Dirty Play (The Ferrari Family Book 1)

by Hazel Parker

  But I hadn’t seen him in a month. And was running to the person who had gotten me into the spot where such a photo was taken really a good idea? Sure, maybe we’d have some privacy in our respective homes; maybe we could avoid the pressure of the outside world inside. But the minute, the second, one of us sat in the car of the other, waved to each other at one of his games, or otherwise were in physical proximity outside one of our residences…

  It was so hard to decide if it was worth continuing with Nick when my emotions completely ruled how I felt, either in the fiery passion to be with him or the dreadful fear that doing so would allow Malcolm to cause unspeakable harm to my child and me.

  I hovered my fingers over my keyboard, trying to think of the right words. But just before I pressed anything, a call came through from a number I didn’t recognize. Being in no mood to talk to anyone that I didn’t have saved in my phone, I immediately hit “Ignore” and went back to trying to type out a message.

  But a couple of seconds later, I saw that the number had left a voicemail. My heart sank. My stomach dropped to the pits of despair as my paranoia kicked right back up to maximum levels. Malcolm had said something to warn me he knew and was coming for me.

  Out of whatever you wanted to call it—morbid curiosity, a need to know, fear—I pulled up the voice mail, pressed play, and closed my eyes.

  “…an automatic voice mail from the California Freedom Organization. Did you know our annual charity drive…”

  The relief I felt was so intense and so swift that it almost hurt, like it was a hangover from the fear that I had felt. It didn’t feel good to oscillate so aggressively from extreme fear to extreme relief; the whiplash that I felt was not exactly metaphorical.

  I decided I did need to pick up Ryan early. But first, I owed Nick and others a response.

  I ignored the messages from people that I hadn’t spoken to in over a year; if they hadn’t been a friend enough to text me before this “news-worthy” event, they didn’t deserve something now. I also ignored a couple of friends that thought it was funny to call me “Mrs. Ferrari.” I reassured my parents that I had acted responsibly that night and that Nick was a good guy.

  And then I came to having to respond to Nick.

  I wanted to thank him and show my appreciation for him reaching out to TMZ. I wanted his reassurances that everything would be fine. I just…I wanted him to hold me.

  But, then again, that probably wasn’t smart, was it?

  I decided on the worst option—settling somewhere in the middle. I just wrote back, “I appreciate it. Thanks so much, Nick.” I knew as soon as I sent that message, it was likely to be construed as sarcasm or being flippant. But I just didn’t know what to say or do, really.

  The only thing I knew for sure was how I felt, and there was nothing about how I felt that made me feel like things were going to be OK.

  Chapter 11: Nick

  “Oh, she actually responded.”

  I looked down at the text Izzy had sent.

  “I appreciate it. Thanks so much, Nick.”

  I appreciate it. That’s it? Do you really?

  And thanks so much?

  So…nothing else?

  “What did she say?” Brett said as we stood outside Layla’s office.

  I didn’t respond at first, but I was damn sure the frustration on my face said it all. I had passed up sex on spring break multiple times, had communicated with her regularly, had offered to help her through this troubling incident…and all I got was something that could have been sarcastic?

  I was borderline pissed. I felt like I’d tampered the aggressive, go-getter Nick in favor of one that was a little more supplicant, a little more willing to be patient, but this was coming at a severe cost.

  “What did she say,” I said sarcastically. “She said, ‘I appreciate it. Thanks so much, Nick.’ This from a woman that I took out, romanced, courted heavily, have treated so well—”

  “Put in the papers by being out—”

  I cut Brett off right there with a glare that made it abundantly clear that if he said anything further, I was going to cut him where he stood.

  “I have no fucking control over that,” I said. “I can understand if she was pissed after the first date and she got called out. But the second? She knew what she was getting into.”

  I should have just taken Reanna when I had the chance. At least then, I wouldn’t be going through this stupid-ass dry spell like I am now.

  “Well, I’m sure Layla will be happy to agree with you unconditionally since you know better than to threaten to kill her,” Brett said as he knocked on the door again.

  “Hold on, damnit!” Layla shouted from the other side.

  “That’s because she’s going to kill you before I kill her,” I said, my lame attempt at humor.

  It got Brett to chuckle at least, and a silence fell as the two of us waited for Layla to finish her work call so that we could chat. I pulled out my phone and looked up all of the girls that I’d been ignoring for the last month and a half or so. I literally could have had any of them to my apartment with just one text; all it took was just saying “hey, wanna come over tonight?” and I’d be getting off to some incredibly attractive woman that easily.

  But every time I opened the conversation, a flood of guilt came over me. If I was going to cut things off with Izzy, it needed to come from a place of understanding and fairness, not from frustration and anger over fucking TMZ.

  “You should text Leo for advice,” Brett said with a chuckle. “I’m sure Mr. Tattoo would love to help out.”

  “Yeah, by what, riding a motorcycle and flipping off everyone in the stands after I hit a home run?” I said. “I think there’s a better chance of me signing with a team in Japan next fall than there is of me asking Leo for help.”

