Page 82 of A Game of Deception
My father’s face hardened, the mask cracking for a split second to reveal the steel beneath. “We’re not discussing that again. I thought I made myself clear the other night.”
“Crystal,” I said, rising from my chair, my legs steady despite the storm inside. “If that’s all, I have patients waiting.”
“One more thing,” he said as I reached the door, his voice stopping me cold. “The press will be all over this. If anyone approaches you for comment, direct them to the PR department. No exceptions.”
I nodded curtly and left without another word, my mind racing like a fever dream. As I walked back to the medical wing, I felt like I was moving through a fog, my thoughts a jumbled mess of hurt, confusion, and suspicion—Xander’s touch still ghosting my skin, warring with the image of that swollen belly.
By late afternoon,I was exhausted. I decided to leave early, something I rarely did. As I gathered my things—laptop in bag, keys in hand—I instructed my assistant to reschedule my last two appointments.
“Even McCrae?” she asked, glancing at the schedule on her screen. “He’s due in fifteen minutes.”
My heart stuttered, a sharp pang in my chest. I had forgotten he was on today’s schedule. For a moment, I considered staying—facing him, demanding answers, watching those lips that had kissed every inch of me form the truth. But the thought ofconfronting him now already, with the wound still so fresh and raw, was unbearable, like salt on exposed nerves.
“Especially McCrae,” I said. “Tell him... tell him I had an emergency.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. This felt like an emergency—the kind that left you gasping for air, unsure which way was up, your world tilting on its axis.
I took the back exit, hoping to avoid running into anyone who might want to discuss the day’s gossip, their pitying eyes or whispered speculations. I was almost to my car, the humid Miami air clinging to my skin, when I heard his voice, rough and urgent.
“Tara! Wait!”
I froze, keys in hand, my pulse spiking like I’d been caught mid-sprint. Then slowly, I turned to face him. Xander was jogging toward me across the parking lot, his practice clothes still damp with sweat, clinging to the hard lines of his chest and thighs in a way that made my traitorous body respond despite everything. His face was etched with desperation, hair tousled, eyes wild.
“Please,” he said as he reached me, slightly out of breath, his scent washing over me like a memory. “Can we talk?”
Up close, he looked terrible—eyes bloodshot and shadowed, hair disheveled as if he’d raked his hands through it a hundred times. Part of me ached to reach out, to smooth the worry lines from his forehead, trace the stubble on his jaw like I had yesterday morning. I kept my arms firmly crossed like armor.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, even as my knees threatened to buckle.
“Tara, it’s not what you think,” he said urgently, stepping closer. “It’s a setup. You have to believe me.”
I laughed, a short, humorless sound that echoed bitterly. “Do I? Why is that, exactly?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident, muscles flexing under his shirt. “Because we’re in this together. Because after everything we’ve shared—the way you moaned my name last night, the way you looked at me like I was your everything—you know me.”
“Do I?” I repeated, softer this time, the words laced with pain. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
He flinched as if I’d slapped him, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. “What you saw—what everyone’s seeing—it’s not the truth. Brittany and I were never a couple.”
“What was she, then?” I asked, needing to hear him say it. He hesitated, and in that moment of silence, I saw the truth written across his face—guilt, regret, the shadows of his past.
“She was... we hooked up a few times,” he admitted finally, his eyes never leaving mine, pleading. “In London. It was nothing serious—just drunk nights, empty mornings.”
“So you did sleep with her,” I said, each word like glass in my throat, slicing deep.
“Yes,” he said, his voice raw, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “But it was months ago, Tara. Before I came to Miami. Before us—before you walked back into my life and turned everything upside down in the best way.”
My stomach clenched, a mix of jealousy and hurt twisting like a knife. “Many months?” I asked, my voice trembling now. “Like, five-months-pregnant amount of months?”
The color drained from his face, leaving him ashen. “I... I don’t know exactly when... but yes, the timing could fit. But Tara, she also slept with half of my old team. I’ll demand a paternity test. This whole thing reeks of a setup?—”
“Including you,” I cut him off, the words falling between us like stones, heavy and final. “She slept with half your team, including you.”
He didn’t deny it, just looked at me with those moss-green eyes full of anguish and desperation, the same eyes that had darkened with lust as he’d buried himself inside me. “Tara, please. You know what your father is capable of. This is exactly the kind of manipulation he excels at—twisting the knife to keep us apart.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, wrapping my arms around myself tighter, the breeze chilling my skin. “Maybe this is all some elaborate scheme. But the fact remains that you slept with this woman, and now she’s pregnant, and the timing fits. Those are facts, Xander, not manipulations.”
“I can explain?—”
