Rough & Ready

by Tracy Wolff

  “Damn right I do. How’s a girl supposed to say she loves you back when you won’t stop talking long enough to let her get a word in edgewise?”

  Her words hit me right in the gut—but that’s nothing new. Every day this woman finds a new way to twist me into knots and then smooth me out again. I hope that never changes.

  “You love me?” I ask, almost afraid to believe it after everything she’s been through.

  “I do,” she tells me. “You’re the best man I know, a better man than I ever imagined existed. And I can’t believe that your mine. Can’t believe that I get to be loved by you. I’m so, so grateful.”

  And then she kisses me. And kisses me. And kisses me.

  We don’t come up for air until the limo pulls up in front of the actual Hall of Fame, where the ceremony is being held.

  “Oh, shit,” Elara says, wiping her hot pink lipstick off my mouth. “I must look a mess.”

  “You look gorgeous,” I tell her. “Like you’ve just spent the last twenty minutes making out in the back of a limo, sure. But gorgeous nonetheless.” I wipe a smear of lipstick off the corner of her mouth. “Besides, this way every man there will know you’re mine.”

  She rolls her eyes, then rubs her thumb under her bottom lip to check for lipstick. “Is that it?” she asks anxiously. “You got it all?”

  “That’s it. You look perfect.” The chauffeur opens the door for us and I get out first, then help Elara out.

  “Ready?” I ask as we both look up at the building in front of us with all of its pomp and circumstance. And the crowd lying in wait.

  “Ready,” she says, putting her hand in mind.

  “All right. Let’s do this then.”

  We wind our way up to the door, making slow progress through the crowd of sports reporters and well-wishers. It’s not until we’re inside and making our way to our seats that Elara turns to me and says, “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to give you a heads-up—one of my old boyfriends is here.”

  She keeps her voice completely neutral, but that doesn’t matter because every cell in my body goes on high alert at the news. And at the quiet, unconcerned way she delivers it. Maybe it’s because of how nonchalant she’s trying to be, maybe it’s because there’s a look—way in the back of her eyes—that tells me something’s off. Maybe it’s because she waited until the last possible second to drop news on me so I wouldn’t have time to ask questions.

  I don’t know what does it but every fiber in my being screams that he’s the one. I can feel it in my bones.

  “Oh, yeah?” I struggle to keep my voice as casual as hers is when all I really want to do is find him and smash his head into the nearest wall. Repeatedly. “Which one.”

  “Jeremy Knox.”

  And just like that, my brain fucking explodes.

  Chapter 23

  Elara

  I’m nervous. Really, really nervous. I’m trying not to be, but it’s hard. Especially since Jeremy’s here. I think I could have handled all the attention, handled the fact that Tanner just told me he loved me, even handled the fact that my family didn’t show up for this—per usual. But Jeremy being here…it just pushes me right up to the edge.

  Especially since he’s one of the two people they invited to speak about me.

  I still can’t believe it. When I found out last night, I thought I was going to lose it. I had to go to the bathroom, splash water on my face and convince my body not to completely hyperventilate. Not going to lie, it was a close thing.

  I’m over the shock now, though, and I have Tanner by my side. Turns out, having the most decent man I’ve ever met standing right beside me makes seeing Jeremy a million times easier. If I’m being truthful, it makes everything in my life a million times better.

  Even if Jeremy doesn’t look happy about it.

  Not that I should give a shit if he’s happy or not—he’s the one who did horrible, unspeakable things to me. But I know him, know how brutal he can be…and how vindictive he is. He was fine last night, even with me avoiding him, because I know he felt like the element of surprise had given him the upper hand. Felt like he was the one in control of the situation since I was so completely not expecting him to be here.

  But now, Tanner’s here and he’s getting a lot of attention—even if he is doing his best to turn it all back to me—and I know Jeremy enough to figure out he’s not going to like that. He needs to be the biggest star in the room at all times, and for this weekend he planned on playing the famous, talented ex-boyfriend coming back to honor his washed-up ex and all the other “WNBA bitches” with his presence. Finding that ex with one of the biggest stars of the NFL? And one who is fresh off a Super Bowl win? Definitely not part of his game plan.

  Normally I wouldn’t give a shit about his game plan, but I can see in his eyes that he’s planning something already. Something, more than likely, that will hurt and embarrass me.

  No, I remind myself. He won’t hurt me. I took that power from him a long time ago and I’m not planning on giving it back. Not today, not ever. I just need to make sure Tanner understands that whatever it is, whatever happens, I need him to let it go.

  “Hey,” I say softly, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “I just need to warn you. Jeremy’s kind of a dick.” An understatement of epic proportions. “We broke up, but he’s never been crazy about me being with other guys.” Another understatement. “So if he acts like a jerk today, can you just leave it alone? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t want a scene. Not here. Not today.”

  By the time I’m done talking, Tanner goes from semi-relaxed to stiff as the proverbial board. “It’s no big deal,” I soothe, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand. “He’s just got a gigantic ego, like most of the guys in pro sports. I don’t think there will be a problem, but I wanted to give you a heads-up, just in case.”

