Page 27

Marty

The picture on my phone mocks me.

Stevie with her arms wrapped around L’il Barracuda.

A table of people who look like they’re having a good time, with a bottle of Dom Perignon and Stevie and Barracuda clinking glasses. Staring into each other’s eyes. Smiling. Laughing. Happy.

Without me.

I know it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

But she didn’t say anything about seeing him last night—she specifically said she was having dinner with a photographer friend—and she didn’t call me when she got back to her hotel room either.

I shouldn’t be jealous. She’s given me no reason not to trust her, but after what Brenna did…

Stevie’s name pops up on my phone as I’m staring at the picture of her and Barracuda.

“Hey.” I answer cautiously, almost like I’m bracing for something.

“Good morning!” She sounds breathless. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call last night but Marcie and I were out later than anticipated and honestly, I passed out when I got back to the hotel.”

“It’s fine.” I hope I don’t sound as surly as I feel. “Did you have a good time?”

“It was nice. We ran—” I hear someone calling her name in the background.

“Stevie—we need you back in makeup!”

“I’m sorry,” she says hurriedly. “I have to go. I thought I’d have a break but apparently not.”

“Go,” I say quietly. “We can talk later.”

“Talk tonight! Miss you.”

The line goes dead before I can respond.

I’ve never been the jealous type. Not with Brenna, certainly not with any girlfriends before her. I’m usually the kind of guy who believes in love. In trust. In someone’s word.

Usually .

But the painful way my gut is twisted up, and the tightness in my chest, tells another story.

“Thanks, Brenna,” I mutter to myself.

I can’t fall down this rabbit hole. Allow myself to start being suspicious every time I see Stevie with another man. She’s one of the top models in the world. She knows a lot of people, and half of them are probably men. She’s allowed to have male friends. I can’t lose my shit every time she sees one of them or is photographed with one.

I need to get out of the house.

Time to see if any of the guys want to work out.

If I sit here another minute, I’m going to lose my mind.

My first call is to Gabe, and he agrees to meet me at the team’s practice facility. They’ve opened it up for those of us who are in town so we can start using the gym, and he’s there when I arrive.

“Hey.” He narrows his eyes the minute he sees me. “You look grumpier than usual.”

“Yeah.” I don’t say anything, merely get on the treadmill and start walking, unsure how to get past what I’m feeling.

“You want to talk?” he asks, leaning against the machine.

“No.”

“So you called and asked me to meet you here, but you don’t want to talk?” He pauses. “You and Stevie have a fight?”

“Search the internet,” I mutter. “See what you find of her in New York last night.”

He frowns but pulls out his phone and starts typing. It takes about thirty seconds before I see his eyebrows lift a little.

“I repeat the question—you and Stevie have a fight?”

“No.”

“You think there’s something to this?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“What does she say about it?”

“Nothing. She called me for a minute and then had to go before we could talk about anything.”

“Did she sound normal?”

“Rushed, but yes. She said she missed me before she hung up.”

“Okay, look, I don’t claim to be a psychologist or anything, but you know you’re projecting what happened with Brenna onto Stevie, right?”

“I do fucking know!” I stop walking and glare at him. “And I’m fucking pissed about it because I promised Stevie I would never do anything to hurt her or make her feel unsafe.”

“So don’t.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

“ Don’t .” He emphasizes the word. “Be supportive and loving and wait for her to come home. You’ll know the minute she walks in the door whether or not something is off. You knew with Brenna—you just didn’t want to believe it. Not necessarily that she was cheating, but that she was unhappy. And you’ll know with Stevie too.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“You will. She’s important to you. I can see you’re falling in love with her—or are you already there?”

I don’t respond because I can’t.

I’m all twisted up inside and feel like an idiot.

“Okay, so that’s a yes,” he says, chuckling. “Relax, man. She’s crazy about you. Harper gets all the gossip through the grapevine. Stevie’s into you. Let go of the past and look to your future.”

“Why is it so hard?” I ask quietly.

He smiles. “Because nothing worth having is ever easy.”

That’s for damn sure.

I hope like hell he’s right.

* * *

Stevie’s flight doesn’t land until late, but I’m not going to sleep until she gets here. It’s easier—and safer—for her to have a driver pick her up instead of risking being recognized at the airport, so there’s nothing for me to do but wait for her to get home.

She’s all but living here now, my bathroom overflowing with all her potions and creams and soaps. There are dresses and skirts in the closet. Panties and bras in one of the drawers.

This is her home now. Here with me. It’s not official, but actions speak louder than words, so I have to have faith that this is where she wants to be. And who she wants to be with. If she wanted to be with Barracuda, why would she have even started anything with me? She met him before we slept together or started dating, so she had that option… and chose me anyway.

She chose me .

I’ve been reminding myself of that for two days.

I hear steps on the stairs but refrain from going to greet her.

I need her to come to me. Gauge her reaction. Watch her face.

Gabe was right that I knew Brenna was unhappy and I’ll know if Stevie is hiding something too—this time my eyes are wide open when it comes to the woman in my life.

“Are you awake?” she whispers, coming into the bedroom.

The only light is a dim table lamp on the nightstand, and I nod. “Welcome home.”

“Hi!” She drops her purse and practically vaults across the room, throwing herself on the bed and immediately curling into my arms. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, baby.” My arms close around her.

She missed me.

“It’s so good to be back. I hated sleeping without you.”

“I haven’t slept all that well myself,” I admit gruffly.

“Are you okay?” She must hear something in my voice because she lifts her head to look at me. “Is it the kids? Did something happen with Brenna?”

I shake my head.

Her first thought is of the kids.

How can I think she’s cheating on me?

“No, I just…”

Do I owe her the truth? An honest baring of my soul to admit my insecurities?

I never pushed it with Brenna, opting to let her work out whatever it was.

So she found solace or comfort or companionship—whatever she called it—with someone else. I refuse to make that mistake again.

“What?” she asks, her blue eyes filled with worry. “Tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.”

I sigh.

Maybe a picture will be more effective because I’m having a hell of a time coming up with words to express myself.

I reach for my phone and pull up the picture of her in Barracuda’s arms.

“I might be the jealous type,” I say quietly, handing her the phone.

She looks down and frowns.

And then her eyes widen.

“Oh! Marty, no! I would never… that’s not…shit. I’m so sorry.” She immediately hugs me, holding me tightly. “I would never do that to you. Never ever, not for any reason. After what Brenna did? Please tell me you didn’t really believe I would do that to you?”

“No.” I stroke my hand down her back. “But I’ll admit it crossed my mind.”

“He was being nice, said something about people with good souls sticking together… and I got a little emotional realizing that I’ve truly started coming out the other side of what happened to me. Trusting people and making new friends. It wasn’t anything—I talked about you all through dinner.” She pauses and lifts her head again, searching my face. “Do you believe me?”

How could I not?

She’s so sincere, so sweet, and I know she’s telling the truth.

“I do,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss her. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry you saw that and then I was so busy we barely talked—I’ll be better about that. I got caught up in work, seeing a bunch of old friends. But I’ll be more cognizant of communicating. I apologize.”

“It’s all right, baby. This is all still new.”

“If I was unhappy, or met someone else, I would tell you. I would never do what she did. You know that, right?”

And somehow, as I stare into her beautiful blue eyes, I do know.

Brenna is the past.

Stevie is my future.