Completion (Cambria University Series Book 3)

by Sadie T. Williams

  Although the thought of making Jessup hard stirs up feelings inside me, I know he’s too drunk to know what he’s saying.

  “Jess, you’re hammered. Sit down. I’ll go get some Tylenol and a glass of water. Be quiet.”

  “I’m always quiet when I sneak in here,” he says with a devilish grin and knocks over my pencil holder on my desk causing about a dozen pens and pencils to scatter all over the floor.

  “Smooth,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll be right back. After you take something for the future hangover, I’ll drive you home.”

  “I have a fucking home,” he replies as he flops down on my bed. “Right fucking here. With you.”

  Those words slice to my core and my heart pitter-patters in my chest.

  I leave to go downstairs to get the water and make a pit stop in the bathroom for the Tylenol.

  When I get back to my room, Jessup is curled up in a ball wearing nothing except his boxer briefs, snoring on my pillow. His clothes are thrown in a pile on the floor. Well, it was a nice suit at one point.

  I put the water and pills next to him on the nightstand.

  “Get up,” I nudge him. He passed out on top of the comforter and I know he’ll get cold during the night. He stirs when I shove him again, but doesn’t move. “Get. Up!” I grunt as I shove his body as hard as I can to get him to move. It’s like trying to move a boulder. He finally moves enough for me to yank the blanket and sheet from under him and cover his body.

  I walk back around to my side and crawl into bed. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning and our flight leaves at seven. Jessup is going to have a long day.

  I turn on my side so I’m facing away from him. I can’t face him and not want to touch him. Soothe him, kiss him, cuddle him. Self-control, Stanzy.

  In his drunken state, Jessup reads my mind. He rolls over, wraps one strong arm around my waist and pulls me to his chest.

  “So beautiful and mine,” he mumbles.

  Even drunk his words make my body feel like it’s on fire.

  Chapter 29: Rhodes

  The room is still dark when a loud, screeching noise invades my ears and causes my head to detonate with the worst headache I’ve had in ages.

  Fuck, I’m hungover. I’ll stop for some vodka and a Gatorade on my way to the hotel. Old habits die hard.

  Stanzy groans and reaches to the nightstand on her side of the bed to shut the alarm off.

  I’m tangled up with her, my chest to her back, legs interlocked and my arm is around her waist. I untangle myself and roll over. On my nightstand is a glass of water and some pills.

  Thank you, baby.

  I swallow down both and climb out of bed, ordering an Uber as I get dressed. I still need to get my stuff from the hotel before we fly out.

  “I’ll meet you at the airport, baby,” I whisper in Stanzy’s ear before kissing her forehead.

  She groans an “okay.”

  ✽✽✽

  Walking back into my house after a whirlwind trip packed full of emotions I just drop my bags in the foyer where I’m standing. I’ll get it later, or Miriam, my housekeeper, will when she gets in tomorrow. I’m too tired to care right now.

  Thanks to an overly eager flight attendant I’m still drunk from the day before. So much for “get clean and get your girl.”

  Climbing the stairs to my room I think about the silent flight home. Stanzy is mad at me, that was obvious on the flight home. I’m not exactly sure why.

  Could be because I called her out on blabbing my sordid past to her parents, could be because after the burial I wandered around Peachberry Park getting drunk as a fucking skunk, could be because I drank half a bottle of Jack on the flight home, or could it just be that I’m a fucking mess and she’s over dealing with my shit.

  Still in my suit I collapse on my bed. Sleep is what I need. Tomorrow will be a better day and I’ll sort everything out then.

  Right? Right.

  ✽✽✽

  My alarm goes off at ten the next morning. I have physical therapy with Stanzy at eleven. I feel better, well, I’m not hungover or tired, but my head is still a fucking mess. My special Jessup Juice will have me right as rain before physical therapy.

  I check my phone after turn off the alarm.

  I have several text messages from “my people” and a thousand notifications from news sources and my social media accounts.

  What the fuck?

  I open the first. Front and center is a picture of me kissing Stanzy at the airport.

