Chapter 1 #2
“But you were at the time. I recall you saying, ‘Management wouldn’t know a basketball from their asshole. Getting rid of all-star players don’t win championships.’”
Pointing at her, I replied, “That right there was my immaturity speaking. We all were mad; I was just the most vocal about it. But you don’t hear any of us complaining about that anymore. We grew, and we learned to respect the logic behind that business decision.”
“I’m sure it helped that you went on to have an amazing career and three back-to-back championships seasons.”
“Definitely helped.”
“And what contributed to the Pumas becoming a winning team later?”
“We were dedicated. We had passion, patience, and camaraderie.”
“And you were hungry.”
“Definitely. Working with my new team to strengthen our foundation as not just a team, but a family unit, took us a long way. We had the skills; we just needed the understanding and the cohesion to become a championship team.”
She dug into her baked potato and chewed a little before she moaned. “Dawson Castle’s is the best restaurant in the city, hands down.”
I chuckled. “Some women might argue with you on that.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love Lady Chablis as much as the rest of them, but there’s something about a good steak that turns me on.”
I kept my gaze on my plate as I cut my steak. I was not getting pulled into that salacious comment. Chanel knew I was married. When I didn’t respond, she stopped chewing, popped her eyes open, and stared.
“I’m so sorry. That was unprofessional. Sometimes I get caught up in the moment.” She apologized, dabbing her lips with the linen napkin. But I suspected she knew exactly what she was doing.
“You’re all good. Enjoy your meal, baby girl. There’s nothing wrong with a woman loving to eat.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled. “I once read that your wife loves to throw down in the kitchen. Do you two cook together, or does she do all the cooking?”
I tensed inside but kept my face impassive. “She cooks. But we also dine out a lot. Not that I can’t cook, because I can throw down in the kitchen too,” I stated, trying to steer the subject away from my marriage.
“Mm . . .” She chewed the rest of her steak, nodded thoughtfully as if she were engrossed in her meal, and then spoke again. “There are some rumors I would like to confirm.”
I cleared my throat and took a long sip of my beer. It felt like we were playing chess. I just wasn’t sure of her strategy.
“You’ve been married to your wife for eleven years and been in a relationship with her for eighteen. I know you two have been together since you were sixteen. What’s the key to a successful marriage?”
“Communication, trust, and transparency. Also being okay with who you are. Feeling comfortable enough around that person to show all sides of yourself, including the ugly parts. But then you have to get back into the right space and own your shit rather than make others carry that baggage.”
“What would you say about allegations that your wife has been cheating?”
“People gon’ always hate. I don’t get caught up in rumors. Muffin and I are a cohesive unit.”
“Is that why you filed for divorce?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve always been a straight shooter, Ashton. This doesn’t have to go on the record, but I need to know what type of picture I’m painting here.”
“You’re painting one about my career and that’s it. My marriage has nothing to do with this.”
“Except I have a copy of the divorce petition being filed,” she professed and slid a piece of paper toward me.
What the fuck? No one was supposed to know about that.
Not my family, my best friend, my business partners, or my team.
The only people who knew was Coach and Amélie.
I paid a high price and pulled some strings to have those records sealed.
Which one of them leaked the news? It couldn’t have been Muffin, because she was always about appearances, and she was the one who didn’t want anyone to know just yet.
She had just signed another two-year contract for Balla Wives, a reality show about the wives of professional baseball, basketball, and football athletes.
“Listen, I think you’ve got everything that you need. The meal was great. Like I said, I’ve got the tab covered, so stay, enjoy yourself, and have some dessert on me. Have a good night, Ms. Dubois.”
I stood and tossed my napkin on the table. One thing I never played about was my fucking family. I always had and always would protect them with my last breath. It didn’t matter if Muffin and I were divorcing; she was still under my protection.
I turned to walk away, but Chanel said something that made me stop in my tracks.
“I respect your right to privacy, and I can even commiserate with the fact that when someone you’ve spent your life with and planned to live out the rest of your years, betrays you when you need them most, but there is only so long you can hide, especially when she’s flaunting it.”
“What the fuck you say to me?” I growled, spun around, and took two long strides to her.
Chanel waved an envelope at me, and my jaws clenched, and my stomach tightened.
“Sit down, and don’t you dare show out,” she hissed.
“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”
“Ashton, I’m only going to say this one time . . . Sit your ass down because I’ve got something to tell you. I’m not trying to harm you. But I have some information you should know.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets, leaned forward until our noses damn near touched, bared my teeth at her, and released a low rumble.
“Chanel, I’ma tell you this one time and you’d better listen.
I don’t fucking play when it comes to my family.
” I pulled my hand from my pocket and snatched the envelope from her hand.
Chanel reared back in disbelief, but then she reached for the envelope again.
I stood back out of reach. “Ya little ass had better hope that whatever is in this envelope don’t make me tear this fucking restaurant up. ”
The pictures I removed from the envelope made my chest tighten, and my teeth ached from clenching my jaw tightly.
Muffin was kissing Alex Curry on a yacht in some of them, and in others, she was grinding in his lap.
The last two were more explicit. Although I filed for divorce, and she was living in my apartment in Chicago, I kept tabs on her.
She told me she was heading out of town to Miami for the weekend with her girlfriends.
I guess she wasn’t lying, because she was clearly laid up with a bitch.
As soon as that bitch nigga returned to town, I was beating his ass.
“Where did you get these?”
“I won’t reveal my source.”
“Where the fuck did you get these?”
“I told you—”
I slammed my palms on the table so hard that glasses fell, and a dish clattered to the floor.
“Ashton,” she hissed.
I shoved the pictures in her face. “Where the fuck did you get these?” I asked, ignoring the rising concern in patrons around us.
“I told you. I can’t say.”
I shoved them back into the envelope and stuffed them in my coat pocket.
“Who has seen these?”
“I don’t know.”
I swiped the rest of the items off the table with my arm and got in her face again.
“Lady, you ’bout to make me show the fuck out in here.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. Someone sent them to me anonymously through email. I swear. I don’t know who all has seen them, but I haven’t shared them, and I have copies. They were delivered to me this morning.”
“Don’t show a muthafuckin’ soul.”
I stormed out of the restaurant. I knew Muffin’s ass was cheating, but I had no idea she was cheating with my fucking teammate.