Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
PAXTON
“They’ve requested James,” the employee who works under Marilyn says, her voice timid.
There’s a collective groan of relief, and the rest of the guys start getting their bags together to get on the first bus to the airport.
I ease to my feet and follow the woman, rolling my shoulders to try and calm the hell down.
The room of reporters shuffles restlessly as I make my way to the small seat beside Ashton.
He finishes answering the question someone had asked while waiting to see who the second player sent out tonight would be.
No one says anything as I carefully sit down, keeping my left hand tucked in the pocket of my slacks.
I’ve kept it covered with a bandage since coming back to myself at Ashton’s place last night, explaining it away as a cut when a few of the guys asked about it, but it’s not a question I want asked while being actively recorded.
When the questions start, so do all the cameras.
It’s typical and something I’ve slowly grown accustomed to over the last nine years of playing in the league.
Tonight it only sets my teeth on edge. It doesn’t help that I can feel Billie’s happiness like a bright spot under my sternum, and it makes me want to puke.
I answer everything as calmly as I can manage, deflecting praise back onto the other guys on the team, emphasizing how we’re really clicking not just as a third line but as an entire unit and that there’s no one savior in our dynamic.
We’re all pulling the weight of turning the rough start to the season into a possible shot at the playoffs.
I fall into the rhythm of it all, and tension eases away from my shoulders.
And then the first question about the last twenty-four hours hits.
“You and your brother were both healthy scratches last night,” a middle-aged man in the front row says. “Are you able to tell us why you’re back and he is not?”
Ashton stiffens beside me, his scent slowly bleeding out of him in warning.
One of the reporters nearest us raises an eyebrow, her gaze flashing between us, clearly understanding the undertone to Ashton’s woodsy scent.
I lean my elbow on the table and run my hand over my beard that’s more unkempt than typical.
“I’m not able to at this time,” I offer.
The reporter’s eyes are disappointed but not overly surprised by my answer.
“Do you know when your brother might return?”
This question comes from the back of the room, so I can’t pinpoint exactly who asked it. Several people hold their phones higher, trying to get a better shot of some micro expression I might be making.
“That’s a discussion between him and coaching,” I say. “We all hope it’s soon.”
A different feeling spreads in my chest, and I have to breathe carefully to keep from reacting to it.
It’s been happening off and on all day, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker.
I wish I could drown it out, smother it until it stops affecting me.
I shift a bit in the hard plastic chair, willing my own scent to stay unreactive to the lust even as my dick hardens.
The rest of the questions are blurs. A few more reporters try to get me to answer the personal ones, but I’m consistent in my vague, noncommittal responses, and eventually they all give up.
Ashton and I get out of the room before any of the reporters manage to.
One of the assistants that makes sure we’re always where we need to be at the right time stands in the hallway, messing around on his phone.
“Last bus leaves in about ten minutes,” he says, glancing up at us. He hands me my backpack. “You need anything from me?”
I shake my head and get onto the bus that takes us to the team’s plane.
Several support staff are on it, but Ashton and I are the only players left.
A harder wave of lust hits me, and this time my scent reacts, flaring out from me.
I don’t say a word, though, as I drop into one of the seats.
Ashton sighs as he sits beside me, ignoring the other half dozen open seats.
“You okay?” he whispers, pulling his headphones from his pocket.
He’s been asking me that every couple hours today, every time I flinch or stiffen.
He’d been surprisingly gentle when I’d finally come out of the rut, calmly explaining what he and Rhett had walked into.
Mortification and dread had filled me in equal measure, only intensifying when he refused to let me go to my own temporary apartment under Rhett’s orders.
I shrug even as my scent grows more potent.
“Good playing tonight, by the way,” he says into the silence.
I snort, and he shrugs. He starts to say something else, but the door to the bus opens again.
Ares climbs up the stairs and turns into the main aisle.
His eyes catch on me, and his jaw clenches.
Somehow, despite him not saying a word to me outside of game instruction and playing critiques today, I know he’s aware I was there yesterday afternoon, that I saw his daughter while she was in heat.
I have no idea if he knows how much I fucked up. How much the entire situation was out of both of our control and has left what is going to be a flaming mess behind.
To escape his look, I pull out my phone. Billie’s text is the only notification.
Great goal. Good win. Proud of you!
Bile rushes to my throat even as the lust under my sternum finally fades, releasing my body.
BILLIE
Despite the marathon the weekend was, my heart is full when I park behind Blush & Bloom early Monday afternoon.
