Game Saver

by BJ Harvey

  “As long as her name wasn’t Mac, we’ll be good,” I reply with a laugh.

  “Why?” he says, eyeing me up suspiciously.

  “Because she’s my best friend’s wife and if you’d dated her, it might make future gatherings awkward.”

  “Nah, I think her name was Sophie. It wasn’t serious. Just a few months about nine years ago.”

  I choke on my drink, knowing exactly who he’s talking about because Sophie is one of Mac’s friends and although she used to be a good-time girl, she’s now very married and very pregnant with baby number four.

  Abi rubs my back, putting her mouth to my ear. “I know there’s a story there. You better tell me later.” Still reeling from just how small the world is, or maybe it’s just the six degrees of separation Mac style, I meet her eyes and nod, noting how relaxed and happy she seems now that we’re here and I wasn’t hung, drawn, and quartered upon arrival.

  “And your family, Cade? What do they do?” Rick asks and I still, surprised at his question.

  “His dad is running for mayor, Dad,” Abi replies, her voice unreadable.

  “I know that,” he says. “I mean the rest of the Carsens.”

  “My mother sits on many charity boards.”

  “And your brother and sister?” Marcy asks, taking a sip of her wine but looking at me intently. It seems Abi has imparted some information about me, to her mother at least.

  “My sister is a lawyer and my brother is in the army, currently deployed in Iraq.”

  “Your parents must be so proud—a lawyer, a doctor, and a solider,” Marcy says with a bright smile.

  “Indeed,” I reply, dipping my chin.

  “Do you think he’s going to win the mayoralty?” Jamie asks, leaning back in his chair.

  “It’s looking likely,” I reply dryly.

  “I’m sure your parents were disappointed that you were missing Thanksgiving this year?” Marcy says.

  Not likely, I think, but what comes out of my mouth is a lot nicer. “I spoke to my sister this morning, and my brother isn’t the easiest guy to get a hold of, for obvious reasons,” I say with a grin. “But I’m glad you invited me.”

  Abi’s hand slide into mine and give me a squeeze, and it calms me.

  The truth is, my mother communicated her displeasure clearly and without room for any misunderstanding before telling me that Abi and I were expected to attend the annual Carsen Christmas party in four weeks’ time. The good news is that Cam will be home that week.

  “I haven’t been following the campaign closely but maybe I will now,” Rick says. I turn my head to Abi, the look exchanged between us—her wide eyes and my surprised ones—speaking volumes.

  She squares her shoulders and addresses her father. “Cade’s worked hard for everything he has,” she says, sounding weirdly defensive. “He bought his own house and has given up a lot to get where he is professionally. I have a lot of respect for the fact he’s his own man, going his own way. “

  Awkward silence fills the room, Abi’s breath hitching as her outburst registers.

  Thankfully, Jaxon swoops in and saves the day—and the mood. “We get it, Abs. You’re finally proud of one of your boyfriends. Now can we move on to dessert because I’m starving?” He shoots her a teasing grin.

  Abi’s cheeks flush but she doesn’t miss the opportunity to poke her tongue out at her brother.

  “You’ll have to excuse my children, Cade. You’d think I never fed them,” Marcy exclaims dramatically.

  “That’s because you don’t,” all of the brothers say in unison and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing, soon being joined by Abi’s giggles and Rick’s chuckles.

  At least there’s one thing in common between the Cook and Carsen Thanksgivings—in either household, there’s definitely never a dull moment.

  After food, and talking, and more food, we all move to the family room and the giant flat-screen television on the wall to watch the Broncos take on the Colts.

  “How’s work?” Marcy asks Abi as the commentators lead in to adverts.

  “The hotel is good,” she replies.

  “And did you get that promotion your mother was telling me about?” Rick says.

  Abi grins, shaking her head at her mother. “I haven’t heard yet but my boss spoke to me on Thursday and said it’s looking good.”

  “That’s awesome, precious,” says Marcy with a proud smile.

