Page 11

Chapter

Eleven

S unlight streamed into the room, rudely yanking Stacia from the depths of sleep. She cracked one eye open, glaring at the skylight overhead. Last night, it had seemed beautiful—romantic, even—moonlight pouring in like liquid silver, casting an ethereal glow over Jason’s skin. Now, with only a couple of hours of sleep under her belt, she was rethinking the entire concept. Maybe blackout curtains were underrated.

A heavy weight pinned her to the mattress. Jason’s arm. Warm, solid, possessive even in sleep. She nudged him, but he only groaned and pulled her closer, his face nuzzling against her shoulder. A rush of heat tingled down her spine, but she shoved it aside. “Jason,” she whispered, pushing harder.

“What the hell time is it?” His voice was rough, thick with sleep. He cracked one eye open, glaring at her like she’d just committed the gravest betrayal. “If you’re a morning person, get the hell out of my bed. I’m tired.”

Then he rolled over and started snoring again.

Fake. So fake.

Biting back a laugh, she slipped out of bed and searched the floor for something to cover herself. Jason’s shirt from last night lay discarded, another casualty of their passion. She pulled it on, inhaling the scent of him as she buttoned the front. It draped over her body, barely skimming the tops of her thighs.

Coffee. She needed coffee. What were the odds Jason had any in this place? Probably low, but she was willing to risk disappointment.

Padding barefoot down the stairs, she hunted through the cabinets until she found the coffee maker. A few minutes later, the rich aroma of Sumatran blend filled the kitchen. She breathed it in deeply, letting it wrap around her like a warm embrace. No flavored nonsense for Jason. This was bold, dark, and unapologetically strong—just like him.

With no cream or sugar in sight, she grabbed the emergency stash from her bag and stirred it into the steaming cup. Bliss. She leaned against the counter, closing her eyes, savoring the rare moment of quiet.

The doorbell shattered it.

She jerked, sloshing coffee onto her hand. “Damn it.” She sucked in a breath, shaking off the sting, and padded toward the door. Opening it, she found herself face to face with a woman in a magenta velour tracksuit, her suitcase in tow.

The woman turned, her sharp eyes raking over Stacia. “So, you must be the new chippie who’s sunk her claws into my boy.” Her accent was thick, unmistakably Jersey. “Well, you’re certainly not his usual type.”

Before Stacia could muster a response, the woman swept past her, rolling her suitcase directly over Stacia’s bare foot. She yelped, hopping back as she watched the woman make herself at home.

Wait. Her boy?

Oh, hell. Jason’s mother.

Stacia tugged Jason’s shirt lower, trying to make herself look somewhat presentable, and hurried after the older woman, nearly colliding into her when she stopped abruptly in the living room.

The woman turned, narrowing her gaze. “You have coffee?”

Stacia barely had time to nod before Jason’s mother swiped her own cup from the counter and took a long sip, closing her eyes as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. “Good. It’s been a long flight, and it’s way too early.”

“You could have stopped at a coffee shop,” Stacia muttered under her breath, following her into the kitchen.

“So, you’re Jason’s mother?”

A smirk played at the woman’s lips. “Smart and pretty. Not bad.”

Stacia took her in—sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes, an undeniable air of authority despite the absurdity of the tracksuit. And the makeup—Lord, the makeup. Was blue eyeshadow still a thing? Maybe only in Jersey. Jason’s bio had mentioned he was from there, and judging by this woman’s unmistakable accent, she still lived there.

When she rounded the corner, Jason’s mother was already seated at the kitchen table, cupping her coffee like it was the only thing tethering her to patience. She gestured to the chair across from her. “Let’s sit and talk, shall we?”

Stacia hesitated for a fraction of a second before following suit, pulling Jason’s shirt down as she sat. She didn’t exactly feel like she had the upper hand here.

“So,” Jason’s mother said, eyes sharp as a blade. “Who are you?”

Yep. Definitely Jersey. Direct, no-nonsense, cutting straight to the point.

Lifting her cup, Stacia took a measured sip before responding. “Stacia Kendall. I’m helping your son with his media image.”

The other woman studied her for a long moment, eyes drilling into her, searching, dissecting. Stacia refused to squirm under the scrutiny, but damn, she could feel it seeping into her bones.

Then, just as abruptly, the woman’s gaze softened. She reached across the table and grasped Stacia’s arm, her touch unexpectedly warm. A flicker of something raw passed through her eyes—pleading, hope, desperation wrapped in a mother’s love.

