Page 60 of It Happened on a Sunday

Sloane

At least a dozen responses spring to my mind, all of which come with a healthy dose of fang. But again, this is someone Sly pretty much considers family, and the last thing I want to do is mess with that relationship—for his sake and for the sake of our own.

To be honest, I don’t blame her for being pissed about the bad publicity Sly’s been getting, either. I’m still pissed about it, too.

Besides, if I can’t respect a woman with an attitude like that, who can’t be tamed by social niceties, what the hell am I even doing with my life?

Abuela Ximena must not feel the same way, though, because she shoots Vivian an exasperated look. “It was one time, Vivian. Let it go.”

“It’s one time too many,” Vivian snipes back in a heavy New York accent I definitely wasn’t expecting to come out of Cinderella. “You know better than anyone that Sly’s not the kind of kid to get into trouble.”

She levels a jaded look at me that makes it obvious she thinks I’m exactly the type of woman who does, before settling into a chair and focusing her attention on the still-empty field. “Game’s about to start.”

I’m not so sure about that, but I’m also not about to argue with her.

“Don’t worry about Vivian,” Mariana tells me as she grabs a soda from the bar in the corner. “She collects vinyl, dolls, and sports stars, and she’s irrationally protective of all of them. Especially the sports stars.”

I’m not sure how I feel about Sly being a collectible, so I settle on moving as far away from Vivian as the box suite allows. I may not want to upset her, but I don’t have to be her best friend, either.

“Sloane, grab some food and come sit next to me,” says Mariana, patting the chair next to her. “We can tell you Sly stories so you can make fun of him later.”

“I think I’ll just grab some water for now,” I tell her, partly because I’m thirsty and partly because I need a second to center myself.

But before I can so much as take a step toward the refreshment table, Marco hands me a glass and glances toward the open seat between Sly’s sister and grandmother.

“I know, I know,” I hiss at him, wondering how I went from having no one outside my work circle to having another whole group. The moment Sly and abuela Ximena came into it, apparently.

Game on, Sloane.

I take a couple of deep breaths, pile up a plate, and head back to the others, making sure to give Vivian a wide berth. Respect from one bad bitch to another.

But as I cast a wary look her way, I notice her slipping a small pink pill in her mouth and swallowing it dry.

I jerk my gaze away, but Vivian just narrows her eyes and says, “I wouldn’t need painkillers if Sly would stop giving me headaches.”

I have no idea what to say to that, at least not unless I let the Black Widow have her way, so I settle for ignoring her as I slide into the seat between abuela Ximena and Sly’s youngest sister.

“So, do you like football?” Mariana asks when I finally join them. She’s young and artsy, but her black eyes are so much like Sly’s, I can’t help but relax a little.

“I don’t know a lot about it, to be honest. This is my first game.” I don’t tell them that I’ve spent the last week, ever since Sly issued the invitation, studying up on the sport in every minute of free time I’ve had.

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells me with a conspiratorial roll of her eyes. “It’s not that difficult…or that interesting.”

Just then, a voice announces over the loudspeaker that the Twisters are about to take the field. Like a total fangirl, I turn to watch the tunnel entrance for my first glimpse of Sly.

“Can you pick him out of the crowd?” Vivian asks. Her voice is normal, but I can see the hint of snark in her eyes.

“I can,” I answer. To prove it, I unzip the coat I’ve been wearing to reveal a minidress that is basically Lucinda’s version of Sly’s number seven jersey.

I didn’t show it downstairs because I didn’t want to seem too over-the-top, but if Vivian is going to challenge me, I’m totally going to bring it.

A few months ago, we—and by we, I mean I—ordered half a dozen of Sly’s jerseys, which I may or may not wear to sleep and when I’m alone in my hotel suite watching him play.

Lucinda caught me one day and told me we could do better than that.

Since then, she’s made it her mission to turn my jerseys into wearable pieces of art.

