Page 16 of Bleacher Report
The fact that my mother still claims to "see" the good in Bethany has me demanding she see an Optometrist—or quit microdosing hallucinogens. Honestly, either one tracks.
"Hunter." Bethany's voice slides over me like ice water down my spine as she heads for me, weaving through tables, chairs, and other guests. "I've missed you."
I force myself to turn, to face the woman who derailed my NHL career with a smile and a wedding ring from a man twice her age and three times as delusional. She looks exactly the same—bleach blonde hair falling in calculated waves, red lips, and perfect teeth curved in that predatory smile. The only difference is now, she’s not wearing the five-carat diamond ring Richards bought her.
The sight of her here, in my new life, makes my stomach turn. I've worked too hard to rebuild everything she destroyed to let her maneuver her way back in now.
"What are you doing here, Beth?"
"Can't a girl support a good cause?" She steps closer. "Besides, I heard you were up for auction. Couldn't pass up the chance to remind you how good we were together."
The memory of finding out about her engagement to Richards still burns. One minute, we were celebrating my newly minted NHL contract and planning a life together, the next I was being sent to the farm team to "develop my skills"—code for get me out of the way. Richards didn’t like the idea of his new bride having access to her ex-boyfriend on the team. And from what I’ve heard from old teammates who still play for New Jersey, she made do with the other twenty-three players on the roster.
"We were never good together. You made that clear when you married Richards."
Beth rolls her eyes. “God, Hunter. I did it all for us, and now I’m going to have more money than either of us know what to do with. When are you going to get over it?”
“When your shrink finally diagnoses you as a raging sociopath. That’s when.”
She tilts her head condescendingly, not hearing a word I said. My point exactly—sociopath.
"Marrying Kevin Richards was a mistake I'm rectifying." Her perfectly manicured fingers trail up my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake—not from desire, but from pure revulsion.
"The divorce will be final soon. The prenup gives me half the team, including player roster decisions."
Her smile is calculating. Cold. How the hell didn’t I see this in college? She’s always been this person—but all I saw were the big tits, the perfect smile, the pretty girl with a backstory that sounded like mine. I thought we were climbing together.
I didn’t realize I was just her stepping stone to a bigger life. One that never included me.
My own personal Helen of Troy, burning my city to the ground.
"Once I pitch Everett Kauffman a trade deal too good to refuse, you’ll be headed home. Back to New Jersey. Where you belong. We can pick up right where we left off."
Pick up where we left off?
She thinks she can just walk in here and destroy everything I’ve established here—and I’ll thank her for it?
"Right where we left off?" I snap. "You mean right before your husband tried to ruin my career by sending me to the farm team?"
She rolls her eyes. “Water under the bridge.”
Then she leans in, lips brushing my ear, her voice turning to poison-laced sugar.
"No one’s ever been as good as you, you know. In or out of bed. The sex was incredible—you can’t deny that. I got a place at The Commons. Two months to remind you what you’ve been missing.”
She got an apartment in my building?What the fuck?
Typical Bethany move. Hit you where it hurts, then act like it’s a gift. Though, this one catches me off guard. Before I can respond, she turns on her heels…but not without sliding her hand down to slap my ass.
“I’ve always loved you in a tux,” she purrs. “See you on stage, baby.”
I watch her sashay toward the VIP table, panic rising in my chest. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Four years of rebuilding my life, my career, my reputation—all at risk because Bethany Richards is bored with her billionaire husband.
My eyes scan the crowded ballroom desperately for a way out of this when I spot Peyton at the bar.
The blue beading on her dress catches the light, making her glow like a beacon to my salvation. And damn if she doesn’t wear that dress like it was made for her—elegant, understated, but cut low and sexy, making every guy around her take notice.
Including me.
