Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 15 TESSA

He’s here.

I can’t believe he’s actually here.

I imagined our eyes meeting for the first time again after so many years apart a million different ways, but never did I imagine it would be at my father’s funeral.

And never did I imagine I wouldn’t actually get to talk to him as the line of people waiting to express their condolences seemed to grow longer and longer as the division between Tristan and me grew wider and wider.

Yet somehow I always knew that even with no words spoken between us, I’d still feel the fire burning as brightly between the two of us as it burned the last time I saw him. Some fires rage too brightly to be snuffed out, I guess.

I glance down the line for the thousandth time. I need to see him again. I need to talk to him.

I can’t see into the church from where I stand, so I have no idea how much longer I’ll have to wait. I spot Wendy Jennings in line. She was just a few rows ahead of him, wasn’t she?

I can’t remember. There were so many familiar faces, but it’s been too many years since I’ve seen most of them. I barely even remember some of their names at this point, let alone where they were sitting in the church.

I sigh as I hug a second cousin twice removed—I think. Or maybe it was a third cousin twice removed. I don’t even know what that means, but somehow this person is related to me even though we’ve never met, and there are people in that church who I have met that I want to talk to but my good manners prevent me from moving the line along.

I wonder how long he’s here. I wonder what his schedule’s like.

I wonder if his wife is here with him. He was planted between his parents. I didn’t see another woman with him, but I’ve seen her in the tabloids and gossip websites. She’s gorgeous, and of course he married some gorgeous woman. He’s hot as hell. He always was, and he only got better with age. Like wine or chocolate, I guess.

And then there’s me. My body is softer than it was back then. My hair is longer, and my eyes are sprouting little wrinkles that tell me I should have listened when my mother told me to use face lotion twice a day, once in the morning and once before bed. Bags line my eyes now, too, and those didn’t used to be there.

We’re different people now, but he showed up today.

I glance down the line again. Still no sign of him, and I feel like I’ve been greeting people for hours.

“Tessa?” a boy no more than fifteen or so asks.

My brows draw together. “Yes?”

“I’m Michael.” He glances at the woman beside him, and she nods encouragingly at him. “I’m…uh…I knew your dad.”

“He’s your half-brother,” Michael’s mother blurts.

My chest tightens as I close my eyes.

This is all just…too much.

I suck in a breath as I feel like the wind just got knocked out of me, and when I glance up, I finally spot Mr. Higgins, and then just behind him, I see Tristan as he leans in to say something to his mom.

I stare at him as I feel a familiar calmness descend over me.

Looking at Tristan now, there in line, not far from me now…it’s like taking a hit of my favorite drug.

He didn’t used to sport a five o’clock shadow, but he does now, and good Lord does it do wonders for his hot factor. I was always attracted to him, of course, but he grew from a boy into this man who is here today, this man who is ridiculously sexy .

This man who I realize I know nothing about. It goes both ways, though. He doesn’t know the woman I am today, either. I want him to know me, though. I want to know who he is now, too. I want to fall in love with the man he’s become since I always loved the boy he was before. But life moves forward. His life is in Vegas.

Mine is in Chicago. It’s not much. An apartment I rent with my best friend. A job that for the most part I enjoy. A boss who’s supportive enough to make the nearly three-hour drive from Chicago to Fallon Ridge.

And a new doctor who bangs like a beast and has certainly piqued my interest.

Since they were sitting in my row, they’ve already been through. I can’t glance over at Cam to my left as a way to allow my mind to determine how I feel about him versus the man who’s slowly approaching to my right.

There’s no contest, though.

Tristan holds my heart, no matter how twisted or dark or secretive or broken it is. He always will.

But he’s not in my future, and a fatal heart attack may have been the very thing to signal to me that life isn’t just preciously short, but we only get one of them.

Michael is proof of that, along with Stephanie and whoever else might show up. They’re all proof that my father really messed up during the one life he got.

