Chapter 19 Tish
TISH
Trent’s voice snaps through the phone, sharp enough to slice the haze between Ash and me. “I know what you’re doing, and you’d better stop it right now before it gets out of hand.”
My stomach plummets.
He knows. Somehow he already knows.
My mind races back to the bed, to Ash’s mouth hot on mine, to my own fingers clutching his shirt like I’d die if I let go. Heat drains out of me in a rush of shame.
“I —” My voice cuts out. What can I say? How can I explain almost having sex with his best friend?
But Trent barrels on. “Pretending to be Jake’s girlfriend? Really? That’s your big plan? You’ve completely lost your mind.”
I blink. Wait. What?
The panic stalls, replaced by something else. He doesn’t mean Ash. He doesn’t know about that.
Relief flashes, sharp and short-lived, because the next thought slams just as hard. Ash told him.
I snap my gaze to Ash, my breath still shaky. My brow arches in silent accusation: Did you tell my brother?
His face hardens but guilt flickers across his eyes before he looks away. My chest tightens.
I jab a finger toward the door. The command is clear. Leave.
Ash hesitates. His jaw clenches like he wants to argue, but then his shoulders drop and he moves.
The weight of him leaves the mattress, and the space between us grows cold.
He rakes a hand through his hair, mutters something I can’t catch, and stalks out.
The door closes with a soft click that feels louder than a gunshot.
Trent’s voice spikes again. “Why the hell was Ash in your room?”
How the hell did he know that? Had he actually heard Ash’s mumbled voice?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Because he’s my friend. Because he’s worried. Because everyone’s decided they get a vote in my personal life.”
Silence on the line except for heavy breathing, like he’s pacing. Then, “You don’t get it. This isn’t just about you. The second word gets out, it’ll hit the team. Carl’s pushing this insane plan, and you’re just…going along with it?”
I shut my eyes and tip my head back. “I’m going along with it because it’s smart. It fixes Jake’s mess before it buries us all.”
“It’s not your job to fix him.”
“Yes, Trent. It is.” My voice steadies, low but sharp. “That’s literally why Carl hired me. To protect the Thunderwolves. To keep fans from turning on us. To keep sponsors from pulling money. If I have to stand next to Jake and smile while he plays pretend, I’ll do it. Because I can.”
The silence stretches.
For a second, I think he’s going to slam the phone down in my ear. Instead, his voice drops, softer. “You’ve always been too damn selfless for your own good.”
“I’d call it practical.”
He exhales hard, frustration bleeding through the line. “Just…be careful, Tish. Please. Don’t let Jake drag you down with him.”
“I can handle Jake,” I say, even though I don’t believe that myself.
The call ends with a reluctant goodbye.
The hotel childcare smells faintly of crayons and disinfectants. The noise is a happy hum with the kids laughing, toys clattering, and the faint lull of cartoons on a wall-mounted TV.
Becky spots me first.
She bolts across the room, sparkly shoes flashing, her arms open wide. I scoop her up, her little body wiggling with excitement. “Pool?” she chirps.
“Pool,” I confirm, smiling despite the weight in my chest.
Krystal comes slower, a book clutched in her hands. She’s quieter, more reserved, but her smile when she reaches me is soft and sweet. “I’m ready,” she says simply.
The three of us head upstairs.
In my room, I help them into bathing suits, a pink glittery one-piece for Becky, and blue dolphins for Krystal. I pull on my own navy two-piece suit, tugging a cover-up over it.
The indoor pool glows under white lights with steam curling faintly off the heated water. Chlorine hangs thick in the air.
The girls squeal as they hurry to the shallow end, jumping in with splashes that echo against the tile.
I sink into a lounge chair, pulling the cover-up around me. The girls giggle and kick, water sparkling around them. My heart warms watching them, but my mind doesn’t stay in the pool.
It drifts back to the hotel room. To Ash’s voice, low and rough in my ear. Tell me to stop. The way I hadn’t said no. The way I’d whispered “don’t stop” instead.
Shame curls low in my stomach. I shouldn’t want him.
Not when Jake is already draped across my shoulders like a second shadow.
Not when Trent is furious and Carl is expecting me to play the part of perfect PR girlfriend.
