Chapter 9 #2
As I open the back door, I step aside, allowing Cadence and Stone to enter first before I walk into the kitchen, hoping to go unnoticed so I can inspect my jaw.
Unfortunately, Vale sees me. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” I dismiss, passing the refrigerator and heading down the hallway toward the bathroom.
I sense someone following me, but I don’t glance back until I enter the powder room and attempt to close the door. “What are you doing?”
Without an invitation, Cadence pushes me deeper into the small space and shuts the door behind her. “Taking care of you. Again.” She winks.
Cadence motions toward the toilet and I close the lid to take a seat.
She helps herself to a basket of rolled washcloths, then soaks the material with cold water from the sink.
Like wringing out a washcloth takes great skill, I watch Cadence’s slender fingers work the cloth.
When she turns toward me, I spread my knees allowing her to step between my legs.
She tips back my head by gripping the short hairs on the back of my head and our eyes meet.
“This might hurt,” she whispers.
My brain fogs for a second. Does she mean touching my jaw or her in general? The hammering in my chest grows stronger, and I fist my hands on my thighs, so I don’t reach for the backs of her legs and tug her closer to me.
When Cadence presses the cold dampness against my jaw, I wince.
“You took that punch like a champ, cowboy.” Her hand on the back of my head gently slides forward to cup the opposite side of my face.
I grunt, wincing once more as she presses the cool fabric to my jaw.
“Been in a fight before, have ya?” Cadence continues, giving me a knowing glance. When I don’t answer, she adds. “I saw that fight with Romero Valdez from a few years ago.”
Romero. Fucker called himself Romeo, playing into the rumors he was a major manwhore. When the fight occurred, he was the shortstop for Florida, and a damn good one. A year ago, he became a Chicago Anchor, and we buried our grievances because I’m a team player. He became a friend. Or so I thought.
“Didn’t think you were a baseball fan.”
“I’m good at stalking Instagram.”
I chuckle sharply, a guffaw that causes me to wince once again at the pressure on my jaw. “He had it coming to him.”
“Care to share with the class,” she teases.
The physical fight with Romero happened on a day when I’d already had an argument with Felicity.
With my mood sour, my adrenaline was heightened.
After hitting a potential double to left field, the fielder fumbled the pick-up and overthrew the ball intended for second base.
I rounded to third, hoping to steal another base, when Romero obstructed my run, which isn’t legal when he didn’t have the ball.
I tripped, or more likely he tripped me, and I went skidding in the dirt feet from the third base bag.
Romero had time to get the ball and tagged me out as I stood up.
I turned on him, spouting off about his illegal position.
He took the argument one insult too far.
“He’d made a derogatory comment about Felicity.” Pausing, I avoid her eyes and correct myself. “Or maybe it was more about me.”
Maybe your wife could use a man who can keep himself up.
Romero motioned toward his dick, and I lost it.
Two quick steps and one fist later, the tension boiled out of me.
He deserved it. No one would talk about my wife like that, even if she and I were fighting all the time.
I hadn’t known then that Felicity and Romero had history.
“What happened with you and Enya?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “Things seemed a little tense in the dining room.”
Cadence dismissively waves a hand, but I catch it with mine, feeling how delicate her fingers are compared to my big palm.
Stroking my thumb over the inside of her hand once, our hands shift like we intend to shake them.
Only we’re both holding on and my thumb draws circles on the back of her hand while I wait for a real answer.
“Just a little misunderstanding. Rumor has it you and I slept together,” she whispers as if scandalized.
I don’t like the teasing tone. Hurt lingers beneath the surface.
Cadence is a superstar. She understands being in the limelight comes with dark moments.
Her superfans are triple any fanbase I might have.
Her enemies are just as many. Rumors and gossip should ping off the armor she needs to protect her head and her heart.
She should know how to deflect lies, but I’m well versed in mind games and know how hard it can be to let that shit go.
Additionally, I don’t like that gossip has started about us among family.
“Nothing happened, right?” I remind her, hoping to soothe any worry she has that family meddling will go any farther than our backyard.
Cadence watches where my thumb circles around the back of her hand, pressing gently into the delicate bones leading to her fingers. Fingers that play piano and produce songs that become major hits.
“Nothing happened,” she softly confirms.
Another memory from last night comes to me. A body pressed against my back as I slept on my side. Delicate fingers caressing my bare back, at one point tapping out a tune.
Was she trying to hold me upright or was she leaning into me, needing support?
The idea is ridiculous. Cadence is a strong woman, confident and carefree. She could have any man she desires and the last thing she’s going to want is a newly divorced, father of three, professional baseball player near the end of his career.
The thought is sobering.
Her kindness is appreciated.
Stretching up, I cup her face and tip it downward to press my lips against her forehead, lingering against her soft skin. Grapefruit. She definitely smells like grapefruit. However, I’ll never have the answer to the burning question of whether the scent comes from her hair or her flesh.
Cadence relaxes, like hidden tensions float out of her. Between her father’s accusation and the misunderstanding with her sister, she’s had quite a night as well.
In another lifetime, I would suggest we get out of this place, get lost in each other. But I have three little girls on the other side of this bathroom door counting on me not to leave them behind.
“I should check on the girls,” I mutter against Cadence’s smooth forehead.
“Of course.” Her voice is rough and low before she clears her throat and pulls away. Her eyes are so blue.
And it’s true, I could love you. The line from her song is a whisper in my head.
Cadence licks her lips and my gaze drifts to the movement.
It could have happened.
In another lifetime.