This morning, like many others, I puttered into my kitchen, smiling, as Preslee sang in the shower. I was off the crutches, gracias a Dios, and enjoying the limited mobility that had returned with being able to use both legs.
Her voice, her nearness, made my chest warm.
My phone rang. Picking it up, I hit the Accept button and said hello to my father, wincing before he began to speak.
“My son. The first call since your injury.”
I frowned, irritated. I hadn’t called in the last week and a half. I’d expected this level of frustration. “I’ve been busy.”
“With healing or with your girlfriend?” he asked.
I frowned, displeased with his tone. “Both. More rehab, as you know.”
“You have not played these last three games.”
“Because Klein tried to destroy my hamstring,” I snapped.
“I understood the sports therapist was helping.”
“You’ve spoken to Jorge.”
“Yes. Because you haven’t called me to explain your injury.”
“Then Jorge told you our trainer believes there is a tear in the muscle.” Jorge had settled into the role as acting head coach, but he didn’t love the position. He hoped the Timber found someone they wanted to hire for the long term.
“What of the Milan trade?”
I looked longingly down the hall, wishing I’d slipped into the shower with Preslee. Then I wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d be kissing her, kneading her luscious breasts, parting those soft thighs.
“Matteo? What of Milan?”
Right. My father.
“It’s over. No deal.”
The shower cut off. Mierda. I missed the opportunity. And she’d be at the symphony all day today.
“You not calling makes more sense now.”
Preslee walked out of the bedroom in my robe, and I mourned her covered, damp skin.
I heard my mother’s voice through the phone, but I couldn’t understand the words. My muscles tensed further, my head to beginning to throb. “You’re having this conversation in front of her?”
“She’s the one worried about you, son. Your mother feels your young woman is keeping your head full of too many thoughts that are not soccer and this is why you haven’t been able to play.”
I clenched my teeth together hard enough for them to squeak. “And I asked you for privacy on this matter,” I shot back.
Preslee wrapped her arms around my middle and laid her cheek against my tensed back. Within a moment, she pulled back, her eyes finding mine, filled with concern.
“Matteo, that is your mother you’re speaking of.” Papa’s voice turned ominous. “You should treat her with the dignity of her position.”
Much as I wanted to tell him that I didn’t owe her respect or anything else, I chose not to cause any more tension with my father. I loved the man, and he deserved my respect. “I have to go to my physio. I’ll call you soon.”
My father sighed with a heaviness I’d never heard before, then offered to talk to me about my upcoming road trip. The one I didn’t want to go on because the idea of leaving Preslee alone terrified me now that the closed-circuit security cameras in the area proved Oren was the man in black following us after dinner that first night we spent together. Of course, that information came in after the little cabron threatened her. But it also gave us a stronger case against him. One I had a lawyer following up on because Oren would never—never—frighten or hurt Preslee again.
I tossed my phone onto the counter and leaned forward, letting my head drop down to my chest. Preslee’s hands massaged the aching muscles in my neck, I groaned. After a few moments, I spun around, sweeping her up into my arms.
“Are you okay?” She rested her head against me.
“If I am with you, dulzura, I’m okay.” I sealed my lips over hers as I laid her back on the just-made bed. Forget breakfast, my injury, my father, my mother’s intentions or Oren’s. I stripped the robe off Preslee and blazed a trail down her throat to her shoulder, sucking gently in that spot she loved where the two met before easing down farther across her breasts and belly.
“Teo,” her voice rose as I nipped at her hip bones. “Your physical therapy.”
“Not yet,” I whispered against her silky skin. No. First, and most important, I must lose myself in Preslee’s body. In her passion for me. And maybe, just maybe, I could delude myself for more weeks that the situation with my parents—my mother—would improve.
22
Preslee
“You’ll be back on tomorrow?” I asked as I walked down the symphony’s front hallway. I waved to Peter, the night security guard, who nodded back. I’d been here too long, but I’d needed to pass the hours while Teo traveled with the team. Five days was the longest he’d been away from me, and I’d hated going to sleep alone each night. Funny how quickly I’d become addicted to sleeping not just in Teo’s condo, but in his bed.