But god, the memory of his mouth on mine refuses to leave.
I press my legs tighter together, shifting in the chair.
My cover-up feels too thin, my skin too hot. I focus on Becky’s splashing, on Krystal’s careful paddling, but the distraction barely holds.
The girls’ laughter echoes across the pool, splashes bouncing off the tiled walls.
I lean back in the lounge chair, cover-up pulled tight around me, and let my mind wander where I know it shouldn’t as I keep an eye on the girls.
Jake’s kiss lingers like a spark I can’t put out. It was calculated, practiced, meant to prove a point.
He knew exactly what he was doing, and god help me, it worked. Heat, confidence, arrogance all wrapped into one. With him, it’s about the show, about who’s watching. Even when no one is.
Ash is different. His kiss wasn’t a performance.
It was raw, messy, full of pent-up emotion.
There was no script, no clever timing. Just him and me and years of tension breaking loose all at once. It scared me how much I wanted it. It still does.
And then there’s Carl. The way he looks at me, like he already knows I’ll bend to whatever plan he lays out.
It’s power, not heat, but it makes my body react all the same.
I hate that I notice. I hate more that a part of me likes being noticed by him.
The thought makes me squirm in my seat.
Three men, three different pulls, all tangled in the same mess I can’t seem to escape.
Jake is the fire, Ash is the storm, and Carl is the mountain.
And me?
I’m the one stuck between them, pretending I can keep control while my heart and body betray me at every turn.
The door opens behind me and I know who it is before I turn.
Carl.
His presence hits like a shift in air pressure. Heavy. Solid.
He strides in with the unhurried confidence of a man who always commands the room.
His gaze sweeps the pool. It softens when he sees Krystal splashing with Becky. But then it shifts. To me.
“Girls look happy,” he says, stopping beside my chair.
He’s dressed casually, if you can call it that. Dark track pants hang low on his hips, and a fitted black T-shirt stretches over his chest and shoulders like it was tailored just for him.
The fabric clings to muscle, outlining every curve of strength beneath. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s just run a hand through it, and it only makes him look more rugged.
My gaze catches on the way the shirt hugs his arms, veins visible as he pushes his hands into his pockets.
It’s unfair that a man his age still looks this good, like time decided to skip him. Heat crawls up my throat when I realize how long I’ve been staring.
Carl doesn’t glance at me right away, but when he finally does, his eyes linger.
They travel down my body even though I’m sitting, even though the cover-up hides most of me.
Heat climbs my cheeks, worse when it spreads lower, traitorous and undeniable.
My cover-up suddenly feels paper thin, my body too aware of itself under the weight of his attention.
“They are,” I answer. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
Carl’s gaze drifts toward the girls, their splashing laughter filling the air. For a moment, something softens in his expression, something I rarely see. His jaw eases, and his shoulders drop slightly.
“My wife used to bring my daughter to the pool every Saturday,” he says, his voice quieter, rougher. “She said swimming lessons were important, and it was the one thing she’d never let our girl skip.”
I glance at him, caught off guard. Carl doesn’t talk about his wife, not ever. The memory sits heavy in his voice, thick with something he usually buries beneath layers of authority.
“She’d hold her up in the shallow end,” he continues, his eyes fixed on Krystal as she paddles clumsily, bright yellow arm wings keeping her afloat. “Let her float on her back until she wasn’t scared anymore.”
The ache in his tone tugs at me. I’ve heard stories from the others, whispers about how much he lost when his wife died, but hearing it from him feels different. It’s raw, unpolished. A side of him most people probably never see.
“I think she’d be proud,” I say quietly. “Of both of you.”
His eyes flick toward me then, and the look makes my breath catch.
For a moment, I forget the chaos, the plan, the mess Jake has dragged us into.
For a moment, it’s just Carl, a husband remembering the woman he loved.
But the softness doesn’t last. His expression hardens, the weight of memory shuttered behind the steel I know too well. He straightens, voice shifting back to business.
“In two days, we have our next game,” he says flatly. “That’s the perfect opportunity for you and Jake to show you’re a couple.”
The words hit like a slap. No warning, no gentle lead-in. Just the reminder that whatever tenderness he carries, he’ll always put the team first.