Chapter 3
Three
Sydney didn’t have Reese and Grant Devereux shooting daggers at one another in her bedroom on her bingo card today. In this lifetime, actually.
Hallie was going to lose her mind when she found out what was transpiring in their shared suite—not to mention that she was missing it.
“I’m not leaving here until I get some answers.” Grant crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe.
Sydney gave him an appraising stare, still not moving. “Guess you should order room service because you’ll be waiting a while,” she said flippantly, even if it felt like her world had been turned upside down in the last few minutes.
He looked the same, definitely no worse for the wear given what he’d put Sydney through. His hair was still coiffed. His skin was tanned from weekends at the golf course. Even his outfit, khakis and a polo shirt in the summer months, hadn’t changed.
It was like, so easily, he’d just moved on, that nothing for him had really changed.
She’d hoped that she’d never have to see Grant again, let alone during one of the hardest periods of her life. It was adding insult to injury that he was gallivanting around Stoneport while he prepared for his wedding, something that, a year ago, they’d been discussing as a couple.
But seeing him again had sparked something in her, a fire that she hadn’t felt in months.
It was the same sensation she’d gotten before a big match, and it flared through her veins, waking her up from the inside out.
She felt alive when she saw the confusion written across his face, very similar to how she’d felt last year when she’d walked into his condo in Boston.
The moment she had caught him cheating still didn’t feel real, even today. When she remembered it, the scene felt removed, like she was watching a movie instead of having lived it herself.
Grant had been with her for the first week of the French Open, where she’d never placed higher than the second round. By the time he left on Sunday to be back for work on Monday, she’d secured a place in the fourth round, her best showing on the clay courts that she’d always struggled with.
All year, she’d been focusing on her slide across the surface along with better timing for the ball’s change in pace.
The bounce was higher on clay and became more inconsistent with the divots on the court.
An extra two hours a day of practice at her training center’s clay courts had helped make her game formidable.
When she’d lost in the fourth round on Tuesday, instead of heading straight back to Florida, she’d grabbed a direct flight to Boston.
Knowing that she’d been absent more often in the months leading up to Roland-Garros, she wanted to show Grant how much she’d appreciated his support.
So she’d decided to surprise him.
Because she’d missed him.
Her stomach roiled at the memory.
Like an idiot, she’d misunderstood all of his flexibility when it came to her career. She’d believed he wanted her to focus on tennis because he was supporting her. Instead, her career had conveniently kept her out of his way for extended periods of time so that he could have an affair.
Or multiple.
She hadn’t stayed long enough to get all the details.
Still, he’d done an impressively good job of playing the doting boyfriend up until the moment it had all fallen apart.
Maybe that’s why the breakup had hurt so badly. Because she was still having trouble reconciling the person who’d lived a double life with the man she’d once loved.
Because the partner he’d been to her for the six years they’d been together hadn’t been a partner who’d seemed prone to cheating.
They had nightly phone calls when she was in Florida for training.
He sent flowers to her at every tournament he couldn’t attend.
They’d talked about what their future would be like when she retired in a few years, with plans for marriage and children and a life that Sydney was excited to live.
She still felt robbed of the life she’d been building. Resentful that he’d walked away scot-free. Infuriated that he was getting married this summer, like his life hadn’t skipped a beat while hers had been shaken to the core.
Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how angry she was. She hadn’t let herself accept how angry she was.
The three of them still stood around her room, saying nothing, but she knew Grant would fold first. He wanted to be the loudest voice in the room, and he never understood the power of silence, in letting your opponent fall on their own. You don’t need to beat someone if they beat themself.
So, just like clockwork…
“Is that why you’re staying in this dumpy inn, Reese? So you and my sloppy seconds can sneak around together?” Grant scoffed, like the idea was ludicrous, even as the supposed evidence stood side by side in front of him.
She’d have given Grant a point in the invisible tennis match she was watching play out if he hadn’t done exactly what she’d anticipated.
Sydney didn’t know who should be more offended: herself, on behalf of Hallie and their entire childhood of great memories, or Reese, who’d just become the owner of said inn. She wasn’t even going to touch the ‘sloppy seconds’ comment with a ten-foot pole.
