“Look, Mom.” Jake holds up his painting proudly.

  I smile, refusing to let him see my worry. “That’s pretty awesome,” I say. “Can I take it with me?”

  “Yeah, I made it for you,” he says, as if my question is ridiculous. “Is Ryder coming in to see me?”

  “He’s been in every day. As if he’d miss a chance to see his favorite boy.”

  Jake’s eyes light up. “He said that?” he asks, excitement filling his voice. “I like him, Mom. Do you think he’ll come back home with us?”

  His question leaves me feeling empty. We haven’t discussed our relationship at all, and now with this . . . who knows where we’re going?

  Ryder walks into the room, and I sigh with relief. I didn’t know how to answer the question.

  Jake’s eyes sparkle. “Ryder,” he exclaims. “You came.”

  “Course I did,” Ryder scoffs, sitting down. “How are you feeling?”

  Jake shrugs. “Okay. The injections make me feel sick, and I’m sleepy all the time.”

  Ryder glances at me.

  “The doctor says they’re pretty common side effects,” I explain. “His lung scans are already showing improvement.”

  “That’s fantastic news.”

  It is fantastic news, and I should be feeling much happier than I am, but I can’t stop thinking about everything else. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of this mess.

  For the last week I’ve barely eaten, because my stomach feels like it’s full of lead. I’m jittery, anxious, and moody. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was pregnant . . .

  Fuck.

  Oh God, no, not now.

  “Scar, what’s wrong?” Ryder asks, his gaze lowering.

  I’m doubled over, unable to speak as I rack my brain, trying to think. Holy shit. My hands fly to my face, and I think I’m going to be sick.

  As in, for real.

  I race out of the room and down the hall, making it to the bathroom before I heave up a mixture of bile and what is left of my morning coffee.

  Then hit hits me: I’m nearly ten days late. Suddenly, everything fits. The mood swings, the anxiety, the nausea . . . I’d put it all down to the stress I was under, with Jake being sick and Tony coming back into my life, but now I’m sure . . .

  I’m pregnant.

  How could this possibly get any worse?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ryder

  “That’s the fourth time this evening you’ve been sick,” I comment as she exits the bathroom.

  She nods and collapses onto the bed. I’m worried about her and how much stress she’s under at the moment. She doesn’t eat, she barely sleeps, and she looks like death.

  “I think I’m coming down with something. Between that and worrying about Jake . . . and Tony . . .” She rolls over and sighs. “I think all I need is a decent sleep.”

  I walk over and kiss her forehead. “Can I get you anything?” I ask, concerned. Maybe she should be seeing a doctor. Her skin is freakishly pale, and her normally bright eyes are dull and tired.

  She shakes her head. “If I don’t feel better tomorrow I’ll go,” she promises.

  I slide the covers back and let her slip under them. Tucking her in, I kiss her again. “If you need me, I’ll just be out there.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I murmur.

  No sooner have I poured myself a scotch than my phone rings. I reach into my pocket. It’s after midnight, which means it’s probably Josh—or the cops. I’m hoping for Josh, and I’m relieved when I see his number.

  “Hey.”

  “Good, you’re still awake.”

  “I’m surprised you are,” I say. “Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” I ask, sitting down on the couch. I rub my neck, ignoring the call for sleep that my body is demanding of me.

  He snorts. “Since when do you correlate game day with a good night’s sleep?”

  “Fair point. What’s up, then?”

  “So,” he begins, “I called my cousin. Your little friend is in a coma. He’s not in good shape. There is minimal brain activity, and recovery is not looking likely.”

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “I thought this would be good news.” Josh sounds surprised.

  “Yeah. Well, it’s not. Look, I can’t go into details, but thanks for this, mate. I’ll see you tomorrow. Rest up, and good luck.”

  “Thanks, man. Try and drop by and see me, okay?”

  “You know I will.”

  ***

  It’s nine o’clock Tuesday morning when I arrive at the stadium. I feel the rush in my stomach that I used to feel before a match, and realize that I do miss it. I’ve had so much going on that playing hasn’t even entered my mind, but missing it is not something I expected to feel. Even if I don’t play again, I doubt I can walk away from this altogether—and I have no idea where that leaves me. Would coaching give me that extra challenge that’s missing when I play?

  I meet Cally in the players’ room, and to my surprise she is freaking the hell out. I almost laugh, and then remember that I’m supposed to be her support. She sits in the corner on a bench, her long blond hair tied back in a plait. She’s keeled over, as if she’s going to be sick. What is it with everyone around me being sick?

  I’m beginning to wonder if it’s me.

  “Hey,” I say, sitting down next to her.

  She looks up at me and scowls. I laugh and her glare intensifies.

  “I’m gonna make a fool out of myself, and you’re going to let me,” she accuses, her dark eyes flashing. “Have you seen how many people are here? She’s going to drive me into the ground.”

  “With that attitude, she will.” I sigh, trying to summon some words of wisdom. “Look, don’t go out there expecting to win. Go out there and learn something new about your game. You can do this, Cally. You’re a damn good player.”