  The humor did help me alleviate the stress, and I no longer felt the pressing desire to text someone. But things were coming to a head, and I knew if I didn’t get a resolution of some kind with Izzy in the next day or so, it was time to call it a day and find someone else.

  “All right, assholes, you can come in now,” Layla yelled from the other side. “Jesus, maybe if you two had real jobs, you wouldn’t be swinging by my office at one on a Tuesday.”

  “And hello to you too, sis,” I said as she walked to the door and opened it.

  “Damn, you don’t look good,” Layla said. “You OK?”

  “Look online, he’s got a much better photo of him,” Brett said.

  I didn’t bother hiding my elbows to his ribs, a shot that caused him to bend over in pain. Ah, well, the asshole deserved it.

  “What do you mean?” Layla said.

  “Go to TMZ,” I said. “I know, I know.”

  “Did you get caught dropping a racial slur or something?” Layla said as she walked back to her computer.

  “Do you even know who I am?” I said with a laugh. “No, the girl that I went out with, Izzy. Pap got a photo of us leaving the bar about a month ago. And they have it all over their webpage right now.”

  “Jesus,” she said. “I think I might commit murder if I knew random photographers were trying to capture photos of me out and about.”

  “I think he already did,” Brett said, still sounding out of breath.

  I ignored his whining and took a seat across from Layla. She was easily the most professional of all of us; though we all worked hard at our respective jobs, Layla was almost obsessive about performing hers to perfection. To some extent, I was just lucky to be gifted, and Brett found the job that perfectly complimented his rugged looks.

  It meant that whenever we had a problem, we frequently came to her, for she was one of the few who kept her place as clean and pristine as our parents and grandparents did.

  “Well,” she said, obviously reading the TMZ article. “The good news is you didn’t get caught in a sex tape. Might be embarrassing and get you ribbed in the locker room, but—”

  “I’m not worried about me,” I said wit
h a sigh. “She has an ex. A crazy asshole. Someone who will see this and will stalk her.”

  Whatever humor and whatever sarcasm Brett and Layla were about to give evaporated on the spot.

  “And though Izzy didn’t say as much, I strongly suspect there’s more to it than just creepy, loser stalking. I think this guy has hit her before.”

  “How sure are you?” Brett asked.

  “Sure enough,” I said.

  Layla leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

  “I have experience with asshole exes, but I don’t have experience with that level of asshole,” she said. Both Brett and I knew full well what she meant, and we both knew the fastest way to get a stapler thrown at us was to mention his name. “I’m going to be that person who says you better be careful about inserting yourself into a spot like this.”

  “As in…”

  Get rid of her entirely? Funny how, moments before, the thought had seemed reasonable, if not outright possible, but now, it seemed downright rude and dangerous to Izzy. Maybe that meant something.

  “As in, you get entangled with this, and you’re not playing hero, you’re playing dummy,” Layla said. “You put your career at risk, you put your image at risk, you put the family name at risk…and for a girl that you’ve gone on two dates with?”

  Put that way, yeah, it was a little bit hard to argue with.

  “Brett? Thoughts?”

  “You know me, I’m the last person to ask about serious dating advice,” Brett said with a chuckle. “You slept with this gal yet? Is she at least worth it in that regard?”

  “Brett!” Layla shouted.

  “What? It’s what guys talk about, don’t—”

  “I haven’t.”

  Both of them, not just Brett, stared at me as if I’d just announced I’d entered the priesthood.

  “You really like this girl,” Layla said. “I’ll be. I can’t ever remember you being like this.”

  Brett, of course, couldn’t let the moment quite go by and muttered “pussy” under his breath, but another shot to the ribs got him to shut up.

  “Well, just be careful,” Layla said. “Too many careers or futures get ruined by love that hasn’t earned it. She’s got to earn it.”

  Just then, before we could dive any deeper, Layla’s phone rang.

  “Business never stops, does it?” I said, happy to change the subject.

  “It’s actually Uncle Nick. Might as well make this a family call.”

  She hit the speaker button so Nick’s voice would be broadcast to the room.

  “Hey, I’m here with Nick and Brett; how’s it going?”

  “Layla,” Uncle Nick said, sounding breathless and a little anxious. “Where are you three?”

  “At Ferrari Wines, why?”

  Uncle Nick cleared his throat.

  “OK, just making sure. Bill is coming down here for some business. If grandpa asks, you tell him that we’re working our connections out east, OK?”

  I arched an eyebrow at Layla, but she didn’t seem any the wiser, either. I didn’t want to say this didn’t help the stereotype of our family having potentially shady backgrounds, but what else could I say?

  “Everything all right, Nick?”

  “Oh, yeah,” our uncle said. “Nothing you kids need to worry yourselves with. Just making sure you all are good running the business without Bill there.”

  “We are in our late twenties, not preteens,” Brett said.

  “Not the way you womanize, Brett,” Uncle Nick said. I had to raise a hand to my mouth to avoid laughing too hard. “You three take care of yourselves.”

  With that, Uncle Nick hung up. Layla and I looked at each other as if silently wondering if that was anything to worry about. When Brett interrupted with a line about how anyone with his looks would womanize, we decided it wasn’t.