  He nods, even manages a close-lipped smile. But I’m very aware of the fact that his jaw is clenched and working and he hasn’t said a word.

  I’m suddenly afraid he’s figured out more than I want him to, more than he ever needs to know. “It’s okay,” I tell him again. “It’s not what you think. I promise.”

  Those wild green eyes of his meet mine and there’s a blaze raging there that has me stumbling back in a totally primal effort to get out of range. But then common sense kicks in again and I put my face close to his, whisper, “It’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine if everyone just behaves, okay?”

  I don’t get a chance to hear his answer because I’m being ushered to my spot by the woman assigned to be my handler for the weekend. I make small talk with her all the way to my chair, but even so, I can’t help glancing over at Tanner a few times, just to see what he’s doing. To try to figure out what he’s thinking.

  But his face is completely blank, a stone wall that gives nothing away. It’s such an unusual look for him—he’s so expressive that I’m used to being able to read everything he’s feeling or thinking on his face—that it freaks me out a little. Then I remind myself that it’s probably his game face, that that look is what the opposing team’s defense probably sees every time they step up to the line.

  I slowly let out the breath I wasn’t even aware of holding. He’s pissed but he’s not freaking out, which means he hasn’t figured out that Jeremy is the one who hurt me. Plus, he knows how important this is to me. He’ll hold it together no matter how pissed he is that my ex is being territorial.

  The ceremony goes by in a blur. The two coaches being honored are inducted first, and it’s incredibly exciting considering I played under Deanna when I was in college. Then it’s my turn, and Brenda—my coach on the Phantoms—and Jeremy, get up to do their speeches about me. Tension is a knot in my stomach as they walk to the podium, even though I know the speeches have already been approved—and are on the teleprompters. I don’t trust Jeremy and I won�
��t relax until he’s sitting down again.

  Turns out I didn’t have to worry. Jeremy throws a few pointed barbs my way, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who got them. Otherwise, his speech is really nice—so nice that I’m sure people will be talking about it for weeks afterward. Which is the point, right? To make this all about him? I know he doesn’t mean anything he said, but no one else does. And as long as he looks like the best guy in the room, Jeremy doesn’t give a shit whether or not he actually is.

  By the time the reception rolls around, I’m a million times more relaxed—especially with my brand-new Baron Championship ring gleaming on my finger.

  “What do you say we ditch this thing and go back to the room?” I ask Tanner as he hands me my second glass of champagne. “Have a little celebration of our own?”

  He looks surprised. “Are you sure? This is your chance to show off a little.”

  “I’ve never been much for showing off.”

  “Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure I remember you putting your whole arm in the basket when we were playing.”

  “Okay, how about I’m not one for showing off unless it’s on the court. Better?”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He pulls me close, then bends down a little to whisper in my ear. “Drink your champagne. Make the rounds. Then we’ll go back and celebrate any way you want.”

  I’m not sure if it’s his words that send shivers down my spine, or the warm air he blows on my ear and neck as he speaks. Either way, I’m more than ready to ditch this place and head back to the hotel. I have about a dozen ways I want to celebrate and they all start with Tanner naked and stretched out on my bed as my own personal playground.

  I tell him so, reveling in the way those green eyes of his turn as dark and stormy as the Atlantic. “Make it a quick round,” he tells me, then gives me a little smack on the ass to get me moving.

  I don’t yelp, but it’s a close thing, and the look I give him promises retribution when we finally get out of here. He answers with a look of his own, one that very clearly says Bring. It. On.

  I start my rounds by stopping by each individual member of the nominating committee, to thank them for the honor. I spend a few minutes chatting with each before moving on to Deanna, the coach at UConn who turned me into the player I am today—or, more specifically, the player I was when I was at the top of my game.

  “Tanner Green, huh?” she says as soon as she finishes hugging me. “How’d you land that gorgeous hunk of manhood?”

  “Clean living,” I tell her with a grin.

  “And here I thought he was one of the dirty ones.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. I smile back, sphinxlike, but there must be something in my face because she cracks up, her strong, powerful laugh booming throughout the room. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, girl. Good for you!”

  “He really is great,” I tell her when we both stop giggling like school girls. “Just a really good guy, you know?”

  “I do know. I met him once a few years ago. He really impressed me.”

  My stomach drops. “You didn’t—”

  “What? No, honey. I’m old enough to be his mother.”

  “Whatever. His young, hot stepmother, maybe.”

  She pats her hair, bats her eyes. “That’s what I’m talking about, baby.”

  “God, I’ve missed you,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder for another quick hug.

  “Me, too, baby girl. Me, too. You should get yourself up to Connecticut more often. It’d give the girls in my program a thrill.”

  “Pretty sure they’d rather hear from Angel McCoughtry or Candace Parker, not a washed-up old center like me.”

  “Oh, yeah, so washed up fresh off your Hall of Fame induction.” She narrows her eyes at me. “And you better be careful what you say here, considering I’m another inductee and there ain’t nothing washed up about me.”

  “No shit,” I tell her.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Jeremy approach Tanner, do the whole back slap, half handshake, half hug thing, and my entire body goes on red alert.

