by Sabrina York
The boy’s eyes darkened. Brody watched as the kid’s anger warred with his politeness training. His heart seemed to skip a few beats when the boy got to his feet, tucked the ball under one foot like a mini expert, and stuck out his hand. Brody swallowed hard and took it. The warmth from the kid’s flesh gave him the oddest urge to sweep him up into his arms and hold on tight.
“Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He preempted him with his own apology. His voice sounded a million miles away. The large, carpeted hall disappeared, faded to nothing but the two of them—he and this astonishing, small version of him.
He finally let go, realizing he’d been crouched down, gawking at him too long.
“Sam!” a familiar female voice called out. The boy stepped back from him, his small face confused. His ball rolled away from them and Brody snagged it, popped it up into the air, then tucked it under his arm. He held out a hand, somewhat surprised when the boy took it.
“Where are you?” the female voice continued.
“Sounds like you’re in trouble, little man. Let’s go get you out of it.”
The boy nodded solemnly, his face splitting into a heart-stopping grin when Brody winked at him. They walked hand-in-hand toward the sound of the woman’s voice. His pulse raced when he caught sight of Sophie, the legal lady he’d rough fucked then mentally obsessed over for the last few years. She always took his good-natured flirtation well, and he admired that. But she also populated some of his more erotic, yet intensely emotional, dreams. The oddest sensation hit him when she spotted them, him and the boy, together. That of relief.
“Sam!” She jumped for them, yanking the kid away from him as if he were the creepy dude in the van with candy. “Where have you been? You know you aren’t allowed to roam around like…like that.”
Sam protested. “Mommy! I was just…he is…” The boy stared at him, pleading wordlessly for Brody to help him out of the oncoming jam.
“Sorry, Soph,” he said, shrugging. “We were kicking the ball around in the hall some. I distracted him, I guess. Anyway…” He straightened, trying to dispel the very eerie vision that flashed through his mind.
Sophie, him, in bed, her smell and taste, her words in his ear, soothing and calming him, a vision so clear he had to clench his fists to stop from grabbing her and holding her close. But her eyes were not happy so he figured he had projected something forbidden. Something he might want but would never have. Besides, he was an engaged man—almost a husband. He grimaced at that realization. He crouched down to the kid standing beside his mother’s legs. “How old are you, Sam?” The question surprised everyone in a ten-mile radius.
“I’m almost four.” The little boy’s chest puffed up. “My birthday is….”
But Sophie stepped into the middle of the conversation shoving Sam behind her and glaring at Brody. “His birthday is coming up and none of your business. You’re late. Let’s get this over with.”
The irrational compulsion to run his finger down her tightly clenched jaw, to kiss her just under her ear, to thread his fingers in the brown tumble of her hair forced Brody to take a step back. He blinked, and it appeared again, the vision and even the graphic sensation of being connected with her, inside her body, moving together in perfect, sensuous rhythm.
Jack appeared behind her. She jumped then frowned again, and the vision vanished like so much smoke. She emanated such distress, such agonizing level of discomfort, it gave him physical pain to see it.
Unthinking, as if by rote or memory, he touched her upper arm. The entire group of them—Sophie, her son, and Jack Gordon, founder of the club, observed quietly as his hand moved lower, trailing down to her elbow, to her wrist. Unable, perhaps unwilling, to stop, he put her fingers to his lips. He felt her shaking, sensed her son’s gaze on him, registered the boy’s open-mouthed stare. He only wished to soothe, to drive that expression of terrified unhappiness off her beautiful face. Jack cleared his throat. Brody and Sophie took a step away from each other.
“Mommy?” Sam’s small, confused voice broke through his dream state.
She tugged out of his grip. Then the surprise on her face morphed immediately into resignation. “Come on,” she said, turning away. “Let’s get this shit done.”
