The Legacy (Off-Campus Book 5)

by Elle Kennedy

  After some more back and forth and about forty minutes hanging around the cramped, humid lobby, my husband finally walks out with his personal effects in a plastic bag.

  “You’re my hero,” he says with breathless relief, shoving his wallet and phone back in his pockets before tossing the bag in the trash.

  “Marrying a lawyer means never having to spend a night in jail,” I tease as he wraps me in his arms.

  We step outside, where Kevin and Bruce walk ahead of us toward the parking lot, as if they know we need a minute.

  “I’m sorry too, by the way.” I stop walking and loop my arms around Tucker’s neck. “You’re right. I don’t want to fight either. I had no idea you felt neglected. I feel so—”

  “Hey, let’s talk about it at home,” he cuts in, then tangles his fingers through my hair. “Right now, I just need this.”

  He brings my chin up to kiss me. His hands, meanwhile, roam to grab my ass like he hasn’t seen a woman in months.

  I laugh against his hungry lips. “You were only in jail for a few hours.”

  “I’m a changed man, baby. You don’t know the things I’ve seen.”

  Then with a smack on my butt, he takes my hand and leads me to Kevin’s SUV. After stopping at the marina to pick up our Jeep, we head back to the house.

  “I’m sorry I stormed off,” he says, watching me drop my purse on the hall table.

  “I’m sorry I caused you to storm off.”

  “You didn’t cause it.” His lips quirk in a smile. “I was just being an immature ass. To be honest, I’m not even mad about anything.”

  “That’s not true,” I chide.

  “I’m really not mad,” he protests.

  “Maybe not mad, but you’re definitely frustrated. And not just with your job.” I give him a pointed look. “You think I don’t make you a priority.”

  “Sabrina—”

  “And there might be some truth to that,” I finish, biting my lip. “My life has always been hectic. I can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t juggling two or three jobs with school and chores and whatever else needed doing. And then we had a kid and”—I groan—“I love her, I really do, but she’s a full-time job.”

  “I get it. Jamie’s exhausting.”

  “And I just assumed that if you were ever unhappy or feeling neglected, you would tell me. I always make a point to ask—”

  “I know you do,” he interrupts, and it’s his turn to groan. “You always ask, and I love you for it. This is on me. I’m the one who always brushes it off because I don’t want to stress you out.”

  “Your happiness shouldn’t be brushed off, Tuck.”

  He shrugs. “Your happiness is more important to me. Can’t help it, that’s just how I feel. Making you and Jamie happy is what makes me happy.”

  “Not always.” I lift a brow. “You said you want me to make us a priority, remember? Well, that’s what I’m going to do from now on. But you need to promise to be more honest about what you need, okay? Because I’m not a mind reader.”

  “I know.” He smiles again, shamefaced. “I’ll try to be better at that.”

  “Good. And I’ll try to be better about showing you that you’re my number one. Always.”

  “Good,” he mimics.

  We stand there for a moment, just grinning at each other. I guess Hope was right—sometimes couples do need to fight. Who knows how much deeper the roots of resentment would’ve dug in if everything hadn’t rushed to the surface on this trip.

  “So…” He tips his head. “Can we go to bed now?”

  “Why are we still even down here?”

  In the blink of an eye, he practically chases me up the stairs until he corners me at the foot of the bed and presses his lips to mine. His tongue slides through my parted lips while he roughly peels my clothes off.

  “You’re incredible,” he growls.

  “You’re just saying that because you almost became someone’s prison boyfriend.”

  “I’m too pretty to be locked up.” Tucker kisses his way down my neck, across my shoulder. “Let’s not fight anymore. Like, ever.” He pauses, meeting my eyes as his hands slide down to my hips. “I hate that we came all this way just to bicker with each other.”

  “Me too. But we can’t just ignore everything. We’re going to have to figure out all the job stuff eventually. You know that.”

  “We will,” he assures me. “But it’s not something we need to figure out on this trip.”