  “Way to go, Sis,” says Cohen, walking into the room with beers for all of us guys.

  “What about the other job?” Jamie says gruffly.

  “Yeah, how’s Brandi and Roger?” her mom adds.

  Abi shifts in my lap jerkily, her fingers tapping almost nervously on the arm of the chair. I thought her family was fine about the stripping.

  “They’re good,” she says, her voice breaking.

  “You’ll have to say hi from me next time you see them,” Marcy adds, and Abi’s body goes as hard as stone. What the hell?

  I give her leg a gentle—hopefully reassuring—squeeze, but instead of relaxing her, her breath hitches, and she cautiously looks me in the eye before taking a huge breath and slowly exhaling.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll see them again . . . because I quit.”

  I swear you could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that follows. Abi turns her head to look at me, but I’m in shock.

  Mind . . . blank. Eyes . . . blank. Just . . . blank.

  My heart thumps hard against my ribs, and I realize that my fingers resting on her side are now biting into her hip. As her announcement—and the myriad of possibilities that come with it—registers with me, the quiet is broken by Bryant.

  “About fucking time.” He tilts a beer bottle towards our chair.

  “What?” she gasps.

  “Thank fuck,” Jamie replies.

  Abi’s head jerks to her oldest brother. “You never said anything about it.”

  “Because, you’re our sister and we love you and we support anything and everything you do. No judgement,” Jaxon says.

  I catch Marcy wiping her eyes before looking at me. Despite the swirling storm of emotions and thoughts inside of me, I plaster a smile on my face

  “Dad? Cohen?” Abi eyes dart to me but quickly return to her family.

  Her father’s eyes soften. “Baby girl, I love you regardless. I’ll always be proud of you and everything you’ve achieved. I know why you started working there, and I also know you wouldn’t accept our help back then because you’re as stubborn and proud as I am. Doesn’t mean I’m not happy as hell you’re not doing it anymore.”

  “Dad . . .” she says quietly, her voice thick.

  “Okay. Not to kill the deep and meaningful mood we’ve suddenly got going on here, but Dad, turn the TV up. It’s time to watch the Broncos kick ass,” Bryant announces.

  And with grins and grunts from the guys, and some sniffs from Marcy and Abi, everyone’s attention goes back to the flat-screen and the football that’s now showing on it again.

  Unfortunately for me, I don’t enjoy the rest of the game.

  Don’t get me wrong. I put on a show, pretending everything’s fine for the rest of the afternoon. If Abi senses my mood, she doesn’t say anything about it, or choosing to bide her time until we’re alone and hoping to get a chance to explain it all to me.

  What’s annoying me most is that I’m not only doubting her, I’m doubting us.

  The fact that she didn’t tell me about quitting—or that I don’t even know when she quit—has my mind thinking the worse-case scenario. That being that one and one suddenly equals two, and those people my two fucking parents.

  Worse still, I’m suddenly questioning how ‘real’ our relationship can be, since I now know she has failed to keep her promise to me, something I’m not sure I can forgive. She promised to be honest and to never—ever—change.

  And that’s what hurts more than anything.

  To say the drive home is tense is a gross understatement. So much
so that I am at a loss as to what to say to Cade.

  Outwardly, for the rest of the afternoon at my parents’ place he was fine. We watched the rest of the football game—he even went outside and had a game of three-on-three with Dad and my brothers while Mom and I did the dishes and cleaned up. Nothing was amiss to anything one but me.

  But the moment I told everyone that I’d quit stripping—albeit an expected inevitability but maybe not just yet—Cade’s mood disintegrated. The warm touches changed. The soft kisses and meaningful squeezes disappeared, and the knowing looks we’d shared all afternoon stopped completely.

  I couldn’t believe that he’d actually be angry that I wasn’t stripping anymore. He’d never said he wanted me to stop—and I know he never would—so it could only be the fact that I didn’t tell him. It actually has me worried about what’s going to happen when we get back to my place.

