Chapter 19
CHARLOTTE
On Sunday, Jobe and Zara arrive, their presence instantly filling the room with warmth. They embrace our mother, then me before Jobe settles into the seat beside me. A surge of emotion swells, a bittersweet ache, as I recall that he was the one who gave Brandon my address.
My family knows Byron’s standpoint on Brandon, and it’s far from a peaceful resolution.
If Byron knew Brandon came to my home and it was Jobe’s doing, he would be pissed.
And now I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
How easily I could have given myself to him.
I’m hit with shame and then anger for being a fool.
Every time I think about him, my body wants more, and I have to remind myself why I can’t have him.
“Are you okay?” Jobe places a gentle hand on my arm.
“A-ha.” I nod. “It’s been a week.”
His gentle brown eyes flick over my face, analyzing if I’m telling the truth. “It has. It’s been a lot for you.”
“Well, you could’ve thought about that before you took Walter’s side.”
“There wasn’t a side, Lottie. Only a win for the team, and you understand that,” he says gently.
“Yeah, I do. But I won’t open up that can of worms.”
“Charlotte, you sound upset?” my mother says with an uncertain tone.
I glance at Jobe and then at my mother. “No, I’m fine. I refuse to talk business at the table today.”
Mom tilts her head to the side. “Darling, I loathe business talk at the table, which is why I made the rule that everyone seems to break.” She gives Jobe a pointed look.
“However…” she touches the pearls around her neck, “… before you leave, I would like to discuss, in private, some formalities for our next gala.”
Ugh. “Sure, Mom.”
My father enters the dining room with Franklin in tow, both with a crystal glass of the standard gold liquid on ice in their hands. He takes his seat at the head of the table while Franklin sits opposite me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were all here,” my father says.
“Byron and Gigi are not here,” I say quickly. “Or Penny.”
“They’re upstairs with the children, helping Shelly get the younger ones to sleep,” Franklin says matter-of-factly.
“How was your week, Charlotte?” My father thrives on being informed about his family’s lives, including business. He directs the conversation around the table, with a desire to know what is happening in our world, like social media to a twenty-year-old.
“Hmm…” I glance at our mother. “It was all work, so…” I slide my finger across my lips like a zipper, “… can’t talk about it.”
Byron and Giana bound through the door with Penny laughing behind them. If kids make people that happy, maybe I should have ten.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Byron pulls out the chair for Giana before he takes his seat beside Franklin.
“You didn’t,” I reply. “Since we’re not talking business and that was my entire week.”
Byron takes a seat and frowns at me. Here-we-go. “I think you need to fire someone in the laundry department.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
Byron leans forward. “So you know about it?”
“I heard something. I don’t have time at the moment, and we’re not discussing it now.”
He strums his fingers on the table, his gaze fixed on me, and my heart rate speeds up.
Goddammit, he knows.
“Giana, our guests love your artwork.” Thank God Zara diverts the attention away from me. “Especially the piece in the hotel foyer. Have you had any inquiries for commissions?”
“Yes, Abby said there are several emails, but I haven’t had a chance to respond.” She puffs out her cheeks like she is overcome with exasperation, her frustration barely concealed. “It’s on my list for tomorrow.”
“I hope I’m not overwhelming you by referring our hotel guests to you?”
“No, of course not. Leo is at another developmental phase, and it’s exhausting.” She smiles at Byron, who kisses her cheek as though they have got this—together.
“Well, you know I’m always up for babysitting,” Zara pipes up, and Jobe coughs. “But not on Saturday nights.” She smiles at Jobe. “That’s our date night.”
“You have a date night every Saturday night?” Franklin questions in shock.
“Yes, it’s a promise we made to each other.” Zara beams with appreciation. When did my brother turn gooey?
Penny nudges an elbow toward Franklin. “You need to take a page out of your brother’s notebook.”
I laugh. “Said no one ever.” Jobe pokes me in the side. “Ouch. C’mon, this is new for you. It’s not a bad thing. It’s taking a while for me to get used to my new mushy brother.”
My father groans. “What’s new is how my conversations are hijacked at every meal.”
“They were always hijacked, dear.” Mom rolls her eyes. “The subtlety of your children’s method has dissolved with time.”