  I had enough to worry about on my plate, anyway. And it wasn’t anything that I could seemingly change right now.

  After all, I didn’t know what more I could do to make it apparent to Izzy I was ready to see her again.

  Chapter 12: Izzy

  When I pulled up to the daycare center, I had to pause in the middle of the parking lot.

  It had only been about an hour since the TMZ photo had broken. There was no way that Malcolm had already gotten this far up. Assuming he hadn’t gotten here already. What if he did?

  But that was the thing about unforeseen events, right? You couldn’t see them coming. So if I couldn’t see this coming, then how could I possibly prepare?

  Ryan’s inside. It doesn’t matter if you’re prepared or not.

  The thought of my son getting into trouble because of my ex was enough to get my ass out of the Civic. I scrambled out, walking as fast as I could in my work heels, and went to the front desk. The lady who saw me, a young woman named Ginger, looked at me in surprise.

  “Everything all right?” she said.

  “Yeah, just need to pick up my son, Ryan.”

  “Ryan…”

  “Saunders, sorry.”

  Boy, I’m a mess.

  “OK, we haven’t gotten any complaints or needs for—”

  “I know, it’s not anything from you guys, you all are great. I just, I need my son, OK?”

  Ginger got the hint well enough, backing away from her desk and going into the play area where my son was. I could see him sitting on his butt—he had such a cute face with chubby cheeks and brown eyes. People often said that he had my face, which I was grateful for; the last thing I needed was for my son to grow up mirroring the monster that had helped create him.

  Ginger came out after speaking to someone.

  “We’re bringing him out right now.”

  Oh, thank God, I thought, even though the emergency was only in my head and not something Ryan was suffering from. For now.

  I paced in the hallway as I waited for Ryan to emerge through that doorway. Every second that passed…I tried to breathe, tried to focus on lowering my heart rate, but it wasn’t doing much good. Panic had, suffice to say, not just overtaken me; it had consumed me, devoured me, and changed my every action.

  The door opened. I held my breath.

  “Look who it is!” Ginger said. “Mommy came early!”

  “Mommy!”

  It was like everything in the world suddenly became normal again. The sight of my little boy, held by one of the daycare staff members, dressed and looking just like he had when I had dropped him off this morning, completely put me at ease. He was safe. We were safe. The future was murky and dark, but the present was clear and cheerful.

  “Oh, Ryan, sweetie,” I said, taking him in my arms and kissing him on the cheek before I bounced him a bit. “I’m so glad you’re OK.”

  “Mommy!” he said with a huge smile on his face. “Daddy was here.”

  I stopped bouncing. All the joy that had started to flow into my body, all the hope…gone. Vanished. The darkness was creeping in. Here? Like…he’s here now?

  “Are you sure, sweetie?” I said, even though I was now starting to believe that he was here. Malcolm was here. Oh, God…what was Malcolm doing here?

  “Daddy was here!”

  I looked over to the daycare staff, but none of them had concern on their face.

  “We took him outside about half an hour ago with the rest of the kids and kept strict supervision of who was nearby,” Ginger said. “We always keep a close eye on who is outside the property and who might be acting suspiciously. We didn’t see anyone.”

  I looked back at Ryan. He didn’t care that the daycare staff had refuted what he had said. I wasn’t even sure that a little three-year-old understood concepts like arguments and refuting and confirmation. For all I knew, he had just sung a song about Mommy and Daddy and was repeating it.

  But still…

  I didn’t know the science of kids Ryan’s age, so I couldn’t say if he really remembered or knew what Malcolm looked like. But the times before I had moved to Sacramento, before Malcolm had
gone off the rails, Ryan was well aware of who his father was. I just didn’t know…

  There were too many unknowns…

  “OK, thank you,” I said, swiftly leaving.

  “Ma’am?” Ginger said. “We need you to fill out some paperwork on our tablet.”

  I closed my eyes, let out a long sigh, and walked back over. It was bad form for a professional like myself to blitz through the paperwork without reading the fine print. But you know what was worse form? The possibility that Malcolm was stalking my son and me.

  I scribbled my signature on the few lines that I had to with my finger, pushed the tablet back, and hurried out to the car. There was something about opening the doors to the outside that suddenly left me feeling very naked and vulnerable, like being in the presence of the daycare had inoculated me to some of the dangers of Malcolm. But now?

  It was just Ryan and me against every motorist, every pedestrian, every stranger, and every threat. No one was going to follow us to keep me safe.

  Unless…

  There was only one person I could think of right now that would take me in on the spot and protect me. I didn’t want to bring Ryan along to meet him, but…

  I peeled out of the parking lot and headed home, furiously checking other cars, trying to identify any that looked like the red Mustang that Malcolm had spent way too much money on to own. I didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t found…

  OK, let’s not be wildly conspiratorial here. Paranoid, yes, but this isn’t doing any good.

  “Ryan,” I said. “How was your day?”

  “Good!” he said. “I saw Mommy and Daddy!”

  That he put the two of us together like peanut butter and jelly made me feel strangely better, like he only mentioned Daddy because Mommy was there; maybe he was referring to some game. It probably made me a bad mother, but I didn’t want to find out.