37. Sutton
Chapter thirty-seven
Sutton
The next morning when I wake up, Bash’s side of the bed is empty. I know he doesn’t have practice today, so where is he?
Stretching, I rub my eyes, which feel swollen and raw from all the crying I did yesterday. I get out of bed and make my way into the bathroom to do my business, wash my face, and brush my teeth before shuffling out of the room in search of breakfast and my husband. I find him in the kitchen.
“Morning.”
At the sound of my voice, Bash spins around, a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other.
“Damn it. I was trying to make you breakfast in bed.”
I swoon at his words. Is it possible to fall even more in love? Because I think I just did. I go over to him and give him a quick peck on the cheek.
He drops the spatula and frying pan and wraps one arm around me—the other he shoves up under my shirt until he’s touching my belly—and gives me a searing kiss.
I moan, and he uses that as an opportunity to dart his tongue into my mouth.
I tear my lips from his as an ache settles between my legs.
As much as I’m stressed out with all the shit going on with my father, I also really need my husband right now.
“I know what I’d like for breakfast, and it’s not food.” I tip my chin toward his cock tenting his apron.
He chuckles, letting go of me, and I whine at the loss of his touch.
“Sutton.” His voice is gravelly. “Let me feed you.”
“I’m starving.” I lick my lips, meeting his gaze. “But not for food.”
He rakes his hand through his hair, taking a half step back.
“While I’d very much enjoy you sucking my dick, we can’t right now.”
I sigh because he’s right. I hate it, but he’s right. We need to attempt to solve this whole thing with my father, fuck him, first.
“Fine. Later though?”
He nods, turning back to the stove. “Of course. You can have as much as you want.”
I force myself to think about anything but sucking Bash’s dick and take a seat at the counter. “What’re you cooking for me?”
“Pancakes. Unless you want something else?”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Of course. Do you want tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please.”
He brings me a glass of ice water before boiling water in the kettle.
How did I get so lucky? This man takes care of me beyond what I ever imagined a partner would.
Silly as that sounds. I hate to even think about it, but I’m kind of glad my grandmother forced me to get married to get my inheritance.
As much as it pains me to think that, if she hadn’t, Sebastian and I wouldn’t be here.
Together. Married. I wouldn’t have found the perfect partner. My person.
I sip my drink and watch him work, happy to pretend things are normal and that my father’s threats and demands aren’t hanging over us.
I know I need to deal with it, with him.
Although how, I’m still not sure, except to give him what he wants, but right now, I’ll enjoy watching the love of my life cook for me.
Pretend the only worry we have is whether the team is going to make the playoffs or not.
Eventually, Bash sets a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of me, along with the peanut butter he knows I like on them and the syrup. He makes himself a plate of eggs and some fruit before taking the seat next to me.
We eat in silence for a few minutes before I set my fork down. “I wish all of this shit with my father would go away.”
“Me too, love. Me too.”
“Since that isn’t likely to happen, I think we should see if Alex is around this morning. You’re right. He needs to know what’s going on, even if there’s nothing he can do.” I drop my head in my hands. “Maybe I should give my father the hotels so I never have to deal with him again.”
“I’ll support whatever you decide. But for what it’s worth, I think if you do that, you’ll never be free of him. He’ll be hanging over you. Over us.” I turn to him. He shrugs. “He’ll know he can get what he wants when he has the right power, and he’ll do it again when he wants something you have.”
I blow out a breath. “You’re right.” I shake my head, fiddling with my fork. “Maybe saying I want revenge makes me a bad person, but that’s how I feel.”
“Doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“Thanks,” I say, focusing back on my breakfast.
“Come in. Come in,” Alex says, waving Bash and me into his office a couple hours later. “What can I do for you?” he asks when we’re seated across from him.
“Well.” I wring my hands. “Does the name Jonathan Jefferson mean anything to you?” He nods. “Good, you know who he is. Well, he’s my father …”
Alex stares at me for a few beats, the confession hanging in the air between us.
“He’s got quite …” He grimaces.
“The reputation? Is a lying, thieving, blackmailing billionaire?” I supply.
Alex chuckles. “When you put it that way …”
“It’s the truth. Why I’m telling you is because …
” I launch into the abbreviated story of my father’s threats.