My father raises his glass. “A man can’t be mad if subtlety isn’t his offspring’s strong point. We raised you as strong children to help you develop the resilience, confidence, and courage to reach your full potential and professional success.”
Yet Byron hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
Right now, he’s watching me as though I’m teetering on the edge, about to fall on my sword.
For most of the games played at home, I would head down to the locker room and listen to the Coach give his speech to the players.
Something I have always done when my father was governor before handing the reins to me.
I enjoy being amongst the players, feeling their nerves, excitement, desire to win, and being part of something, belonging.
Since Brandon has returned, I have stayed away.
Until today.
After the players are dressed, I walk into the room alongside Coach Mathews. He is revved up for the win, and his motivational speeches also inspire me outside the sporting world.
Over the years, I have learned there is a lot about team sports you can apply to life. Especially things like…
Success and failure is about perseverance and resilience.
Time management is about discipline and sacrifice.
Effective communication is essential for success.
Accountability, respect, and patience.
Appointments with the team psychologist helped me to understand my flaws are not failures and the areas I need to work on. Patience is number one, and lately, everyone is testing that, even my mother wanting help with the gala.
Does she think running a team is a hobby?
Within minutes in my happy place, the frustration is melting, only to be replaced with something else. I can almost feel the electricity in the air the closer I get to Brandon. I can’t distract his focus, so I stand on the other side of Coach.
Coach stands in his usual position, where the players can see him from their chairs beside their lockers. Byron’s ankles are taped. His playing shoes are by his feet. I slowly look up and meet his steely gaze, one that tells me he is ready.
I force my gaze to stay locked on Coach, his words barely registering as my pulse thrums in my ears. I don’t dare let my eyes wander, especially not to Brandon. I don’t need to see the emotion in his eyes to feel it—his attention burns into me like a brand.
He’s watching me, not Coach. I feel it in every nerve, every beat of my racing heart.
My chest tightens, my breath comes quick and shallow, and I hate how easily my body betrays me.
The worst part? The fear. Fear that everyone around me can see the pull between us.
Fear that Byron, of all people, will notice, and it’ll ruin everything—not just our fragile sibling bond but the team’s shot at glory.
Brandon’s gaze dares me to look, but I refuse. Not here. Not now. Every second, I remind myself to keep breathing and to hold steady. When the room bursts into applause as Coach wraps up, I clap, too, more out of relief than anything else—relief to step away from his scorching focus.
Three years ago, what we had wrecked everything—the team’s chemistry, our playoff dreams, and my sense of control. I can’t let that happen again. Not now. Not when we’re this close to being the best team in the league.
The players gather, hands stacked, shouting in unison, “Believe!” But I’m already retreating, slipping through the tunnel.
The roar of the fans hits me the moment I step out, their cheers washing over me like a wave.
I plaster on a smile, raising a hand to wave at the cameras.
Out here, under the lights and in front of thousands, the attention feels almost comforting—a distraction.
A camera in my face is infinitely easier to handle than Brandon’s silent, searing attention.
Reaching the VIP section, I exhale as the cameras shift focus back to the players.
My shoulders ease, but only slightly. My eyes drift to the far end of the court, where the opposing team warms up, their movements sharp and methodical.
Anything to keep me from looking back. Anything to stop me from acknowledging the fire that still burns between us, threatening to consume everything.
“How are we looking?” Franklin asks.
I lift my chin. “Unbeatable.”
“You understand now we had to get him.”
It wasn’t a question, so I simply nod.
I hope they’re ready for what happens next because my heart can’t fight it any longer. I don’t have the strength to keep being the bitch I need to be as it’s what it will take to keep him away. To keep the peace for my family and the team.
For the first time in years, I am looking forward to the season ending.
The clock is counting down the final seconds of the game.
Brandon takes a steal and passes it to Byron.
Three quick dribbles, and they beat the other players to the other end of the court.
While Byron has a better shooting percentage, Brandon is known for his speed.
He runs in front of Byron, who sends the ball high in the air.
Brandon grabs it and slams it through the hoop, and the buzzer sounds.
Brandon lifts a finger in the air, indicating number one.
Yeah, baby.
