Chapter 25 Delaney
DELANEY
Is it crazy if everything I’ve ever had a bad feeling about ended up being right?
Or is it the universe’s way of teaching me to trust my gut?
—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
“You’re seriously going to try to say everything is fine, even though Hendrix Sinclair just drove us to a Kings game like he was our chauffeur?
” As we walk toward the VIP entrance of Kings stadium, Kaleigh looks behind us at Ryker’s best friend and waves.
Actually waves, like with the spirit fingers of a D1 cheerleader shaking her ass on the mat.
Not that I’m hating on cheerleaders. I wish I had that kind of stamina and rhythm.
No one will ever refer to me as an athlete, and I’m okay with that.
I’ll leave all the athleting up to my husband.
And if we ever have kids one day, hopefully, they’ll take after him.
Not that we’ll be having kids because, well, I don’t know what the hell is going to happen to us twenty-four hours from now when the next level of Jumanji unlocks and our life gets even crazier than it is today.
I might also be spiraling the fuck out in my head because I really don’t want to have to do this right now. Ryker is supposed to be prepping for a game, not calming the nerves of his neurotic wife.
What if I’m making a big deal out of nothing?
What if Brooks is just an asshole on an ego trip who doesn’t like that he was proven wrong?
But what if he’s not?
What if—
“Delaney—”
“Over here, Delaney—”
“Delaney, this way—”
What the actual hell?
It feels like the walls are closing in as microphones and cameras are shoved in my face.
Close . . . Way too close.
“Delaney, was Ryker cleared of the murder charges?”
“Is it true you’re pregnant and the baby is Roger Dennings’s?”
“What?” I gasp, my head snapping toward the voice as a hand grabs my arm.
“Nope.” Hendrix yanks me back, shifting me in front of him, his body a wall between the madness and me. “Just keep walking. Ignore them.”
Ignore them?
How the hell am I supposed to ignore this?
“Delaney! Did the Kingstons pay off the DA?”
“Does Ryker have connections to the mafia?”
“Did the don handle this?”
“Delaney! Is it true your dad is a killer too?”
“Did you send your dad to prison?”
“Jesus—” My voice cracks, and my head pounds. Apparently, this can get worse.
“Just keep walking,” Hendrix growls louder this time, and my head spins as he moves closer to my back.
“Hey.” Kaleigh tucks her arm in mine, helping me cling to my last shred of sanity. “Don’t listen to them. Just focus on me.”
I try. I really do.
But the noise—the yelling—the accusations . . . They don’t fucking stop.
We push into the tunnel, the concrete walls beneath the stadium swallowing the sound just enough to make it echo around us like a cave.
But the voices don’t stop.
The questions don’t stop.
The cameras. The yelling.
None of it stops.
A wall of a man, massive and immovable, steps in front of us, blocking the way. And my pulse pounds as the voices get closer. “Credentials.”
That’s it. That’s all he says, and I want to scream as I hold up the lanyard around my neck and he checks his clipboard.
Hendrix exhales sharply. “Dude, I’m Declan Sinclair’s son, and this is Ryker Beneventi’s wife.”
I blink, swinging my head to him.
Sinclair . . . Holy shit, how have I never realized Hendrix is the son of the head coach of the Kings? How the hell did I not put that together before?
“Yeah well, my dad’s name is Jim White. But I’m not letting you back there if you’re not on the list.”
Of course we’re not on the list because absolutely nothing can be that easy today.
We should be celebrating Ryker being cleared instead of starring in this shit show.
“Ryker Beneventi is expecting me,” I finally say, my hands shaking as I fumble for my phone. The noise swelling to an impossible pitch. Reporters push deeper into the tunnel around us. Getting closer . . . and closer.
Delaney
We’re outside the player’s entrance in the tunnel. But they won’t let us back because we’re not on a list.
Ryker
Fuck. Sorry. Be right there, Bambi.
I flip the phone around and shove it in the guy’s face. “He’s coming.”
“That’s great, ma’am. But you’re still not on the list. Looks like you’re waiting here.”
My chest tightens, and my throat closes. It’s too much.
Hendrix shifts again, pressing me between him and the wall, blocking as much of the chaos as he can. But it’s not enough. They’re closing in. I can feel it. It’s like they’re sharks circling after the smell of the first drop of blood.
“Delaney—how does it feel to marry a killer?”
My stomach drops, and I want to scream at these assholes that my husband is the best man I’ve ever met. That Dennings would have raped me and killed me if Ryker hadn’t stepped in.
