Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

  Sonny. Sonny the Brick. Sonny the Hitman.

  And just like that, the illusion shattered. I took a deep breath, backing silently away from the door. Nothing had changed, not for Law and not for me. Here we were, just hours away from seeing a lawyer, and Law was on the phone with the Mafia, setting up a meeting with a notorious hitman. Why? It didn’t matter.

  I took a few, calming breaths and let the illusion of us together again drift slowly away. Law had his life, and I had mine, and even to think for a moment that they might intertwine again was ridiculous. I was just emotional. A lot had changed in my life, and I was looking for some familiarity. Well, I'd found it. And I remembered exactly why I’d let it go.

  9

  Law

  Hanging up the phone, I took a deep breath. Well, that was an unexpected complication, and one I hoped would turn out to be nothing. I'd have to deal with Sonny and Uncle Joe tonight sometime, after practice.

  I stood up, smiling, as I heard the shower go off in the background. Gwen: the silver lining in this black cloud of shit. My cock twitched at the thought of sinking into her again.

  Checking my watch, I realized that I had to get a move on if we were going to get to the lawyer's on time. She’d slept late.

  I strode down the hall, smirking as I walked into the bathroom. Gwen had her back to me, and the heat from the shower had steamed up the glass walls, blurring her lithe figure.

  Gwen had been a good enough athlete to run hurdles for the University of Miami. Based on the muscles that had squeezed my hips last night, I was willing to bet she still ran regularly. Sliding off my boxers, I stepped into the shower with her.

  Gwen didn't turn around as I entered, and I reached for her, my hand fitting around her hip and pulling at her gently. She didn't budge. Dread pooled in my gut.

  “Good morning,” I said softly.

  "Good morning.” Gwen sounded polite, but not welcoming, and as she spun around, she offered me a small smile that didn’t meet her eyes. I took a breath and hoped I was reading her wrong. Reaching out, I smoothed my hand over her shoulder and took a step in. She backed away, sliding out from under the spray.

  "I'm done," she said, wringing her hair out, her eyes looking anywhere but at me. Shit. Shit. "Go ahead. It's all yours."

  She stepped from the shower, and I watched, dumbfounded, as she grabbed a towel and slid from the bathroom.

  Well, fuck! I made quick work of my shower, got out, and toweled off. When I got back into the bedroom, Gwen was already dressed.

  She avoided eye contact and slid back into the bathroom, opening a few of the cabinets and blinking at what she found. "Get a lot of company?" she asked, pulling out a hairdryer.

  "Sometimes," I said, hating that I sounded defensive. I didn't have to defend myself. What the fuck was going on? "Listen, Gwen..."

  But Gwen had plugged the hair dryer in and was using it. She'd found a round brush there as well, left over from the days that Ashley, an ex, used to spend weekends.

  I waited, crossing my arms over my chest. Fuck if I was going to walk out of this bathroom without figuring out what the hell had happened.

  Gwen looked over, saw me standing there, and switched off the hairdryer. Placing it on the bathroom sink, she turned to face me.

  "Care to tell me what's going on?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. I hated that I was feeling that same sick sense of panic I’d felt the night she'd left me. You'd have thought six years might have muted those feelings - they hadn't.

  I watched Gwen take a deep breath. She closed her eyes a moment and then she looked up at me. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft. "I shouldn't be upset. I wanted last night as much as you did."

  I inclined my head; I wasn't too proud to admit that I'd wanted her.

  "I shouldn't be upset, I know. But I heard you on the phone with..." she shrugged. "With your family," she stressed the word, allowing me to understand that she meant familia. "And it just... it took me back to the old fights."

  Shit. She’d heard me on the phone with Uncle Joe. I didn’t want to tell her about that phone call. Not yet. I didn’t want to worry her. I inhaled. "My family is my family,” I said. “That hasn’t changed. They’re important to me..."

  "I know..."

  "I don't think that should get in the way of what we experienced last night..."

  “You’re right. It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. Last night was just sex," Gwen interrupted. "It was amazing sex, but it was just sex. It doesn't change anything."

  "I disagree," I said. "I think it changes a lot of things..."

