Traded by Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 19
And so goes my first full week. Jack is a busy guy, and he’s incredibly hot and cold with me. Sometimes he seems to have come to terms with having me around, though most of the time he’s back in the role he thinks he needs to play. I’m frankly surprised he didn’t put up a bigger fight to having me living here. Surely he wouldn’t want anyone, particularly someone with a psychology background, to see the inner workings of his relationship.
My second week begins, and I counted down on the calendar last night. One week down, forty-six to go. I’m one-forty-sixth of the way to a quarter of a million bucks.
When I head down to the kitchen after my shower, it’s a little before six and Jack’s already in there in just a pair of mesh shorts and his Nikes.
No shirt.
A no shirt Jack is always a treat.
He’s facing the fridge as he chugs his orange Gatorade, and the broad planes of his back are slick with sweat.
He got up early to work out, and I hate the little feeling of regret in my chest that I missed the show.
“Good morning,” I say brightly. “What’s on the agenda for the day?”
He ignores me and chugs the rest of his Gatorade before he slams the bottle on the counter and leaves the room.
Okay, so maybe he’s not a morning person. I sit on the couch and read a few chapters in my textbook, and Brooke comes down with JJ so I chat with her for a bit.
Michelle waltzes in around ten. It seems she either ignores me or treats me like I’m her personal assistant, so I brace myself for what’s coming today.
“I’ll take a cup of coffee,” she says to me, and she sashays past me and collapses onto the couch.
I’m not your fucking waitress. I don’t say that, obviously, and I keep my eyes down as I move toward the kitchen so I don’t get caught if I accidentally make a face at Brooke.
I think I prefer when she ignores me completely.
I grab a coffee mug from the cabinet and fill it to the top. I know she likes cream and sugar, mostly because she puts the wet coffee spoon back in the sugar bowl, but I’m feeling a little passive aggressive this morning. I hand the black coffee to her and settle back on the couch, opening my textbook as I pretend to read.
She sighs heavily and mutters something about if you want something done right, you need to just do it yourself.
Amen, girlfriend. A-freaking-men.
“I’m off to work,” she says to Brooke. She plants a kiss on JJ’s head but doesn’t otherwise engage with him, and then she dumps her full cup of coffee into the sink and walks out of the room.
I hate her a little more every day, and the house is much brighter after she leaves for work.
When lunchtime rolls around and I still haven’t seen Jack, I decide to check the little app on my phone just to make sure he didn’t take off. He’s still in the house—or at least his phone is.
After a quiet lunch by myself, I wander around the house a bit until I end up near Jack’s office. I hear his voice on the phone through the closed door.
“I can’t keep doing this. It’s all so fucked. There has to be another way.”
What can’t he keep doing? I didn’t mean to overhear him, but I did.
I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to listen in on his conversation, so instead of eavesdropping, I simply knock on the door.
“I’ll call you later,” I hear him say into the phone, and then he yells, “What?”
I open the door and peek my head in. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“No.” He presses his lips together, and even though he didn’t invite me in, I walk in anyway and slide into the chair across from him.
“Care to talk about it?” I ask.
“No,” he repeats. He’s cranky today.
“You know I’m going to be around for nearly the next year, right?” I press. “You can talk to me.”
“Look, Kia. You can’t just shrink me like one of your little patients.”
I raise a brow. “For starters, my name is Kate, not Kia. And I’m not here to shrink you. Your boss believed you would benefit from a different sort of coach than you typically interact with on the field, and that’s why I’m here.”
He raises a brow and holds out his hands. “All right. Then coach me.”
“Well, what behaviors do we need to change?” I ask.
He shrugs. “None. I guess that means we’re done here.”
I laugh. “I don’t think we are. Calvin is worried about your ability to be a team player.”
“Pfft,” he scoffs. “Please. I know how to be a team player.”
“Do you?” I ask. “Because it seems you wanted out of Denver because your coach wouldn’t let you have total control of your offense.”