Chapter Nine
Sophie’s legs shook, but she marched back the few yards to her open office door, heart pounding and face flushed with anger. She stood, braced in the doorway with both hands, surveying the scene. Her large, luxurious office with its leather-writing-desk-style workspace, subtle lamp lighting, cushy leather seats, Turkish rugs, and giant glass wall mocked her. She sighed, mentally rewinding the last hour of shocking news and even more earth-shattering encounters.
It had begun innocuously enough. She’d anticipated the final meeting with Brody without too much angst. Ever since Amber lobbed the threat at her with Sam’s name splashed all over that bogus report about Sophie’s other life, she’d been slowly coming to terms with the fact that she had to let Brody go. She had all she needed now—her son, her careers, money, and security, along with several good friends, now that she counted Jack Gordon and his wife Sara among them. Would be nice to get laid, or even just share a romantic dinner with a man again someday. But she figured that would materialize eventually.
Now that she’d resumed her focus, the one she lost after Evan…and Frank…men were off her to-do list. Well, unless she jumped back into her role as chief Dominatrix—highly unlikely.
Arriving with Sam in tow had not been on the agenda today. She’d been irritated by him since early morning when he did his usual rise-at-the-crack-of-dawn and jump into her bed stating his intent to go to the soccer place. She’d groaned and rolled over, gathered him close, buried her nose in his neck, willing him to sleep a few more minutes. He had allowed entrapment for a few moments. Then wiggled free with a squeal and a bounce.
“You’re not going with me today, Sam.” She’d trudged to the bathroom. I love my child, I swear it. God help me if he does not learn to sleep in….
“Yes I am, Mommy. You gots a message on the phone. Jen is sick today and can’t play with me while you’re at the soccer place.”
“Why are you listening to my phone messages, Samuel?” she asked, climbing out and drying off. Sam had lounged on her bed with his cat and army men, crafting an elaborate Gulliver’s Travels-style siege on the poor animal.
He never glanced up from his plastic-toy attack. “Because I saw her name. So I listened.” His matter-of-factness made her smile in spite of her annoyance of the main message: she had to take Sam with her, the day she said goodbye to the boy’s father over a contract—sort of the way they met actually. She’d stared in the mirror wishing for nothing more than for Brody to know about his son.
Too late for that now of course, she’d reasoned, pulling on a slim pantsuit and fastening her hair up as Sam got louder and more excited about his field trip to Detroit. Beyond spent in body and spirit, she’d put oatmeal in front of him and threw some coloring books and toys in a backpack, along with granola bars and bananas so he wouldn’t nag her about his ever-empty stomach. Goddamn it, she had no energy to deal with her son today. His chattering, singing, banging crap around on the table, brought nothing but aggravation. She gritted her teeth from her spot inside the pantry closet.
Adding the keep-up-with and keep-Sam-entertained element to the anticipated drama of her day made her nearly physically ill. Or want to cry. She did neither, choosing instead to yell at him when his oatmeal bowl ended up on the floor and his milk all over the table. He’d responded back the same way then cleaned it up in sullen silence.
When they finally got to the soccer complex, she’d been ready to put the kid out on the side of the road. He acted like he had a sugar high or something, on top of his already huge energy supply. She bit her tongue against the urge to tell him to please shut up, please give her some peace and quiet. That today of all days, mommy wanted her space.
He hit the asphalt running, kicking
his ball in front of him, his strong, jean-clad legs pumping, his dark hair blown by the spring wind. He needed a haircut, she observed idly. Then stopped, the extreme déjà vu of that simple thought making her dizzy. Shouldering her briefcase, she herded her son into the building, relieved when they ran into Metin who had his infant daughter in a running stroller, headed out to jog around the perimeter of the field.
