Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire

by Catherine Mann

  The results of her biopsy had come in today. She’d promised to let him know the results and she had. Right away.

  The biopsy had revealed nothing. No cancer. Such news ought to fill her with relief and promise, but the risk of the cancer gene would always be part of her existence. Just like her scars. Permanent marks on her mind and body.

  Fiona had told Henri via text that she was in the clear. Everything from the test had come back normal. No reason to worry.

  As she made her way to Henri, she bumped into the doctor who had asked her out. Had that really only been a few weeks ago?

  So much had changed since her last fund-raiser. Her relationship with Henri had cooled and heated...and now? Well, now it was an utter mess.

  Things with the doctor were cordial, platonic. At least on her end. Avoiding a drawn-out conversation, she almost couldn’t believe her eyes.

  She blinked, stunned. Jean-Pierre had arrived at the party. He and Henri hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in months. Things in the family had been strained since Jean-Pierre had left New Orleans. But having him show up added to the pro ball appeal of the event, and would give the fund-raising a generous boost.

  As the youngest Reynaud, Jean-Pierre had inherited his love of the game from his father and his grandfather, the same as his brothers. But Jean-Pierre had gone to college playing the quarterback position, the same as Henri. And since Jean-Pierre wasn’t the kind of man to play in a brother’s shadow, he hadn’t wanted a spot on the Hurricanes. He was a starter and an elite player. When the New York Gladiators had made him an offer, he’d taken it.

  Fiona shouldered through the masses of people to her brother-in-law.

  “Jean-Pierre, how did you know we could use the extra help for this? It’s wonderful to see you, but why are you here?”

  “Henri told me you had to salvage this event so he called me.” He grinned, leaning in to give her a hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Access to the family’s private plane has its perks. I had some time, so I was able to swing it.”

  “Thank you.” She was touched. Not just by Jean-Pierre’s quick flight and visit, but that Henri had thought to ask him.

  Jean-Pierre acknowledged greetings from a few friends, and now the whole room was buzzing with all the star power. When his fans had shuffled past, his eyes returned to Fiona’s. “Not a problem. The Gladiators’ PR guy thought it was a good idea. I’m off to sign a few more autographs. Nice party. You did a great job.”

  She thanked him again before he melted into the crowd, moving slowly since he was signing autographs as he made his way, shaking hands and making time for everyone who wanted to see him.

  With no one else vying for her attention, Fiona edged her way to Henri. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo, as he always did. But she could see the way he stiffened as she approached, as if bracing for the next hit. The tension in his jaw pulsated as she drew near. Hurt still colored his face.

  Tugging at his blue shirtsleeve, she leaned into him, her heavy sterling silver bracelet sliding down her arm. Placing her hand on his chest, she tried to memorize his scent and the way he stood. Pain ached in her joints. Everything would change after this conversation.

  She just hoped she’d make it through the hardest conversation she’d ever have.

  “Let’s step outside. Just us.” The words formed on her tongue like a prayer or a plea.

  Rather than answering her, he placed his hand on the small of her back. Shivers rolled up her spine as he led them outside. Laughter and music filtered through the doors as they sat on the bench in the garden patio.

  In the distance, the night hummed with the sound of expensive cars being parked by the valets. A few feet away, a water feature gurgled and multicolored lights glinted. A few patients who’d been medically cleared to attend were brought out in wheelchairs and chatted with guests. One teen in particular caught her eye, a thin girl with a party hat—a cloth jester cap—on her bald head. Streamers glittered from her chair and her mother leaned down to whisper something while her father set plates of food down on a nearby bench.

  Fiona tore her gaze away before the image dragged her under, and focused her attention back on Henri. There was a buzz of activity here, but not the press of a crowd like inside. Here, they could speak privately, seated on another bench, one of the three she’d donated in memory of her mother, her grandmother and her aunt.

  Henri’s mouth thinned for a moment. She could see the ragged edges of his nerves, the stress she’d caused. The hurt. Her fingers clutched the edges of the stately concrete bench, sturdy, made to survive far longer than her mother had. Her breath hitched as she fought harder to tamp down the tears, the emotion.

  Henri gently pried her hand free from the bench—her mother’s bench—and linked fingers with her. She tried to hold onto the feel of his rough calluses from years and years of training and practice.

  His wedding band glinted in the halo of patio lights. “Thank you for letting me know about the doctor visit. I’m glad the scare’s over. And that you’re okay.”

  Chewing her lip, she could only think of this party, everything surrounding her reminding her of what she needed to do no matter how much pain it caused her.

  “Except the scare will never be over, Henri. There will always be a next time. You’ll worry every time I go for a checkup.” Words exploded from her mouth like gunshots. He needed to hear this. Needed to understand everything. “Look at you. Even when I say that now, you look like you’re going to throw up.”

  “Because I care about you, dammit.”

  “I care about you, too.” She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. “In fact, I’m still in love with you.”

  “You love me? Then why the hell are you divorcing me?” he barked, confusion swimming in his dark eyes.