  “You think so?” she asks, her voice small. For the first time I see the vulnerable girl she really is.

  “I know so.”

  She jumps up and runs past me. I look over and see her throw her arms around Jim. If I’m totally honest, I’m shocked they’re as close as they are. Their relationship is the polar opposite to what I had been expecting.

  He’s not the father who has no time for his kid so he buys her affection, like I first thought. He’s always there, always encouraging, always supportive. I envy their connection because I never felt like I had that with my own father. I know my dad loves me, but nothing ever feels good enough. Even with numerous grand slams under my belt. It was always ‘try harder’. ‘Do better’. ‘Stop fucking around’. Standing up, I join them. Jim sticks his hand out, and I shake it.

  “Ryder.” He smiles. “I hope you’ve got my girl ready to play?”

  “She was always ready, Jim.” I grin.

  He laughs. “I knew I liked you for a reason. I’ll see you in the box?”

  “You will.” I nod.

  He pats me on the back and hugs Cally. “Good luck, honey. Win or lose, you’re my little princess.”

  “Dad!” she hisses, her face glowing as red as the Nike logo on her shirt.

  He laughs again and slaps her shoulder.

  She shakes her head as he walks off. “Why does he always have to embarrass me?”

  “That’s what they do. Would you rather he not show up and ignore you?”

  “Sometimes,” she mutters. “Shit, I’m about to play in fucking Wimbledon.”

  “Language, Cally,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Please. You’re having a go at me about language?” She laughs. “Do you listen to yourself?”

  Good point.

  “Just do your best, okay? Good luck.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

  Though she still looks a little green, she’s a hundred times better than she was when I arrived. I wave as I walk off, making my way around to the players’ box. I have twenty minutes before her match begins, so I decide to drop past and see Josh, who I know will be training for his afternoon match against a wildcard—a match he should win.

  Josh grins as I approach him on the outside training court. He hugs me, slapping my back. “Hey. You made it. How’s the kid?”

  “Shitting herself,” I chuckle. I shake my head. “She’ll be fine once she gets her nerves under control. You know, they’ve asked me to coach her full-time.”

  “Wow,” Josh says, raising his eyebrows. “And you’re actually considering it?”

  “I’m more than considering it. I think I’ve decided to do it.”

  His eyes widen. “You’re serious? You’re ready to give all this up?”

  I shrug. “I think we both know my heart was never really in it.” I smirk. “Besides, maybe you’ll actually win a tournament that way.”

  “Watch it, Stevens.” His eyes narrow, but I can see the light in them.

  “Catch you later, okay?”

  On the way back to Cally’s player box, I call Scar.

  “Hey,” I say, my heart thumping at the sound of her voice. “Feeling any better?”

  “I am,” she says. “I think I just needed a good sleep. How’s your student?”

  “She’s a wreck.” I shake my head. “But she’ll be fine. Are you at the hospital?”

  “No,” she hesitates. “Okay, so maybe I’m not feeling as well as I let on.”

  “Scar,” I chastise. I’m immediately concerned, to the point where I consider going to check on her. But I can’t do that to Cally. Not today. Not if I really plan on coaching her.

  “What?” she protests. “I don’t need you worrying about me. We have enough on our plate right now.”

  I sigh. Tony. Fuck. How the hell am I going to tell her that he’s in a fucking coma? She’s going to freak out.

  “I’ll come home as soon as the match is over, and you’re going to the doctor. No arguments.”

  “Okay,” she grumbles.

  I hang up and take my place in the box next to Jim. Cally and her opponent are on the court, warming up. The crowd is pretty decent, considering it’s an early morning match on an outside court between two relatively unknown players.

  “So, Ryder,” Jim begins, turning to me, “have you considered our offer any further?”

  I’m about to reply when I stop myself. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? My heart races as I try and control my excitement. I need to keep cool. I need to hold my cards close to my chest.

  “Jim, I’m willing to consider it, but I need a favor from you in return,” I say smoothly.

  His eyebrows shoot up, but he recovers quickly. “Sure. What do you need?”

  “I need information about a possible crime. A friend of mine might be in trouble back in the States, and I need to know what the, uh, situation is.”

  “This friend isn’t you, is it?” he asks suspiciously.

  “What? Hell no,” I retort, avoiding his eyes. “Look, this friend hasn’t done anything, but certain circumstances might possibly look unfavorable to the police—if you know what I mean.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what.” He hands me his card. “Send me an email with all the details and I’ll look into it.” He pauses, his expression serious. “I really do hope you consider this offer seriously, Ryder. I think it could be great for my daughter to learn from you.”

  “Thanks, Jim. I’ll definitely think about it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ryder

  “I think you need to see this.”

  I sit up and rub my eyes. Scarlett slaps a copy of the Daily Mail down on the bed and folds her arms over her chest. I’m half asleep and barely able to focus.

  “Congratulations, Ryder. Front page, too.”

  I scan the front page, expecting to see a story on Cally’s shock win in her first round of a major tournament. Instead, my eyes fixate on three photos: Scar, Tony, and me.

  Oh shit.

  I skim through the article, cleverly titled “The Falling of a Star.”