  “What’s wrong?” Deanna asks, following my gaze. “Ah. The ex and the new guy. Always a volatile combination, especially in pro sports.”

  “Yeah.” Something in the way Tanner’s holding himself tells me it’s an especially volatile combo right now. And when he takes a deliberate two steps back from Jeremy, I know any hope I had that he didn’t know Jeremy was the one who hurt me goes right out the window. Not that I’m surprised. Tanner’s a smart guy and my list of boyfriends isn’t so long that he couldn’t narrow it down.

  When Jeremy moves with him, an intent look on his face that I know all too well, I start to move, too. “Excuse me,” I tell Deanna. “I need to go check on—”

  I never get the chance to finish my sentence because Jeremy chooses that moment to say something else, something that obviously gets Tanner’s back up, judging from the look on his face. And the way he loses it, plunging a huge fist straight into Jeremy’s cocky nose.

  Jeremy goes reeling—he may be tall, but Tanner’s got twice the muscle on him, at least—but manages to catch himself before he slams into the nearest table. The next thing I know, he’s launching himself at Tanner, who not only stands his ground but sends Jeremy flying again—straight at the table that holds the cake commemorating the 2018 WNBA Hall of Fame Induction. By now everyone in the room is staring at them, some moving closer even as others scream and try to get as far out of the way as possible.

  I watch in horror as Jeremy hits the table and goes down. Seconds later, the cake follows suit as it slides off the table…and straight onto Jeremy’s smug, asshole face.

  Chapter 24

  To say all hell breaks loose would be an understatement.

  Reporters from every sports show, column, page, and site spring into action, taking photos even as they scramble to get out of the way as Jeremy sits up and wipes the cake off his face. Right before launching himself at Tanner, expletives and fists flying.

  “Holy shit!” Deanna half crows, half screeches as Tanner sidesteps and lets Jeremy go flying past him like an enraged bull, right into a table that collapses under his weight. “What is happening here?”

  I know exactly what’s happening—Jeremy managed to push Tanner’s buttons. Probably by spouting bullshit about me—and Tanner lost the cool I very specifically asked him to keep. Damn it.

  Jeremy rolls off the table and, instead of getting up and running at Tanner again, grabs on to his legs and knocks him off balance enough to pull him to the ground. And then the fight is on, two close-to-seven-foot men in exceptional shape rolling around on the ground in their suits and dress shoes. It’s about as awful as you can imagine—especially since everyone in the room knows the fight is about me.

  To prove it, some of the reporters turn and start taking pics and video of me. And Jesus, just Jesus. Where’s a good lightning strike when you need one?

  If the floor was ever going to open up and swallow someone whole, now would be the time to do it. Them or me, I don’t actually care which.

  Jeremy lands a lucky punch on the side of Tanner’s head that has me swallowing a scream. But Tanner just shakes it off, rolling Jeremy over and then hitting him in the stomach again and again and again.

  Security rushes toward them, but the three normal-sized men and one normal-sized woman don’t have much luck pulling them apart—especially now that Tanner’s got control of the situation. Jeremy is flailing around, kicking his feet and landing punches wherever he can, but Tanner’s got him on the figurative rails and he’s not letting him up.

  The security guards are screaming at them, the WNBA committee looks like they want to snatch my trophy and ring back, and everyone else is milling around, shock and horror and even amusement on their faces.

  It’s a nightmare, one that can�
�t go on much longer without the police being called—if they haven’t been already. Which is why I walk straight into the fray instead of out the door as I so desperately want. I may be furious with Tanner but the last thing I want is for him to be arrested because of me. Or worse.

  “Ma’am, stay back!” one of the security guards says, but I ignore him. “Ma’am, please!”

  “He’s with me,” I admit, even though the truth of that statement is debatable at this point. Then I put a hand on Tanner’s shoulder and call his name.

  He doesn’t respond the first time, so I say it again, louder this time.

  His shoulders jerk under my hand, and the fight leaves his body all at once—which is how I know he’s heard me. Well, that and the fact that the punch he’s getting ready to throw never lands.

  Instead he scrambles off Jeremy, who does his best to pull him down again. Tanner evades the grab, kicks at him once, hard, then stumbles right out the door, leaving me to try to pick up the pieces as everyone stares at me.

  But I’ve got nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “I’m so sorry,” I finally say to the room at large, because it’s true. And because there’s nothing else I can say after my current and ex boyfriends—both of whom are here because of me—just trashed the twentieth-anniversary reception for the WNBA Hall of Fame.

  I’m shaking from adrenaline and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back the tears. “I’m so, so sorry,” I repeat. And then I head out after Tanner—not because I want to but because there’s nothing else for me to do. Not when the story is going to be the lead on every sports page in the country within the hour.

  I expect Tanner to be waiting for me right outside the front doors—or at the bottom of the steps. Instead, he’s walked down to the fountain, is staring into its depths with his head bowed and his hands shoved into his pockets.

  I pull out my phone to call an Uber and get us the hell out of here, but before I can, the limo from earlier pulls up the driveway. Tanner must have had the same idea.