Page 52 of Player Misconduct
The air leaves my lungs like a punch.
He’s always been able to read me. I used to think it was because he was in tune with me. Now, I just wish I was a mystery he couldn’t solve.
“I—what?”
He shrugs, like it’s an offhand observation. “You’ve got that look.”
I laugh, but it comes out brittle. “What look?”
“The one you used to get when you thought you’d messed up,” he says quietly, like he’s remembering something fond. “You’ve always carried everything like it’s life or death—like one mistake and you’ll end up like your mom. You were hardest on yourself long before anyone else ever could be. It’s your ‘tell’.”
I stare at him, jaw tight. I want to be angry, but mostly I just feel… tired.
He softens, leaning forward. “I didn’t mean to… look, Kendall, if you are, you know you can tell me.”
Something inside me twists painfully. For a moment, I almost see the man I fell in love with years ago.
The one who’d bring me coffee at two a.m. during med-school rotations, before he ended up on the team in New York, the man who’d read my flash cards out loud even though he could barely pronounce half the words.
But that man died somewhere between the fame, the cheating, and the headlines.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say quietly.
His brows lift. “Who is he?”
“No one you know.”
He sighs, sits back, and looks away toward the bar. “He’s on the Hawkeyes, isn’t he?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. He knows.
When his gaze comes back, the teasing is gone. “Kendall… the medical board. You know what they’ll do if they find out.”
“You don’t think I know that?” I snap before I can stop myself.
I glance around but luckily the table Tarron reserved for us is the most private, set back a little ways for the rest of the main dining hall.
He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Does he know you might be pregnant?”
“No. He doesn’t.”
The waiter returns with our drinks, breaking the tension. Tarron thanks him smoothly and waits until he’s gone before leaning in again.
“I’ll say it’s mine.”
My heart actually stops. “I’m sorry, what?”
He says it so casually, like it’s the simplest solution in the world. “Come on. It’s perfect. He doesn’t know, and neither does the board. We tell people we’re… figuring things out. That the baby’s mine. With us both in the same city again, it’ll make sense that we’re trying again. No one would question it.”
“You’re insane.”
As if I would ever make any agreement with him. Besides, he never does anything out of the goodness of his heart. Well… not anymore.
He shrugs again, swirling his drink. “No, I’m pragmatic. It helps us both.”
There it is. I stare at him, disbelief and nausea tangling into one. “Definehelps,” I say flatly.
“It protects your license,” he says plainly. “And it gives me the image I need. A family man, second chances, a redemption arc. The Sentinels will eat it up and can sell it.”
