Fuck.

We did, indeed, have plans to decorate the Christmas tree tonight. It’s December thirteenth and we are far overdue in getting it up. I promised the girls we’d make a grand night of it, drinking hot chocolate, roasting marshmallows in the fireplace, and hanging up the ornaments. I had already dragged the artificial tree out of the attic and set it up in the corner of the living room.

I just assumed Hensley would be long gone by the time this evening rolled around. In fact, I distinctly remember her email saying that she wanted to come by and visit the girls for a “few hours.” It’s nine A.M. now so I assumed she’d be gone by lunch.

My eyes snap over to Hensley’s and she looks at me with a hopeful smile. “My flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so I figured I could help, and maybe I could sleep in the girls’—”

I cut her off right there before she can say another word.

“Ruby…go upstairs and get your jacket,” I say swiftly, a little loudly to drown out Hensley’s words.

“But Violet’s getting them,” she says.

“Let me be clearer then,” I tell her with a wink. “Go upstairs because I need to talk to your mommy privately.” I follow up with my stern don’t-bother-trying-to-argue-with-me look. It’s been historically proven to be effective in 97.2 percent of all occasions.

She gives me a quick “Okay” and jets into the living room. I hear her feet pounding up the stairs and she yells, “We have to stay up here, Vi, because Daddy and Mommy want to be alone.”

I cringe because the girls probably think we’re down here kissing.

When I turn to look at Hensley, she has an amused look on her face because I know she’s thinking the same exact thing. “You can’t stay here tonight,” I tell her firmly.

Her face falls. “But I thought…I mean, it’s in the girls’ room…”

“No,” I tell her without an inch of budging in my tone. “This is my house and it is not a good idea for you to stay here. It sets up unreasonable expectations for the girls. You can help put up the decorations tonight, but then you need to stay at a hotel.”

Hensley looks crestfallen but I don’t let it touch me. I harden my heart into concrete, and feel equally ashamed, because I know the girls would love it if Hensley stayed with them. But it’s a bad move all around. The girls have to get used to the fact that their mom is only part-time, and that’s all she’ll ever be within the bounds of this household.

Most of all…the absolute most important thing that they need to understand is that their mom and me are over.

Chapter 10

Gray

The team starts filtering off the bus that brought them from the Vipers’ arena back to the hotel. I watch as they walk into the lobby where I’m waiting, one by one with their heads hanging low.

They should be hanging low, because it was a terrible game.

It’s almost midnight. I’m tired, hungry, and I’m pissed.

Not for the loss but for something else entirely, and I’m waiting for the one person on whom I can take out my anger to get off the bus. He may not be the one who deserves it, but I have to start somewhere.

The minute I see him coming through the revolving glass door, my blood pressure starts to rise because this is not going to be a pleasant conversation. He looks up as soon as he steps free and makes eye contact with me. I don’t want to cause a scene so I do nothing more than say, “I need a word with you in private.”

He stares at me in surprise, gives a quick glance around, and then nods his head. He follows me through the massive lobby, studded with various areas of seating. I choose a set of chairs that are arranged perpendicular to each other in a corner and sit down, waiting for Alex Crossman to take the other chair.

Flipping through a few screens on my phone, I glance up to Alex looking at me curiously. I turn my phone to show him the screen and in a controlled voice, I say, “I want to know why I’m just now finding out about this.”

Alex’s face pales slightly and it should. The picture he’s looking at is a photo that showed up on Instagram today. It was dark, a little fuzzy, but the people in the photo were clearly distinguishable. Claude Amedee lying on a floor with Ryker on top of him, one arm cocked back and poised to take a punch. Just barely coming into the frame was Alex reaching out toward Ryker in what I’m assuming was an attempt to stop him.

I remembered Ryker’s cut and bruise when we had coffee last Wednesday and I asked him what happened. He told me it was nothing, and that thought alone caused my blood pressure to boil with turbulence. I put two and two together, and it’s clear that this picture was taken by someone a week ago during our away game in D.C.

For an entire week, my team’s captain sat on this knowledge and didn’t tell me that two of my players got into a fistfight and I’m just now finding out about it.

But that’s not what really has my panties in a twist.

What really has me angry is that Frank Lessier is the one who sought me out to show me the photo. It had been forwarded to him by our director of social media, who saw it not ten minutes before the game against the Vipers started. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was getting ready to hit me with something bad. It wasn’t a grave look by any means, but one of slight victory. My stomach rolled as I watched him approach my father and me in the guest owner’s suite.

Fuck, he took such pleasure in showing both of us and my father didn’t need to say anything. I could feel the anger and disappointment coming off of him.