All her disgust did was make Sydney want to dig her heels in and commit to the act further.
Asshole .
But it was Reese who got to him first. “You mean the inn you and Dad couldn’t afford to buy?”
Well, well, well. Point to Reese.
Grant squinted at her. “How do you know that?”
Another point to Reese. Grant wasn’t quick on his feet and missed the hit by showing his surprise.
“So it is true,” Reese said, her teeth flashing in a way that made Sydney melt from the pure enjoyment. “I’d love to hear more about that.”
Grant’s face grew red. “The family business isn’t really any concern of yours, now, is it?” he said, trying to rein in his breathing.
The situation had quickly escalated from a four to a solid nine, and she wondered what Grant would do when he didn’t get what he wanted. Not that she knew exactly what he wanted right now, but he was clearly infuriated at the idea of Sydney and Reese being an item.
Though she’d been with Grant since college, she’d always been open about her bisexuality.
And he was actually starting to believe that they were a couple, Sydney realized as his gaze darted between them, his fists clenching. She’d unexpectedly found herself on a speeding train that she didn’t want to slow down.
She felt invigorated, even as he took a step through the doorway.
Her whole body pulsed, little vibrations zinging across her skin, her arm hairs practically electric with the buzz moving through her.
For the last year, she’d felt like she hadn’t had any power, and now that she was given a little dose, she was heady with the weight of it.
She placed her hand on Reese’s elbow. “I didn’t know that Grant was stopping by today,” she said honestly, squeezing Reese’s arm and giving her a puzzled look.
Sydney loved the heat coming off of Reese’s skin, and she fed off it as she flexed her fingers.
Reese’s tight smile was its own answer before she said, “I didn’t either.”
Grant threw up his hands and took another step closer. “Are you two seriously together? This isn’t some sort of joke?”
She could see the spittle at the edge of his lips.
“Contrary to popular belief,” Reese said before leveling her brother with a gaze that Sydney thought could melt metal, “not everything is about you.”
Sydney didn’t know why Reese was still going along with this, but she was grateful, satiating herself on the extra moments of excitement.
“In what world is the fact that my ex-girlfriend and my sister are dating not about me?”
Sydney bit back a laugh. Grant had always had a high opinion of himself, and that seemingly hadn’t changed over the last year.
Regardless, for the thrill of satisfaction that she was getting out of this whole situation, a perfectly executed role reversal that rivaled the feeling of a great shot down the line, Grant no longer got to see her in various states of undress.
“Get out of my bedroom, Grant,” she said, glancing at him and then the door.
She tapped her foot in a steady rhythm until he finally started turning around at a snail’s pace, like he was waiting for camera people to pop out of the closet and tell him he’d been Punk’d .
Reese started following her brother to the door.
“You should stay,” Sydney said in a soft, coaxing voice, grabbing onto Reese’s hand.
“What the hell, Syd?” Grant bellowed, even as he complied with her request. At least he wasn’t stupid enough to stay in a woman’s room against her will.
Sydney could see him glowering at Reese as he stomped away, sulking like a child.
She loved it.
She knew it was wrong, but she fucking loved every second of it as Grant made frustrated sounds with every step he took.
“And you don’t get to call me Syd,” she yelled at his back as the door shut behind him.
She dropped Reese’s hand and started rummaging through her suitcase.
“I just need to throw on some clothing,” Sydney said. She was more invigorated for that run than she’d been fifteen minutes ago. Maybe at any point since her injury.
Her limbs still buzzed as she picked up a sports bra that was hanging over her chair and slid it over her head.
Sydney was comfortable with nudity, having lived the last decade of her life in locker rooms. Not to mention the saunas, ice baths, and any myriad of physical therapy techniques that could give an athlete an edge.
So, even as her skin prickled with awareness that Reese Devereux was only a few feet away from her, respectfully looking out the large window toward the ocean, she moved her focus to finding a pair of running shorts and a tank top in the suitcase she hadn’t unpacked yet.