“Si. Well, more like the middle of tonight. I miss you, dulzura.”
I smiled, enjoying the pout in Teo’s voice. “Me, too, but your team needs you.”
He snorted. “I do not see how. I cannot play, especially since the tear isn’t improving as we’d hoped. I’m sure the coaching staff will discuss my move to the permanent injured list.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen, but if it does, you can heal completely and play better next year.”
Teo remained silent. He must hate the idea of no longer playing at the elite level.
“I talked with management and Jorge. About me moving to the coaching side of the organization. It would save the team player salary.”
My mouth popped open. “Is that…you want to do that?” I asked.
“I want to be near you. I’m thirty-three. No longer in my prime no matter how much I wish to be.”
“But your career.” That’s all I could squeeze out. Shock didn’t cover my current feeling. I wanted to ask Teo if he was doing this for me—for us—but I feared the answer. Teo was known for his focus and dedication to the sport. If a European team wanted him, he’d be a fool not to join that organization.
“None of that,” he said, his voice crisp. “I can coach. It isn’t the same as playing…” His voice trailed off. “But I get to stay in the sport I love.”
My heart ached. “I wish I could hold you. At least your hand. I hate that we’re having this conversation on the phone.”
“Will you stay at my place tonight?” Teo asked. “I want to kiss you awake when I get there.”
I stepped out onto the sidewalk, craning my neck as I looked for Brenna’s brown hair in the sea of evening revelers looking to enjoy their evening at Pike Place Market or The Showbox. Some businesspeople hustled between the tourists and concertgoers, their briefcases and bags tucked close to their tailored slacks.
“Sure, I can do that. Can’t wait to see you, Mr. Sexy Soccer Coach.”
“You know, when you put it that way...” Teo chuckled.
Brenna waved at me from across the street, her hand popping up over the shoulder of one of the women in a business suit. Brenna’s smile brightened—I’d texted her about an hour ago, asking if she’d like to go to dinner and a movie. I’d spent all my free time with Teo after his injury, which increased Brenna’s hostility.
“Oh! I see Brenna. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Can’t wait.”
I smiled, about to wave back at Brenna as she walked toward me, but her happy face was obliterated by Oren’s angry one. He slapped my phone from my hand, his mouth contorting into an ugly sneer.
Instinctively, I stumbled back, away from Oren’s thick, clenched fists. Stupid, stupid mistake. It put me closer to the street, and Oren used my momentum to push me into the crowd.
“Preslee!” Brenna’s voice rose as it filled with fear.
“Let me go!” I shouted. Oren ignored me, his jaw clenching as he stared straight ahead.
I tried to dig my feet into to the pavement, but my ballet flats coul
dn’t get purchase thanks to their nonexistent grip.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I yelled, flailed my arms. God, why didn’t someone help me?
“Shut up. Just shut up. You’ll do as I tell you.”
“Let. Me. Go.” My throat already hurt from shouting. It’d be worth it if I could get away. The look in Oren’s eye…I shuddered.
“Is there a problem?” A man in a suit asked. Oren lifted his free arm—his left arm—and punched the businessman. I watched, lungs compressing with horror, as the man slid to the ground, blood gushing from his nose.
A woman screamed, another man shouted. Oren ducked his shoulder, which slammed into my empty lungs. Black dots floated and danced in front of me, blocking my vision.
He planned to take me somewhere. To hurt me. Again.
No.
I kicked and clawed. I inhaled and screamed. Oren grunted as my nails shredded the skin on his neck, dropping me. I managed to land on my feet, though I tumbled forward onto my palms. Staggering, I pushed forward into a sprint, cursing my ballet flats.
Oren’s fingers closed around my forearm, and he yanked me back toward him. I lashed out with my foot, screaming again. Vaguely, I was aware of Brenna’s tear-filled voice and the general milieu of the small but growing crowd. My attention remained on my tormentor—the man who I’d given control of nearly a decade of my life. His eyes narrowed and his big, beefy arm raised. I ducked, jerking my arm, trying to break his hold.