  Ahh, fuckity fucking shit balls.

  The paparazzi are vultures and I can’t go anywhere without them around. I knew they were at the airport, but I kissed her anyway. This is on me. I know better.

  I read as I walk to the kitchen. I need that Jessup Juice ASAP.

  Headline: “Are Rhodes Closed for Good?”

  The first paragraph makes me cringe. “Is Jessup Rhodes officially off the market, ladies? It seems a blast from his sordid past came out to play and may have officially shut down the NFL’s biggest playboy.”

  The article is written by Paige Gilbert. She’s a gossip columnist that “reports” on sports figures. She has busted stories about a lot of my friends in the league. Paternity suits, affairs, failed drug tests, everything and anything. She’s good at her job and doesn’t give a fuck who she steam rolls in the process.

  I begin reading and sure enough she knows all about Stanzy. Name, age and that we went to high school together only to lose touch in college.

  Christ on a cracker. I rake my free hand down my face and close the article.

  That explains the thirty-nine text messages from David Scott, my agent. I open his messages and the last one reads, “Fucking call me. NOW!” That was sent forty minutes ago. He’s going to be pissed.

  “Rhodes! Fucking hell I thought you were dead,” Scott answers the phone.

  “Why would you think that? I was at my mama’s funeral in Georgia.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that, but fuck. You went radio silent on me. Cassidy is having an aneurysm over here with that picture leaking. Paige fucking scooped us again.”

  Cassidy is my public relations representative. She handles all media inquiries and sets me up with appropriate “dates” to events and charity functions that boost my image. She’s a PR genius and she knows it. Which is why I do whatever she says.

  “It’s not that big of a deal, man. She’s an old friend.”

  “You kiss all your old friends? With your tongue? Did you read the article?”

  “Nah, I don’t care about that shit.”

  “Well you should. She talked to someone who knew you, like really knew you. The article talks all about your father being an alcoholic and abusing you when you were young.”

  My stomach sinks and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I’m sure my face is as pale as my skin tone will allow at this moment. Who the fuck would tell the press about Rowen? If Stanzy told her parents, would she leak this? No. She would never.

  “Rhodes?” Scott’s voice brings my mind back to present.

  “Yeah?”

  “We need to address it. Cassidy wants to respond ASAP.”

  “Let me read it first. I’ll call you back.” I hang up on Scott and walk into my bathroom. The marble is cold on my feet and I have a boner the size of Alaska.

  Not now, man! I look down at him.

  I use the bathroom to ease my current situation. It helps, thankfully. Splash some water on my face, brush my teeth and return to bed.

  I open the article and read it, growing sicker with each word. She has everything in there. The abuse, the drinking, the pressure to be a man in the Rhodes dynasty, and the fact that I’m not Rowen’s biological son. She calls my mama out for cheating on Rowen, but fails to mention that he cheated first, and many more times. She doesn’t even mention Rollie not being mama’s son. She refers to Stanzy as a gold digger. Leaving me only to return to my life after I made it to the NFL. This story is completely one sided and some
of it complete bullshit.

  Who the fuck would do this?

  No one knows me well enough to give that info to Paige except Stanzy, Blake and a therapist.

  Since the NFL insists everyone does a psychological evaluation before signing rookie contracts, I had to finally come clean about my past. It’s safe to say there were some red flags in my background, namely abandonment and dependency issues, yada yada yada. Apparently that’s why I keep women around me all the time. Fear of being alone. Whatever.

  It probably wasn’t in my best interest to fuck my therapist in her office after she told me that. I kind of proved her point. She kept telling my coaches and the team owners I wasn’t ready to complete my sessions. She basically failed me so I had to return to see her twice a week. I finally told Millsy and she was fired. Not sure what happened to her, but I felt bad about it after. I didn’t want her to get fired, but I wanted to start practicing with my new team.

  After I finish the article and rack my brain as to who would or could have done this, I call Scott back.

  “Rhodes. I’m here with Cassidy.”

