The Penalty

by Piper Westbrook

  Milo punched a button on the remote, making the massive screen go dark behind Izzie. “I can’t take looking at one manipulative bitch on the screen and having another dance around in my face.”

  “You don’t know Waverly like that,” Jeremiah said to his brother. “Ease up on her. Izzie, too.” Milo and Izzie baited each other as if it was a game, but he didn’t appreciate being dragged into it. Nor did he believe in sitting idly while his brother provoked Izzie. True, the woman was in a class by herself, but she was still a woman—his father’s fiancée—and deserved a modicum of respect.

  Jeremiah declined the offerings, realizing they were all hard liquor. He had a long drive back to his “hideout” in Las Vegas, and judging from the direction his visit with Milo was going, he’d be tempted to down a random bottle all on his own.

  “Pick your poison,” she murmured, dramatically bowing before Milo with an indiscernible smile. “That’s just an expression, you know. I wouldn’t really poison you.” When he chose Jack Daniel’s, she set the tray on the glass-topped sideboard and approached them, chin raised, hips swaying. “We need to clear the air with a naked, open conversation.”

  “Izzie, you lie just by breathing,” Milo said.

  “For the entirety of this chat, I won’t lie.” She reached behind her and suddenly her dress hit the floor.

  She was completely naked.

  Confronting her pink nipples and bare pussy without warning, Jeremiah almost dropped his glass. “Christ! Put your damn dress on, Izzie.”

  “No. I said naked. Adorable—two grown men afraid of a woman’s nudity.”

  “Anything for some attention,” Milo muttered, his frown deeper and his voice harder.

  “And I have it, don’t I?”

  Drink in hand, he stood and directed Izzie to take his seat.

  She hesitated before eventually sitting on the edge, appearing ready to bolt at any second.

  What kind of fucked-up game was this? She was engaged to Luca and stark naked in front of his sons.

  Milo was in front of her, wedging her legs apart and nudging her deeper into the chair. “Naked and open.”

  “Milo, what the fuck?” Jeremiah said. “She’s fucking with your mind. Ignore her. Izzie, get the hell out of here.”

  Neither listened. As though challenging each other to retreat first, Milo and Izzie radiated rage. Then Milo settled his hand at the base of her throat and with the other he tipped his glass to pour a stream of cold Jack down her body.

  “Bastard,” she gasped, arcing up, glaring at him.

  Milo flipped the glass, dumping ice cubes and whiskey onto her. Sliding his hands over her bare skin, he knocked away the ice.

  Then Jeremiah saw his brother’s hand seek her mound and when Izzie bit her lip and moaned, he had to look away.

  Jeremiah turned from them. But he heard the vile words, the sharp breathing, the wet rhythm of licking and stroking, the dull pounding of hatred for each other and themselves.

  Then Izzie spoke. “Milo, stop… Enough, okay? I’m your stepmother.”

  “You’re not,” Milo countered with a laugh. “He’s not going to marry you. You don’t want him—fucking admit it.”

  “Stop!”

  Jeremiah whirled on them, but Milo was already retreating to pour himself another drink. Izzie flung herself off the chair to grab her dress.

  “He will marry me. Nothing you do to intimidate or confuse me will change that. I should tell him you touched me. Imagine what he’ll do to you if he finds out.”

  “Imagine what he’ll do to you if he finds out you liked it.”

  Izzie’s chin quivered. “Luca wants me and once we have a signed marriage license, he’ll have me.” She righted her dress and stood before Milo and Jeremiah as if no lines had been crossed. “Now, can we have our conversation?”

  Convinced that Izzie and his brother were equally fucked in the mind, Jeremiah said, “Talk.”

  “Milo, I’m helping your brother get the Villains back,” Izzie said. “When I saw Waverly at the casino, I had to think on my feet. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you insist on irking me.”

  “Is she lying?” Milo asked him.

  “Tell him we agreed to this a while ago, Jeremiah,” Izzie encouraged, though with a slight headshake. But don’t you dare tell him I got the paparazzi into the Titanium Club.

