Page 19 of Triple Power Play 3
My little brat is pissed.
“Aurora—”
She spins around. “Your ex will be at the dinner tonight, right? She’s in town?”
Caught off guard, I don’t answer.
“Having regrets, Ethan? Don’t wanna be seen together? Thinking of meeting with her? Orhaveyou been?”
My face and ears catch fire. “Where the fuck did that come from?” I step forward into her space. “You’re lucky—" I ball my fists to stop from saying something I’ll regret, because she’s right. My ex will be there, but I’d never fucking meet with her.
“Am I?” she asks sarcastically. “Lucky to be pregnant by a man who can’t decide if he wants us? Can’t wait to explain your abandonment to your so?—”
My hand shoots out, clamping around her throat and cutting her off. “Let me help younotfinish that sentence,” I growl and tighten my grip. “Because if you do, you won’t sit for a week.” I release her and back away, worried if I don’t, I’ll go too far, further than I already have. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“No,” she croaks, her eyes glassy.
“No?” I quirk a brow.
“I’ll give you my time and attention,” she mimics, her voice dripping with scorn. “No, you won’t!” Disgust contorts her pretty features. “So, no. You can fuck off. I’m not attending this party just for you to ignore me.”
I reach around her and open the door. “Get in the fucking car.”
“What do you think I was trying to do?”
She slides into the back seat.I wait for her to glance back and meet my gaze, and when she doesn’t, I slam the door harder than necessary.
At dinner, I’m distracted, constantly watching the entrance and Jackson, who keeps checking his phone. I’m waiting for the moment Aurora tells him she’s not coming because I’m a fucking asshole, and he charges over here. I barely register what my colleagues are saying, and frankly, I don’t give a damn. The only thing on my mind is the empty chair beside Jax.
He glares at his screen, shoves it in his pocket, and heads for the door.
I toss my napkin on the table and follow. “Where are you going?” I call out once we’re out of earshot.
“I’ve got more important shit to take care of.”
“Jackson,” I snap when he keeps walking. “You need to be here. You’re the captain.”
Finally, he faces me. “This is your life, not mine. My life is at home, hurting after being harassed for something I did. I need to be there.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, realizing how epically I fucked up. Aurora was feeling insecure, and I only made it worse. “Why did you bring her down the tunnel? Fuck! I’m trying to protect her from this shit.”
He gestures toward the team. “I had a phenomenal night—a hat trick my first game back. We killed a rival we usually struggle against. What’s the point if I can’t celebrate with my fiancée, the person who supports me most?”
My stomach knots, and I release a heavy breath. “She’s mad at me. I fucked up.” I massage my temples, warding off the tension headache. “She asked to stay together tonight, and I declined.”
He scoffs. “You mean you rejected her. Don’t act all professional. You’re a dick.” He shakes his head in frustration. “You know what? Let’s trade places. You deal with the media with your over-the-top work ethic and impeccable control, and I’ll have a family with the girl who needs constant devotion and reassurance. How about that?”
Without thinking, I mouth off. “Deal with the media? I wouldn’t be caught dead at a party with a bunch of drugs and escorts.” Tempers are hot, and I regret the words immediately.
Jackson doesn’t miss a beat. He leans in close, a tight, smug smile twisting his lips. “No, you just got one pregnant…minusthe drugs. Congrats, Coach.” Before he storms out, he glances back, eyes hard. “Maybe you should think about how you’re going to do this with a kid.” He lifts a hand between us, palm open. “Oh, wait—you’re not. I am. So don’t get pissed when I leave to take care of shit for you.”
9
JACKSON
At the loft, Aurora is already in bed, sitting against the headboard and playing on her phone. She glances at me sheepishly and sets the phone down. I release a relieved breath. She’s not having a panic attack, crying, or packing a bag. I can handle her ditching events; I’m not fond of them either.
I kick the bedroom door shut using the heel of my boot and loosen my tie. “The worst person in my life is dead.” I shrug off my suit jacket and toss it onto the chair. “I played a hell of a game.” I yank off my tie and unbutton my shirt. “We should be happy—ecstatic.”
