The Game by Vi Keeland by Vi Keeland

Miller had been spending a lot of time at Bella’s, so I wasn’t surprised when he walked out tonight at nine o’clock—though I hadn’t been expecting him to look straight at me as he exited. I sank down into my seat, hoping he hadn’t seen me, but before I could sneak a peek to see if he was gone, he opened the passenger door to my SUV and climbed in.

“Drive a block or two away.” He pointed up ahead. “I don’t want her to look out the window and see me talking to you.”

I started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Did you just see me on your way out, or you knew I was here the whole time?”

“I saw you down the block when we pulled up in the Uber. I’ve also seen you a few other times over the last couple of weeks.”

My eyes flashed to Miller and back to the road. “Does Bella know?”

He shook his head. “No, but you could really do a better job of trying to be discreet. Didn’t you ever follow a girlfriend you suspected might be stepping out on you?”

My brows pulled together. “No.”

Miller rolled his eyes. “Figures.” He pointed to an open space at the entrance to a small park. “Pull over up there.”

I parked and shifted in my seat.

“You look like crap,” he said.

I frowned. “Thanks.”

“Matches how you’ve been playing lately, I suppose.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Miller sighed. “She’s fine. Well, that’s not true. She’s mentally exhausted from beating herself up. But she will be fine. My girl always is.”

“Why is she beating herself up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she has trust issues, and the first guy she trusted in forever was keeping a major secret from her. Or because she didn’t insist on a DNA test to confirm John Barrett was actually her father two years ago before she uprooted her entire life. Or because she started to let her guard down and like that new life. Or because the only living relative she felt gave two shits about her might not be her grandfather. Should I continue?”

I raked a hand through my hair. “No, it was a dumb question.”

“Got any better ones?” Miller put his hand on the door latch. “Or am I done here?”

“Will she ever be able to forgive me?”

“She won’t even talk about you right now. But my guess is she’ll come around. The one thing about Bella is, she looks at things from every angle. It’s her personality, but also what she spent years doing for work. When you build algorithms for a living, you have to be able to think about how people respond to different scenarios. Deep down she knows you were only trying to protect her.”

“Is she going to go back to work?”

Miller shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess that depends on the results. She and her grandfather took a DNA test to find out if John was her father.”

I nodded. “He told me. But even if he’s not, she’ll still own the team, legally. At least that’s what she said—the way it was worded in John’s will, she inherited the team even if they weren’t related. That’s why the judge denied the DNA request from her sisters, because it was a moot point.”

“But if he’s not her sperm donor, the only logical reason he left her the team is as a payoff for what he did. It’ll be blood money to her.”

I sighed. “Tell me what I should do. She wants me to give her space. But I want to be there for her. Do I push, or do I listen?”

“My personal opinion is that when a relationship is teetering on the edge, pushing usually forces it over to the wrong side. This is more about what she’s going through and not about you two. So maybe find a way to support her with that stuff and not focus on fixing your relationship yet.”

“How do I do that?”

Miller shook his head. “Fuck if I know.” He opened the door. “But good luck.”



***



The next day, every time my phone buzzed, I got my hopes up, even if I had no reason to since Miller had made it clear last night that Bella wasn’t ready to talk yet. I still frowned, finding someone else’s name on the screen. But I needed to answer because it wasn’t the first time my agent had called.

“Hey, Phil.”

“What the fuck? I’ve been calling you for a week. You don’t answer texts or return my calls.”

“Sorry. I’ve been dealing with some stuff.”

“That’s pretty obvious, since you’ve been playing like shit.”

Does everyone need to tell me how crappy my game was? As if I wasn’t aware. “What do you need, Phil?”

“Uh…how about the contract I messengered over ten days ago to be signed? Is there a problem with it?”

I looked down at the coffee table, at the stack of papers I’d opened but hadn’t yet read.

“I haven’t gone through it.”

“Why the hell not? You know the terms. There’s nothing in there that’s gonna be a surprise to you. I would think you’d be anxious to seal the deal and become the second-highest-paid player in the league with the biggest guarantee at your age. Especially after throwing four interceptions last week. You waiting to not make playoffs to give them a chance to rethink the numbers?”