The wind cuts more than I expected when leaving the airport, and I tuck my face into my scarf as I quickly walk around the front of the shop.
Carys has been so jumpy the last week, I don’t want to panic her by walking in the back door when she’s not expecting me to come in today.
The sign is flipped to closed as expected, but the door is unlocked.
“Carys?” I call once I’m inside, the bells chiming overhead. I strip off the scarf and my purse and set them on the cafe table. “How did this weekend go? Did the flowers come in okay? I know that wholesaler has been awful recently, and we didn’t want to use them until…”
I trail off as someone other than Carys comes out of the work room.
“Marilyn,” I say, shocked.
She’s dressed in jeans and a black sweater, more casual than I’ve ever seen her. She offers a tired smile. “How was California?”
Did I miss a message from Carys about asking Marilyn to help while I was gone?
I pull my phone from my back pocket to check, but there’s nothing but a text from Marley.
Nerves settle in my stomach like a stone.
That voice that’s pestered me since middle school gets louder for the first time in weeks.
Had I done something to make Carys upset?
“It was good,” I answer with a frown. I double check the sign is still flipped to closed and then pull the binder of custom orders from under the counter. Using work as a way to avoid my thoughts is nothing new for me. “Where’s Carys? She didn’t text me that she wasn’t working today.”
“She went into heat Friday,” Marilyn says, crossing her arms. “I’ve been doing my best to cover the weekend. I’m thankful you’re back, to be honest. Carys has quite a business under her belt after only six months.”
I smile. “Yeah, it’s grown a lot just in the two months I’ve been here. It’s been really impressive to watch.”
The orders are still organized, the pickups from over the weekend marked off but the forms not moved to the back.
I quickly adjust everything and look through the orders for today and tomorrow.
Then I pull up the computer program that tracks all of the actual inventory and customer information, making sure the information matches.
It’s a bit duplicative, but Carys has told me enough horror stories of trying to set up weddings and events where accessing the internet isn’t an option to trust her methods.
Once everything’s caught up, I turn back to Marilyn.
“Friday?” I ask, and she nods. I mess with my engagement ring, a nervous habit I’ve picked up since the proposal in June. “That explains why she was so on edge before I left. And why Rhett—”
I swallow the rest of the sentence, realizing I might have just completely fucked up and spilled Carys’s secret, but Marilyn’s already arching an eyebrow.
“That answers that, I suppose,” she says. “I’d wondered if you knew. Ashton did, apparently.”
My eyebrows furrow as I frown. There’s no way another of the team players knew before Friday. Carys and Rhett had been too careful over the last month for anything like that to have happened.
“Another person on the team knew?” I ask.
Marilyn nods then purses her lips. “Well, he was one of the names Ares mentioned when he called me Saturday morning. Ares went to Carys’s apartment when she didn’t answer any of his calls Friday night.
He was worried something had happened to her.
Something dangerous, I mean. Can’t imagine how awkward that whole interaction with Rhett must have been.
” She chuckles then sighs. “Anyway, I don’t know if Ashton knew who she was or just about the scent match in general. ”
She pushes off the threshold.
“Are you all right to work alone? I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me at my desk right now.”
When I give a quiet “yes”, she disappears into the work room. I follow behind her, tomorrow’s order in my hand for reference. Luckily, they’re small centerpieces for a holiday party and not some multi-thousand dollar wedding setup.
“When Rhett told me last month he’d found a scent match, I never would have guessed it was Carys,” Marilyn says.
“I mean, it was like they’d never interacted before at Thanksgiving!
I’d even pulled her to the side and asked about helping his scent match settle in when he finally introduced her to all of us. ”
She snorts then grabs her bag before continuing.
“He’s been such a wildcard for years. But they match, the more I think about it.
They’re both seekers of fun. On the surface, they seem frivolous.
” She purses her lips. “Well, Carys comes across as more naive than frivolous, but still. Yet underneath, they both are ruthless in pursuit of what they want. And he’s certainly been nothing but protective and soft dedication this weekend with her. ”
That jealousy rumbles uneasily just under my skin, but I swallow it back. One of the work tables has the small centerpieces prepped but not yet built, so I pull my apron from the hook along the back wall and then start in on the order, doing my best to match the inspiration photos.
“Yeah, I think they work well together, too,” I say.
And I ignore the voice in my head that keeps bugging me about wanting to belong with her, too, as Marilyn leaves the shop entirely.