  "Not for me, it doesn't," said Gwen, firmly. “And you were the one who said ‘No strings.’ The reasons I left you still exist. I needed the familiarity of last night. I needed some comfort, and you gave it. And... thank you. But that's all."

  I tried to control the fury building inside of me. "Gwen, you can't just pick me up and drop me because you want a good fuck..."

  "Hey!" Gwen interrupted, her voice rising to be heard over mine. "You instigated last night. I didn’t. I’m just the idiot that decided to go along with it!”

  I snapped my mouth shut. It was idiotic to get involved with me, was it? Fuck. Her. There were literally thousands of girls who would get on their knees and beg for a chance to get involved with me. I had a bag full of letters at the stadium saying as much.

  To stop myself from saying something nasty, I left the room. Part of me hoped that Gwen would pursue the fight - but the hairdryer turned back on.

  Fifteen minutes later, Gwen joined me in the kitchen. I still wasn’t ready to speak civilly and said nothing as she raided my pantry for something to eat. But as the silence dragged on, I became more and more annoyed. “Let’s go,” I said finally. “We don’t want to be late.”

  Gwen nodded and followed me out the door, into the elevator, and into the car without saying a word.

  10

  Gwen

  I had nothing to say to him. I don't know what he'd expected of me, but whatever it was, I clearly couldn't give it to him.

  Law pulled up in front of the lawyer’s office. I’m sure that Law’s lawyers worked in fancy buildings downtown, but Mia’s was in a building complex just outside of the downtown. I had to check my phone for the exact floor and suite number. We hiked three flights of stairs in total silence before arriving at an office labeled Gellar, Howe, and James.

  Pushing open the door, I entered a small sitting room where a secretary looked up from her cell phone. I watched her try to hide a double take at the sight of Law. Whether she was a Dolphins fan and recognized him, or whether she was impressed by his appearance, I couldn't tell. But her reaction made me take another look as well. Handsome. Powerful. Unforgiving. Whatever emotions had been riding him in the car, Law had swallowed them and was giving his best forbidding, immutable Sphinx look.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Howe,” I said to the secretary. “We have a nine o'clock appointment,” I pressed because the woman was still staring at Law.

  “Yes,” she said after a moment, turning her attention back to me. She picked up the phone near her desk and pressed a button: “You're nine o’clock is here,” she said. Then she set down the phone. “Mr. Howe will see you.” She pointed behind her to a door that was just opening.

  The man who stood in the doorway was in his mid-fifties and was thin but for a small, rounded gut. He wore glasses and had combed over his thinning brown hair; his smile seemed appropriately sympathetic. “Ms. Mathers, come in,” he said. Then he noticed Law in the background, and his eyes rounded with surprise. “Lawrence Henry!” Definitely a Miami Dolphins fan.

  While Law had taken care of the funeral arrangements, I had set up the meeting with the lawyer – so it made a certain amount of sense that he hadn’t expected Law to come with me.

  It took Mr. Howe a moment to recover his equilibrium. “Come in, both of you,” he said finally and ushered us into the room.

  We sat down in the chairs before his desk, and he sat down b
ehind the desk and opened a black folder. He nodded to himself as if just realizing something. “Law Henry,” he said after a moment, as if just figuring out why Law was here. “You must be related to Eric Henry.”

  Law inclined his head. “He was my brother.”

  Mr. Howe took a deep breath. “I’m incredibly sorry for your loss. Losing a loved one is never easy.” He paused as if trying to figure out how to phrase what he had to say next. “I sincerely regret to inform you, Mr. Henry, that Eric didn't have a will.”

  Uh oh. I hadn’t expected that.

  “But Mia did,” I said quickly. “Surely, they wrote the will together.”

  Mr. Howe shook his head. “If they did, I never met with Mr. Henry. I only ever met with Ms. Mathers. Granted, she left him most of her worldly possessions. But since he cannot claim them, they will go to her next of kin, her daughter.”

  I nodded. This wasn’t news, and Law was nodding, too. He’d been expecting that as well. Nobody plans on dying before they hit their thirtieth birthday. That Mia had a will at all was strange, but I wasn’t about to questions my sister’s foresight.

