Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)
Undeniably Married: Chapter 30

Nothing has gone right this afternoon. And I mean fucking nothing. It’s the second game of the season against a heavily favored team, the San Diego Storm, and so far, my center got hurt and carted off the field, my guys are dropping passes that straight-up hit them in the hands, and now my helmet mic isn’t working. Oh, and we’re down ten points.

I look over to my dad on the sidelines, who is talking into his headset. I shake my head and tap my helmet at my ears. He stops talking and signs, You can’t hear me?

I shake my head again and sign back, Headset not working.

I read a curse slur across his lips.

He signs back. Then run the play you want.

Because there are people on the sidelines who watch coaches to try to read signs teams throw out. Except we’re not using code. We’re using American Sign Language, and that’s not too difficult to decipher. This means until this issue can be fixed, the offense is mine to run.

I turn back to my guys in the huddle, my gaze flicking up toward the massive screen above the end zone. Fourteen seconds are left on the play clock, and I will not take a timeout or a delay of game penalty.

“We’re flying solo, so I’m saying we fuck with them all and go deep.” I meet each of their gazes. We’re down and need a score since we only have seven minutes left in the fourth quarter. “Let’s get into field goal range. Slant left, straight shot to Morris on three. And you will catch it. Ready, break!”

We separate and get into position. And with five seconds left on the play clock, I count down while surveying the defense, reading for a blitz or a defender set to come up the middle now that we have our backup center out here.

“Hike!” I draw back in the pocket and immediately have to run to my right instead of left because a defender is there just as I would have anticipated. I roll around him and shoot a quick glance up the field. Morris is getting into position, outrunning the corner, and I let my arm fly.

On my next breath, I get hit from behind, going straight down, but my eyes are still on the ball sailing through the air. Morris somehow manages to catch it, though it just barely misses the fingers of the other team. He makes it another ten yards before he’s brought down, and fuck yeah, first down in field goal range.

Running up to the line, we huddle up again, and I can feel it. Some life is getting back into us. “We’re not there yet, but I want to shove it down their throats. Let’s run this right up the middle,” I bark. “They won’t expect it right now. I want all the blocks you can give on this one. Let’s do it. We’re playing for the fucking win tonight.”

I get a round of raucous cries and helmet smacks as we get set and line up in formation. I shout out a bunch of hard counts and point out the defense when they look like they’re going to blitz. Still, they’re expecting another pass. I can see it. Sweat tickles the back of my neck, and my fingers hum with anticipation of the ball.

“Hike!” I yell and fall back the second the ball is snapped to me. I shift left and right and pump fake only to hand it off to our running back. And as I drew it up, he runs straight up the middle that isn’t at all protected since the defense didn’t think we’d rely heavily on the backup guy for a block.

Our running back stutters and pauses but then flies straight and doesn’t stop, the ball tucked in his arm and against his chest as he sprints hard and fast.

“Go!” I cry, jumping up to see better and a moment later, he crosses the end zone. Touchdown! “Fuck yeah!” I run into the end zone and give him a headbutt. “Nice running! Let’s win this!” I smack the helmet of a few other guys around us, all of us pumped beyond words.

I glance up toward the box and search until I make out my girl on her feet, jumping up and down. She’s in my jersey, and I know my number is around her neck. I kiss two fingers and shoot them straight up to her and sign I love you. I get the same sign back, and my heart kicks up in my chest like a bull about to charge. If happiness were a color, it’d be the red and gold she’s wearing with my number in white.

These two weeks since we found out she was pregnant have been the best of my life. She’s in my bed. She’s in my arms. She’s on top of me and beneath me and on all fours for me. My girl is all smiles and sunshine again, and the moment I walk in the door, she’s all over me. Her hormones aren’t just tears, and I have no problems giving her everything she needs until she’s so satisfied she all but passes out.

But it’s more than that.

It’s just having her back. It’s us having dinner and watching TV or movies together. It’s her singing and dancing along to whatever 90s song is playing in the kitchen if she’s home before me and making dinner. It’s her asking me this morning if I can come with her to her first official OB appointment—something I’d never miss.

Other than the shock to Landon and Octavia, we haven’t told many people she’s pregnant, just that we’re together. She asked both of them to keep it quiet. My main people now obviously know, and she’s told her sisters and mom as well as a few others, but that’s it. She wants to wait until after that appointment, and she’s closer to her second trimester.