  “How was Callie when you called her?” I ask, desperate to break the awkward silence.

  “Good.”

  Great—one-word answer. Not good. Still, I’m determined to press on. “And what about Cam? Did you get hold of him?”

  “We’ve arranged a phone call for tomorrow.”

  Seven words, all deadpan, through what sounds like gritted teeth. Well that’s something.

  “Isn’t he due home soon?”

  “Three weeks.” Two words, this time flat. A step backwards.

  “Cade . . .”

  “Not now, Abi,” he says, turning up the radio in a passive-aggressive move that would make his mother proud.

  He said not now, which at least means he’s not planning on stopping and dropping me—that’s something I suppose.

  That was then.

  And now . . . well, now I’m unlocking the door to my apartment with an effectively mute, yet clearly seething Cade following behind me.

  I don’t even have to contemplate whether to avoid the topic or face it head-on, because Cade drops his car keys on the dining table, pulls off his shirt, and gives a gruff, “I’m having a shower,” before stalking—yes, stalking—down the hall, shutting the bathroom door firmly behind him.

  Guess that answers that question then.

  I give him five minutes then make my own way down the hallway to my bedroom, changing into my ‘at home, vegging with the manfriend’ clothes—the ones you bring out of hibernation about 0.3 seconds past the time you know he’s hooked and won’t be absolutely offended when you don a tee and leggings the minute you walk through the door.

  While I’m waiting, I call Mom to say we got home safe and send texts to Dani, Amy, and the rest of the girl gang. They all ended up in my phone after the anal sex discussion because really, once you’ve discussed the intricacies of anal sex, you’re bound for life.

  I’m standing by my front window in the living room, pushing send on the last text when Cade walks back in.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask, not turning around.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  I know he’s lying and for once, I’m willing to see this through. I want to know exactly what’s crawled up his ass. He can be pissed I didn’t tell him about the club, that’s his right, but it doesn’t mean he can shut down and not let it all hang out. That’s the best thing about a healthy adult relationship—you’re supposed to be able to talk things through with your partner, not hiding anything, especially when it involves the happiness of either one of you. It’s one thing my mother and father have always had—open and honest communication.

  I know I should’ve told him—about a lot of things—but it wasn’t a long-term decision. It was six days at best. I just wanted some time to sort my head out about some long-held promises I’d made to myself that I found myself compromising without even realizing it. I’d needed to know whether they were positive decisions or not. Whether they were actually in mine—and Cade’s—best interests.

  What I have realized—or more finally, admitted to myself—is that Cade’s had me off my game since the first time our eyes met across the club.

  That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s been a very, very good thing, but it means I’ve been rattled by every shot the Carsens have fired at me. I’ve just hidden it well. What’s gotten me through and kept me strong is Cade.

  As a man, he’s everything I could want. As a friend, he has never let me down. As a lover, he rocks my world and broadens my horizons.

  His family and the world they operate in have made me question every decision I’ve ever made: about life, about love . . . about Cade.

  And I hate that. I’ve never regretted anything I’ve done, never lamented on anything I’ve had to go through to get where I am today. Any time I’ve been knocked down I’ve dusted myself off and gotten straight back up again.

  What I wasn’t sure about—and why I haven’t told Cade any of this—is whether I was strong enough to withstand any further knocks that powerful people with their eyes on the prize might send my way.

  But the biggest question I’ve been mulling over is whether a relationship that’s gone from convenient to real—that’s a hell of a lot more important to me than any other I’ve had before and likely will ever have again—can withstand all the efforts to drag it down?

  “You’re a crap liar, Carsen.”

  “I am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Spitfire,” he growls.

  “No take-backsies,” I shoot back, turning around to find him sitting in the one-seater chair.

  He doesn’t smile as I expect him to. In fact, his lips don’t even fucking twitch.

  I can’t read his face, which is unheard of, because I can always read him. Horny, hungry, happy—I can see it and deal with it.