Today’s has the Twisters’ tornado logo cut into the center of the jersey over the number, so that every couple of inches, front and back, there’s a thin line of bare skin exposed—another reason I really need my underwear today.

The entire blue part of the jersey has been stitched over with sequins in the exact same color and, as a nod to our relationship, the stripes on the collar and sleeves are now adorned with mini cobwebs.

“Umm, I’m sorry, but where did you get that?” Mariana screeches.

I lift a brow. “Too much?”

“Hell no,” abuela Ximena chimes in. “It’s exactly enough.”

“It’s amazing,” Mariana gushes, pulling out her phone. “Where did you find it so I can get one?”

“My costume designer and stylist made it for me.” Mariana looks so disappointed that I quickly add, “I can ask her to make one for you—like this or different. She’s made five or six different versions.”

“Wait a minute.” Mariana looks me over. “Are you telling me you have six different blinged-out dress versions of Sly’s jersey?”

“Only two are dresses. One’s a jacket and the other three are actual jerseys.”

“Well then, we all want one,” Lucia tells me.

“Speak for yourself,” abuela Ximena says. “I want two. A jacket and a jersey.”

Even Vivian laughs at that, and it feels like the ice has been officially broken. Especially when I catch sight of Sly on the field and yell, “Oh! There he is!” with enough excitement to have everyone in the suite cracking up.

I lean forward to get a better look as the crowd roars their approval.

Turns out Sly and Marquis are clowning a bit for the fans as they make their way toward the sidelines.

And I’ve got to say, watching Marquis’s larger-than-life personality, I’m beginning to see exactly how my name ended up on that jumbotron.

“I swear, that boy can never be serious,” abuela Ximena mutters.

“You’ve haven’t seen the questions he’s got about his contract negotiation,” Vivian tells her dryly. “Believe me, Sly can be plenty serious.”

“Seems pretty serious about Sloane,” Camila adds, gaze narrowed and popping a stadium fry in her mouth. Her dark eyes study me over her younger sister’s head, waiting for my reaction.

Instinct has me reaching for my resting bitch face—if she wants to go, we’ll go—but then I remind myself I’m trying to impress these people, not show them how impervious I am.

Plus, just because I don’t have any family to be protective of, or to be protective over me, doesn’t mean I don’t get that she’s just trying to look out for her big brother.

So instead of matching her energy, I keep what I hope is a serene smile on my face as I meet her gaze. “Then we have that in common.”

She doesn’t look any more impressed than Vivian.

I’ve got to say, so far, this little experiment isn’t looking good for me. I know it’s because of the Black Widow’s persona, just like I know that if I want Sly’s family to like me, I need to show them who I am under all that noise.

But that’s so much easier said than done, especially since every look from Camila, every glare from Vivian, has me wrapping her tighter around myself.

At least until Lucia moves to sit next to me and murmurs, “You’re doing great.”

“I think that’s an overstatement,” I mutter.

“It’s not. Camila’s already shifted out of protective mode.” She nods toward her sister, who continues to down French fries as she watches the action on the field like her life depends on it. “Abuela and Mariana already love you. So, all in all, I’d say you’re a success.”

“What about you?” I ask, part bravado, part curiosity. Because if Lucia can act normal with everything she has to deal with today, then I can certainly do the same.

“It’s looking great so far.” Despite the fact that the Grizzlies’ defense is currently on the field, Lucia’s answering smile is both confident and soft at the same time. I admire that about her, considering it’s a balance I’ve never managed to master.

I’m tempted to ask her how she does it, but then she shifts and the long sleeve of her shirt rides up enough to reveal a thick, ugly scar on the top of her hand and wrist. A chill runs through me as I remember Sly telling me how she got it.

I jerk my eyes away immediately, determined not to let her know what I saw…or what I know. But the second I do, our gazes collide and I can see she’s already figured it out.

“I’m so sorry—” I start.

“It’s okay,” she interrupts in a voice soft enough that no one else can hear. “Sly told me you know. I’m glad.”

