Page 88 of Player Misconduct
I skip quickly past his “offer”. I’d never consider it after what he put me through. Though my heart still breaks for the man he used to be–what we used to be. I have to remind myself that we died a long time ago, and then my mind goes to Aleksi. How quickly he jumps in for me–how quickly I’m falling for him.
I can’t go there right now. I have to stay on track, eat and get out of here.
“We are aligning,” I correct. “On a boundary. I won’t give you more press to spin. You don’t give the press anything about me. We keep this quiet.”
“Quiet,” he echoes, tasting the word like it’s a new language. “Kendall, quiet doesn’t sell.”
Exactly… I knew what this was all really about.
“It’s not supposed to sell. It was just supposed to be enough to give the Sentinels a glimpse and for no one to suspect who the father really is.”
The TV flickers a replay of a slap shot for last season when we lost the playoffs. The commentators are talking about the Hawkeyes starting up this season and their chances at another Stanley Cup run. I already know this because everyone seems to be talking about the Hawkeyes right now.
He leans in. “The Sentinels brought me in on a trial basis. The new GM’s watching me like a hawk. I’m not exactly his favorite person in the world. My agent says a domestic angle helps. Isettle down, keep my image clean, show up on time—the NFL and this town forgives… people have a short memory.”
“Not short enough,” I shoot back. I know he’s trying to say that people will have a short memory about him, ever so subtly claiming my baby, but that’s the kind of thing people will remember. “And tying me to that helps you,” I say, flat. “You said as much at dinner.”
He doesn’t deny it. What he does is lower his voice.
“It helps you, too,” he says. “The board sees a believable storyline and moves on. Do you think they are more likely to believe you put your license at risk and got knocked up by a player on your team, or that your ex-husband just moved into town and now you’re being photographed together and he’s flirting with the press about how we still care about each other. It’s not even a hard sell,” he says, and I know he’s right. “No fraternization scandal. No witch hunt. No headline: Team Doctor Pregnant By Her Own Player.”
My heart slams once—angry that he’s right but I can’t do this with him because at the root of it, he knows he’s pushing harder than he agreed after the first slip up.
“I’m not your PR rehab center,” I say. “And I’m not your family-values prop.”
His gaze drops to my hand on my belly, then lifts. “But you are family.”
“Were,” I say, and hate the wobble I hear on the word. “Past tense. Now, we’re two adults trying not to sink each other.”
The waitress returns with our waters, the salad, and a basket of garlic knots whose aroma could make saints sin. I tear a knot in half and pass him the other piece because muscle memory is hard to kill. He accepts it with a ghost of a smile.
“You said you knew who leaked the clinic story,” I say, leaning forward. “That’s the only reason I’m here, Tarron. Who was it?”
He exhales slowly, looking down at his hands. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“It was Eric,” he says finally. “My agent. He got a tip from someone who claimed to know you—someone who said they could confirm your appointment time for the right price.”
My pulse spikes. “Who?”
He hesitates, watching me too closely. “Your mother.”
The words knock the air out of me. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” His voice goes quiet, even toned. “Evidently she called around every clinic in the city after those restaurant photos hit the blogs, pretended to be you, said she needed to confirm her own follow-up. Eric told me she was asking for money, said she’d give up the details if he wired her half upfront.”
I stare at him, throat tight, stomach rolling. “And he did it?”
“He did,” Tarron says. “He thought getting the shot would help me, help us. He's an opportunist, what can I say.”
“Interesting… I know someone just like that,” I say, the taste of bitterness on my tongue.
He licks his lips and lets out a sigh. He knows I mean him too. “When he told me yesterday, I fired him on the spot. I’m sorry. I would never have approved of the picture or of paying your mother.”
My hands flatten on the table because it’s that or shake. “I can’t believe she did this.”
“Yes you can…” he says, his eyes earnest.