I don’t care. Now that my people know and I don’t have to hide it from them, it’s her show to run with that, and I’ll follow her lead.

I thought her dad was going to kick my ass, but when she told him the baby was technically Brody’s, and I still planned to be part of all of it, he didn’t just shake my hand, he pulled me in for an unexpected man hug. Octavia too was near tears, and that woman doesn’t show big emotions like that often.

The game continues, and with under thirty seconds left in the game, we hit a field goal to tie it and in overtime, we win. Covered in sweat and feeling like a champion because winning always feels that way, I come back onto the field to do post-game interviews. The reporters ask me questions, but suddenly, I catch a flash of that red and gold and adjust at the last minute to catch Sorel as she runs and leaps into my arms.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims. “That was amazing!” She kisses me, and I laugh.

“We’re on TV.”

“What?” Abruptly she pulls back, stunned and terrified, before she glances to her right at the reporter, who now looks like an eager beaver, practically shoving the camera in our faces. Sorel’s hazel eyes go impossibly wide, and she scrambles out of my arms and tries to run off.

Instead, I grasp her hand and hold her still, keeping her tucked behind me and away from the cameras, but not allowing her to go far. I have no doubt we’re being photographed anyway and that her in my arms will be all over the internet within seconds. Not even Vander could stop that.

The female reporter tries to bring Sorel back into her interview, but I make it clear, I won’t engage. Two minutes later, it’s done, and I hold Sorel’s hand as we walk toward the tunnel.

“I feel so dumb,” she mumbles self-deprecatingly. “I didn’t even notice her or think about it. I was just excited to get on the field and tell you how amazing you were to come back and win like that.”

“You know I don’t care.”

She glances up at me. “I suppose I shouldn’t anymore either, right?” She shrugs. “I don’t like the spotlight, and I don’t like the attention, but you were incredible tonight. I was so proud. We all were.” We stop before we reach the locker room. “I’m going to head home, but I’ll listen to your conference in the car.”

I lean down and kiss her lips. I don’t care if we’re still technically on the field or if cameras could catch us. I know she hates that side of this, but she’s mine, and I want the world to know it.

“Did you know that Boston Sports Radio called me a cougar?” she remarks, a smile twisting her lips.

“Did they?” My lips bounce.

“You’re a twenty-something-year-old stud, and I’m a woman past my prime in my mid-thirties,” she mocks, sarcasm all over her. “No one can understand how we’re together. They may think you’re after my money.”

I snort out a laugh at that and whisper in her ear. “I like that my wife is older than me. She’s sexy as fuck. Those who can’t see it are blind. And tonight, I plan to lick her tits until she comes and then fuck her until she comes again.”

She moans and hip-checks me. “Behave.” Another kiss, and I don’t think happiness is a color anymore. It’s just being near her. “I’ll see you at home.”

I head into the tunnel toward the locker room with another win on my shoulders and the woman of my dreams waiting for me in my bed. Everything feels perfect. And with that, much like Sorel, I suddenly find myself worried about the other shoe waiting to drop.

Sorel is completely out. Her body is tucked against mine, and her eyes flutter in a dream as she breathes heavily in her sleep. I came home, ate a light dinner, and we spent two hours watching TV and making out while stealing touches like a teenager before I convinced her to let me take her to bed, where I made her come until she all practically fell asleep in my arms.

I’m lying in bed beside her, but my mind is too active for sleep.

That’s not all that uncommon after a game. I often go over everything I did wrong and everything I want to improve on for next week. It’s nearing eleven and I’m watching the end of Sunday Night Football on my iPad with subtitles on when her phone rings on her nightstand. Sorel doesn’t even stir, and I shift out from under her and crawl across the bed to make sure it’s not her family or anything important given the late hour.

Brody. It’s fucking Brody.

With a wry grin on my lips, I snag her phone from her nightstand and swipe my finger across the screen.

“Mrs. Fritz-Reyes’s phone, her husband speaking.”

Brody is silent for a beat. He expected Sorel to answer, but he should know that it’s late, and Sorel isn’t typically a late-night girl. Plus, she has work early tomorrow.

“She must not have told you then,” he says quietly, almost smugly like he has the upper hand in this.

I grin. “You mean that she’s pregnant? Yeah, she told me.”

“How about that it’s not yours. Did she tell you that it’s mine?”