  “But since Nikki is two…” Mr. Howe continued. I took a deep breath. I knew what was coming next, “…and Ms. Mathers, since you are Nikki’s legal guardian…”

  “I'm sorry, what?” Law interrupted.

  Mr. Howe blinked and cleared his threat, “Mia left a provision in case Mr. Henry could not take care of her daughter. She named Ms. Mather’s Nikki’s legal guardian.” He turned back to me. “Which means, Ms. Mathers, that you will be responsible for overseeing Mia’s possessions and Nikki’s future…”

  “Where in that paper does it say that Gwen is Nikki's legal guardian?” Law held out a demanding hand, and Mr. Howe, looking startled, riffled through pages, underlined something with a pen, and handed it to Law. Law read it, his face growing stiller by the second.

  Then he handed the paper back. “I'd like to propose working out shared custody.”

  I took a deep breath. I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy. “Law,” I said quietly, “I'm not interested in working shared custody. This isn’t a surprise to me. Mia asked me about it before she wrote the will.”

  “When did you two work this out?” asked Law, matching my soft tones.

  “When Mia was pregnant.”

  Law nodded, as if I’d confirmed something. “Nikki was baptized,” he said. “Eric took her when Mia was traveling on business. He named me godfather.”

  “Mr. Henry,” Mr. Howe cut in, hesitantly. “I regret to inform you that unless your brother had a will, a church baptism will not stand in place of a legal court document bearing Mia Mather’s signature…”

  “Since Nikki was born, Gwen has visited the child once,” Law interrupted. “I, on the other hand, babysat often, took her out – she knows me and she’s comfortable with me, and as her godfather, I am more than willing and imminently able to provide for her…”

  “This is something I am unable to solve for you,” interrupted Mr. Howe. “I am merely the executor…”

  “This is absurd. I make eight million dollars a year, and Gwen, I’d be surprised if you crack into the triple digits. There’s no way you can care for Nikki better than I could.”

  I frowned. No need to be rude about it.

  “I'm sorry,” said Law, not sounding at all sorry, “but caring for a child is expensive. I have the means to take better care of Nikki than you could.”

  I closed my eyes. Oh god. This was going to get messy.

  Mr. Howe cleared his throat. “If it's money you're concerned about, Mr. Henry, you needn't be. Mia left Nikki quite a bit of money.”

  Law didn’t roll his eyes, but he might as well have for all the disdain that emanating from him. “Mia,” he bit out, “was a mediocre accountant at best. She and Eric could barely afford their Jeep and their apartment, let alone set aside money for Nikki’s future. I know how much is in their joint account, and I lost count of all of the times Eric asked me for a loan so he might buy something without having to pay interest. Whatever Mia and Eric left their daughter won’t touch the amount that I’d be able to set aside for her.”

  Mr. Howe opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue. Then he closed it and handed me a piece of paper. I looked at the paper closely enough to realize that he was handing me a bank statement. On the top were account numbers, Mia's name and social security number, and underneath them was an amount. I gasped.

  Without ceremony, Law reached over and plucked the paper out of my hands. It wasn't difficult; my fingers had gone nerveless.

  "Six million dollars?" Law sounded incredulous. "Where on earth did Mia Mathers get six million dollars?” He glared at me, as if I’d be able to provide him with answers.

  I shrugged, helplessly. My mind was whirling. I could come up with a million ways my sister could have gotten her hands on six million dollars, and none of them were legal. Suddenly, it made sense that she might have a will at the age of 26. Six million dollars… Mia, what did you get yourself into?!

  I had a terrible feeling that I was going to find out soon.

  “This has to be a mistake,” Law was saying. “I know the state of Mia and Eric’s finances! I loaned them almost $75,000 to buy their apartment…”

  I needed to get out of there. What if Mia had done something illegal? It might give Law grounds to press for custody. Can’t trust the Mathers women! Mother’s an addict; the daughter was a thief…. What if it wasn’t Mia’s money at all! What if it was Eric’s? Oh god! What if Mia and Eric’s accident wasn’t an accident! What if they had gotten themselves in serious trouble? I needed to leave. I needed to go to their apartment and see what information I could find.

