15
ETHAN
“I’m sorry, man!” Trent says for the millionth time since calling. “How was I supposed to know?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. “What the fuck did you think I meant by someone special?”
“Ah…Jackson O’Reilly’s wife, the swimsuit model. Who else?”
My pregnant girlfriend. Yes, Jackson O’Reilly’s wife. Yes, the swimsuit model. Yes, I should’ve told him, but I didn’t have the time or energy for that conversation.
Struggling to maintain some semblance of privacy in the back of this motorcoach, I grind my molars, exacerbating the headache. “Why were you with my ex?”
“I rep a few players now that you’re no longer their coach.” The buzz of a crowd muffles, and he lowers his voice. “Jesus, why didn’t you tell me who you were dating? Or screwing? When did you get her pregnant? I need answers! I want to live vicariously through you.”
He chuckles, and I want to punch myself in the face. Those questions are precisely what I was hoping to avoid.
“Fuck off, Trent.” I end the call before I completely lose my temper.
The last thing I wanted was for my ex-wife to meet Aurora. I can’t imagine how vile she was to her. Actually, I can. I endured her abuse for six years.
“Where is she?” Jackson asks, his tone heavy with exasperation.
He’s sick of my shit, and I can’t say I blame him. We’re en route to the hotel, and he likely wouldn’t have sat with me if I hadn’t sounded heated on the phone. “In the room, napping.”
He doesn’t even spare me a glance. “You talked to Reece?”
“Yeah, he’s with her. He’s worried my ex will show up at the hotel.”
That captures his attention, and he finally peers over at me. “Will she?”
“Not putting anything past her. She can’t contact me since I’ve blocked her—like Aurora wanted.”
I’m sure she has a laundry list of accusations against me. She’d take me back to court if she could. She’s vindictive.
“If she comes to the hotel, I won’t be nice. I’m warning you now. I don’t give a flying fuck about your ex or saving face .” He shakes his head in frustration. “Stop running and hiding and make a fucking decision.”
“Everything will be okay once we get to LA,” I tell him, more to convince myself. “Aurora’s embarrassed. I’ll?—”
“No,” he cuts me off, his jaw tight. “Do you hear yourself? You’re making this harder than it needs to be. Choose. In or out.”
My palms grow clammy, slick with sweat. “It’s not that simple.”
He sits up straight, readying for a fight. “It is that simple. You’re just not that committed.”
I mirror his defensive stance and lower my voice. “That’s not fucking true.”
“Yeah? Prove it.” He juts his chin. “I guarantee if roles were reversed, every single person would know that baby was mine, that she belonged to me despite being with you. She wouldn’t have sat in my agent’s suite without an explicit threat of violence if something happened to her, especially if I knew I had an ex floating around.
I’ve made mistakes in the past. I’m not about to fuck up the future. Make. A. Fucking. Choice.”
Defeated, my body sags, and I rake my fingers through my hair. I’m screwing up, and I’m so damn exhausted from the weight of all this stress and secrecy.
I love Jax. I love Aurora. My chest tightens at the thought of losing what we have. I lift my head and meet his gaze. “I should have told Trent. I should have warned Reece about my ex.”
“And everyone else? Us?”
Us? Me and him? I have no fucking clue. “We’re family. We’ll figure it out.”
“We’re a mess.” He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly.
“You’re so worried about something happening, you keep Aurora at arm’s length, leaving her confused and unprepared for the inevitable.
Believe me, I’ve been there. I didn’t tell her about Kyle, and she ended up at one of his parties.
It’s Murphy’s Law or some crap.” He gestures with his hand.
“What would you have me do, oh wise one?”
“Live your truth—or our truth. You want Reece here? Make him work for it. People will find out. So what?” He raises his chin. “Those who talk shit…”
Grant pops over the seat in front of us. “Get hit,” he finishes, flashing his stupid smile. “Who are we hitting? Who hurt my favorite team wife?”
Jax drills him in the shoulder. “Mind your fucking business, G.” He directs his crooked grin my way. “See how easy that was?”
I cock my head. “I’m thirty-five, not twenty-five. I’m a coach, not a player. I don’t go around hitting people.”
“You should start.”
“I’m gonna start with you.”
“Do it,” he taunts with that devilish smirk.