  “She’s not lying.”

  Milo’s dark eyes grudgingly met Izzie’s big blue ones in acknowledgment—or perhaps apology—before snapping back to Jeremiah. “What’s the plan, then?”

  Damn, there was hope there. It took the possibility of doing something drastic, with no concern for whom it affected, to restore his brother’s hope. How screwed up was that?

  Jeremiah shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s a plan anymore.”

  At this Izzie cut in. “Since when? You told me you were all in. You want job security. You want the team to be given back to Luca. Right?”

  “Yes. But Waverly can’t give us what we’re after.”

  “How do you know that?” Milo pressed. “Is she talking to you?”

  Jeremiah felt crowded and furious. “Back the hell off. Both of you. Waverly’s a trainer and from what I know, her parents didn’t just hand her that position. Trust me, you aren’t the only ones gunning at her.” He pointed at them. “Each of us has probably made twice as many mistakes as she has. The two of you made a mistake in this goddamn room.”

  “That was Milo trying another tactic to convince me to leave,” Izzie said. “He failed. Really, by now he should be used to failure.”

  Milo grunted something Jeremiah wished he hadn’t heard.

  “About Waverly’s mistakes…” Izzie said, moving on with a lift of an eyebrow. “I have this feeling, Jeremiah, that you’re more acquainted with the skeletons in that woman’s closet than you’re letting on.”

  “We’re goddamn adults, and here we are plotting to screw her over just to get to her parents.”

  Izzie sighed. “Are you done ranting?”

  “I’m done with this conversation.” Jeremiah shrugged to emphasize it. But it was his brother who angrily left the room, moving at a speed that was guaranteed to aggravate his spinal injury.

  Izzie poured herself a clear drink. “You reneged, Jeremiah. You said you were in this with me. An apology’s not necessary. I just want you to realize that for all my faults and all the reasons you dislike me, you’re the one who went back on his word. Guess that habit of breaking promises is something you Tarantinos have in common.” Her eyes were bright with determination and desperation. “I’ve depended on men, sure. But don’t think for a minute that I can’t get things done in order to survive.”

  Despite her provocative clothes and savage attitude, Izzie looked more like a scared, angry child as she turned and marched out of the room. The last thing Jeremiah wanted was for her issues to become his concern, but it wasn’t right for a woman young enough to be his little sister to rely on the money and success of a man twice her age—a man who spent more time in casinos than with her. In a way Jeremiah had never comprehended before, he saw that Izzie and Waverly were somewhat alike: beautiful women who each thought life was about counting on no one but herself. But Waverly wasn’t so far gone that she’d taken to using people in order to get what she wanted.

  Thank Christ for that.

  To protect Waverly he’d gone back on his word to Izzie, though. He’d broken an agreement that perhaps he’d had no business making in the first place. Izzie was no innocent, but he didn’t feel good about becoming one of the many men who’d let her down.

  Jeremiah had cost himself an ally to spare Waverly, a woman he could be with only behind closed doors…or in the woods.

  It was almost too crazy to be real. A science nerd’s life wasn’t meant to be complicated with deceit, secret sex, and intrigue.

  No, he didn’t always do the right thing.

  But this time, he didn’t give a fuck.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN<
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  An early-morning radio interview with a local sports-talk station threw off Waverly’s schedule and set the tone for what would be a clusterfuck of a day.

  First she’d had to skip her run and show up in Mount Charleston a half hour late, including the ten minutes she’d needed to change clothes and rake her hair into a ponytail that the ladies from Heaven and Hair would call blasphemy.

  Next she’d had to work through lunch—breaking the routine she’d fallen into of eating with Omar Beckham and a few other players who considered her to be “all right”—to cram in a midday yoga session with Mazzie Lindwood.

  Mazzie was a chiropractor who’d driven in from Beverly Hills to aid in Waverly’s research and proposal, which she’d sworn to submit to Whittaker and Finn by the close of training camp. If all went well, the proposal would be passed up the chain of command and ultimately yoga would be incorporated into the Las Vegas Villains’ training regimen.