Brandon and Byron bump chests, which is a display of testosterone for winning the game. I jump out of my seat and clap hard, pride exploding in my chest. I remind myself where I am and that he is not mine.
Byron runs to his teammates as Brandon turns to the crowd, beaming his beautiful smile. He points at me then taps his chest twice.
Over. His. Heart.
I stare at him, horrified.
Beside me, Franklin wisely remains silent.
The cameras, the fucking cameras…
What the hell was he thinking?
Jobe turns around. “Well, that escalated quickly.”
On Friday night, I invited my friends over at the last minute, enticing them with a night of facials, fun food, and wine. Dressed in bathrobes, we’re now sitting around the fire enjoying hors d’oeuvres and fine wine.
Bella raises her glass. “Please thank Giana for me. My new artwork looks fabulous on the wall.”
I clink my glass with hers. “She’s all talent.”
“I remember her from high school,” Cassie adds. “I always knew Byron and her would end up together.”
“Yeah? For a while, I wasn’t so sure. There are chapters in their story they need to forget.”
“I’ll tell you what I won’t forget,” Violet says after pouring herself a glass of champagne filled to the rim.
She focuses on not spilling any as she raises it to her lips.
“The highlights of the game, and when he who-we-don’t-mention pointed his finger at someone sitting here tonight.
” She’s an idiot, and her eyebrows arch as though it’s a cryptic clue.
Cassie screws up her face. “Like an accusation pointing their finger?”
She looks at me, and I roll my eyes. “No. It was nothing, and I don’t know why Vi had to bring it up.”
“Why else did we have an emergency girls’ night? You…” she points her finger at me, “… can no longer trust yourself.” She taps her fingers over her heart, mimicking what Brandon did.
I narrow my eyes at her, wishing her to shut the hell up. “My eyes were clinging to the screen like a turd to a diaper. The cameras flashed to you, but you acted as though it was nothing.”
“It was nothing,” I snap.
My friends stare at me as if I have grown two heads. I arranged a night at my house because I needed to be distracted. I’d rather poke my eyes with a rusty fork than have this conversation with them.
“I’m so confused,” Cassie complains.
“Okay.” Violet spreads her hands wide. “Picture this. Your worst nightmare has come to life, and you’re hating on him.
Oh, you hate the goddamn world. Because you never wanted to see that motherfucker again, and now, he’s back in town, and you have to live with it.
You accept it’s a business decision, and you desperately want a championship, so you suck it up because all your life, you have been groomed to be professional and do what is right for the family business. ”
I grab the bottle of champagne and drink straight from the bottle. The cold bubbles offer a momentary relief because my ex-best friend keeps talking. “You know nothing,” I snap.
“I, my friend, know more than you realize.” She smiles at me like the crazy cat in Wonderland. “I have been listening to the announcers and the sports news. All eyes are on the LA Sharks, especially with their new player.”
Cassie pulls me in for a hug. “Do you want me to shove my foot in her mouth?”
“Yes, and find me a rusty fork.”
Violet laughs. “I don’t have a life. When the kids sleep, I’m watching everything I can, and I’m reading the gossip columns.”
I groan loudly. “You know better.”
“I do. But this time, there’s an element of truth. I’ve watched the part where BJ points at you, the smile on his face, your practiced poker face. Something has happened, and you haven’t told us.”
I pick up the bottle and drink again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m right,” Violet whispers. “Something has happened between you.”
I place the empty bottle on the table. “Well, you’ve ruined my night.”
“That bad?” Cassie says.
Gah. “No. That’s the problem. It wasn’t bad at all. And now I’m totally fucked.”
Bella wraps an arm around me. “We’re your friends, Lottie. You can talk to us.”
“I’ve really missed this. It’s like being at college again, sharing each other’s problems and offering our wisest solutions, which was often really bad advice.”
I laugh. “Which is why I’m not asking for any of your advice. Can’t we talk about someone else?” I look at the culprit. “How’s your son? Your sex life improved?”
“Nope, you don’t get to change the subject,” Violet warns. “And I’d rather guide my father into my mother than talk about my sex life.”
I splutter champagne over the couch. “Jesus, that escalated quickly.”
I stand, champagne in my hand. “Do you want to stay here and chat about my ex or jump in my hot tub that has uninterrupted views of the city?”