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Slade got up, poured more coffee for himself—she’d barely touched hers—and sat down again. “After Tayra sent Brock his ‘Dear John’ letter, breaking it off, Brock was…well, he didn’t do so well with the divorce. It didn’t help that your sister refused any contact with him and was ignoring all his messages. He had no idea if he’d done something wrong, and she clearly wasn’t open to discussion. So he’d signed the paperwork without even reading it and was shocked later to find out that she didn’t want any alimony. She didn’t want anything from him.”
He set his coffee cup down untouched and then picked it up again as he thought back ten years ago. “I watched it eat into the man and I was damn scared he might just get himself killed, or worse, some of his teammates, because he was not clear-headed. Not suicide, just going into a bad situation and being careless. It took me a while to track Tayra down. She’d already moved out of the house, was using cash, not credit cards, and obviously didn’t want to see Brock or any of his buddies.”
“She avoided me, too,” Bethany said, her tone flat.
Slade nodded. “I know. It was after she moved up here that I found her—had to be six months after the divorce was final. I wanted to talk her into going back to Brock—giving it another chance—or at the very least, talking to him.” He flashed a smile. “Big joke, that. I found her working in a bar, and it was keep a drink in front of me or get tossed out on my ass, so I nursed a few beers. She kept pouring and I kept drinking. Neither of us talking.”
Bethany stiffened. She lifted her stare from her cold coffee and put it on him. “That’s your excuse for—?” She broke off, waving a hand.
“No, it’s not an excuse; and I told you, no questions. After work, I walked Tayra home. We sat up most of the night talking about everything except Brock. She wouldn’t talk about him, wouldn’t say why she’d left him. She just said she was done—done worrying, and if she was going to be alone, she’d be alone. I told her she didn’t have to be. I told her a lot of things. She was just so damn beautiful. About dawn, she started crying. That did it. I couldn’t leave her like that, in tears. I held her. She kissed me. We ended up in her bed. I left that morning. I was on leave and had to get back to base. If she wasn’t going to talk to Brock, I made sure she knew how to get ahold of me. Left her a note saying if she ever needed anything, she should call one of us. I never heard or saw her again.” He pushed out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t an affair. Hell, I don’t know what it was. Comfort for the both of us. I was afraid Brock was taking too many risks. There was more than his life at stake, but pulling him off the team would have destroyed his career. I was so worried, which was why I’d tried to confront her. I know it doesn’t make my actions make much sense, but by the end of the night, I knew she wasn’t coming back to him—not ever. So…” He trailed off.
What else could he say? That he’d been eaten up by guilt afterwards? Sure, Tayra had been divorced from Brock at the time and wasn’t ever going back to him. But Slade had still been thinking of Tayra as Brock’s girl. However, she’d put on the tears and the moves, and he’d gone into her arms like a teenager with no self-control. It hadn’t been cheating, but it also wasn’t a moment he’d been proud to own.
From it, Tayra had had a son she hadn’t told him about. Which said everything about how little she’d wanted Slade in her life.
“Does Brock know?” He turned to look at her as she waved her hand back and forth. “That you slept with her?”
Slade snorted, his laugh coming out strangled. “He was the first person I told when I got back to base.” Turning his head, he pointed to the scar near his mouth. “He didn’t take it well. Didn’t talk to me unless necessary for two weeks. Then he hit me again, but he forgave me.” He rubbed the side of his face in memory. Brock had damn near broken his jaw.
He glanced at Bethany. She was sitting so very still, her hands cupped around her coffee mug as if it were still warm, even though it had to be an iceberg by now. Standing, he took the mug from her grip, poured out the coffee, heated fresh, fixed it up the way she liked it with cream and sugar. He brought her coffee back to her.
She took a sip. Color leaked back into her face. He shook his head and said, “I’m going for a run. Back in an hour.” He headed into the bathroom to change into sweats. He went out the front, told Jason to keep an eye on Bethany for him. Jason nodded and tried to sink a basket. The boy didn’t even hit the backstop, and Slade made a mental note to give him some tips.
The boy.
His boy. His son. He shook his head. Well, maybe he was. Maybe Tayra had actually had other guys in her bed—one-night stands, like him. Guys she could pick up in the bar where she worked, take home, and kick out and not have to think about again. Funny, for a girl who’d wanted nothing but stability, Tayra had done a poor job of finding it for herself.
Slade took off at an easy jog. He kept to the streets. There weren’t any sidewalks, so he ran on pine duff that crunched under his step, giving off a nice smell. It seemed like the entire run was uphill, going away and coming back. It didn’t take long to put sweat on his skin and a burn in his calves. He’d been away from his habits for too long.
Back home, he ran every morning, had dry whole wheat toast and coffee for breakfast, and then headed into the office. Monday and Wednesday he golfed in the afternoon—range on Monday and nine holes on Wednesday. He put in the occasional tennis game with Clive Farham, the firm’s accountant. He went out every now and then, if he found a woman he liked. If she liked him, they’d spend the night together, the sex would be good, and they’d part in the morning. It was all regular. It was on a schedule. It wasn’t anything like what he’d had with Tayra.
Or what he might have had with Bethany.
Was she going to hold it against him that he’d slept with her sister? Would that be a deal breaker for her? Or was she going to back off now, sure he’d want to claim Jason?
And what about Jason?
He knew damn well he wasn’t great father material. Bethany had been right when she’d said he was married to his work. But that could change. Maybe it was time for adjustments—before he was too set in his ways to make them.
He ran a fast sprint, got his heart pounding, slowed to a walk, and pulled out his phone. He texted Travis to set up a few things for him.
Travis texted back.What about BG checks you asked Trent to get?
Put on hold. Other has priority.
He headed back to Bethany’s house—well, really Tayra’s old house. Stepping inside, he tried again to get a sense of Tayra. She hadn’t really left an imprint on the place. She’d left a son with her eyes and so very little else. He hadn’t seen Jason outside, and the ancient VW wasn’t in the driveway or parked out front, so Slade figured Bethany had gone somewhere with Jason.
Slade headed for the shower.
Bethany wasn’t back by the time he’d finished showering, shaving, and dressing. He found the handyman’s number, called him, made an appointment with the guy, met with him, paid in advance for half the work—which seemed to make Harry’s day. He spent time in the kitchen, making a few things he considered basics from the groceries he’d bought yesterday. When it came to the kitchen, Bethany was about the worst bachelor he’d ever seen.
His phone rang. Brock. Calling him. He briefly contemplated a cowardly approach and sending it to voicemail. He couldn’t. Plus, he’d sent him that file.
Answering, “Did you have a chance to look at the file?”
“I did. When were you planning on telling me about Tayra? I had to hear about it from Trent.”
Slade rubbed his head. “Sorry about that. There’s more going on.”