  “Because I can see how this is tearing you apart. Even your grandfather sees me as I am. A woman with a high risk of contracting cancer one day. I pray if I do that it will be curable. But I don’t know. I do know I can live with that possibility.” She looked around her, at the patients in the wheelchairs. And she looked at their families with their haunted, exhausted and scared eyes. “But I can’t live with watching how afraid it makes you.”

  “You were fine with us having sex and being together these past few days when you thought it was day by day.” He leveled the accusation at her. His gruff voice seemed to shake the night air. “Then, once you had to think about forever, you shut me out.”

  “That’s not fair. You’re not listening.”

  “I am listening. I’ve been listening. And you know what I hear?” He turned sideways on the bench, drawing his face close to hers. Tucking a loose hair behind her ear, he breathed. “I keep hearing none of this is fair to either one of us.”

  Desire. Hurt. Longing. The three warring emotions beat in her chest, threatening to disrupt her course of action. But she had to focus on why she was here. To end things before either of them suffered a loss they’d never recover from. She had to be brave, to face this head-on.

  Pulling away from his touch, she lowered his hand to his lap. “We shouldn’t be discussing this two days before a game. You need to focus.”

  “Impossible.” Resting his forehead on his hand, rubbing his temples, talking more to the ground than to her, he said, “There’s never going to be a good time for this conversation.”

  “Henri, please, what are you hoping to accomplish?”

  “To make you admit what we had was real.” He tipped his head to look sideways at her. “But you checked out of our relationship.”

  Tears clogged her throat, even stinging her nose. But she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She’d shed so many tears over the mess she’d made of their marriage. “Fine, you wanted this conversation now, we’ll have it. I admit it. I can’t deal with being married to you. I’m scared as hell, every singl
e day when I wake up, that I’m going to get sick, and just the thought of you grieving over me dying rips my heart out again and again.”

  Fiona knew how to pick a moment. Art had taught her as much. She knew what leaving looked like. Her mother, her aunt, her grandmother. Knew what it was like to be left behind, to suffer with a loss that ravaged the bones.

  With tender fingers, she stroked the side of his face, tracing the faintest stubble with her fingertips. His lips parted slightly. Leaning into him, she inhaled his cologne and musk. Her lips found his. Pressed a kiss from her soul to his.

  Their last kiss.

  Twelve

  Henri had thought football was his world. Until he met Fiona.

  Love for her had slammed into him hard and fast.

  As hard and fast as the Indianapolis linebacker plowing toward him—

  Damn.

  His body hit the ground in a crunch of shoulder pads, grunts and smack talk. Well deserved. He was losing this game for his team. His mind wasn’t in the game. Hell, his heart wasn’t in it.

  Crisp fall air stung his lungs as he viewed the world from the ground. How damn symbolic. Dazed, he blinked into focus. Eyes scanning the crowd, he saw the disappointment on the faces of his teammates after what should have been a straightforward third-down conversion. He clenched his teeth.

  This game should have been a simple win for them. The Hurricanes had a better record against better opponents. Their key players were all healthy. But instead of posting big numbers for their team and calling in some guys off the bench, they were fighting to stay in the game, and that was clearly his fault.

  The world spun, but not just from the impact of the 230-pound rookie with the speed of a track star. Henri’s eyes trailed to the wives’ section, where he half expected to see Fiona, decked out in team colors and a scarf.

  But she wasn’t there. Hadn’t bothered to get on the plane. She’d said she was still in love with him and for that precise reason, she needed to leave him.

  Nothing made sense anymore.

  He’d spent too much time knocked down lately. Pushing himself off the turf, he launched into the air, landing on his feet.

  The Hurricanes fans peppered through the crowd cheered as he rose to his feet. At once believing in him and completely oblivious to the metaphorically shaky ground he stood on. They wouldn’t cheer if they understood why his game was off.

  Brushing the dirt from his shoulder, he started to walk toward his team. But two of the team trainers were already there, ready to help him off the field.

  “I’m fine.” He waved them off.

  He could hear the offensive coordinator in his ear through the microphone in his helmet. “You’re off the field, Henri.”

  “What the hell?” Henri straightened his helmet that had been knocked askew, talking to the trainers and his offensive coach at the same time. “I’m fine.”

  He could see his brother Dempsey, the head coach, waving him off the field from the sidelines. His backup had already sprinted to the huddle.

  Benched? What in the hell would that accomplish? Henri’s pride bristled. It was not as if they were punting it away. The Hurricanes were going for it on fourth down, trying to take that yardage he’d failed to grab in the last play.

  “You’re going to lose if you take me out.” He could still recover the game. The tackle left him with new clarity.

  Adjusting his ball cap, Dempsey shook his head, eyes firm and impassive as Henri reached his side. “And you’re going to risk breaking your damn neck out there. I’m not ending this day with you in the hospital.” He shoved his microphone aside to talk to Henri without an audience on their headsets.

  Nearby, the offensive coordinator stepped up to run the show as the clock kept ticking.

  “So what, I get tackled once and suddenly I’m a candidate for ICU?” Henri barked back, tugging off his helmet to keep this conversation as private as the fishbowl of a stadium would allow.