At first I don’t believe her. How can I, when I’ve spent what feels like centuries hiding my own traumas so deep that most days, even I can’t find them?

Lucia must see the doubt on my face because she reaches over and puts a gentle hand on my own.

I’m not prepared for it, and I startle at the touch.

But I force myself not to jerk away—partly because I don’t want anyone else to notice anything amiss, but mostly because I don’t want Lucia to feel like I’m rejecting her.

“I mean it,” she tells me. “What happened with Grant wasn’t just about me. Or even just about him. When my family found out… In some ways, it happened to them, too. They were enraged, of course, but they also hurt for me. And they blamed themselves for not seeing what was going on.”

She pauses to take a sip of her own water before continuing. “Especially Sly. I think he felt as lost as I did, even though he was too busy being strong to ever intentionally let me see it. I know his guilt changed our relationship. But I think it also changed him as well.”

I think about her words, think about all the people in my life who have been with me through everything.

Bianca. Jace. Marco. And now Pauline. I know I pay them, know they’re on my team because it’s their job.

But they’re also my family—the only family I’ve got.

When something bad happens in their lives, I hurt and worry and get angry.

Is it so hard to imagine they do the same for me?

Even Sly, who had his home security system upgraded this week, including a bunch of additional cameras and VIP emergency response service, just so I would feel comfortable staying with him. And so Marco would feel comfortable letting me.

Have I taken all of them for granted? Allowed Jarrod to hurt them as well as me?

The thought guts me, but I push it away. Misplaced guilt won’t benefit them or me. Especially when a glance over my shoulder reveals that Vivian is still staring me down.

I cover Lucia’s hand with my own in a silent show of solidarity. “I really appreciate you talking to me this candidly. But I have to ask—” I pause for a second, trying to find a way to say what I’m thinking without sounding insulting.

“Why I’m telling you this on our very first, very public meeting?” She chuckles, the somber look in her eyes giving way to something lighter, happier.

“Maybe,” I agree.

“Because it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out that Sly’s wild about you. If you feel the same way about him, I guess I thought you should know just how much responsibility he puts on himself for what happens to the people he cares about.”

She takes another sip of water before continuing.

“To be clear, I’m not saying you should let him get away with being overprotective.

I just ask that you have a little patience—maybe even a conversation—with him when he tries.

Because it really is coming from a place of fear and regret on his part. ”

I think about his daily check-ins with Marco over the stalker, think about the way he controlled the press conference the morning after he broke curfew to try to keep any blame from falling on me.

I called him on it at the time, because the last thing I ever want is for him to take a hit meant for me. But clearly his instinct to do just that goes deeper than I realized.

I start to thank her for the knowledge, but before I can, abuela Ximena, Camila, and Vivian explode out of their seats.

“Go, go, go!” Camila chants, her face practically pressed to the glass as she shouts.

I turn toward the field just in time to watch Sly running toward the end zone, football tucked under his arm, while members of the opposite team trail behind him.

One player throws himself at Sly, who jumps up to avoid the tackle, then spins around in midair to avoid another one.

He keeps running as he lands, and this time it’s one of his teammates who keeps one of the Grizzlies from bringing him down.

Seconds later, there’s a pile of Twisters atop Sly’s attacker and not a soul on his tail.

“Plus, coming to the Grizzlies game always lets me see that.” She points to where the defensive lineman is still buried under a bunch of Twisters players. “Watching Grant get his ass kicked all game is really good therapy.”

“Hell yeah, it is.” I hold up my water in a toast to that, just as Sly crosses into the end zone.

The crowd goes wild, and so do I, clapping and cheering right along with the rest of his family.

And this time when I glance over at Vivian, there’s something in her eyes I can’t identify.

It sends an ice-cold shiver down my back, because I know better than most just how difficult life can be if you’re in a star’s orbit and their agent doesn’t like you.

Which means I better figure out a way to charm her soon, because I’m not planning on going anywhere. And something tells me, neither is Sly.