The camera zooms out as Ash passes the ball off, gets it back. Then with a lightning-fast move, he redirects it toward the goal.
There’s no chance. He’s too fast, the ball slicing through the air.
The goaltender dives…
And suddenly, a defenseman comes out of nowhere to deflect the ball.
Ash’s handsome face is anguished, the camera showing him tug on his hair before running back up the field the other way.
The commentators speak overtop of the broadcast, stats I don’t fully understand appearing on a digital graphic on one side of the screen. Apparently, it’s been an up-and-down season for one of the sport’s most promising talents.
“Looks like he’s having rougher year than I thought.”
Beck’s gaze narrows on the TV. “He doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself. He doesn’t know who he is.”
“You got all that from meeting him once and seeing him on TV?”
“How could anyone not get that?” Beck chuckles. “Things must be going well if you’re DVR’ing the little bro’s games.” The look on his face tells me he won’t put up with me holding back on account of his broken heart or for any other reason.
“He gave me this bracelet.”
I hold out my wrist, and Beck grins. “I’m glad he’s taken his head out of his ass long enough to know you’re the real deal. That’ll go with the dress you ordered.”
He points at a garment bag in the living room that I somehow missed. I shift off the couch and unzip the bag.
“All you need is a billionaire on the other arm to match,” Beck says.
“Harrison’s not coming.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I didn’t invite him. Him being there would complicate things.”
“Seems to me if you trust him, you should give him a shot with the family,” Beck goes on. “The guy’s heavy handed, sure, but he cares about you. I saw it when he crashed our dinner. If you’re worried he’ll go AWOL and interrogate Grandma over spinach puffs, tell him to stay in his lane or he won’t get invited back.”
“It’s not my life I’m worried about him fucking up. If he talks to the wrong people…he’s not going to like what he finds.”
I thought Harrison knew my secrets, but this morning I learned there’s one thing tying my past to the future he wants. The one he needs.
I won’t put that future at risk, even if I have to hurt him to do it.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door. A huge guy with a buzzed head is on the step, dressed in a black suit and sunglasses. There’s a handheld radio on his belt.
“Who are you?” I ask.
Those glasses slide down his face as he addresses me. “Security, ma’am.”
“Whose security?”
“Yours.”
17
Harrison
“You’re still angry about the security,” I say, surveying my girlfriend from the four-poster bed where I’m lying fully clothed. “That’s why you won’t let me come to this wedding.”
“You arranged it without my knowledge or consent. Sent an armed meathead to Beck’s door—”