20. Tara #2
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face—there and gone in a blink—before his expression smoothed again.
“I didn’t invite her, no. She contacted our PR department yesterday, after having just arrived from London, saying she needed to speak with Xander as soon as possible about their child.
She was waiting for me when I arrived at the office this morning.
As you can imagine, I was caught completely off guard. ”
“I’m sure you were,” I murmured, my tone laced with doubt, watching him closely for any tell.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp as a scalpel. “You don’t believe me.”
“Let’s just say the timing seems convenient.”
“For whom?” he asked, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Certainly not for the team. Not for our image. And certainly not for you.”
I said nothing, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply this had affected me—the way it clawed at my insides, stirring up insecurities I’d thought buried.
“I had truly hoped he had changed, Tara,” he continued, his voice soft with feigned regret, like a disappointed parent. “For your sake.”
The words hit their target, a precise strike. Had I been a fool to believe Xander could change? To think that the damaged, self-destructive man I’d stalked for years—the one who’d drowned his guilt in booze and bodies—could suddenly transform into someone stable and trustworthy?
“My sake has nothing to do with this,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded. “Why am I here?”
My father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes locking onto mine with that unyielding intensity.
“You’re here because, as head of Sports Medicine, you need to be aware of any situation that might impact team dynamics.
And because, as your father, I’m concerned about how closely you’ve been working with McCrae. ”
“My work with Xander has been completely professional,” I said, the lie tasting bitter.
He gave me a look that said he knew better. “Regardless, I think it’s best if you maintain a strict distance from him going forward. For your own sake, and most certainly for the team’s image.”
There it was—the real purpose of this meeting, slithering out like a snake. Using the scandal he may have orchestrated to enforce the separation he’d wanted all along, to clip my wings and keep me under his thumb.
“Are you ordering me to avoid a player under my medical care?” I asked, refusing to rise to the bait.
“Of course not,” he replied smoothly. “I’m suggesting you delegate his sessions to other therapists on your staff. You would still oversee his treatment plan, of course, but the day-to-day interactions could be handled by others.”
“That’s not how I run my department,” I said flatly, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“Tara,” he sighed, his patience visibly thinning, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “This isn’t just about protocols. This is about protecting you. McCrae is toxic. He destroys everything he touches.”
“Including Jimmy?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharp and accusatory.
My father’s face hardened, the mask cracking for a split second to reveal the steel beneath. “We’re not discussing that again. I thought I made myself clear the other night.”
“Crystal,” I said, rising from my chair, my legs steady despite the storm inside. “If that’s all, I have patients waiting.”
“One more thing,” he said as I reached the door, his voice stopping me cold. “The press will be all over this. If anyone approaches you for comment, direct them to the PR department. No exceptions.”
I nodded curtly and left without another word, my mind racing like a fever dream.
As I walked back to the medical wing, I felt like I was moving through a fog, my thoughts a jumbled mess of hurt, confusion, and suspicion—Xander’s touch still ghosting my skin, warring with the image of that swollen belly.
By late afternoon, I was exhausted. I decided to leave early, something I rarely did. As I gathered my things—laptop in bag, keys in hand—I instructed my assistant to reschedule my last two appointments.
“Even McCrae?” she asked, glancing at the schedule on her screen. “He’s due in fifteen minutes.”
My heart stuttered, a sharp pang in my chest. I had forgotten he was on today’s schedule.
For a moment, I considered staying—facing him, demanding answers, watching those lips that had kissed every inch of me form the truth.
But the thought of confronting him now already, with the wound still so fresh and raw, was unbearable, like salt on exposed nerves.
“Especially McCrae,” I said. “Tell him... tell him I had an emergency.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. This felt like an emergency—the kind that left you gasping for air, unsure which way was up, your world tilting on its axis.
I took the back exit, hoping to avoid running into anyone who might want to discuss the day’s gossip, their pitying eyes or whispered speculations. I was almost to my car, the humid Miami air clinging to my skin, when I heard his voice, rough and urgent.
“Tara! Wait!”
I froze, keys in hand, my pulse spiking like I’d been caught mid-sprint.
Then slowly, I turned to face him. Xander was jogging toward me across the parking lot, his practice clothes still damp with sweat, clinging to the hard lines of his chest and thighs in a way that made my traitorous body respond despite everything.
His face was etched with desperation, hair tousled, eyes wild.
“Please,” he said as he reached me, slightly out of breath, his scent washing over me like a memory. “Can we talk?”
Up close, he looked terrible—eyes bloodshot and shadowed, hair disheveled as if he’d raked his hands through it a hundred times.
Part of me ached to reach out, to smooth the worry lines from his forehead, trace the stubble on his jaw like I had yesterday morning.
I kept my arms firmly crossed like armor.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, even as my knees threatened to buckle.
“Tara, it’s not what you think,” he said urgently, stepping closer. “It’s a setup. You have to believe me.”
