Page 4 of A Game of Deception
The room exploded with applause. Miami’s mayor stood up front, pumping the senator’s hand, both grinning like they’d won the lottery. This wasn’t a party—it was a goddamn coronation built on cash mountains and ego. And I was the priciest bauble in their collection. I focused on my champagne bubbles, the only thing not screaming for attention.
“And now, the man who bankrolled it all,” the Commissioner bellowed. “Please welcome your team owner, Hank Swanson, and the team’s new head of sports medicine, Dr. Tara Swanson!”
My glass didn’t drop—it fucking detonated with glass chunks stabbing into my palm, blood and champagne creating a modern art piece on the marble.
“Shite, Xander, you alright?” Leo jumped in, snatching napkins, jamming them against my bleeding hand.
But I couldn’t hear him over the roaring in my ears. Couldn’t feel the pain in my hand. Couldn’t focus on anything but the two figures now standing at the podium.
Hank Swanson. Older, grayer, but those eyes—those cold, accusing eyes—were exactly the same as they’d been twelve years ago at his son’s funeral.
And beside him...
Fuck.
Tara.
Not sixteen-year-old Tara with braces and tears at a funeral.
Twenty-eight-year-old Tara in a dress that was professional but also absolutely not, with Jimmy’s eyes and Jimmy’s stubborn jaw but also curves that made my mouth go dry and my cock shamefully hard.
She was looking right at me; her expression perfectly composed despite the scene I was making. And her eyes. Her eyes said:Gotcha.
The room came back into focus slowly, sound filtering in past the rushing in my ears. Leo was still fussing over my hand. A server had appeared with a dustpan and brush for the broken glass. People were staring, whispering.
And then Hank was walking toward me, his steps deliberate, as if he were an executioner approaching the block.
“Xander McCrae,” he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Welcome to Miami.”
He glanced down at my bleeding hand, his expression unreadable. “Someone get a first aid kit,” he called over his shoulder. “Dr. Swanson, perhaps you could assist?”
Tara grabbed my bloody hand.
“We need to wash this out,” she said, her voice deeper than memory served. “Could have glass bits stuck in there.”
I gaped at her, brain short-circuiting as I tried to connect this grown woman to the teenager from twelve years back. The teenager I’d nearly...
The cemetery was quiet except for the soft sound of sobbing. Tara in the black dress that was too big for her stood across from me, Jimmy’s coffin between us like a barrier.
I found her alone behind the church afterward, her face streaked with tears, her thin shoulders shaking. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I just knew I couldn’t leave her alone.
“Tara,” I said, and she looked up at me. And for one insane second, one grief-drunk, pain-filled second, I almost kissed her...
“Mr. McCrae?” Tara’s voice cut through my thoughts, all business and ice-cold distance. “If you’ll follow me, we can get this taken care of.”
I nodded, my mouth suddenly useless. Leo moved to tag along, but Hank blocked him.
“I’m sure your friend is in good hands with Dr. Swanson,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about your first impressions of Miami?”
Leo froze, his eyes finding mine for direction. I gave him the tiniest nod.I’m fine. Go.
He surrendered to Hank’s guidance, throwing worried looks over his shoulder as he went. I trailed behind Tara through the crowd, feeling every damn eyeball in the room drilling into my back.
She brought me to a small study off the main foyer, shutting the door with a click that might as well have been a prison cell locking. The whole place reeked of dusty books and unspoken accusations.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to a leather armchair.
I obeyed, dropping into the chair while she dug through a desk drawer and pulled out a first aid kit. She snapped on latex gloves, then kneeled in front of me and took my bleeding hand.
