Grateful she’d escaped with so little interaction, she started to close the door but paused when she heard her name.
“Leo and I would like you to know that we both feel terrible about how everything...you know...went down,” Don said.
In the first place, that was a terrible pun. In the second, she didn’t believe they felt bad. They both had places of their own and yet she’d caught them in her bed, simply because it was closer to work, more convenient for their tryst. That showed no respect, no concern for her at all. And now? They acted relieved, even happy that she’d provided the impetus for them both to come out. To be their true selves.
Everyone deserved that right. She had no problem with same-sex relationships; it was being used that bothered her. She felt duped, cheated. “Okay,” she said. “Good luck to both of you.”
“I mean it,” he insisted. “You’re a nice person. I know that.”
Of course he did. That was why he’d felt so comfortable taking advantage of her. He knew she wasn’t nearly as experienced when it came to romantic relationships as most other women her age. He’d preyed on that innocence and, somehow, she’d missed the obvious. “Thank you.”
He seemed surprised that he wasn’t eliciting more of a fight from her. There were so many things she wanted to say—and rightfully could say. But getting ugly wouldn’t change anything. Why make it possible for him to excuse his actions by claiming she was a bitch?
“I should’ve told you I was confused,” he added.
She tried to hold her silence but couldn’t let that go. “You weren’t confused. You just didn’t want your family to find out that you were really in love with Leo.”
“I was confused about how to handle it,” he clarified. “You don’t understand how much pressure I was under to be something I’m not. At least try to understand that we were both victims.”
Maybe that was true. As nice as his family was in so many ways, they had no business making him feel he was any less because of his sexual preferences. But she hadn’t been a victim until he told her he loved her and asked her to be his wife. As far as she was concerned, this situation could’ve had one less victim if only he’d been honest with her. “You told me more than once that you’d like a family,” she said.
He seemed startled by the change in subject. “I do!”
“Is that why you did it?” she asked. “Were you waiting for me to pump out a couple of kids before you revealed the truth?”
His eyebrows, dyed black like his hair, drew together. “No! How can you even think that?”
“Maybe because of the other lies you told me.” And practically speaking, while a plan like that was reprehensible and totally unfair to her, it was a much less expensive way to have children than paying for a surrogate...
“I knew how much my parents would like you,” he said.
“Your parents,” she repeated. Wouldn’t this have been the time to suggest he’d cared about her, at least a little?
“My whole family,” he clarified.
The lump in her throat returned. Part of her desire to cry came from the usual hurt, but that wasn’t all of it. Despite their faults, she especially loved his parents, had welcomed them into her heart. “I’ll miss everyone,” she admitted.
“That’s the thing. You don’t have to miss them. I’m hoping we can remain friends.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m capable of that, Don. Not for a while, anyway.”
“Take a couple of weeks, then. But you could still be part of my life, of my family’s lives. To be honest, I think it would really help them accept Leo if they didn’t have to give you up at the same time. My mom’s having a big birthday party on the twenty-first. Why don’t you join us like you normally would? We’ll all three go together and explain that...that you understand the pressure I was under and sympathize with what I was going through, and—”
“You want me to help smooth things over with your folks?” she broke in, stunned. “Help them accept Leo?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer before she rolled her eyes in disgust. “Unbelievable,” she said and closed the door.
* * *
“Hey, man, don’t beat yourself up. We’ll get ’em next time.”
Hudson could barely keep from snarling as his left guard rested a ham-like hand on his shoulder before leaving the locker room. Will Hart, or Bruiser, as they called him, was a nice guy and had quickly become Hudson’s best friend since joining the team last spring. But Hudson wasn’t in the mood to hear any placating bullshit. He’d played the worst game of his life, had thrown not one but two interceptions and faltered in the red zone when he should’ve been able to convert. Although he’d had a few bright spots—one was when he’d scored on a thirty-six-yard keeper, putting the Devils on top for a short time—that last interception had sealed their fate. They’d been favored to win by fourteen points and would have if their quarterback hadn’t screwed up so badly.
A loud clang resounded in the now-empty room as he let his head fall back against the metal lockers. Why hadn’t he taken the sack? If he hadn’t tried to extend the play, to make something out of nothing, they might’ve won. He should never have thrown that last ball. He should’ve gone down and relied on his defense to ride out the final two minutes—a point the ESPN sports announcer had just made when she interviewed him, and she was right.
He could imagine what all the pundits would be saying in the next week. They’d question whether he’d been injured on the Dolphins’ first blitz, when he took such a hard hit from lineman Hap Palmer. Whether, after ten years in the game, he was losing his edge. Whether he’d become a detriment to his team.
Lifting the sweat-soaked Devils T-shirt he wore under his pads while he played, he peeled back his football pants to stare down at the bruise forming on his hip. That hit had been hard, but he couldn’t blame the injury for his poor performance. During the game, he’d had so much adrenaline pouring through him he’d barely felt the pain.
He regretted that was no longer the case. His hip felt like it was on fire.
“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning forward and hanging his head. Not only was he upset by his performance, he was worried. When he hadn’t been able to get hold of Aaron before the game, he’d called Aiyana Turner, the woman in charge of the boys ranch in Silver Springs. She’d told him Aaron wasn’t doing well, that he couldn’t keep any food down and was back in the hospital. She’d been scared—he could hear it in her voice—and that had scared him.
Would the news be even worse now?
He was afraid to find out, but he pulled his cell phone from his gym bag and called her, anyway. “Hey. How is he?”
“Better.”
The pain in his hip eased a bit as he drew in a deep, hopeful breath. “Yeah?”
“They’ve got him on an IV to make sure he’s getting the fluids he needs.” Aaron, like Hudson, didn’t have any parents, at least not reliable ones; Aaron had a mother in a halfway house somewhere. Aiyana did her best to look after him, the way she’d tried to look after Hudson when he’d been at New Horizons. With nearly three hundred students at the school, however, many of whom came from tragic situations—and eight boys she’d officially adopted over the years—one person could do only so much. That was the reason Hudson had finally purchased a home on the edge of Silver Springs three months ago, even though he already owned a place in LA—so during his off-seasons, he could mentor the boys at the ranch who needed someone most.
“Bet he loves having another needle in his arm,” he said. The poor kid had been through so much...
“So far, I’ve