Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 11 TRISTAN

I didn’t say anything to Coach at practice today. I never found a good time, and I almost wonder if I shouldn’t say anything at all. What I do on my day off is my business.

But still.

Part of being a team player is keeping Coach in the loop with what’s going on in my life, and so once I’m home and I’ve eaten my usual chicken and veggies and rinsed my dishes, I decide to give him a call.

“Higs, how’s the hammy?” he asks, always primarily concerned with his players and their physical ability to play.

“Doing fine, Coach. I did all the stretches Adrian recommended and I’m icing as we speak.”

I hear the garage door from where I sit, and my stomach twists like it does every time. The devil is home, so I better make this quick. I certainly don’t want her to know my plans.

“Listen, I need to head home to Iowa for a close family friend’s funeral on Tuesday. I just wanted to let you know. I’m planning to fly out either late Monday night or early Tuesday, drive two and a half hours from O’Hare, attend the funeral, drive back, and fly back to Vegas. Nobody will even miss me, but I figured I should fill you in on my plans since we’re in-season.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says formally.

“Thank you.” It’s not really my loss, especially not all these years later, but it’s still hitting me that the man who I thought would be my father-in-law is just…gone.

“And I appreciate you filling me in. Of course, family first. Always,” Coach says.

“Thanks, Coach,” I say.

“Keep me in the loop, okay, kid? Text me your flight details and let me know when you’re in Iowa. The last thing I need is to spend the entire day Tuesday worrying about you while you travel.”

“You got it, Coach.” I can’t help a small smile at his concern. I got lucky as fuck that he drafted me onto the Aces in the first round, and I’m forever grateful to him. But it’s more than that. He’s not just a decent guy. He’s created a family in our team, and I know when he says family first , the Aces are an extension of that. He’s built that for our entire team. A lot of us are out here on our own, away from families and it helps to have a brotherhood where we never feel lonely or isolated.

We hang up just before the door opens and my wife appears. She opens her mouth to say something, and I take that as my cue, bolting from the room and up the stairs toward my bedroom.

It might not be time for bed yet, but the silence is sure as fuck better than spending a second in conversation with the woman actively trying to ruin my life.

I flip to ESPN on the television in my bedroom, and I collapse on my bed.

My door opens a minute later.

I should’ve locked the goddamn thing.

Rookie mistake, Tristan.

“You ever learn how to fucking knock?” I demand.

She rolls her eyes. “We’re married, dear. No secrets between husbands and wives, am I right?”

“Wrong. Get out.”

She brings out the worst in me, and I hate it. I hate who I am with her.

I miss who I was when I was with Tessa. Now that was a guy I liked.

This version of me…it’s not me.

She laughs a little maniacally. “You know things have been quiet for me since I was reassigned,” she begins.

“You mean since you were fired ,” I interrupt flatly. She wasn’t reassigned . She was part of a scheme to plant a dangerous chemical on some land to make it look like the soil was contaminated, and she was arrested. She pled her way out of jail time, but she lost her job as a sports reporter in the process.

More ammunition for her to cling onto me since I’m her only doorway into the league now.

She clears her throat. “Anyway, I’ve been doing a little research. It seems this funeral you’re going to next week—Bill Taylor? It seems he had a whole lot of secrets he didn’t want anyone finding out.”

How the fuck does she know I’m going to a funeral next week, and what’s more…how does she know who it’s for?

This woman never ceases to amaze me, and I don’t mean that in a good way.

My eyes edge to my phone. Does she have me bugged? Has she been listening in on my calls or tracking my texts? It’s the only way she’d know, unless she has cameras or microphones hidden around the house that might clue her in.

“What secrets?” I ask.

“Oh, there’s a whole laundry list,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “The affairs, the other children…and, of course, the whole Tessa situation.”

My chest tightens at the mention of Tessa. What does she know about Tessa? What did Mr. Taylor do to her?

“Don’t you fucking dare speak her name to me,” I hiss. She doesn’t know jack shit.

Bill Taylor was a good man. He was a pastor, for fuck’s sake. He was a man of God, and he taught those same values to his only daughter.

If he wasn’t the man I thought he was, then he had everybody fooled. My dad wouldn’t be best friends with a guy who did the shit Savannah’s saying he did.

She simply laughs that maniacal laugh again as she shrugs and walks out of the room.

She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.

Does she?