“Are you scared for your life?”
“Are you kidding me?” I yell, but between Hendrix and Kaleigh, no one can even see me, and I doubt they can hear me.
“Did you lie to the police?”
What the hell?
“Are you in danger? Is he controlling you?”
“I—” My voice disappears. I can’t breathe. I can’t—
“Delaney . . . ?” His voice cuts through everything. The noise. The chaos. The fear.
I look up and find him walking toward me. Pads on, jersey stretched tight across that muscled chest I love so much, like something out of my imagination. A fantasy I do not have time to be having right now. Even if it would be really easy.
Ryker Beneventi is a football god.
And he’s all mine.
His eyes lock on mine, and his gaze sharpens as he takes in every last detail. Observant as ever, he never misses a beat.
“Move.” One word directed at security. At reporters. All standing between us.
The guard hesitates, unsure whether he should step aside.
Big mistake.
“Move,” Ryker repeats, angrier this time as he shoulders past him to get to me.
He bypasses Hendrix and moves in front of Kaleigh like she isn’t even there before his hands slide to my face.
He brushes his lips over mine, and suddenly, it’s like the chaos ceases to exist. Like it’s just him and me back at our house.
Curled up on the couch, reading this week’s book club rec to each other out loud. “Baby, are you okay?”
The softness in his voice almost breaks me.
Almost.
“I . . .” My voice shakes as my eyes dart past him into the crowd growing by the minute. “They’re saying . . .”
“Ignore them.” His thumb brushes my eye, catching a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’ve got you.”
Hands reach for us. Too many. Too fast.
A microphone nearly hits my shoulder.
A camera flashes in my face.
Someone grabs my arm, and I pull away with a yelp.
And that’s it. Ryker snaps.
He turns, pulling me behind him in one sharp move, his entire body going rigid in front of me. “Back the fuck up, and get your fucking hands off my wife.” His powerful voice booms in the massive space, the deep tenor bouncing off the walls in a chilling way.
And the tunnel goes still. Just for a second.
Just long enough for everyone to realize what they’ve done.
“They have a right to ask questions,” someone I can’t see yells from the crowd, and Hendrix signs the words to Ryker, so he doesn’t miss a beat.
“No,” Ryker cuts in, his voice hard as steel as his hand reaches back and wraps around me. Reassuring himself that I’m here and I’m safe. “They fucking don’t. You have questions, you ask me after the game.”
Another hand reaches.
Another mic shoves forward.
And Ryker angles his body, fury radiating off him in red-hot waves.
“I said get your fucking hands off my wife,” he roars, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls, powerful and threatening and completely in control.
And suddenly . . . everyone listens.
Silence fills the space, and I step into Ryker’s side, clinging to him as he takes my hand in his and shoves Hendrix and Kaleigh ahead of us.
We move past the asshole guard, who could have avoided all this by letting us in to see Ryker, and through the players’ entrance, then down a hall away from the one marked locker room.
It’s some kind of cafeteria where he guides me away from even Hendrix and Kaleigh, not stopping until we’re tucked into an alcove out of sight.
His right hand planted against the wall beside my face as he bends his knees and brings his face level with mine.
“I’ve been freaking the fuck out since I got your text an hour ago, Lane, so I’m going to need you to fill me in. ”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to bother you with any of this before the game.
” I hate this. I hate that we’re doing this here.
That I’ve brought more stress to his plate right before a game.
A job is a job, pro athlete or not, and I just made a personal matter interfere with a professional one.
But I do it anyway. I tell him everything.
About Brooks coming into Love in Bloom. About everything he said.
About the way he made me feel. About the way Hendrix and Liv insisted I speak to him before the game.
I tell him every last thing, hoping he won’t be mad I’m bothering him with it now.
And what does this man do?
He fucking smiles.
Smiles and presses a reverent kiss to my lips.
“Don’t you get it, Lane? You matter more than a game. I’m glad you came. I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you had to deal with the fucking bullshit out there. But we’ll deal with Brooks together. I promise. Are you all right?”
“I am now.” I run my hand along his face and drop my head back against the wall. “Go. You have a game to win.”
He looks torn as his hand digs into my hair. “Do not leave Hendrix’s side. And wait for me after the game. I’ll meet you in the suite, and I’ll drive you home.”
I nod and wrap my hands around his neck as I press my lips against his. “Thank you.”
“I’d do anything for you, baby. One day you’ll believe that.”
I close my eyes and hang on for another minute before opening them again. “I think I already do. Now go win a game, husband.”