  He’s right. Our time together needs to be our priority. Half our honeymoon had already fallen victim to disaster. I’ve got no intention of spoiling the days we have left with heavy life decisions. “Let’s save it for home.”

  He nods. “And just so you know, no matter what, I’m always gonna be there for you. I’ve got your back.”

  “I know. And I’ve got yours. I love you. Always.”

  Tucker seals his lips over mine. He gently lowers me to the bed while he pulls off his shirt and eases his pants off his hips. Then he drapes his naked body over mine, licking his lips as he props himself up on his forearms. I’ve never seen a sexier sight.

  “You’re amazing,” I inform him.

  A smile curves his mouth. “Don’t you forget it, darlin’.”

  “Never.”

  31

  Tucker

  Day 10

  I wake up before Sabrina on our last morning, enjoying the weight of her head on my chest and her silky leg draped over mine. I lie there, utterly content, running my fingers through her hair and watching her sleep as the sun slowly fills the room. A while later, she yawns and stretches all the way to her toes. She looks up at me.

  “Morning,” she murmurs, licking the dryness from the lips.

  “Last chance. We could call Dean and tell him we’re staying forever.”

  “Tempting.”

  Then both our phones start buzzing with the alert that we’ve got two hours before we need to be at the airport.

  “You can have the shower first,” I tell Sabrina, kissing her forehead. “I’ll make us something to eat. Hopefully Isa dropped off more of those croissants.”

  “Love you.” She slides out of bed naked, letting me watch her saunter off to the bathroom. As long as I live, I’ll never tire of that view.

  As it turns out, hitting rock bottom on the sticky bench of a Caribbean jail cell was the cure to our honeymoon ails. Since Sabrina sprang me from the joint, there haven’t been any stray jellyfish or irate shopkeepers. No coconut assaults or red, splotchy skin. Just clear skies and blue waters and lots of sunscreen. Finally, the vacation we’d been looking for…so of course, it’s over too soon and it’s time to pack out of here.

  As we’re getting our bags gathered by the door, our neighbors stop by to say their goodbyes. Kevin and I shake hands, while Bruce and I have a less formal exchange of back slaps and a side hug. I’m going to miss these guys. The four of us became fast friends this week, and yesterday we spent our last afternoon getting drunk and eating fresh oysters on their yacht.

  “We wanted to see you off with a little something,” Bruce says, handing Sabrina a bottle of the wine she’d loved from dinner that first night. “And, if you have a minute, talk a little business?”

  Sabrina and I look at each other, confused.

  “I thought about our conversation the other night,” Kevin tells Sabrina as we invite them in. “I hope you won’t mind, but I did a bit of checking up on you.”

  “Checking up?”

  “Your Harvard transcripts. Spoke with your professors. Who had a lot to say, in fact. A complete background check, of course. We’re very thorough.”

  I’m trying not to laugh. “And that’s considered a ‘bit’ of checking up?”

  “I don’t understand.” Sabrina’s voice stiffens. “Who’s we?”

  “I talked it over with the partners at the firm, and we’d like you to come work with us.”

  Her eyes widen. “I’m sorry—what?”

  �
��We’d like you to come work for Ellison and Kahn, my firm in Manhattan.”

  “You’re offering me a job?” It’s rare to catch Sabrina James off guard, but right now she looks like she’s struggling to formulate thoughts.

  Like me, Kevin is smiling at her shocked expression. “There’s a spot available on my team. Representing wrongful convictions. It’s challenging work, and not for the faint-hearted. But the hours are manageable, and you’d have some schedule flexibility. If you’re up to it. “

  “I…”

  I’m not sure the last time I saw Sabrina speechless.

  “That’s a generous offer,” I speak up while she finds her voice.

  “There is, of course, one catch,” Kevin adds. “You would have to come to New York.”

  Now we’re both caught off guard. I’d heard the part where he said his firm was in Manhattan, but for some stupid reason I didn’t connect those dots.