  Blank? I have no fucking idea.

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs and staring at the floor.

  “Cade . . .” I say, my voice breaking because honestly, I have no freaking clue what to say or do.

  His eyes lift to meet mine, and I know I have to say something.

  “This is about the stripping, right?” He lifts his brow in a ‘you think?’ move. Mr. Passive Aggressive is still in the building.

  I stay where I am, part of me wondering whether I should go sit on the arm of his chair just to have our closeness back, the other part knows that I should keep the distance between us.

  “I quit on Friday. I’d been thinking about it for a while. I have you, I have my job at the hotel, and I have . . . you.”

  He sits there like that for a while, saying nothing, my uncertainty over what to do next increasing with every minute that passes.

  “They bribed you, didn’t they?”

  My eyes bug out of my head as I whisper, “What?”

  “They offered you money. Probably said something along the lines of how they couldn’t stop us being together but they’d make it worth your while if you tried to ‘fit’ the mold.”

  It’s scary how well he knows his parents. Unfortunately for him, I do not like what he’s insinuating right now. “I—”

  “Fuck!”

  Oh no. Hell no. My anxiety takes a back seat as a wave of unease and then anger pushes to the surface.

  I never told anybody about what Cade’s mom offered me. I’d told Cade about her threatening me but none of the detail. There’s no way he could know about the offer unless she’d told him. But what would she hope to achieve by doing that?

  “How much did they give you? At least tell me they gave you a whack.”

  I freeze in place, kicking myself for not telling him exactly what his mom told me at the homeless shelter. “Nothing,” I spit out, but I don’t miss the conflict swirling in his eyes. “I don’t want a dime of their money, or yours, for that matter.”

  I stalk my way over to the kitchen counter, reaching up into the drinks cabinet and pulling down a bottle of scotch and a tumbler.

  Pouring half a glass, I screw the top back on the bottle, wrap my fingers around the glass and knock it back, wincing at the f
ireball travelling down my throat into my stomach.

  “Jesus!” I wheeze, staring at the floor and breathing my way through it. “That shit doesn’t fuck around.”

  “Abi,” Cade says, his voice firm and commanding. It’s a tone that demands attention if not anything else.

  I meet his eyes, my chest seizing at the conflicted expression on his face. I want to fix it; I want to erase that wary look in his eyes. I should just lay it all out and fight for my corner.

  “For this to work—for any relationship to work—we have to have honesty, and I’ve gotta know that you won’t keep things from me. Doesn’t matter how hard it is, or how pissed off it’ll make me, I need to know you’ll tell me everything.”

  I take a deep breath, my gaze locked to his, knowing he’s right. “I’d never take their money. It wouldn’t matter if I was living on the bones on my ass and didn’t know where my next meal was coming from.” I take a deep breath and look at him, making sure I have his full attention for what I’m going to say next. “I’d never take anything from them because doing that would mean giving up you.” And never has a truer thing ever come out of my mouth.

  His shoulders slump as he breathes out a sigh. The need to touch him, to reassure him physically overwhelms me and I abandon the scotch, walking to his side.

  “I’m wild—I’m crazy. I live life as it comes. And you . . . you’re perfect and your head is on straight and you’re . . . you’re”—I struggle to find a word to completely describe him other than—”perfect.”

  “You said that already . . .” he says, not moving, watching me pace and stutter with verbal diarrhea before I stop with a jerk when clarity makes a long awaited appearance.

  I turn my head to face him and voice my biggest fear. “And I’m scared that I’ll screw you up,” I whisper.

  His eyes morph from careful to soft as he straightens and braces his hands behind his back. “Being without you screws me up.” He takes a step towards where I’m frozen in place. With the look in his eyes, the meaning of his words, there’s no chance in hell I could move even if I wanted to. “Being with you screws me up.” He gets closer, my heart stopping dead in my chest when his voice cracks and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “And loving you screws me up most of all, but in the best possible way.”