  “Hey, Rhodsey,” Cassidy says into the phone. Usually only jersey chasers or my boys when they’re mocking me call me Rhodesy, but Cassidy is neither. She is married to a very nice woman named Hannah, so I know she is using it strictly as a term of endearment.

  “Be honest with me. Tell me it’s not true.” Scott says, practically pleading for me to lie to him.

  “Do you want me to be honest or tell you it’s not true?”

  “Fuck,” he groans.

  “It’s not all true, but most of it is.”

  “It’s not as bad as it could be,” Cassidy chimes in. “People will totally sympathize with you. Your mom and Stanzy? Not so much.”

  “My mama was a good lady. She was trapped in an abusive relationship.”

  “She didn’t stand up for her kid, Rhodesy. She’ll be crucified along with your dad. Is there anything false in there?” Cassidy asks.

  “Yeah, Stanzy isn’t a gold digger. She was my savior during the abuse. She took care of me when I couldn’t go home. The story is all lies when it comes to the females in my life.”

  “Ok, good. We can get her to take the article down. Defamation of Stanzy’s character,” Scott says.

  “What about defamation of my character? I don’t want this shit out there for anyone to read. Everyone knowing I’m a bastard and lived through hell.”

  “Do you know who your biological father is?” Cassidy asks.

  I shake my head like she can see it.

  “Rhodesy?”

  “No, I don’t know.” The embarrassment creeps over me as I say it out loud. I don’t know who my fucking father is. Then I remember my mama’s diary. I need to read that. I need the answers I thought were long gone.

  “Well, fuck,” Scott murmurs.

  “What?” His tone is unnerving.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo kid. Now that it’s out there that you were raised by an adoptive father, there’s a good chance a whole bunch of guys are going to crawl out of the gutter claiming to be your biological dad. Most are just looking for a handout since you’re a pro athlete.”

  “Oh.” That’s not as bad as I thought considering the way he reacted. “Yeah, well, I’ll be fine.”

  “So, what’s your official statement going to be?” Cassidy asks.

  “I want it to confirm the abuse. That’s not a lie and I don’t need to cover up what Rowen did to us as kids anymore. I don’t condone his behavior. I want my mama to be portrayed as a victim too because she really was. The abuse started long before I was conceived. Say something like I hope all those in similar situations get the help they need. I’ll donate one million to the women’s shelters around the Twin Cities.”

  Cassidy gasps.

  “What?”

  “I think I may cry,” she sniffles as she says it.

  “Please don’t. I’m such a fucking softie I can’t handle when women cry.”

  She laughs. “Of course you are, Rhodesy. It’s why you’re my favorite client.”

  “Sure. My lifestyle hasn’t caused you any fits over the last three years.”

  She laughs again.

  “Ok, I also need to make it abundantly clear that Stanzy is not a gold digger. She was my friend long before I had any promise of making it to the NFL. The kiss was nothing. You can’t see tongue. It could have been a quick peck between friends for all they know. Is there video?”

  “No video,” Scott confirms.

  “Good. Then set me up on a date with Gigi or Bella or Vanessa. I don’t even remember who the last one was, but you get the idea.”

  “Well Gigi is back with her ex. Bella is in rehab. Vanessa is a possibility. Oh, I got it!” Cassidy practically shouts.

  “Jesus, calm down.”

  “I’m not Jesus. I’m a genius,” she says proudly.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Me too,” Scott says.

  “Nadia Madison.”

  “Who the fuck is Nadia Madison? She sounds like a porn star,” Scott asks and it makes me laugh. He’s old. Too old to know Nadia Madison.

  “Nadia is an up and coming actress. She just landed the co-starring lead role with Haugen James in a new rom-com. Plus, they’re shooting in like Duluth or Detroit or something with a D.”

  “You’re not speaking English again, Cass,” Scott says flatly.

  “She’s going to be a big deal, Scott. Cass knows her shit. It’s a good idea. Set it up.”

  “Will do. That should stop the spread of rumors about Stanzy locking you down. ”

  “I don’t really care about that. I’m fine not being on Cosmo’s hot one hundred singles next year, but I don’t want Stanzy’s name dragged into this shit. So if I have to go on yet another media friendly date to get her name out the press and draw their focus elsewhere, I will.”

