Page 21 of A Game of Deception
“Xander McCrae, choosing sobriety?” The gossip rags would be stunned.
Tara materialized beside me, wine in hand, rocking a black dress that walked the tightrope between “respectable” and “holy shit.” Her dark hair tumbled loose, red lips turned in a half-smile.
“Dr. Swanson,” I said, voice tight. “You bailed on me this morning.”
“Emergency with a defender.” She took a sip of her wine, her eyes staying on mine. “We’ll fix your shoulder soon. That knot isn’t going anywhere.”
The server interrupted before I could respond. “Mr. McCrae? Your seat awaits.”
Of course, they’d put me next to Tara. But at least Ben Carter sat on my other side—one friendly face in this shark tank.
“Lucky me,” Tara whispered as she sat. “The golden boy all to myself.”
Pure torture followed. Every move she made brushed against me. Her perfume hijacked my brain. I tried to bury my attention in the menu, in Ben’s football talk—anything but the woman whose elbow kept bumping mine.
Dinner dragged on with fake laughs and team-bonding bullshit. I fielded questions about Europe, keeping everything light. Across the table, Mano glared daggers at every interaction between me and Tara.
As the plates disappeared, Hank rose with champagne in hand. The room went quiet.
“A toast,” he announced, commanding attention without effort. “To new beginnings, new challenges, and new family.”
Agreement rippled around us.
“When I brought a team to Miami, I wanted something special. Not just winners, but family. Legacy.” His eyes found me like heat-seeking missiles. “Some of you just joined us. Others have been here from day one. But you’re all part of something bigger now.”
He raised his glass higher. “It’s been twelve years since we lost my son, Jimmy, in a tragic accident.”
Holy shit, is he really going there?
The name dropped like a bomb. Tara froze beside me.
“But I built a new legacy in his memory, a new family.” Hank’s eyes burned into mine. “Welcome to it, Xander.”
Silence crushed the room. Players squirmed, sensing the weird vibe but clueless about why. Twenty-something curious stares weighed on me.
Tara shoved back her chair. “Excuse me,” she muttered, barely audible. She bolted toward the exit, cracking at the seams.
I sat paralyzed between rage at Hank’s calculated bullshit and worry for Tara. Bringing up Jimmy—so deliberate, so public—was a strike meant to wound us both.
“You okay, man?” Ben whispered. “You look like death warmed over.”
In a way, yeah. Jimmy Swanson’s ghost now haunted this fancy dinner, courtesy of my new boss.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Need air.”
I followed Tara’s escape route and found her tucked in an alcove by the bathrooms, back against the wall, eyes closed, fighting for breath.
“Tara.”
Her eyes popped open, wet with unshed tears. “Go away, Xander.”
“Are you alright?”
She barked a harsh laugh. “Can you believe it? My father wants a new family. He already has a family he ignores. Me. And then he dares to bring Jimmy into this, although he knows it hurts me.”
I moved closer, pulled by something primal—guilt, shared pain, or some toxic cocktail of both.
“He’s trying to break us both,” I hissed.