He was married to my mother, and he had multiple affairs over their marriage. The two half-siblings I’ve met since last Wednesday aged fifteen and twenty-three are the products of those affairs, but my father made them promises he couldn’t keep. Instead he sent checks, visited when he could, and lied to everyone.

How do you mourn that?

How do you not feel resentment when you find out the truth in death? How do you not feel anger and rage and a healthy dose of self-doubt, of wondering how you missed all the clues and signs all this time, of trying to move forward without trust issues?

I don’t have the answer to that, so while the preacher droned on today during the service, I prayed for some way to find peace. Maybe his final gift was giving me the siblings I always longed for.

Two of them so far. Maybe more.

As it turns out, my mother couldn’t do that. She experienced something called secondary infertility, where she was able to have one baby but became infertile afterward. Apparently my father wanted a bunch of kids, and rather than divorcing my mother, he screwed around with women enough towns over that nobody caught wind of it.

Or maybe everybody around here was just too kind to say anything.

I wonder if Tristan knew. I wonder if his parents knew.

What do I say to Michael to move this line along, to get past him to Tristan without seeming like a jerk to this vulnerable child?

I don’t know. I have nothing to say.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say softly to Michael. I try to be kind. I hope he knows we’re sharing a strange type of loss while we’re gaining something, too, though it’s not the type of gain I plan to do anything about.

I was fine all this time in ignorance, and I’m not planning to suddenly head up some huge family reunion.

I don’t want to see these people again, these reminders that there’s more of my father’s blood running the Earth. Not after what he did to me. Not after the things he took away from me, and not now that I’m learning how much more he took from other people.

I don’t know how this will affect me moving forward, but I can’t dwell on that now because the line of people continues to inch forward, and he continues to get closer to me. I force myself not to look. I force myself to be present for all the nice people offering words of sympathy and comfort for a man I’m certain I won’t miss.

The longer I have to wait knowing he’s coming, the more my chest thunders with anxiety.

And finally, the Higgins family approaches.

Mrs. Higgins hugs me first. “Oh Tessa, it’s just so wonderful to see you back in town.” Her words are soft in my ear as she squeezes me, and it’s so familiar and warm that I find tears filling my eyes. She pulls back and looks at me, really studies me, and she shakes her head with a sad little smile. “You’ve grown into such a darling young woman. I’m so proud of you.”

I swipe away at a stray tear. “Thank you, Mrs. Higgins. That means a lot.” It’s the first time I’ve said those words today and actually meant them.

“I’m so sorry about your dad,” she says, and she takes both my hands in hers and squeezes. She leans in for another hug. “I’ll stall with your mom so you can get an extra minute with Tristan.”

I press my lips together as I give her a grateful look. “Thank you,” I murmur, and then he’s next.

My heart thunders in my chest, and I glance at the pulse in his neck, wondering if it’s flapping as wildly as mine. I watch his throat lift as he swallows, and we simply stare at each other a few seconds, both of us taking in the changes of the other over the years that have gone by.

He’s bigger now. A little taller, a little leaner, and a lot more muscular. The planes of his chest are expansive, and I want him to wrap those biceps around me and never let go.

But that’s where the differences seem to end.

He’s still so handsome it hurts. A little older now, sure, but the age looks incredible on him. He still has one eyebrow that quirks up just a little higher than the other. He still has a freckle just below his left eye. His lips are still full, lips that tasted every inch of my much firmer body once upon a time. His hair is still a perfect mess in that effortless way he has where I know the truth of the matter—that he spent at least fifteen minutes getting it just right. It’s a little longer than I’ve seen it in the team photographs, not that I’ve scoured the Aces website studying every image of him, and looks like it could use a trim.

And most of all, his chocolate eyes still tell me everything. They still fall upon me with emotions that range from adoration to love to need to desire to friendship and everything in between.

It’s the same way I look at him…except there’s new things in his, too—things that weren’t there before.

Lust is one of them.

Concern is another.

Fear is the final one.

I’m scared, too.

We were forced apart once, and it broke me.

There’s no way I’d ever be able to live through that again.