  “…Ryder allegedly contacted Mr Larezzi and offered him a sum of two hundred thousand dollars to stay out of Ryder’s current girlfriend, Ms. Calera’s, life. Tony expressed his shame in accepting the money, stating he felt he didn’t have a choice. All he wanted was a chance to get to know his son, and Ryder was determined to make sure that didn’t happen…”

  Fucking bitch.

  “Who is she, Ryder?” Scar yells. “And how the fuck does she know so much about this?”

  “What?” I ask, confused. I fail to see how this article suggests anything is going on between me and the author. Then I see the sticky note.

  Oh, fuck.

  Ryder,

  Thought you might be interested in this. Call it payback for refusing to fuck me last week. I don’t like hearing no. Give me a call when you get rid of the slut and you’re ready to play again.

  Anna xx

  “It’s not what you think,” I start, pushing the covers back. “It says right there I knocked her back.” I point at the note, oblivious to how ridiculous I sound.

  “Yes, but what were you doing with her in the first place?” she asks, throwing her hands up. “And I’m the one who can’t be trusted? Jesus, Ryder!”

  “I was at her place telling her I couldn’t do a story,” I try to explain.

  “And you couldn’t do that over the phone?”

  “No. The story was in return for a favor. She helped me find Tony,” I explain quietly.

  “Well, that worked out great for you, didn’t it?” Her tone is sarcastic. “I’m gonna catch a cab to the hospital,” she mumbles, grabbing her bag.

  “Let me take you,” I say, throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt.

  “Please, just give me some space.”

  I stand there clutching my jacket and watch her walk out. Cursing, I hurl the jacket across the room. Everything is going to shit. No matter what I do, it blows up in my face. I’m so fucking pissed at Anna. Why the hell would she do that—especially knowing what kind of person Tony is? She said it herself: the guy is bad news. Did I really hurt her pride that much?

  I grab my phone and punch in her number.

  “I thought I might hear from you,” she purrs into the phone. No hello or anything. It’s like she was sitting there waiting for me to call.

  “I can’t believe you did that, Anna. You have no idea what the fuck you’re messing with,” I growl, anger boiling up inside of me. “What did you do, call him up and offer him more money? You’re that petty? You make me sick.”

  “You promised me a story, Ryder,” she retorts. “How I got it is none of your business. But I am curious as to how your little girlfriend reacted.” She laughs. She actually laughs.

  I shake my head. “Go to fucking hell.”

  ***

  The fucking press are everywhere. I manage to avoid them outside my house by going out the back exit, but at the stadium it’s a different story. The practice court is packed full of spectators and paparazzi.

  “This is how you prepare me for the biggest match of my life?” Cally screeches, stamping her foot. “You just can’t stay out of the spotlight, can you?”

  I grit my teeth. Like every other person in London, she’s obviously read the article.

  “Suck it up, princess,” I reply, tossing her a racket.

  Her eyes widen in shock.

  “You’re up against a seeded player tomorrow. If anything, you should be thanking me for this crowd,” I growl.

  Her mouth open and closes, but no words come out. Shaking her head, she storms out onto the court and begins hitting her shots.

  “Does all this have anything to do with the little favour you asked of me?”

  I cringe. Jim. Turning around, I brace myself for the wrath I’m sure is coming. To top it all off, he would’ve just heard me go off at his daughter too.

  “Jim—”

  “We’ll talk about this later, okay?” he says. He walks past me, patting me on the back. “Focus on my daughter for now.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Scarlett

  I’ve spent the entire morning hovering over the toilet bowl, heaving my guts up.

  Morning sickness is the worst. The funny thing is, I never got it with Jake. It’s like the world is punishing me by hitting me double.

  Or maybe Ryder just has super-powerful sperm.

  I groan and close my eyes, leaning my head against my arm. How am I going to tell him? My plan was to pretend I was fine, but it’s going to be hard to do that when I can’t stray from the toilet for more than five fucking seconds.

  My phone rings and I answer, expecting Ryder. Only it’s not.

  “Ms. Calera?”

  I swallow and lean over the toilet bowl again, ready to heave.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Detective Reynolds from the Boston police department. Do you know a Tony Larezzi?” he asks.

  “Yes. He’s my son’s father.” I’m losing the plot. I can’t handle this now. Tears spring in my eyes as I desperately try and figure a way out of this.

  “You were in contact with Tony in the days before his assault. Are you aware that he’s in an unresponsive coma?”

  A coma? Oh my god. This is it. It’s over. I’ve killed him. He’s going to die and it’s all my fault.

  “I had no idea,” I answer, my voice shaking. “Tony was in contact with me, but only to threaten me, as you probably gathered from the messages.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” he asks.

  “Um, T-Tuesday, two weeks ago. He threatened me at my hotel.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  I have no way of answering that. “Because I was scared,” I wail. “Am I a suspect?”

  “Ms. Calera, at the moment, you are a person of interest who we hope will be cooperative in our investigations.”

  The phone falls from my hands and crashes to the floor beside me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is cry because I know my life is over.

 

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