“Because I know how to run my offense,” he protests.
“Better than the man being paid to make those calls?” I ask. Thank God I did my research here. “Look, Jack, sometimes you need to set your ego aside and let other people do their jobs.”
“Like you?” he asks. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg casually over the other at the knee.
I shrug. “I mean you could make it a little easier on me.”
“Where would the fun in that be?” he asks, and just the way he looks at me tells me how freaking big that...ego of his is.
I ignore his words. “Your actions aren’t just about you. They reflect everywhere.” I’m trying to get him to see how his own ego is paralyzing him.
“I’m aware of who my actions affect. And for the record, I don’t give a fuck about anything except my son and football.”
“What about Michelle?”
My question is met with a beat of silence, and it’s a clear confirmation about the reasons behind his current actions. He further reinforces it by adding, “I said what I said.”
“Luke mentioned your father’s will at dinner. What’s in it?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he says petulantly.
“You’re right. You don’t.” I nod and press my lips together, and then I decide to just go for it. “But we have a bit of a history together, and you were quite an asshole to me more than once, and maybe letting me in will make the next forty-six weeks a little more bearable for us both.”
“Forty-six weeks?” he repeats. “You counted them?”
I lean back in my chair casually, too. “You know, I was a nanny for a couple years, and every time Kennedy, the little girl I took care of, was excited about something coming up—like a vacation, or a field trip, or whatever—we’d make one of those little paper chains to count down until that special day arrived.” I smile at the memory, and then I meet his gaze to see if he decoded my underlying meaning.
“And you’re excited for what happens in forty-six weeks?” he guesses.
“Bingo!” I shoot him a sweet smile.
He sighs. “Why are you doing this, then?” he asks.
“Oh, no, Mr. Dalton. You’re not turning the tables on me. We’re here to talk about you.” I point toward his chest.
“Maybe if you let me in a little, I’ll be more comfortable doing the same.”
I snort-laugh in a very unladylike way. “Right. And I’ll be on the next Space X mission to Mars.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Elon wouldn’t put you in space.”
I raise a brow. “And why not?”
He lets a little smile slip through. “Cats in space?” He shakes his head. “I think he’s more of a dog guy.”
I purse my lips to hide my smile. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?” he asks, his face the picture of innocence.
“Turning the tables on me.” I cross my arms over my chest as I make a snap decision. “You tell me the truth about your relationship with Michelle and I’ll tell you why I’m really here.”
He stares me down for a beat. His eyes are stormy and intense, but it’s not a product of this conversation. They’re always like that. It’s as if he’s trying to decide how much he can trust me, and I feel like he’s leaning toward giving me a little tidbit simply so he can have a little tidbit about me.
That’s the thing about athletes. They study their opponents, and sometimes they have to give a little to learn where weaknesses might lie so they can pounce later.
“She dated my brother, fucked me for revenge when they broke up, got pregnant, said it was his, turned out to be mine, had the baby, and I proposed.” He shrugs. “Now you go.”
“I don’t think so, buddy,” I say as I shake my head. I realize too late I used to call Miles buddy all the time. It’s a term of endearment that just slipped out and stuck, but I don’t want to give Jack a term of endearment. Especially not when he calls me Kia all the damn time...and also because of that whole thing about making it harder to let things go once you’ve named them. “You told me things I already know, not the truth about your relationship. Why did you propose?”
He stills after slightly jutting out his chin, a telltale sign he’s about to tell a lie. “Because we share a child.”
“Why else?” I press.
He raises a brow. “Because it felt like the right thing to do.”
“What are you getting out of it?”
He’s silent, but his chin is still raised a bit in defense.
I try a different tack. “What is she getting out of it?”
He blows out a breath and uncrosses his leg. He scoots forward in his chair and folds his arms on his desk in front of him, and then he glances up at me before his eyes fall back down onto his hands.
So there is something. There’s some reason a marriage is mutually beneficial to them. I just don’t know what it is yet.
But I will get to the bottom of it.
