CHAPTER 35 Dex Bradley
Not Very Traditional
Ainsley: Did you know Daddy Dex autocorrects to Daddy’s ex? Or Daddy Sex?
Me: I’ll be your sex daddy if you’ll be my slut.
I stare at the words as I send them. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that I’d be sending a text like that to Ivy’s best friend, but here we are.
I head to morning practice and leave my phone in my locker. When I get out, I have a text from my father.
Thomas Bradley: Don’t forget about tomorrow. Did you get the keys?
Me: Yes, my doorman had them. I won’t forget.
I don’t want to go. I want to go home and spend the little free time I have with Ainsley and Jack. I want to continue to build upon the foundation we’ve set down.
But I don’t have much choice. My father likes to put me into positions where I’m forced to put the family first. The goddamn legacy.
I shove my phone back in my locker, and I think about how I still haven’t spoken to Madden about all this. And that’s why I decide I’ll call him on my way home from practice. It’s late enough that I should catch him after practice.
I haven’t left the parking lot yet as I dial his number, and in fact I decide to sit right there in the parking lot to have this conversation.
“What the fuck do you want?” he answers, his standard greeting that comes off like a dickface but is actually kind of the way we tease one another.
“Just calling to check in on my favorite much older brother. How’s training camp going at your advanced age?”
He chuckles. “Knock it off with that. You’re only a couple years behind.”
“Yeah, and it’s been hell on these old knees. I can’t bend down like I used to.” And a big portion of my job happens to be bending down.
“I hear that, man. What’s going on?”
I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me about Dad’s casinos?”
He’s quiet on the other end. “How’d you find out?”
“When Dad asked me to run one for him in Vegas.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That man has some balls, dude.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“What did you say?” he asks.
“What choice did I have?”
“So it was a yes, then,” he says flatly.
“It was a yes with negotiations.”
“Still a yes.”
“Yeah. So how do I get out of it?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a beat, and he sounds surprised when he asks, “Why do you want out?”
I clear my throat. “You’ve heard about the kid by now, I assume.”
“Jack? Yeah. I heard.”
“It’s him,” I say. “Well, and also…it’s not just him. The woman I hired to nanny for him, we got married, and I’m falling in—”
“Wait, Ivy’s friend, right? Can you explain why you married her? You know, just between the two of us.”
“It was a contract,” I say. “She just got out of a reality show thing, and I needed to look a little more wholesome. You know, that whole thing. So we agreed to get married since it had benefits for both of us. But then I went and caught feelings.”
“Damn. You? Feelings?”
“I know. I didn’t think I was capable.”
He chuckles. “But she’s caring for your kid, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a good idea to get involved with the person who cares most for your son besides you?” he asks.
“Isn’t that traditionally how these things go?” I point out. Mom. Dad. Kid. It’s a pretty simple equation.
“Yes, when it’s two people who love each other and create a new life from that love. Not when it’s someone who doesn’t do relationships. You can’t fuck up the balance when that poor kid already lost his mom.”
Maybe the equation is traditionally simple, but I’ve never been very traditional.
Throughout this entire journey with her, she’s held me to a higher standard. One I’m certain I can’t measure up to. Yet I keep measuring up for her, showing up for her, and I like who I am when I’m with her.
But my brother makes a solid point here.
I don’t do relationships. I never have, and this is my first. First tries don’t normally pan out the way people hope they will. It’s why it’s called a first try. The assumption is that there will be more.
I’m at a point where I want to say that I don’t want to try with anybody else.
But that doesn’t mean that this will automatically work.
While I’m doing my best to meet the standard she sets for me, I have a history.
I have patterns. I have a father pushing me in one direction.
I have a career pulling me in another. And I can’t escape any of that.
The last thing I want to do is hurt either Jack or Ainsley in all of this.
But it does feel like Madden reminded me on this phone call about who the fuck I am.
He may not have told me to get out, but I can read between the lines. It’s a solid reminder that I may never be good enough for someone like Ainsley.
* * *
The next night, I head to the VIP lounge, which is already open and in full swing. I look around the place, and I’m actually pretty impressed with what my father has come up with here.
High-limit tables, top-shelf bars, private rooms, velvet and marble…it’s all very high-class and all very much my father’s doing.
I don’t want to be here, but he demanded it. I can stand up to basically anyone else in the world, but somehow he still has power over me. I’m not sure how he does it.
“Mm, Dex Bradley,” a blonde woman says, sidling up beside me and grabbing my arm between hers to pull it against her tits in some attempt to give my arm a hug, perhaps.
She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
“Jessica May,” she says, and it dawns on me. She’s a model for one of those famous lingerie lines.
“Right, of course,” I say, not sure how she got in here, but also not really caring.
Except I should care, of course.
We don’t just have the eye in the sky kinds of cameras here. No, no. My father wanted me here tonight because the media is here. Would’ve been nice if he would’ve clued me in on that, but he didn’t.
I could’ve brought Ainsley with me. Instead, I’ve got a model trying to smother my arm with her tits and cameras all around me decidedly working hard to demolish the wholesome family man image I’m just starting to build.
Excellent.
Thanks, Dad.
The rest of the night doesn’t go much better. More models, more of the rich and famous, more money exchanging hands, more alcohol, more photos.
It’s nearly three in the morning by the time I get home, and Ainsley is asleep in my bed. I should’ve been there with her when she fell asleep on my chest, and instead I smell like dingy cigarette smoke because what pairs with gambling and drinking? Smoking, naturally.
I blow out a breath and take a quick shower, and I slip into bed beside my wife…into the place I wish I’d been all night as I try to come up with how the fuck I can get out of going back to that lounge again next week.