grab a card from the stack, trying to hide my smile. “My man?”

Gram raises a challenging brow. “Yeah. I know you’ve got a man. You got that look.”

“What look, Gram?”

“The one that says your man knows what he’s doin’ in the sheets, and he does it often.”

I burst out laughing. “Gram!” She has become more loose-lipped as she’s gotten older. “Who says I have a man?”

“More than one? Hell yeah. Get it while the getting’s good. That’s what I always say.”

Her face radiates happiness, a stark contrast to her previous state. It means the world to me to see her aware and healthy. After my grandfather died and she had a stroke, I didn’t think she’d get out of bed, walk, or speak again. She lost all motivation.

Between her excitement over the baby and the new assisted living facility, she has made significant improvements. She receives physical or occupational therapy daily and sees the doctor once a week, not to mention all the social activities the staff provides.

I recline in my chair. “When do you say that? I’ve never heard it.”

She gives a dismissive wave. “Pfft. All the time. Now, show me some pictures. A girl’s gotta eat.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.” I shake my head with a chuckle. “You’re quite feisty today. What new meds are you taking?”

“Aurora Belle Embers, my princess.” She lays her cards on the table and folds her arms over her chest. “Stop avoidin’ me. Tell me about your men if you don’t want to show me.”

Yup, I was named after cartoon princesses. Not at all humiliating, especially when you’re awkward.

I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “I have no pictures of the baby’s father, but we’re seeing each other.”

She tilts her head and purses her lips.

“You know what? I’ll Google him. He coaches the LA hockey team.”

I go for my phone, stomach full of butterflies. I never allowed myself to search for Ethan, never intended to contact him and was too afraid I’d find him living the perfect life with a wife and a bunch of kids.

I pull up Google and type in “Ethan Blackwood hockey coach.”

As I suspected, I’m bombarded with various articles and pictures of his former life in Boston and his transition to LA. Several photos show Ethan with his ex-wife, a flawless blonde by societal standards.

Hockey Barbie. She’s beautiful, successful, and part owner of the Boston team.

Seriously? Why can’t she be a hag or even a puck bunny?

A daunting sense of inadequacy curdles in my gut. He told me she was having an affair, but that provides little consolation. If she hadn’t cheated, would he have left?

His ex-wife is in a league far above me. She’s generationally wealthy and independent while I’m inexperienced, insecure, and to be honest, a hot mess.

I glance down at Jackson’s hoodie I’ve been wearing for the past week. Despite having loads of lingerie from modeling, I still sleep in his oversized T-shirt. Lately, it’s whichever one he wore that day. What can I say? His scent brings me comfort.

My go-to style is Converse and leggings, and my hair is typically in a ponytail or messy bun.

And I have panic attacks.

Jesus, I’m a wreck.

“Give me that!” Gram snatches the phone and scrutinizes the picture of Ethan and his ex-wife. “He divorced?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Then stop being a sourpuss. He’s attractive. Doesn’t seem to smile much.”

“He does with me.” Wow, that was super defensive, even to my own ears.

She reaches out and pats my hand. “There you go. Is he good to you?”

“In a way. He’s busy, but he has made time for me since finding out about the baby. He knows I’m seeing someone else and still wants to live together.”

Gram cuts right through the bullshit. “He’s older. More focused on his career and less worried about commitment.”

“I guess.” I shrug, not exactly happy about her comment on commitment. “He’s thirty-five.”

“Okay, I trust you know what you’re doin’. Be careful with my grandbaby.”

“I am. Nobody is taking this baby from me. Don’t you worry.”

She returns my phone, a smile of excitement on her face. “Okay, let’s see the next guy.”

Here we go.

I avert my gaze and shuffle the cards, chewing on my lip. It’s difficult to tell her I’ve reconciled with Jackson. She has already been through enough, and I hate to disappoint her.

But I can’t hide this. Jackson only has one speed. Fast and hard. All in. He’s not going anywhere.

I pull up a recent photo of us at the beach. It’s cute, with me sitting between his legs, his chin on my shoulder, his hand on my stomach.

She takes the phone and glances down then up, as though I’m playing a trick on her. When I’m silent, she studies the picture.

“Can’t say I approve, but I also don’t know him.” She releases a heavy sigh. “What does he think of all this? Your modeling, pregnancy, and dating other people?”

“He’s adjusting. It was difficult for him when I left today, but he’s ecstatic about the baby and close with Ethan. The trouble is, he wants me by his side, not traveling for work.”

She lets out a contemplative humph.

“What?”

“He has always wanted you under lock and key. All to himself.” She frowns. “Don’t let him suck the life out of you again.”

I take a moment to reflect on her words. Now that I know the truth of Jackson’s whereabouts at the end of our relationship and what he was struggling with, I realize his core behavior hasn’t changed much. He has always been controlling.

The difference is now he’s sober, which makes him less volatile. I thought he was cheating on me. He was mentally unstable and battling his addiction.

Can I live with Jackson’s obsessive behavior? Maybe. It’s not as though I don’t have my own faults.

But the real question is, can I deal with a relapse?

Not with a baby.

It hurts not to love him unconditionally. It feels like a failure. Only those who’ve witnessed a loved one lose themselves to addiction can understand the anguish of letting them go.

Guilt is a heavy burden to bear, especially knowing how reckless he is, but I’m not putting a child through that.

“I’ve changed. I’m not that na?ve girl who believed she found lightning in a bottle. I’m not dependent on him, and I’m not afraid to walk away. I have more than me to think about.”

Gram gives me a warm smile before slamming her cards down. “I win. I was waitin’ for you to finish.”

Savage.