  On top of her normal days at Desert Luck Center, she’d been burning the candle at both ends to research and experiment. So far, her parents had “surprised” her at camp on two occasions. Finding nothing to complain about, they’d left her alone. She didn’t need pats on the head or gold stars. This was, after all, business. They wanted results, and she could either deliver those results or she could find another gig.

  Then, with next to no time to spare, Waverly was heading off the practice field when she was hit with another injury case to treat and document. The second scrimmage hadn’t started and already at least eight men had required medical attention.

  Waverly asked one of the other trainers to do her a solid and meet with Mazzie as she knelt to examine the blood blister that had sent a rookie offensive player to the sidelines. Blisters were painful, but right away she sensed that the young man was using these minutes to regroup mentally.

  “It’s my first camp, too,” she said as she applied a padded dressing to his foot. “I imagined it’d be tough as hell to live through. But I was wrong.”

  The man frowned.

  “It’s worse.”

  “Fifty-three players by September,” he said, lifting the collar of his shirt to wipe his sweaty face. “Around the fucking corner. I know I can’t make that cut.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Waverly said. “A masochist would take on training camp knowing he won’t make the cut. Don’t sit on my bench and lie about knowing you can’t make it.” Treatment complete, she held his foot still and checked her work. “Here’s my assessment. You’re fine to finish up the day. Then you need to elevate this. You’re also tired and scared. So’s everyone else. It’s part of the game.”

  “Waverly.”

  She straightened to see Veronica crossing the turf in a slim pantsuit. Her dark hair swung with each determined step. Sunglasses hid her eyes. “Hey, Veronica. You picked a busy day to visit. Can we walk and talk? I have an injury report and a yoga meet—”

  Veronica cocked her head at the player, then said to Waverly, “Come with me.”

  The sight of the general manager barreling onto the field had garnered more than a few curious glances. Waverly didn’t ask questions, but with each step the vibe that something was very wrong grew stronger. Especially when she scanned the field but couldn’t locate Finn Walsh or Whittaker Doyle, who both were ordinarily always present. Somehow in the blur of faces she recognized Jeremiah, who removed his sunglasses and squinted across the field, mouthing something she desperately wanted to believe was “I’ll be here.”

  Inside, Waverly sped up and blocked her sister. She’d known Veronica since before she was born, and now the younger Greer daughter was leading Waverly through the hallways as if she were a naughty child who had to be escorted to her punishment. “Can you stop for a sec, Veronica?”

  “This isn’t a social visit. Please, just follow me and we can talk.”

  Four long halls later Veronica opened the double doors to the film-viewing room. And it was crowded. Walsh. Doyle. J.T. and Joan.

  Veronica gestured for her to enter. Then she followed and shut the door. “It’s come to the PR department’s—and all of our—attention that you spent some off-field time with a team member, Waverly.”

  Waverly froze. They all knew. But Jeremiah wasn’t here. He was still on the field, and he’d seemed as confused as everyone else when Veronica all but snatched her. If he’d reported what they’d done, then he would have repercussions to face, too. Unless… Had he lied somehow?

  Her heart screamed that it didn’t make sense, but how else could her training superior, the head coach, PR, and the front office know that she was having sex with Jeremiah Tarantino?

  “I…uh…”

  Veronica put her glasses atop her head, walked to where their parents sat, and touched their shoulders. “Waverly, this will go much quicker if you just cooperate and give us the truth about your interactions with Omar Beckham.”

  Omar Beckham? “Wait, what’s this about?”

  Joan shot up then. “It’s about sexual misconduct. Does that spell it out for you? People—our own guys—saw him drop you off here at this facility on the first day of camp. And the braids, the red beads. You were photographed on the field wearing that hairstyle. You’ve been giving him extra attention since then.”

  “Mom. Oh, wait, are you Joan Greer now and not my mother?” Waverly regretted the childish remark, and that she was losing composure in front of her superiors, but the idea that she was carrying on with Omar Beckham was absurd. “I was concerned that camp might depress him, push him toward steroids again—”

  Joan scoffed. “His contract prohibits steroid use.”