“Can you help him?”

The tightness in Stacia’s chest eased. “I’m trying, Mrs. Friar.”

“Call me Celia.”

A grin tugged at Stacia’s lips. “Alright, Celia.”

Both women took a sip of their coffee, the air between them shifting. The wariness hadn’t disappeared entirely, but there was something else now. A truce. An unspoken understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, an ally.

J ason woke slowly, blinking against the sunlight slicing through the blinds. A groggy sense of disorientation settled over him before his brain caught up—home, his bed, the scent of Stacia still clinging to the sheets. His hand reached out automatically, seeking the warmth of her body, but his fingers met only cool sheets.

A flicker of irritation snapped through him. She’d done it again.

Damn it, he had to break Stacia of that habit—sneaking out on him like he was just another notch on her belt. He ignored the fact that he was usually the one slipping away before dawn. The double standard gnawed at him, but he didn’t give a shit. This was different. They were different. And after last night, she damn well knew it.

He shoved the sheets aside and swung his legs over the bed, a sudden determination settling into his muscles. They were going to have this conversation. No more slipping away. She belonged with him, by his side, and after all her damn maneuvering to get there, she better be ready to stay.

The thought gave him pause. Since when had he ever wanted a woman to stay? Much less expected it? Normally, the idea would have sent him running for the hills, but with Stacia…it was different. And that realization didn’t scare him nearly as much as it should have.

Voices drifted up from downstairs, low and unmistakably female. He stilled, a prickle of unease rolling down his spine. As he descended the steps, the second voice became clearer, each word twisting his gut tighter.

A scent hit him before he even reached the bottom—coffee and a familiar perfume, one that dragged him straight back to childhood, to cramped kitchens and meals served with equal parts love and sharp reprimands.

No.

He stepped into the kitchen, his gaze locking on the two women at the table. Stacia, looking amused as hell, and the other woman—his mother.

What the actual fuck?

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Stacia drawled, her lips twitching. “Sleep well?”

Jason ignored her, his attention riveted on the figure in the magenta velour tracksuit currently sipping coffee like she owned the damn place.

“Mom,” he said slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “What the hell are you wearing?”

His mother’s sharp gaze snapped to his. “Jason.” That one word carried the full weight of his childhood, and before he could stop himself, his hand flew to his ear, half-expecting the dreaded tug.

Stacia outright grinned now, barely containing her laughter. She strolled into the kitchen, far too entertained by this turn of events. “I’ll make more coffee.” As she passed him, she punched his arm and muttered, “You didn’t tell me your mother was coming for a visit, honey.”

“That’s because she didn’t tell me.”

Stacia reached for the coffee canister, and he lost his train of thought entirely. His mother, however, had no such problem. She tapped him on the arm, bringing his attention back.

“I taught you better than that, young man.”

“You also taught me to call before dropping in,” he shot back. “Did you think to pick up the phone?”

She huffed, waving a dismissive hand. “And why should an old woman like me have to call her son? You should be calling me daily, checking in, making sure I’m not lying dead in my kitchen. I live alone, you know.”

“Mom—”

“The only thing I ask,” she continued, voice dripping with dramatic martyrdom, “is for my only son to call me once in a while. Instead, I have to haul these old bones down here from New Jersey just to see him.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Give me a break, Mom. I just got here and have been trying to get up to speed. Besides, you have a house full of girls living with you—all with babies on the way. You have no time for me.”

Stacia’s brows lifted in interest. “Girls?”

Jason exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Mom takes in pregnant girls from the neighborhood who have nowhere else to go. Helps them find adoptive parents or get started on their own.”

Stacia turned back to Celia, admiration flickering in her expression. “That’s incredible.”

His mother waved a hand as if brushing off the compliment, but her lips twitched. “Not really, dear. I know what it’s like to be pregnant and alone.” Then she turned back to Jason, her expression morphing into pure disapproval. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “How hard is it to hit a damn ball or catch it? Look at this place—you’ve barely unpacked. And there’s nothing to feed this poor girl. Where did I go wrong in raising you?”

Jason groaned. “Here we go.”

The coffee was taking too long, and he was desperate. He reached out and swiped Stacia’s cup from her hands.

“Hey!”

“It’s your second cup.”

“You don’t know that.”

He arched a brow. She huffed. “Fine, but you didn’t have to be so rude.”

