Sweat coats my hands and my neck, and rolls down my back. My pulse thrums in my head to the uncoordinated rhythm of my heart. It’s like being sacked from behind. I’m dazed and can’t get my bearings.
“Really? Back for the playoffs?” the senator asks.
“Yeah.” I pat my injured shoulder. “Good as new.” Tiger’s mouth flattens at that statement, and she makes a noise in the back of her throat.
“Well then, the Thunder should be a force to be reckoned with, with you and McKay.” The senator shakes the ice in his glass, and the attendant brings him another drink. “It took Hart a while to find his feet, but he’s been unstoppable ever since.”
“Yes, he has. He’s a great player.” The words fall from my lips like boulders. They taste like horse shit, and I want to swish my mouth with kerosene.
“That he is.” Kyle throws back his own drink.
“I hear he’s dating that supermodel, Monique Rasheed,” the senator’s son says. “She’s hot.”
“Oh, yeah,” Kyle says with appreciation.
“Kyle.” April slaps his arm. “Be nice.”
“I am. The kid’s right, though. She’s hot.”
The three men laugh and clink their glasses together.
“McKay’s got the world by the tail and can do no wrong. He’s got it all. Skill, looks, and beautiful, famous women at his beck and call.” The admiration in Ray’s voice is so thick I nearly choke on it.
The buzzing in my chest migrates to my brain, leaving a hollow space behind my ribs. Everything is slipping away from me. I try to suck a deep breath into my petrified lungs, but I’m drowning in desperation. My mind searches frantically for a lifeline, something that will make me relevant to them. Anything to get them to see me like they did before Hartly McKay started playing like a professional. I grasp for the first thing I can think of, and only briefly recognize the wrongness of it before it flies from my mouth. “Tiger is a former Miss Texas.”
For just a moment, no one says anything, and all I can hear is the woman I love, the woman who’s trusted me with her secrets, the woman I just used to make myself look important, gasp like I’ve jabbed a knife into her chest.
Then everyone speaks at once.
I can’t believe I said it. I want to call the words back, but then the worst possible thing happens.
It works.
Kyle raises his drink in my direction with a nod of approval. And just like that, I’m back in the fold, a winner, someone who deserves a seat at the table.
It feels fucking amazing until I look into Tiger’s eyes, so I look away and give my attention back to Kyle. I’ll explain things to her later.
She’ll understand.
She has to.
Besides, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.
I’ve got a million justifications, hell, I’ve got a hundred million, and none of them makes me feel one bit better about what I’ve done.
Forty-Four
Tiger
There is a God.
Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sit in that owner’s suite for three hours while people peppered me with questions about skin care, beauty pageants, and the perks of being a beauty queen.
At one point, I honestly thought my head would explode.
For his part, Cash did try to interject that I was the project manager for the renovation company working on his house, and mention my work with the community center, but once the beauty queen bomb had been dropped, it was all over.
To make matters worse, the quarterback’s solution to the mess he’d made was to act like nothing happened, and then leave me alone with the wives while he schmoozed it up with the men. They were all back slapping and congratulating him on his choice in women and his comeback from his injury.
We haven’t said a word to each other since the moment he reduced me to an adornment—something sparkly to make people notice him. Thankfully, I’ve had years of experience of compartmentalizing this kind of hurt and betrayal, or I wouldn’t have made it through the game.
The Bugatti slows to make the turn into his drive and then glides through the iron gates of his Fort Worth home and comes to a stop next to my Camry. “So, I thought we’d change, then head over to the team party at Guthrie’s house.” His carefree expression wavers around the edges like heat waves rising off an asphalt road on a scorching Texas day. He knows he’s screwed up but refuses to own up to it. “That’s cool