  Dempsey ripped off his own headset, too, turning a shoulder to the field. Away from the inevitable cameras focused on them.

  “We both know that’s not what’s going on here. Fiona isn’t here and your rocky marriage has compromised your focus like we all damn well warned you it would. You are getting your ass handed to you out there,” Dempsey said flatly.

  “To hell with that. I can handle the field,” he shouted back at his brother, rage coursing in his veins.

  Henri’s teammates nearby exchanged glances. Outbursts of emotion weren’t his normal MO and no one talked back to the coach—family or not.

  Dempsey leveled a glare at him. “This isn’t the backyard. And you might want to think about what you say next.” He slammed his headset back into place and turned his attention toward the field where the backup QB had just run for the yards they needed.

  A much-needed Hurricanes first down and it hadn’t come from Henri. He tried to hide his bitterness, knowing damn well a camera would be closing in on his face right about now.

  Henri’s cousin and Wild Card approached him, providing a wall of shoulders between him and the cameras.

  “Hey, man. Just sit out a few. We’ll do you proud, brother.” Wild Card clapped him on the shoulder, walking out a stinger in his knee from a previous play.

  “Yeah, cuz. We’re a family here. Let someone else step up and take care of business. You take care of you,” his cousin said with his Texas twang. No judgment, no fuss. They were good men. Good friends.

  Deep down, Henri knew that. He seethed anyway.

  Sitting on the bench, he watched his second family execute play after play. They moved like an extension of each other. Synced. In tune.

  The longer he sat on the bench, the more Dempsey’s words rang true. Dempsey had called it. Henri’s performance had been poor. He’d been asking for an injury, asking to feel something other than numb.

  Pulling him from the game was the right call. But then, Dempsey wasn’t calling the plays because he was a novice. His older half brother had as much at stake this season as he did. More, maybe.

  Henri had to get his head together for real. Because in marriage, he didn’t have any backup. It was just him and he was screwing it up big-time. This was about more than football. It was about his wife. His life.

  His love.

  * * *

  Guilt flooded through Fiona.

  She should have gone to Henri’s game. He’d come to her fund-raiser and, yes, the night had ended with a fight. The worst kind. The forever kind.

  The longer she spent alone with her ice cream in her garden, the more she realized she needed to talk to him. She needed to shake him out of his family’s habit of cutting people off—his family that had Texas cousins who mostly never spoke. And then there was the California branch that owned vineyards she’d maybe heard mentioned once. It was insane. The Reynauds had so many branches, so many healthy, thriving parts, and yet they didn’t even function as a family. Didn’t they know how fortunate they were?

  Her phone buzzed on the wrought-iron patio table. An incoming text lit up the screen. She swiped her finger across and found a photo from the night before. A photo of the teenage cancer patient who’d worn the jester hat, her mom and dad leaning in on either side of her with matching smiles.

  The text scrolled: We’re making memories for a lifetime with every moment. Thank you for an awesome night!

  A second photo came through of the girl with Henri and Jean-Pierre: So excited to meet football idols. She texted the photo to all her school friends. Thank you again.

  The joy on the teen’s face, on her parents’ faces, blew Fiona away. They weren’t just brave. Somehow they were happy in the moment. Something her family had never quite managed.

  Something she’d never managed.

  She’d walked away from her mar
riage because she didn’t know if she could deal with Henri’s fears. But had she even tried to manage her own? Could she honestly live with herself if she cut them both off without trying to get a handle on those fears? Her finger traced the faces—genuinely happy faces—and wondered how she’d missed that joy for herself. She kept telling Henri she was strong. But maybe she hadn’t been strong enough to truly live in the moment.

  It was time to quit assuming Henri would fall apart the way her father had. It was time to stop fearing she would follow her mother’s path.

  She’d already chosen a different path with her surgery. A hopeful path. She could embrace the day and be her own person, no matter what that future held. It was time to accept the happiness waiting for her.

  Snatching up her phone and wallet, she wasn’t wasting another moment. She rushed to the closest airport where the family kept their jet. She called Gervais on the way, needing to clear it with him before she used it, but he not only gave his approval, he also managed to put a pilot on site to greet her with the flight plan filed for immediate takeoff. What a godsend to have the support system of family. Why had she spent so much time pushing them away with both hands?

  * * *

  Fiona’s stomach was a bundle of nerves as the Gulfstream touched down in Indianapolis. She’d watched the rest of the game on the jet’s television, catching the final few plays in a streaming app on her phone.

  Henri had been benched even though he stood up after that hard hit in the backfield. He didn’t seem to have been treated for concussion symptoms, but maybe they’d say as much in the press to dance around the fact that he simply hadn’t played well.

  The Hurricanes barely won, and only because the game had been put into the rest of the team’s hands while the Bayou Bomber sat one out. Dempsey’s strategic coaching had coaxed a win out of the backup quarterback and the rest of the starters, so she suspected Henri wasn’t going to be in any kind of mood to see her and talk about their problems.