“Of course she told me. We don’t hide things from each other.” Now I grin smugly because that was a nice, cheap shot. “Besides, the baby is only biologically yours,” I retort. “Otherwise, it’s just as mine as she is.”

“You motherfucker,” he hisses angrily. “You don’t even belong as part of this conversation.”

I smirk and rub at my jaw, my gaze flicking over at Sorel, who is still out.

“You saw her with me tonight. Didn’t you? That’s why you’re calling now. You saw us on TV. She told you she was pregnant with your kid more than two weeks ago, and other than that one call where you told her you needed more time, you haven’t tried to contact her. Not one call. Not one text. She hasn’t re-blocked you. Tonight, you see me with her and now you’re calling.”

“Fuck you, Reyes. You know nothing.”

“You didn’t think I’d stick around. You thought I’d bag out like a chump and Sorel would be alone to raise this baby. You didn’t care so much about that part of it, just that you wanted me out of the picture. What kind of fucking man are you? Oh, wait. I already know. The kind who ruthlessly and unrepentantly screws around on his woman, knocks her up, and then doesn’t even have the decency to try to do the right thing for her or the baby. But I guess I should be glad. Without you being a piece of shit, I wouldn’t be in bed beside my sleeping wife.”

“Sorel should be with me in New York. She’s loved me for two years. She was set to marry me. You were nothing more than a friend to her. She told me so. She’s just being stubborn and holding onto her anger, and I was giving her time to come to her senses with that. That’s what I told her on the phone. Sorel needs the baby’s real father, and I’m in New York.”

“Jesus, man. How do you handle having an ego that big? I mean, I’ve met some narcissists in my life, but you might be the biggest. But you’re correct. The baby does need a father, and with me, there’s no moving required. I’m right here.”

“Fuck you, asshole. You’re nothing. She’s using you to hurt me back. You’re revenge and have been from the start. You’re not real to her. Sorel never runs on the field. She never gets in front of cameras. She wanted me to see that. How stupid are you that you haven’t figured that out yet? You’re a goddamn bullshit rebound, and you don’t even see it.”

I can’t lie, his words hit me below the belt if for no other reason than they’re thoughts I’ve had before. She doesn’t view this marriage as real, and I did start out as revenge and likely a rebound. Hell, she didn’t even tell him I was still with her. She let him see it tonight on TV. But I’d rather cut off balls than let him know that.

“Aw, you’re cute when you’re jealous,” I mock. “Funny thing about that, Brody? You have no clue all that Sorel and I have. And how sad is that for you? You threw away the best woman on this planet, and for what? A woman who you didn’t even like beyond what she did with your dick?” I stop here, tempted to say something about how I know he’s still talking to Eloise, but I don’t. I can’t reveal that I’m having him monitored.

“You’re as dumb as you look and sound if you think you’ll last with her. Soon enough, she’ll be back in my bed, sleeping beside me, with our baby in her arms, right here in New York, and you’ll be a thing of the past. You can bet on that.”

“Hmm. Funny, because that sounds like a bit of a threat.”

“Probably because it was.”

“I don’t take kindly to those. Especially when they include Sorel in the mix. But since we’re passing threats back and forth, know this, I will fucking kill you if you mess with her. Point blank. You might not know me all that well, but I am the last person on this planet you want to fuck with.”

He laughs. Actually laughs. Like I’m amusing him and shit. Legit, he has no clue. That’s not even hyperbole. I will in fact kill the dude if he fucks with my woman and no one will find his body, and even if they do, there will be no evidence that points to me. I bet her dad will help. Hell, I bet all her uncles and cousins, and her brothers will help me.

But still. That might not be what’s best for her.

I blow out a breath and drag a hand across my face to the top of my head as I get myself under control. I could keep fighting with him, but that won’t help Sorel. I glance down at her, still fast asleep.

“Listen, Brody. Truth time? I’m not trying to be a dick. I love her. I’ve loved her for a long time, and I’m not going anywhere. She and I are in this for real, and I plan to raise the baby with her as mine. If you want to be a part of it, then I’ll respect that and act accordingly. If that’s not your game, then no one other than the three of us needs to know. But stop trying to fuck with her. Sorel deserves better than that. If you love her or ever loved her, think about your actions. She’s been through enough. Let her be happy.”

He makes a noise I can’t quite decipher and hangs up.

Brody isn’t done. I know that. He wouldn’t have called her tonight if he were.

I play Brody’s team in two weeks. I can only imagine how that’ll go.