Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 18 TESSA

I open the truck door, but Stephanie doesn’t really move out of the way. I have to scoot out uncomfortably so I don’t hit her with the door.

She came to the funeral alone and didn’t stay long, and I’ve largely ignored her attempts to get in touch with me. I don’t know her at all apart from the hour we talked the night we met…and yet I know who she is. She’s friended me on every social media platform I’m active on, and now she’s standing in front of my house.

“Hey, Stephanie,” I say. I’m not sure what to say next. It’s good to see you feels like a lie. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you since I haven’t heard back, so I thought I’d drop by. You and your mom were so sweet to me before the funeral and this town is so quaint and relaxing compared to the crazy chaos in Kewanee,” she says, naming the town she’s from. It’s a town in Illinois maybe three or four times the size of Fallon Ridge, so still fairly small, but she acts like she just came in from the big city.

Red flags abound, but the desperation in her tone causes my good manners to emerge. “Come on in,” I say. “I’ll fix us some lemonade.” I glance over at Tristan, who’s standing in front of his truck. “This is my friend Tristan,” I say. “Tristan, this is Stephanie…my half-sister.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and the way she looks at him tells me she knows who he is.

Another red flag…but everyone knows who he is these days. He’s a very popular professional football player. Just because I spotted recognition in her eyes doesn’t mean a thing.

“Nice to meet you,” he echoes, and he glances at me. I can clearly read the question in his eyes asking whether I’m okay, and while I’m not—not really—she seems harmless. Would it really be so bad to get to know my sister? To give her a chance to get to know me? I always wanted a sibling, and Tristan knows that better than anyone.

I nod at Tristan to give him the all-clear, and his brows dip together but he nods back before he heads toward his house. I unlock my front door and Stephanie follows me in. The last time she was here was the day she introduced herself…the same day I’d arrived home to help my mother as we prepared to say goodbye to my father.

Our father, I guess—Stephanie’s and mine.

“Have you spoken with Michael?” I ask once we’re seated at the kitchen table with glasses of lemonade.

She nods. “Yes. I guess…” she trails off then shrugs. “I guess it gives me the connection I was looking for my entire life. That sense of family. My mom did her best, but to know I share blood with someone else, that we went through similar experiences…well, except you…I guess it just means something to me.”

“Except me?” I ask, my hand moving toward my chest as the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Something about this conversation isn’t sitting right with me.

She lifts a shoulder. “You had a dad. Michael and I didn’t.”

Goosebumps pepper along my arms at her words, and a dart of something pings my chest, but I’m not quite sure how to classify it. It’s a little fear, maybe, of what to expect after those words. I am, after all, in my house alone with a virtual stranger.

It’s also guilt.

I have no reason to feel guilty given the fact that it was my dad who chose to live his life the way he did, yet it’s there. I feel bad that he chose us, that he married my mom first and that’s likely why I got to live with him and have a life with him. I feel guilty that I hated him for so many years while at least two other people on this Earth were praying for an ounce of the attention he was giving to me.

I don’t know how to feel about that.

“I’m so sorry,” I say softly, as if apologizing will give her back the life she wishes she had. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been growing up without a father.”

I’m about to add more…to tell her that growing up with him as a father wasn’t the sunshine and roses she must’ve fantasized it was, but the door opens. My mom walks in, blessedly interrupting our conversation.

She looks surprised as her eyes fall onto our guest, but my racing heart starts to calm just knowing I’m not alone with Stephanie.

I’m not sure why I had that reaction to her just now…but I did, and I’ve learned over the years that I should really learn to trust my instincts more.

For example, my gut told me Cameron Foster was a big dickface, and I wasn’t wrong.

“Mrs. Taylor, lovely to see you again,” Stephanie says, not getting up from where she sits across from me.

“You, too, Stephanie,” my mom says politely. “Can I get you girls anything?”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say. I glance at Stephanie as if to ask whether she needs anything, and I’m about to tell my mom to have a seat with us when Stephanie interjects.

“I’d love a chance to talk to Tessa privately,” she says.

My chest tightens.

