Page 110 of Cross-Checked

Chet doesn’t have the good sense to back down, even with my teammate standing next to me. “Just because you’re her newest fuckboy?—”

Zach’s hand shoots out, thumb and fingers splayed across Chet’s collarbones and resting at the base of this asshole’s neck. “I’m going to stop you right there. If you can’t speak with the appropriate level of respect about our GM, we’re going to have a serious problem. And I guarantee you, you don’t want to have a problem with us.”

Realizing that he’s in a losing position, Chet takes a small step back, looks me in the eye, and says, “This isn’t over.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

AJ

I’m standing here talking to Chet’s parents, because of course they’re here and wanted to say hello. My third glass of champagne is going down easy, and I’m realizing that this night hasn’t sucked as badly as I thought it would.

Conversation at our table over dinner was great because I was surrounded by people I know and trust. We laughed and talked throughout the meal, and it was so natural and easy, not like any dinner I’ve had with my own family.

And that’s when I realized that these peoplearemy family. My team, the Hartmanns, the Wilcotts, my girlfriends, McCabe and Abby...this is the family I’ve created for myself.

In fact, I’ve never had this much fun or felt this loved at a single one of my family’s events, and I’m not going to let a conversation with my former in-laws derail my night. I owe them nothing.

I’m about to excuse myself, when I feel the warmth of McCabe’s large hand on the small of my back. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but I need to steal AJ away for a minute.”

Chet’s parents start to say goodbye, but McCabe turns and guides me away, as he dips his head so his mouth is right next to my ear. “We have a problem.”

Thinking he’s about to make a joke about how he can’t wait any longer to get me naked, or something like that, I flirtatiously reply, “Oh yeah, what kind of a problem?”

“The kind where your ex-husband knows we’re together and just said ‘This isn’t over.’”

“The fuck?” I groan out the question as my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.

“I’ll explain, but we need to get out of here.”

“It’s going to be obvious if we leave together,” I tell him.

“We can leave separately if you want, but the guys have already figured it out, and so has Chet.”

“The guys? Meaning your teammates?”

“Yeah.” His word is clipped, and it occurs to me that maybe we were stupid thinking we could hide this. Maybe inviting them here with me was a mistake, because how could anyone not notice the way we look at each other, how we always gravitate toward each other? Try as we might, it’s impossible to hide our feelings, even with stakes this high—in this ballroom with my family, half of St. Louis’s management team, and our own team owner, coach, and players.

How did I think this was a good idea?Because your judgment is clouded.It’s always my father’s voice I hear in these moments of doubt.

Maybe my judgmentisclouded, but actually...I don’t give a shit.

Perhaps for the first time in my life, I’ve realized that shoving down all my emotions and putting work above all else didn’t actually keep me safe. The only thing it “protected” me from was the kind of relationships—professional, friendly, and romantic—that could bring me great joy.

“Let’s go. We’ll talk about this back at the hotel.”

We don’t say our goodbyes on the way out, and we don’t discuss whats going on during the quick car ride back to thehotel. Instead, he texts his teammates a vague update and I reach out to Lauren, scheduling a call in fifteen minutes.

But the minute the door to my hotel room is shut, I rest my forehead against his chest, and he wraps his arms around my lower back.

“Alright,” I say, relief washing through me as I find comfort in his arms. “Tell me what happened back there.”

He walks me through his conversation with Chet, and then says, “Learning that there’s more to the story about my trade from Chet, instead of from you, made me feel like I was set up.”

I sigh, knowing that , he’s right. “I didn’t want to risk reopening that wound. I was afraid you’d go after Chet when you saw him, and we’d be right back to where we were eight years ago, with you facing assault charges.”

“But instead, he came after me, so why don’t you tell me about these assault charges that I know nothing about.” His voice is level, and I can tell he’s trying not to be angry at me for withholding information.

“That whole altercation in that hallway eight years ago was captured on the security cameras. And it clearly showed Chet yelling at me, before you came out of nowhere and beat the shit out of him. He never even threw a punch, and didn’t even have time to defend himself.”

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