He yanked me toward him, and I cried out as pain seared up into my shoulder, but I refused to give up. Last time, Oren beat me and I was too afraid to react. This time, I couldn’t allow him that chance. I had to fight.
With my free arm, I brought my bag up, aiming at his head, but he blocked my clumsy effort with ease, his fist catching me near my ear. He threw me against the side of a car.
Just like that, I slid down the slick metal, ears screaming against the pain blossoming in my head.
His big hand gripped the short hairs on my crown, yanking my head back as he plowed his fist into my stomach. Bile rose, fast, and I vomited, my stomach a roiling mass.
“Stupid, stupid whore. I told you I wasn’t done with you yet.”
I couldn’t breathe. My entire body hurt. I collapsed into my own sick and curled into a ball, waiting for the next blow. It hurt, as did the next. I tensed, preparing for the indescribable pain sure to follow.
It didn’t happen.
Raised voices drifted in and out of focus around me, but I hurt too much to lift my head. My stomach, my head, they swam in a weird gray haze. I put my hands down, trying to push myself up. A hand clamped on my shoulder, and I flinched away, slamming my shoulder into the car behind me.
“It’s okay, ma’am. You’re okay now. We’re waiting for the ambulance.” Not Oren. I lifted my head, my eyes unwilling to focus. Blue. Uniform.
“Police?” I asked, my voice raspy, barely more than a whisper.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll stay with you.”
“He hit me. Oren.”
“We know. We saw.”
“He’s hurt me before. I filed a new restraining order.”
“That explains a lot. He fought us, too.”
“Will he go to jail?”
“He won’t hurt you again, ma’am. He’s in the police car.”
“She’s my friend!” Brenna cried. “Let me…I just need to…he attacked her.”
I closed my eyes and curled back up into a ball, everything aching.
The blow to the head resulted in a concussion—my second from Oren. Once the pain medication kicked in, the body aches eased to bearable. My left arm was abraded and my skin bloomed with bruises, but those aches faded, too.
Until the nurse came in and changed out my fluid bag. “Is there something wrong?” My concern spiked, pushing aside some of the pain.
“We needed to change your pain medication. Don’t worry, this one’s safe for pregnancy.”
“She’s pregnant?” My brother, Noah, shouted from the doorway. His open-mouthed expression must have mirrored my own.
The nurse, an older woman with dark gray curls, frowned at Noah. “Who are you?”
“My younger brother,” I muttered.
“You’re pregnant?” he managed to choke out.
My chin wobbled, but I held my composure long enough to ask a more important question. “Am I still? Oren hit me in the stomach.” Tears pooled in my eyes.
Pregnant. And my brother knew before Teo. This wasn’t right. Any of it.
My brow furled as I considered the possibility. We’d been careful. Teo used condoms. I took birth control—except when I felt sick after our initial and failed hookup. I hadn’t been able to keep anything down that one day, including my pill.
One month into the best relationship of my life, and we weren’t ready for a child.
Were we ready for a child?
My hand curled protectively over my stomach. Cosmic or otherwise, I now held a piece of Teo within my body that no one could take away.
“No bleeding. That’s a great sign. I can bring in a sonogram and we’ll double check.”
I settled back against the pillow, my lips pulling upward into a huge grin. “Yes, please.”
“I guess you’re happy about this,” Noah muttered.
I turned my head on the pillow. “Don’t say anything. I need to talk to Teo.”
“Too late,” Noah sighed. Moving aside, he gestured back to Abbi, Mom, Brenna, and Nate in the hallway. I scowled, annoyed my family knew before my baby’s father.
“Why isn’t he here?” Nate asked. “This awesome guy I’ve yet to meet.”
“Because he’s traveling with the team,” I replied. “I was on the phone with him when Oren grabbed me. Oh, God! He has to be so worried.”
“I texted him,” Noah said. “He knows. He responded about twenty minutes ago to say he planned to catch an immediate flight back.”