  “Got it. Ok, tonight. Nine at The Cedar’s,” Cassidy confirms with someone on another phone line.

  “How the fuck did you get ahold of her agent and make a dinner reservation in the thirty seconds we were just talking?”

  “Rhodesy, come on. You don’t pay me to not to be good at this.” I can practically hear her smile. “Allie, her agent, confirmed. She’s shooting for two weeks on some lake up north. They’re getting a driver to bring her down here for the date. Allie and I will tip off the shutterbugs. You’re all set.”

  “You’re this fucking best, Cass.”

  With that I hang up.

  This seems like the best plan. Distraction. Distract them away from Peachberry Park, away from my past, away from Stanzy.

  I roll myself out of bed so I can get dressed for physical therapy. It’s time to face Stanzy after the last three days. The sex, the betrayal, the media shit storm.

  Chapter 30: Stanzy

  Being back at work after spending time with Jessup is agonizing. The sex, the sadness, the memories. It was a whirlwind and all too much to handle. Then the silent treatment. Regret, embarrassment, anger? I have no idea why he hasn’t talked to me, other than he was shitfaced for the last few hours we were together.

  But a text, phone call… something.

  “You okay, Dr. Sutton?” Amy asks me, snapping me out of my thought spiral.

  “Amy, for the love of God, call me Stanzy.”

  “Sure, Dr. Sutton.”

  I shake my head and laugh. She just can’t do it. Crotchety old Amy.

  “Fine. What do we have today?”

  “Haverson at nine. Rhodes at eleven. Malvak at two. Gregory at four. Spencer at five-thirty.”

  “Awesome, thank you,” I reply as I take the file folders from her.

  We have electronic medical records for each our patients, but I like paper copies. It helps keep me organized because we don’t have a computer at each station. Every appointment I scribble down my notes and Amy enters them into the patient’s EMR. Each week we update progress, what’s working and what’s not, and what we need to do duri
ng the next visit. Amy said transcribing my notes is the best part of her day. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she was being sarcastic when she said it, but who knows with her.

  Fifteen minutes to eleven the bell chimes and Jessup enters the building. The vibe in the room shifts immediately and I let out a sigh.

  “Ready for this?” Anthony asks.

  “Are we ever?” I reply with a small smile.

  I know Anthony saw the picture of Jessup and me kissing at the airport. Everyone who isn’t buried under a rock saw it. He’s too much of a gentleman to admit it though.

  I couldn’t bring myself to read the article. The comments on all the media sites were tragic enough. Why would he get with a plain Jane, someone average, a hamburger when he could have filet mignon? I didn’t want to see how they crucified me in the actual text after so many commented on my looks alone.

  I know I’m not ugly, but I’m also not Giselle. I’m not NFL fan approved dating material for someone like Jessup. That was abundantly clear. That is what makes me believe he was embarrassed to be seen with me. He had to have seen it. I’m sure he has people who are working on this nightmare for him.

  Amy motions to Jessup to climb up onto a table as we approach. He looks amazing. White t-shirt stretching over his muscular frame, sweatpants hanging off his hips, and a perfect smile that he’s currently flashing at the angriest assistant in the world, who actually fucking smiles back at him. Fuck. He can melt hearts and panties off anyone with that smile.

  “Jessup,” Anthony begins as Amy scurries away, mouth curved back into a frown as she does.

  “Hey, Doc,” Jessup replies. “Docs,” he corrects.

  Anthony goes through the plan for the day which includes some stretching, mobility and cardio exercises, and some lower body weight training. He’s far ahead of the curve on recovery, but we don’t want to push him too fast even if he appears ready.

  “Sounds good, Doc.”

  Jessup doesn’t acknowledge me, other than the initial greeting, and doesn’t address the elephant in the room.

  Sensing tension, Anthony offers, “Stanzy, why don’t you prepare for our next patient, and I’ll handle Jessup’s rehab today… alone.”