Why?

“Oh, of course. Excuse me,” my mom says, and I give her one of those pleading don’t leave me sorts of looks, but she doesn’t catch on.

“Are you and Tristan back together?” she asks once my mom is out of earshot—or at least appears to be.

“Excuse me?” I ask. For one thing, how does she know Tristan and I were ever a thing, let alone whether we’re back together ? I can excuse the fact that she knows who Tristan is, justifying it in my own mind since he’s a celebrity in his own right. But the other insinuations in her one question? I’m not sure how to justify those, and this is now twice she’s said something during this very short conversation that has floored me.

“You just looked…cozy in the truck before. Just wondering.”

I clear my throat. “Uh…we’re just old friends reconnecting.” If it’s more than that, Stephanie won’t be the first person I call to tell. That’s a guarantee.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” She ducks her chin like she’s embarrassed, but it feels like an act. “I didn’t mean to. I just want to get to know you.”

I nod. “It’s okay.” How do you tell someone you don’t want to get to know them? It’s just not how I was raised. We accept everyone. We treat others how we’d want to be treated.

And in her position, if I felt the need to reach out to her, I wouldn’t want to be ignored. She was ignored her whole life by our father. It wouldn’t be fair for me to do the same to her, and while I can’t make up for his actions, I can push down my discomfort if it means helping her sort through her loss.

“We were very close once, and then we weren’t,” I finally answer.

And that’s when it hits me.

She wants him.

She doesn’t want to get to know me . She wants to get to know Tristan .

And there is no way on God’s green Earth I’m going to let that happen.

“What happened?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “I visited my aunt in Chicago over spring break and decided to finish out my senior year there since it was close to the college I was attending. It was a way to get a jump start on my future.” It’s the lie we’ve always told everybody, and hell if I’m about to tell Stephanie the truth when she’s after Tristan.

“You went to U of I Chicago, right?” she asks.

Does she know that because my dad told her or because she friended me on Facebook, where that information is fairly public knowledge?

I nod.

“I went to Black Hawk Community College,” she says.

“What did you study?” I ask.

“I got a Practical Nursing Certificate. I’m thinking about going back for my RN.”

“Oh, I’m an RN,” I say…and I get the feeling she already knows this. Furthermore, I get the feeling she wants to go back for her RN because she knows this.

“We should totally talk nursing someday,” she says with a grin.

Or not. “Sure. Listen, I have a lot I need to work on, so I hate to be rude, but…” I trail off as I try to come up with a nice way to kick her out.

“What are you working on?” she asks.

“I’m coordinating a festival for Fallon Ridge next month and it’s just been so busy.” I say it absently, without really thinking whether it might be a mistake to tell her anything .

“I love festivals! Can I help?” she asks. “Take some of that load off your plate?”

“That’s really sweet of you to offer, but I’ve been planning a while and I just have to touch base with a lot of my contacts. Maybe some other time.” I stand to try to encourage her to do the same, but she doesn’t move.

“I love the festival Kewanee puts on. It’s a bigger town, as I’m sure you know, and last year I was a volunteer. Ugh, it was so much work . We had a blast, though. Brought in a ton of money for the town. I worked as a bartender in the beer garden, and for every four or five beers I served I probably drank one myself.” She laughs at the memory, but the laughter fades quickly. “My point is that I have experience with festivals, so if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

“I appreciate that. I think we’re pretty much all set.” I press my lips together.

“Oh, you just said you’ve been so busy. Thought maybe I could help.” She seems sullen that I didn’t accept her offer, but I really can’t think of anything I’d want her to do. The volunteers are set. Everything is in motion. I’m sure I could come up with something, but I don’t want her to be a part of this.

Still, those damn good manners win out again.

“I can take a look at the list of volunteers and let you know if anything comes up that we need help with,” I offer, and her eyes light back up again as she nods.

“That would be great. I’d love to work together with you on it.” She smiles, and then she chugs down the remainder of her lemonade. “I can just hang out here while you work. I’ll stay out of your way.”

My brows dip in horror.

How the hell am I supposed to get rid of her?