Brenna stood quietly at the back of the crowd, arms crossed tight under her breasts.
“What’s wrong, Bren?” I asked.
She swiped at her eyes. “I was so scared.” Her voice cracked. “I never thought Oren would…” She mashed her lips together and shook her head.
“I don’t know how he knew I’d be at the symphony. I shouldn’t have been. Practice ended more than three hours before I left.”
“Why were you?” Nate asked.
“I was working on the electric piece Asher sent over. The acoustics there are better than in the practice facility I’d have to use otherwise.”
Noah frowned. “Teo said he’d called a lawyer about Oren. He wanted to assign a bodyguard to you. I shouldn’t have told him no.”
“Bodyguard?” I wrinkled my nose, but then considered it. If someone was there today to help me, someone who knew what he was doing, maybe Oren wouldn’t have grabbed me. “How’s the guy who tried to step in?”
“Getting a lawyer.” Abbi set her lips in a grim line. “I hope he sues the pants off Oren.”
Brenna twisted her hands together, her agitation distracting me. “I’m glad the cops were able to get to you so quickly,” she said. “Thank goodness a patrol car was on the same block.”
Noah shook his head. “I don’t like that it came down to luck. I should have gotten you a bodyguard.”
“The police officer told us Oren is all scratched up. He said you did a number on him.” Nate sat on the edge of my bed, pulling my attention back to him. “I’m proud of you, sis.”
“Not as much as he deserves,” Noah muttered, sitting on the other side and taking my other hand.
Big—as in tall and broad—brothers crowded me. They had since birth, being all hardwired to protect me.
“Probably not, but I’m not sorry I marked him.” My nails were ragged. “I’m a mess.”
“You smell worse,” Nate said.
“I threw up when he hit me in the stomach.”
Noah stood up and walked to the window, tension clear in his shou
lders, the tilt of his chin.
“Maybe you should quit dating Teo. You’re in the news again.”
“Why?” I asked.
Abbi pulled a paper from under her arm. “Front page.”
“Timber Striker’s Girlfriend Attacked by Jealous Ex.”
I dropped the paper, my ears buzzing. “They pulled it all back up?” I whispered.
My mom sat in the seat Noah had vacated. She smoothed my hair from my forehead. “Not yet. But it’s a matter of time, I think. Then they’ll delve into your dad’s death.”
My throat convulsed. My mom’s eyes were red-rimmed, tired. She looked old now. For the first time in ages, she looked every one of her sixty-three years. “I’m sorry, Mom. I…”
“You will not apologize for that. He loved you. Just as we loved him.” Mom stood and joined Noah at the window. He wrapped his arm around her. My brothers were here as much for my mom as for me.
The wound left by my dad’s sudden death ripped open, bleeding fresh, as it did every time I thought of him driving down to Portland one year after Oren’s attack to make sure I was okay. I squeezed my eyes tight, wishing tears would ease the pain. They never did, which was why I’d quit crying.
Even without opening my eyes, I knew it was Brenna who’d just taken my hand. “This story is juicy. Briar will tell you that. Maybe Noah’s right and now’s the time to step back. Give yourself a break.”
“Not helpful,” Abbi snapped. “You and Teo are good together. Mom and Aunt Briar said to tell you they’re thinking about you. They were in LA for some music thing with Asher and Hayden, but they’re driving back now.”
I found Abbi’s concerned gaze over Brenna’s shoulder. “They didn’t have to do that.”
Abbi rolled her eyes. “Like I could stop them.”
My mom’s face paled when she came back into my line of sight. Lia could barely stand to be in the same room with her. Briar told me both Lia and her dad’s commanding officer called my mom to notify her of David’s death. My mom didn’t collect her older girls for weeks, and Lia had to cobble together meals and ways for the girls to get to and from school and their activities, all while dealing with her father’s death. That was more than most adults could handle, and Lia was fourteen at the time.
Striker's Waltz (Seattle Sound Series Book 6) Page 16