Bash chimes in here and there about the bad calls and the dirty hits.
“I don’t know if it’s coincidence, and my father is just saying things to manipulate me, but I wanted to bring it to you. ”
“Holy shit,” Alex says when I’m done, looking between Bash and I. “Sorry.” He shakes his head, folding his hands on his desk. “I just wasn’t expecting you to come into my office and not only tell me you’re related to the owner of Double J Hotels but tell me all of that too.”
“I took my maternal grandmother’s name when I cut my family off. I didn’t want to be associated with my father. Frankly, I’d hoped no one would ever know, but unfortunately that’s not the case.”
“Thank you for telling me all this. You’re right it could be a coincidence, but nevertheless, we’ll keep an eye out, and I do have a meeting with the league later today.
I’d already planned to question some of the refereeing over the past few games, but I’ll definitely be asking a few other questions now. ”
“My father usually gets what he wants …”
“Understood. If you had any sort of evidence…” he says.
“I’m not telling you I don’t believe you.
It’d just make it far easier to put pressure on the league to investigate if there was evidence.
” He glances toward the closed office door before lowering his voice.
“Sometimes, players talk to other players when management isn’t involved, or someone says something they shouldn’t.
If there was concrete proof of money changing hands or whatnot, then I’d be able to make a stronger case to the league. ”
“Got it,” Bash says.
Alex leans back in his chair. “I don’t like it one bit. Have you considered taking a leave of absence?” He directs the question at Bash.
Bash rears back. “No. Why?”
“If anyone’s going to be the target on the ice, it’ll be you.”
“I can handle it,” Bash says.
“Maybe you should.” I put a hand on Bash’s arm. It’s not a bad idea. At least until we figure all of this out. “You already got hurt once. We don’t need it to be worse.”
“No, I’m not going to leave the team hanging during the last few games of the regular season, or in the post season. Besides, if I am the target, I need to be on the ice so we can get to the bottom of this sooner.”
I hate that answer. I really do. I mean, I get that he doesn’t want to let his team down, but what about his own safety?
What about me and what I need? Which is for him not to get hurt.
I don’t know if I could take him getting seriously hurt.
But I don’t say any of that, I’d never force him to not play.
Alex shakes his head. “I don’t agree, but I respect your decision.” He glances at his computer screen. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to head to another meeting.”
“Thank you for your time,” Bash says, extending his hand to Alex.
“Of course. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’ll speak to a few of the other GMs and see if they know anything.” He shakes my hand too. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this, Sutton. Like I said to Sebastian, let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”
“Thank you.”
We leave, closing the door behind us.
“Are you alright?” Bash asks me when we’ve made our way back to my office.
“I guess. At least Alex knows now. Not sure what else we can do,” I tell him, taking a seat at my desk and turning on my laptop. I hate this. I hate it so very much. I hate feeling powerless against my father.
“We’ll figure it out.” He takes a seat across from me.
“You heard him though. If we don’t have proof of someone being paid off or given money to target you or any of the other players, there’s no guarantee the league will even investigate.
I get it. I do.” I twirl the ring on my thumb, staring down at my desk.
And I get it. I understand why that is, but that sucks for us, because I don’t know where or how we’re going to get proof.
That’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.
“I’m going to go call the guys.”
“What?” I ask, looking up. “Maybe we should keep this between us. No need to worry them.”
He shakes his head. “They deserve to know. We all need to keep our heads on a swivel during the game tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you want to play?” I have to ask, even though I already know the answer to the question.
“I’m sure.” He stands and walks around the desk. I push my chair back, and he kisses me gently before pulling back and cupping my chin. “You going to be okay here?”
I gesture to my computer. “I’ll be fine.
I have stuff to catch up on.” That is if I can concentrate.
I do have things to get caught up on. Do I want to do them?
No, hell no. But I also know I can’t sit and worry about my father and his threats.
I need something to distract me and hopefully work can be that something.
“You’ll call me when you’re ready for me to pick you up?”
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
My heart skips a beat hearing him say those words. I will never get tired of them. “I love you too.”
He blows me a kiss I pretend to catch before walking out of my office and shutting the door behind him, and I turn to my computer, hoping I can focus on my work.