“I didn’t raise my boy to be like that, Stacia,” his mother declared. “I don’t know where he got it from. His father, probably.” Bitterness laced her voice, old and ingrained.

Jason sighed, then did the only thing he could think of to shut her up—he grabbed Stacia around the waist and planted a firm kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, he smirked. “Happy now?”

Celia frowned. “Be nice to that young lady. She’s too good for you.”

Jason scowled. “You know, most mothers support their kids, not their kid’s girlfriend.”

“I’m not most mothers.” She gave Stacia an approving nod. “Look at her—decent young lady. No tattoos, no weird-colored hair, no odd piercings. You’ve done worse.”

Stacia hid a laugh behind her coffee. Jason groaned. “Okay, Mom, why are you really here?”

“A mother can’t visit her son?”

He gave her a look.

She sighed. “Fine. I wanted to check out this woman, make sure she isn’t taking advantage of you like the last one.” She turned to Stacia, her voice sharpening into full protective mode. “I assume you’re not trying to trap my boy with a baby?”

Jason’s face went nuclear. “Okay, that’s enough?—”

His mother ignored him. “From what I hear, your image in the bedroom is just fine, if a bit exaggerated.”

Jason choked on his coffee. “Exaggerated?” He turned to Stacia. “Back me up here.”

She blushed, hiding her smirk. “Maybe a little exaggerated.”

He scowled. “That’s not what you said last night.”

His mother smacked him upside the head. “She’s a lady.”

Jason rubbed his head, muttering under his breath as Celia beamed at Stacia. “I like her. She’s domesticated. Perfect for my grandkids.”

Jason choked again. Stacia just smiled and sipped her coffee, watching him squirm.

Celia leaned in, lowering her voice. “How did his penis turn out?”

“Oh my God, Mom!” Jason turned and fled, the sound of their laughter chasing after him.

“ N ow that he’s gone, we can talk.” Celia grabbed Stacia’s hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “Are you really his image consultant or his girlfriend? Is this all a ruse?”

Stacia shifted in her seat, glancing away. In the cold light of day, reality intruded with too many questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. If it had been anyone else—Michael, her boss, Cole Hammonds, even Sophie—she would have had a quick, polished response. But Celia wasn’t just anyone. She was Jason’s mother. And that made the answer infinitely more complicated.

Because she didn’t have one.

Celia’s sharp gaze bore into hers, waiting.

Stacia busied herself clearing the table, needing something—anything—to do with her hands. “So, how long are you staying? I haven’t had a chance to set up the guest bedroom. I don’t even know if it has linens or anything.”

“You never answered my question.” Celia’s voice was gentle, but steel lay beneath the surface, the same quiet authority Jason carried. Now she understood where he got it from.

Stacia let out a nervous laugh, an awkward, shaky sound. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.” She put the Danish away and loaded the cups into the dishwasher, stalling.

Celia didn’t move, just watched her with those piercing, knowing eyes. “He’s a good boy, despite what you’ve heard. He’s had a tough life. Frankly, I’m surprised he let you in.”

Stacia turned, meeting her gaze head-on. “I didn’t give him a chance to say no. I’m not really living here. We haven’t gotten that far. We just got in last night from Kansas City, and I…well, I sort of steamrolled my way in.”

Celia shook her head before Stacia even finished. “No, I don’t mean that. I meant, how did you convince him to accept you publicly as his girlfriend? I must admit, I thought I had scared him off women for life.” Celia walked back to the table. “I think you need to know a few things about Jason.”

Stacia hesitated but then slowly sat down across from her. She wanted to know. She needed to know. “I don’t think Jason wants us to talk about this.”

Her heart warned her to shut up, but her instincts told her differently. She had seen the loneliness in Jason, the way he worked out alone, ate alone, carried himself like a man who expected solitude. It wasn’t just habit—it was armor. And she wanted to understand why.

The thought shook her. Her job was to fix his image, not to save him. But maybe Sophie had been right—maybe she had a habit of trying to rescue people. Maybe that was why she was so deeply invested in Jason. What happened when the season ended? Could she really walk away and pretend this was just about PR? Could she pretend he didn’t matter?

Celia waited patiently, sipping her coffee before finally setting the cup down. “I was a young mother,” she began, voice even but weighted with memory. “Taken in by a handsome face and a charming air. Jason’s father could charm the pants off anyone, and he often did. Jason gets that from him.”