  “Mr. Howe,” I said. "If I have this right, then Mia left Nikki everything, and since I’m Nikki’s legal guardian, all I need to do is sign a few papers saying that I accept responsibility.”

  Mr. Howe nodded. "That's right.”

  Law looked ready to burst. “Gwen, you are being entirely unreasonable. Before you sign anything, we should talk about this…”

  “There's nothing to talk about. I'm not going to allow Nikki to be a raised around your family.” I began flipping through the paperwork and signing the sections that Mr. Howe had highlighted. Law looked like he was barely restraining himself from ripping the papers out of my hands.

  “Gwen, Eric was my brother. Nikki is as much my niece as she is yours! And whether you like it or not, she’s a member of my family! We need to talk about this! You can’t just leave!”

  Oh yes I could! I was already getting up. “Mr. Howe, thank you so much for your services. If I have any questions, I will call you.”

  “Gwen, wait…” Law called after me, but I was already out the door.

  11

  Law

  “Sounds to me like you’re going to need a divorce lawyer.”

  We were in the locker room after practice. I’ll tell you what, spending a few hours pounding up and down the gridiron will get rid of anything that ails you. I felt calmer, less furious, and more willing to understand what had made Gwen so upset. But she was wrong. The Garcias and the Julianos had been great to Nikki. My niece had come to numerous Sunday dinners with the family; she loved my grandmother, loved playing in my cousin Jorge’s backyard. Uncle Joe gave her free chocolate mousse whenever we went to one of his restaurants.

  “I don’t want things to get any messier than they already are,” I said to Russ Stratton, the Dolphins quarterback. I was more frustrated now than I was angry, and I felt like a total fool for thinking that the past was in the past, that Gwen might have gotten over her issues with my family and would be willing to give me a second chance.

  “Look, man, this is why divorce sucks - if there’s a kid involved, nobody wants to give up custody or visitation. Trust me, it messes with your life.”

  If there was anyone to trust about divorce, it was Russ. He’d been married twice and had three children with three different women.

/>   “Well,” I argued. “We’re not getting divorced.”

  “Either way, it sounds to me like you have a good case. You’re in the kid’s life, you’re her godfather and blood relative, and if the kid’s mom was as shady as you believe her to be, you can suggest that shadiness runs in the family. If you can paint her aunt as an unfit guardian, then the courts will give you custody of your niece.” Russ shrugged. “Look, man, getting custody of a child is no easy feat. And if you’re looking for a good lawyer, you can use mine. He’s amazing. I swear, once he was done with my ex, Tia, the judge was ready to lock her away in the insane asylum.”

  I inhaled through my nose. I wanted Nikki, but I couldn’t fathom painting Gwen as a bad caretaker in front of a judge. It just wouldn’t be true. Gwen was caring, independent, and tough as nails… she’d be a great mom.

  I’d wanted to run after Gwen when she’d rushed out of the lawyer’s office, but I hadn’t had time to chase her down. So I’d texted her, telling her that we needed to talk it over, that she could not, in good conscience, blow me off. She hadn’t responded yet, but I knew she would. Gwen wasn’t malicious on purpose. She believed in the greater good. I knew she’d agree to talk when she was ready. In the meantime, I had some strange business to take care of.

  When Uncle Joe had called that morning, early, he’d said he didn’t want to talk over the phone, but he had some news about Eric’s accident. “It may not have been an accident,” he’d suggested.

  I hadn’t wanted to believe that anyone would maliciously hurt my brother. Eric was a good, sweet guy. But Joe had started talking about Sonny the Brick and Joey Bones and Val Solano, and I’d had to stop him. “Let’s not do this over the phone,” I’d suggested. So Uncle Joe had asked me to meet him at The Cantina.

  The Cantina was the newest restaurant in Joe’s chain of Italian dining institutions. It was undergoing renovations at the moment and wasn’t open to customers. I parked a few blocks away (you never know who’s watching), and entered through the back door. Joe was sitting at a small booth in the back with Sonny the Brick. Sonny wasn’t a Juliano, but he worked for my great uncle. I liked to pretend I didn’t know what Sonny did, but you don’t get the nickname “The Brick” by collecting rents. Or maybe you do.