Surrendering Sam into Metin’s capable and less-irritable hands, she started for the elevator. The anticipation of the final meeting with Brody had her in such a snit, she could hardly stand herself. Since she’d skipped her second cup of tea in an effort to get Sam dressed and ready, she stopped at the kiosk that fronted the sidewalk and did brisk business inside and out of the complex. Reinforced by the rich Earl Grey aroma, she walked the long hall toward the elevators up to the executive suites, greeting the usual cadre of marketing suits and sales girls, trying not to sound stressed. Today had portent. The very air seemed heavy with it. It pissed her off and at that point she wanted the damn paper signed and Robert J. Vaughn out of her life and onto his new one in Boston with the bitchy Missus.
She opened her door, shocked to see Jack there already, sipping coffee and reading something on his tablet computer. “Hi.”
Dropping her briefcase on the desk, she suppressed a shiver of irritation. She required a few minutes alone. How was that so fucking much to ask? But she sipped and waited for her boss to impart his daily dose of wisdom.
He put the tablet down and tented his fingers, staring at her thoughtfully. He’d dressed in his usual, suited best, silky tie in its perfect knot, thick, black hair smooth, his extreme togetherness marred only by a shadow of uncharacteristic stubble on his jaw That one detail jarred her, being so out of the ordinary for him, enough so she had a moment of worry. Then he spoke, bringing actual anxiety to the table.
“I am going to nominate you to be general manager at next month’s board meeting,” he said, his voice neutral as if he’d just recited the weather forecast.
“What?” She set her cup down before she dropped it onto the expensive carpet. “I’m not…you’re…where are you going?” He’d started this whole thing and had spearheaded it for years with a boundless energy and enthusiasm. She’d noticed the last time she’d been with him and his wife at a fundraiser, Sara had been quieter than normal, pensive, observing her husband as if he were a stranger. “Is everything okay?”
Jack took a deep breath. “Not really. But I’m dealing with it. Plus, I’ve got a new wrinkle. Just something I’ve been asked to consider…” He trailed off, broke their eye contact gazing out over the soccer pitch where Sam ran alongside Metin, the stroller in front of them. The sight of her son contented her for a half second. Until she remembered what Jack had said. She patted his leg and sat back.
“I can’t be GM. Rafe should be.”
“He has the soccer background, yeah. But…” Jack ran a hand down his face. “You are all-around the most professional one in the building. Rafe is a great guy. I love having him as a brother-in-law and working with Metin on recruiting. I’m recommending him as head of Soccer Operations. Sort of the COO, if you will.” He shot her a serious look. “You are the only one I’d trust to do this. You can hire whatever assistant you need or want, and get a new legal department, Sophie. Please consider it. You deserve it and one thing I don’t do is recommend promotions for no reason. You would be a great GM for this club.”
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning at him. “What is going on with you, Jack? You love this job. You gave Sara the general manager responsibility at Stewarts.” He and his wife had met as agents at the highly successful real estate company he owned. “Is it Brandis?” She didn’t want to bring it up, but it wasn’t a secret that Jack’s son had been in trouble.
“No. Well, sort of.” Jack shot her a bemused look. “Boys are horrible beasts. I would know, I guess, having been one.” He took a breath. “I’ve been asked to run for office. Considered it long enough to allow Sara to threaten to move out if I added one more project to my personal plate. And you know her well enough to realize as much as I do, that is no joke.”
“No, I’m guessing she had her reasons though. What office? Dog catcher?” She kept her voice light.
Jack nodded, chuckling without much humor. “She did have her reasons. She puts up with a lot from me, no doubt. And this latest thing…it’s senator, actually.” He shook his head. “Fucking crazy talk.”
The light in his eyes had sharpened, and Sophie guessed it resembled the same one Sara had seen years ago when he’d first been asked to explore the possibility of pursuing the new soccer expansion league for a team in Detroit, which had worked out very well. Jack Gordon did nothing half-way, likely leading to his wife’s non-idle threat.
“So,” he said, refocusing on her. “I am taking several steps back from the fun house here,” he waved a arm indicating the soccer world they’d inhabited together for the last almost five years, “to ponder my options, and to give some serious attention to my home life. I have to…I can’t lose that. I have to know this is being taken care of the way I would do it. No matter how rocky our beginning years ago, I know you are the only one who can do this for me.” He patted her leg and sat back, leaving her a little breathless at the prospect.