A tightness coiled in Stacia’s stomach, a sick sense of knowing where this was going.

“A family was never in the cards for him,” Celia continued. “He took off while I was pregnant. It was hard, being an unmarried mother back then. My parents were appalled. They wanted to send me away, send the baby away. But I was an adult, and I wanted something of my own. So, I kept him. We struggled for years. I worked three jobs just to keep food on the table.”

“That must have been so difficult.” Stacia reached across the table, squeezing Celia’s hand, offering comfort. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. And for Jason.”

Celia smiled, but it was edged with something unreadable. “It was tough, but we never really knew. We were happy. Probably happier than he’s been with all his money and fame, if I’m being honest. But people started getting their hooks into him early. Even in Little League, there were scouts, agents, people looking for their piece.”

She paused, lost in the past for a moment before shaking herself out of it. “Jason’s had pressure on him his whole life—more than any kid should carry. And he trusted people. Until he learned why they cared. One of his coaches even tried to date me, just to be his father.”

Stacia’s stomach churned. No wonder Jason was so bitter, so distrustful.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“His father showed up after Jason got drafted.” Celia’s face darkened. “I don’t know what was said between them, but he hasn’t been around since. And that coach? Jason helped him land a college job, and the guy never looked back. Guess he never really cared about either of us.”

Silence fell between them. Celia exhaled slowly. “Jason’s had girls trying to trap him since high school. They saw him as a way out. And because of that, he’s avoided real relationships. I don’t know if he even knows how to have one now.”

Stacia absorbed the words, the warning. She heard the sadness in Celia’s voice, the helplessness of a mother who saw the damage but couldn’t fix it. And she understood it far too well.

The sound of the shower shutting off upstairs broke the quiet.

Celia studied her carefully. “I don’t know what this is between you two, Stacia. Maybe it’s just business. Maybe it could be more. I can’t say. But I can say this—I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want him used. And if this ends, promise me you won’t make him be the one to walk away.”

Stacia swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t do that.”

The words came too easily. Too automatically. And yet, as they left her lips, she wasn’t sure if she was making a promise to Celia—or to herself.

Because what happened at the end of the season? When the job was done, the contract fulfilled? Could she really walk away?

Celia squeezed her hand, her eyes glistening. “I just want him to be happy. I’m not sure he knows how to be, but if anyone could get through to him…I’d bet on you.”

Stacia’s heart pounded. The weight of expectations, of emotions she hadn’t been prepared to face, settled heavily on her chest. It had been easier when this was just a game—when she was only playing a part. But now?

Now it was something else. Something dangerous. Because she wasn’t just pretending anymore.

And that realization scared the hell out of her.

S tacia dressed quickly while Jason was still in the shower, slipping out of the condo with the distinct feeling of a one-night stand sneaking away at dawn. It wasn’t guilt—she had no regrets—but the weight of reality pressed against her. Staying with his mother in the next room? That was a step too far. She wasn’t ready for that level of domesticity. Besides, Celia would keep Jason in line. He was in good hands.

Three hours later, she sat in her office at the stadium, listening to the faint echoes of players trickling in for the evening game. The hum of stadium life buzzed around her, but she focused on her laptop, strategizing. Jason needed more than just Stan’s article—he needed something bigger, something prime time. A splashy segment that would solidify his comeback.

Too bad she had no major sports media contacts. Well, except for her father. Senator Kendall led the U.S. Senate’s investigation into steroids in baseball—probably not the angle she was looking for. Besides, calling him for a favor was the last thing she wanted. He wouldn’t appreciate hearing from her, and she wasn’t in the mood for another lecture.

The thought shouldn’t sting. He’d never cared before. Why would this be any different?

A light knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She glanced up to see Cole Hammonds standing in the doorway. Her stomach tightened, but she forced a pleasant smile, waving him in. He closed the door behind him and settled into the chair across from her.

“Have a nice road trip?”

She smirked. “It was an experience.”

He leaned back, eyes sharp. “I’ve spent enough time on the road to know it’s brutal. Schedules are wrecked, sleep’s a joke. How do you think they adjust?”

“They get into trouble. Party too hard. Pick up groupies. Some hit the gym instead.” He shrugged. “They’re all different. But that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to talk about Kansas City.”

She nodded. “The girlfriend thing.”

“Yeah. Interesting strategy. Would have appreciated a heads-up.”