I laughed, a short, humorless sound that echoed bitterly. “Do I? Why is that, exactly?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident, muscles flexing under his shirt. “Because we’re in this together. Because after everything we’ve shared—the way you moaned my name last night, the way you looked at me like I was your everything—you know me.”
“Do I?” I repeated, softer this time, the words laced with pain. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
He flinched as if I’d slapped him, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. “What you saw—what everyone’s seeing—it’s not the truth. Brittany and I were never a couple.”
“What was she, then?” I asked, needing to hear him say it. He hesitated, and in that moment of silence, I saw the truth written across his face—guilt, regret, the shadows of his past.
“She was... we hooked up a few times,” he admitted finally, his eyes never leaving mine, pleading. “In London. It was nothing serious—just drunk nights, empty mornings.”
“So you did sleep with her,” I said, each word like glass in my throat, slicing deep.
“Yes,” he said, his voice raw, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “But it was months ago, Tara. Before I came to Miami. Before us—before you walked back into my life and turned everything upside down in the best way.”
My stomach clenched, a mix of jealousy and hurt twisting like a knife. “Many months?” I asked, my voice trembling now. “Like, five-months-pregnant amount of months?”
The color drained from his face, leaving him ashen. “I... I don’t know exactly when... but yes, the timing could fit. But Tara, she also slept with half of my old team. I’ll demand a paternity test. This whole thing reeks of a setup?—”
“Including you,” I cut him off, the words falling between us like stones, heavy and final. “She slept with half your team, including you.”
He didn’t deny it, just looked at me with those moss-green eyes full of anguish and desperation, the same eyes that had darkened with lust as he’d buried himself inside me.
“Tara, please. You know what your father is capable of. This is exactly the kind of manipulation he excels at—twisting the knife to keep us apart.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, wrapping my arms around myself tighter, the breeze chilling my skin. “Maybe this is all some elaborate scheme. But the fact remains that you slept with this woman, and now she’s pregnant, and the timing fits. Those are facts, Xander, not manipulations.”
“I can explain?—”
“Can you?” I interrupted, suddenly exhausted, the fight draining from me like blood from a wound.
“Can you explain why I had to find out about this from a junior therapist showing me a gossip site? Why you didn’t call me the moment she showed up?
Why, after everything we’ve shared—your body on mine—your first instinct wasn’t to come to me? ”
He looked stricken, his hands clenching at his sides as if fighting the urge to touch me.
“I was ambushed this morning. Your father called me into his office, and she was just... there, with that smug smile and her hand on her belly. I’ve been trying to get to you all day, but you weren’t answering my texts, and then your assistant said you had an emergency. ..”
I checked my phone, the screen lighting up with several missed texts from him, all variations of “ We need to talk and It’s not what you think .” I’d been so caught up in my own spiral that I hadn’t noticed them, the notifications buried under the avalanche of news alerts.
“I don’t know what to believe right now, Xander,” I said, my voice breaking slightly, tears pricking my eyes. “I want to trust you. I want to believe this is just another of my father’s schemes. But...”
“But what?” he pressed when I trailed off, his voice a rough whisper, stepping so close I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
I looked at him—really looked at him. The man whose every move I’d tracked across continents, whose body I now knew as intimately as my own. The man who, just yesterday, had made me breakfast, kissing me like I was the only woman in the world.
“But I also know how you’ve been acting these many years,” I said quietly, the words heavy.
“The drinking. The partying. The women. I’ve followed it all, Xander—every self-destructive choice, every meaningless hookup splashed across the headlines.
I wanted to believe you’d changed, that what we have is different.
But maybe I’ve just been fooling myself. ”
He reached for me, his hand stopping just short of touching my arm, hovering like a promise unfulfilled. “What we have is different,” he insisted, his voice pitching higher with emotion. “Tara, you’re the only one who’s ever seen me—the real me. You’re the one who makes me want to be better.”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, taking a step back, the space between us feeling like a chasm. “Not now. I need... I need time to process this.”
The look of devastation on his face nearly broke my resolve—his strong jaw clenched, eyes glistening with unshed tears. For a moment, we stood there in painful silence.
“What about Morrison?” he asked finally, his voice cracking. “What about finding out the truth about Jimmy? We were going to do this together.”
I closed my eyes briefly, the reminder hitting like a fresh wave. In the shock of the day’s revelations, I’d almost forgotten our plan to confront the detective again, armed with the Valdez leverage.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, opening my eyes to meet his gaze one last time. “I need to think.”
“Tara—”
“I have to go,” I said, turning away before I could change my mind, before the pull of him dragged me back. “I can’t do this right now.”
I got into my car without looking back, my hands shaking so badly I could barely insert the key into the ignition.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught him in my rearview mirror—standing exactly where I’d left him, shoulders slumped, looking utterly lost, like a man watching his world drive away.