  Sabrina searches me for a response. Leaving Boston was never something we’d even discussed. But I know it had to be in the back of her mind. The best law firms in the world are in New York and LA, and that means there was only so far she could reach, ambition-wise, as long as she stayed in town. This would open a slew of new possibilities.

  “Before you answer,” Bruce pipes up, “there is one more thing. I’m looking to expand my fitness brand into brick-and-mortar. Give my online regimen a physical presence.”

  “Gyms?” I guess, all the while wondering how Sabrina and I possibly fit into this.

  He nods. “One, to start. Prime real estate in Manhattan. All I need is a partner with a modest investment but who understands how to get a small business off the ground, market it, and make it profitable. Then, hopefully, a nationwide franchise.” He grins widely. “From what I’ve seen, you’d make a hell of a chief operating officer.”

  “You can’t be serious. Just like that?” I can’t help but laugh, scratching at the back of my head to make sure I didn’t take one of those coconuts and don’t remember.

  “I’m not much for business,” Bruce says, shrugging. “But I know people. I like you, John Tucker. I think the two of us might do good stuff together. If you’re up for the challenge.”

  “Wow. This is a lot to think about,” Sabrina tells them, looking as dazed as I feel.

  “Sorry to blindside you both, but we couldn’t let you leave without catching you,” Kevin explains.

  “Thank you. Really,” I insist. “We can’t tell you how much we appreciate this.”

  “Can we take some time?” Sabrina asks. “We have to consider Jamie. And the bar.”

  “Of course.” Kevin offers his hand. “Talk it over. You have our numbers.”

  We thank them again, then nearly collapse from the news the moment they’re gone.

  “Is this seriously happening?” Sabrina stares at me, eyes sparkling. It’s maybe the happiest I’ve seen her since we left Boston.

  I start laughing again, marveling at this curveball. Two curveballs, to be exact. “I guess we were due some good luck on this damn island.”

  In the taxi on the way to the marina, we attempt to hash out how viable this plan might be.

  “My mom would go anywhere to follow her granddaughter,” I assure Sabrina when she worries about letting strangers babysit Jamie. Mom moved to Boston from Texas to be closer to us. No reason she wouldn’t go to New York.

  “And Kevin said the hours were manageable. Flexible.” There’s an excited chord in Sabrina’s voice. “So we might not even need that much babysitting. I’d be able to see you guys a lot more than if I took one of the Boston jobs.”

  “And I wouldn’t have to spend any evenings at the bar. I assume the gig with Bruce would be a daytime one.”

  “Wait. But Jamie starts preschool in the fall. You think getting her placed in Boston was tough, you have any idea how hard it will be in Manhattan?”

  “Dean and Allie are there,” I remind her. “I’d bet his family is giving money to someone, some board member, who owes them a favor. If not, we’ll make it work. It’s a big city.”

  “And we’d already have friends there,” she adds, chewing on her bottom lip. “So it’s not like we’d be totally alone.”

  “It’s maybe not a terrible idea.”

  “Granted, those same friends tried to ruin our honeymoon with Alexander, so really, we should be discussing cutting them out of our lives, not bringing them closer into the fold.”

  My expression darkens. “I don’t like knowing he’s in there,” I say, nodding toward my carry-on.

  “Maybe airport security will think we’re smuggling drugs inside his creepy head and confiscate him.”

  I snicker at her hopeful face. “Babe, if they decide we’re drug mules, we’ll have bigger problems to deal with than a haunted doll. Don’t worry, though. We’ll ship him off the moment we get home.”

  “It better be Dean.”

  “Nah. They’ll expect it.” I pause. “Wasn’t it Garrett who left him under my pillow when they came over last Thanksgiving?”

  Indignation burns in her eyes. “Jamie woke up when she heard me scream, and we couldn’t get her back to sleep for hours.”

  I nod. “G.”

  She nods back. “I concur. I mean, he and Hannah are over there living their best lives. We can’t allow that.”

  “Someone needs to knock ’em down a peg.”

  “Exactly.”

  Grinning, I sling an arm around my partner in crime. “Now, back to the topic at hand. Do we want to move to New York?”