“It’s a fairly common tactic—Hollywood does it all the time. Baseball players are celebrities in their own right. Tie a problem player to a squeaky-clean image. Tie a newcomer to a star. The public eats it up.” Under the desk, she crossed her fingers, praying he wouldn’t push too hard.

He studied her, unreadable. “Sure, but it’s risky. You being the girlfriend.”

“It wasn’t my first choice,” she admitted, tamping down the flicker of unease. “But when I saw that groupie moving in and the press already setting up their shot, I had to pivot. The rest fell into place.” She met his gaze head-on. “I knew then the groupies weren’t going away.”

“They still won’t,” he pointed out. “They don’t care if a guy is dating or married. If anything, it makes them more competitive.”

“I don’t care about them. I care about the media. I needed to shift the narrative.” Her voice came out sharper than intended, but she didn’t back down.

Cole leaned forward slightly, fingers tapping the armrest. “I’m not questioning your skill. I can’t deny it worked. But moving forward, keep me in the loop. We asked you to keep him out of trouble. This is…more than expected.”

She lifted a brow. “You wanted a babysitter.” She spread her hands. “Consider this a value add. It’s in everyone’s best interest to make him look good—not just keep him clean. If we play this right, we could generate real momentum going into the off-season.”

He pushed up from the chair, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. “The off-season isn’t my concern right now. We don’t know if Jason fits into our plans long-term. And remember, we pay your bills, not Jason. The client is always right.”

She stood as well, her smile razor-sharp. “Of course. But you hired me for my expertise. It’s in your best interest to let me do my job the best way I know how.”

At the door, he paused, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Did you really blackmail Stan Garvin into doing a feature piece on Friar?”

She widened her eyes, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean, Cole.”

He chuckled, not fooled. “I loved it. Always wanted to give those vultures a taste of their own medicine.”

As he walked off, greeting players in the hallway, she exhaled. One hurdle cleared. One more to go.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the display.

Michael.

Speak of the devil.

She clicked “accept” and closed the office door. Some conversations were better kept private.

“Michael! I was just about to call you.”

“Really?” His voice dripped with suspicion. “Would’ve been nice to discuss your strategy before you pimped yourself out for the job. What you do reflects on this company, Stacia. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

Annoyance simmered beneath her skin. If this had been anyone else—especially Glazier—no one would question her choices. But here she was, getting grilled for the second time in ten minutes. The walls were closing in, squeezing her into a corner she refused to stay in.

Her voice iced over. “I won’t justify my strategy. And I resent your implication about Glazier. I wasn’t responsible—I was the scapegoat. Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“Your father’s called me multiple times, demanding I pull you from this job.” Michael sighed heavily. “He’s a powerful man, Stacia. He sends a lot of business my way. I can’t afford to alienate him.”

Of course. Her father wielded influence like a weapon. And once again, she was nothing but a liability.

“So, you’ll cut me loose to keep him happy?” Even knowing the answer, she needed to hear it.

Michael’s voice sharpened. “Shouldn’t you be asking why your own father is throwing you under the bus?”

She swallowed. “I already know. Everyone is an extension of him. Politics first. Everything else last.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied it. “I hoped you’d back me.”

“I like you, Stacia. You’ve been great for this company. But lately…something’s changed. You’ve changed. Your heart isn’t in this anymore.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Had she changed?

“That’s direct.” She exhaled slowly. “I owe you honesty—I don’t know. I’m tired of the spin. Tired of whitewashing politicians and selling lies. I don’t remember the last time I felt clean, Michael.”

“Then why attach yourself to Friar?” His tone softened, but it was no less dangerous. “Is this about the job, or something else? Do you need me to send someone else? Sophie’s free.”

Her pulse jumped. “Sophie left the campaign?”

“She didn’t like how you were treated. Called it a betrayal. Said she wasn’t staying in that toxic mess.”

Stacia’s stomach twisted. Sophie had kept that from her. What else had she hidden?

Michael’s voice cut through her thoughts. “So? Do I send her?”

“No.” The answer came too fast. Too instinctive. Her heart was already in this, and she couldn’t walk away. “I’m handling it.”

Michael hesitated. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“You sure?” His voice held an edge of warning. “You’re playing with fire, Stacia. Don’t get burned.”

She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Noted.”

Michael sighed. “Your father isn’t happy. Handle it before it blows up in your face.”

The line went dead.

Stacia set the phone down, heart hammering. She was in over her head.

And it was too late to turn back now.