  “People hit crossroads. They get confused. They take risks!” Careful, now. Jeremiah was her crossroads, her feelings toward him confused her, and she’d lost count of how many risks she’d taken to touch him in private and talk to him when no one else was around to hear.

  “Continue, Waverly.” This from her father, who scratched his gray-and-blond whiskers and reached into his jacket pocket. Antacids.

  “I rode with him to a hair salon in Vegas, we got the braids, and he dropped me off in the lot. I am not sleeping with a player. Dad? Mom? How much more info about my sex life do I need to provide to my superiors?”

  Uncomfortable, Finn Walsh looked to J.T. for instruction.

  “This stays here,” J.T. said in his classic Texas gruffness, hitching his head toward the door. Once the trainer and coach left, he shook his head at Waverly. “Want to know my concern? That this will weaken our men. This isn’t just a team. Not on my dime. It’s an army. If you’re not a soldier I can depend on, then get off my fucking front line.”

  “This ‘army’ should be more resilient to baseless gossip.” She watched him rise from his chair, and he was such a big man to face off against that she almost shut her mouth. “I’m not interested in Beckham that way. He reminds me of Aly.”

  Veronica scrunched up her face. “Aly?”

  “Yes.” She glared now and wasn’t sorry for it. “If any of you knew Omar—knew Aly, for that matter—you’d understand.”

  The accusation hit its targets. As Joan and J.T.’s voices rose in a flurry of offended remarks, Veronica intervened. “I’m GM for a reason, so please let me handle Waverly. You can trust me.”

  “Of course we can,” their mother confirmed. She clasped J.T.’s hand and they left.

  Waverly’s stomach twisted. “It’s only a rumor, Veronica. There’ll be hundreds more. This is a nonissue.”

  “It’s not that simple. I’m sorry, but it was careless to jump in that man’s car and then show up to work with a hairstyle similar to his. A sleazy reporter suggested that your matching red streaks meant you were sleeping together.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled forth before Waverly could stop it.

  “Administration’s in hell with men holding out, stadium renovations, and people like Simon Smith not taking no for an answer, and you’re laughing? Fraternizing with a player’s funny? Are sexual misconduct
and termination of employment funny?”

  Waverly stared into her sister’s hard-as-steel eyes. “No. Nor is the fact that we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I were a man. This double standard you and our parents have isn’t making any of our jobs easier.”

  Veronica crossed her arms. “The owners, Coach Walsh, Mr. Doyle, and myself have discussed this and agree that for the time being, until the dust clears, you’ll need to let another trainer deal with Omar Beckham. On and off the field.” She hesitated, then, “I’m begging you to keep your distance. He’s trouble. You have a career to protect.”

  “But you hired him!”

  “For results. For victories.”

  Finally Waverly sat. More like collapsed into the chair. “No, Veronica. I was getting through to him. He’s not who he lets the world think he is. He needs encouragement and consistency. This man’s grown up expecting everyone he trusts to turn their back on him. Don’t force me to be just another person who’s failed him.”

  “It’s an action you have to take. Don’t fight this. Do the right thing.”

  Meaning obey their parents’ wishes. “Don’t you get sick of being Mom and Dad’s version of perfect, Veronica?”

  “You won’t speak to your general manager that way.”

  So when backed into a corner Veronica wore her title as a shield. “So sorry. For a minute I thought I was having a conversation with my sister.”

  “At the stadium and this facility, I am your boss.”

  “Why, Veronica? Because it makes things easier for you? As GM you can robotically go along with whatever they say because it’s only business, right? But as my sister you can’t so easily justify following their every order. I’m not asking for preferential treatment. I’m asking for fairness.”

  Waverly didn’t realize she was trembling until Veronica gripped her hands. “Walsh and Doyle are in your corner and I want you on this team, too. But our parents’ decisions overrule everything. No matter how good you are, if they feel you’re a liability, you’re out. Please…just do as we’ve asked.”