  “Ugh. I don’t know, Tuck.”

  We’re still talking it out as we board the boat to St. Maarten, until eventually Sabrina holds up a hand and says, “I vote we hold off on a decision until we’re back in Boston. Let the idea sit for a while. But…man, it sure is tempting.”

  “Damn tempting,” I agree. “But you’re right, let’s put a pin in it.”

  Right now, all I want to do is get home and see our baby girl.

  Part IV

  The Legacy

  32

  Hannah

  There are few things less dignified than a loud pee in a cavernous marble restroom. Somehow, a slinky sequined gown hiked up around my boobs doesn’t make this any more glamorous. It was a mad dash from the lobby of the auditorium to this bathroom stall. The entire twenty minutes on the red carpet standing between Garrett and Logan, a smile plastered on my face against shouting reporters and camera flashes, was an agonizing exercise in endurance while every muscle in my body clenched in desperation. I knew that bottle of water in the limo was a bad idea. Lately, I even look at liquid and I’ve got to pee like a racehorse.

  The blogs and articles said this was coming, but I thought, come on, how bad could it be?

  The answer: bad.

  Awful.

  Humiliatingly inconvenient.

  Pregnancy blows.

  The last place I want to be right now is this exclusive hotel in downtown Boston, but I tell myself to suck it up. Tonight’s a big moment for Garrett’s career, and I can’t let anything dampen the celebration.

  Which is just another one of the countless excuses I’ve been spoon-feeding myself for the last eight weeks.

  First, I hadn’t wanted to take the test because it was our best friends’ wedding weekend. Then I took the test and it was positive, but I certainly couldn’t tell Garrett and distract him at such a pivotal moment at the end of the regular season. Couldn’t break the news to him while the team was concentrating on the playoffs. Then they busted out in the first round, and Garrett was so crushed, it didn’t seem like the right time to announce he better spend the off-season painting a nursery.

  I’m going to tell him tonight, though. After we get home, when he’s got a few drinks in him and the stars are still shining in his eyes. I’ll ease him into it gently.

  “Can you believe it’s a cash bar?” Two pairs of stiletto heels clack across the shiny floor past my stall and stop at the sinks. “LeBron’s wife doesn’t
put up with this shit.”

  “LeBron’s wife married a basketball player.”

  “I thought there’d at least be a gift bag.”

  “Ha! It’d have a can of Molson Ice and a gift certificate to Applebee’s.”

  I swallow a laugh. Women who date or marry into the NHL expecting they’ll be rolling around South Beach with Gisele and Victoria Beckham tend to get a rude awakening. The hockey scene is an acquired taste.

  Tonight is the NHL Honors, an awards ceremony recognizing achievements in the past season. While it’s not exactly the ESPYs, it’s a big deal that Garrett is taking home an award for Goal of the Year. This man never stops working to improve his game. Every single day, he puts his body under incredible stress. Pushes himself past the mental barriers that have held him back. The least I can do to watch his dreams come true is suffer one night in a fancy dress and pretend everything’s normal. And with Grace in Paris visiting her mom for the summer, I’m pulling double duty as the arm candy. I just can’t eat or drink anything for the rest of the night if I don’t want to be running for the toilet every ten minutes.

  “Did you see Garrett Graham shaved his beard?” one of the women says while I’m fixing my dress. “He cleans up nice.”

  He sure does. The team got on some superstition kick about not shaving when they were on a winning streak to clinch the playoffs. Garrett looks hot with some scruff, but this went beyond that. He wouldn’t even allow himself to keep the damn thing tidy. It was scraggly and unkempt, and it took all my self-restraint not to mount him in the middle of the night and go at him with a pair of clippers. I love that man, but the beard was nearly the end of us. If I ever see that thing again, I’m lighting it on fire.

  “Have you seen his dad? The genes in that family are ridiculous.”

  “Phil Graham’s here?”

  “Yeah. Saw him on the red carpet. He’s giving out the Lifetime Achievement award.”