It would mean one thing for certain, something she’d been contemplating for awhile now. Giving up her share of Katrina’s, becoming a completely silent partner, and letting Lance hire a manager in her place. Perhaps the time had come.
She sighed, noted the time, and stood. “I’ll think about it.” But she was already accepting it in her head. “Let’s get ready for Brody, shall we?”
Jack stayed very still. “You should tell him about Sam.”
She froze. Susan had recommended it to her once, over a bottle of wine, but never brought the subject up again after Sophie said she didn’t wish to discuss it. Other than that, no one had brought it up to her since she’d laid down the law all those years ago, fresh from her silly attempt to seduce the poor man, to force him to remember her that ended in a quick, dirty, and wholly amazing fuck right here in this very room.
“No, I shouldn’t. Now go get us some coffee, make yourself useful.”
“I have uses, trust me.” Jack wagged his eyebrows at her.
She scoffed as he sauntered out. Then spent a few minutes taking deep breaths, contemplating how she’d dreaded this day, only to have it take a drastic, life-changing new twist. One that did not entirely displease her, thanks to Jack and his unexpected announcement and offer. Maybe Brody’s exit from her life would be a good thing after all. A chill gripped her spine.
She might justify it that way for the rest of her conscious life, but she would never, ever believe it. The time they had spent together, learning each other’s weaknesses and strengths and using them in ways that satisfied them both, would never be fully gone from her memory. She would love him until the day she died.
Jack dropped her fresh coffee off and said he’d be back for the meeting. The next time she emerged from the pile of work, finalizing the trades they had planned for the year, nearly another hour had passed. There were a total of five transfers, including Brody’s. She still believed Brody was making a huge mistake going to a second tier team in the bigger league, and not just for her own selfish reasons.
They had managed to fend off offers for Parker, Nicco, Kago, and several others and were welcoming a new cast of hopefully calmer characters. Including a Scottish kid named Declan at forward. And some blueblood, former male model—stripper if the rumors were to be believed—named Jace, on defense. Good thing, since their defensive line had gotten a little porous and with the new goalkeeper…She stopped, smiling at her own thoughts. Hard to believe not six years ago she’d known as much about soccer as she had about…well, being a single parent.
But she held a full measure of fear over Amber’s determination. All of this had been her doing, getting him the hell away from Sophie and their son. At t
hat realization, her head snapped up. She grabbed her phone as she walked to the window, noting that the field was now empty. Where the hell had Sam gotten to? At times like these, she truly doubted her sanity, thinking she should mother anything, anyone, especially a boy with his amount of raw energy.
“Shit,” she muttered, getting to her feet, still fuzzy and half-distracted by all the information she’d been processing. “Sam?” she called out to the outer ring of cubicles.
He sometimes hung out there, watching the many televisions tuned to some soccer game or another. She glanced at her phone, saw a text from Metin saying they’d gone out to the grass field adjacent to the stadium and gotten thoroughly filthy kicking the ball around, but he should be on his way up in the elevator now with some of the girls from the marketing department. Making a mental note to remind her Turkish coach not to call the women, girls, lest he risk a lawsuit, although many of them were exactly that—girls angling for WAG status, she started down the hall.
The marketing suite of offices, with its mini soccer field, boxes of swag, and constant air of playroom, always proved tempting. She wandered down there, pondering how the head of that department would take to having her as his boss. Not well, likely. She’d probably end up replacing him within months. He was dead weight.
Distracted, she came around the corner and saw them, hand-in-hand—her son and his father, so breathtakingly perfect she gasped and stumbled back out of their line of sight. She closed her eyes, willing it gone, willing him gone and out of her heart forever. But she had to face this. He’d come up there to sign his release contract. He wanted to move on. She had to let him.
