The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was the garage door opening and closing at noon the following Monday that had me saving my work.

Neither one of the guys should have been home that early.

Zac had just gotten back from south Texas the night before, and he typically hadn’t been getting back from training until three or four. On Mondays, Aiden didn’t get home earlier than three. It was the shortest day for him out of the week, and after having the weekend off following their Thanksgiving Day game, there was no way he’d get home earlier. Mondays usually just consisted of a visit with the trainers, a workout, lunch, and a couple of different meetings that included watching the last game’s film.

So who the hell was home, and why?

I got up and called out, “Who’s home?” When there wasn’t a response, I jogged down the steps to make my way toward the kitchen and paused when I spotted Aiden drinking a glass of water. “What the hell happened to your face?” I just about shouted the second I caught sight of the red and purple along his jaw.

He set the glass of water down on the countertop and gave me a flat look. “I’m fine.”

He was so full of shit. I made my way around the island anyway. “I didn’t ask if you were fine. What the hell happened?”

He didn’t reply as he stuck his hands under the sink’s fountain sensor and splashed water on his face. What the hell did he do? Aiden rarely got into fights. Hell, he’d told me why they were so few and far between, and I’d never heard a better reason for it. He didn’t have an explosive temper; he usually just bumbled around at being irritated all day.

As he dried his face, I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, wincing when he set the towel aside, giving me an up close look at the bruises that were going to take up a good portion of his face in a few hours.

Did I realize he was trying to avoid talking about whatever happened? Of course. I just didn’t care.

Handing over the ice pack the instant he’d thrown away the paper towels, I took a step back and took in his features again in disbelief. “Did you get jumped?”

“What?” His gaze swung over to me as he frowned just a little bit. He was insulted. He was genuinely insulted. “No,” he snapped, not in a mean way.

“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly. Sure, he was huge, and sure, in raw strength, he definitely had 99 percent of other men beat, but if there were multiple larger-than-average guys trying to beat him up, it could happen. Right? Just thinking about that possibility suddenly pissed me right off.

Pressing the ice pack against the line of his jaw, he shook his head just the tiniest bit, his eyes doing this dismissive flutter. “I didn’t get jumped.”

His assurance wasn’t doing it for me, damn it, and I was getting angrier by the second. I touched his arm. “Tell me what happened, Aiden.”

“Nothing.”

Nothing. The right side of my mouth went tight. “You beat yourself up then?”

That scoff said more than the word “No” did.

“Then…” I trailed off, not giving this up.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I’d already known that from the beginning. But as stubborn as he was, I was too. And I wasn’t going to let it go because this right here, the clear signs of him getting into a fight with someone on his team was a sign of the apocalypse. Aiden didn’t give enough of a shit about his teammates to care what they said about him or to him.

He’d said it at the game, there were only a few people he’d ever met whose opinions mattered to him. And I knew that wasn’t something he said for the heck of it. He meant it.

I’d been trying my best since Friday not to think about the basketball game we’d gone to. Or at least, I’d attempted not to think about what he’d said to my sister’s husband or how he’d looked at Susie like he wanted to kill her. The memory of him grabbing my hand and walking with me to the car in silence as anger marred that handsome face, had drilled a hole straight into my heart. Then, as we’d sat in my car, he’d said, “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you.”

All I’d managed to do was sit there and frown. “To where? El Paso?” His response had been a nod. “It’s fine, big guy. It’s all water under the bridge now.” I couldn’t help but reach over and put my hand over the top of his. “That was nice of you to stand up for me, by the way.”

Well, I thought it had been more than nice, but the realization of what I thought I felt was something I never wanted to voice.

Then Aiden had gone and done it as he faced forward out of the windshield, teeth gritted, jaw tight. “I’ve let you down too many times. I won’t do it again.”

Just like that, this feeling of dread poured through my stomach, making me antsy. He’d spent the rest of the weekend more remote than normal. While he hadn’t become outgoing since we’d begun getting along a lot better, Aiden had retreated into himself a little more. He’d worked out and finished and started another puzzle, which was his telltale sign that he was trying to work something out in his head or relax.

It all suddenly made me nervous, and a little, tiny, baby bit worried. Pulling one of the stools at the island back, I plopped into it and simply stared at that discolored, harsh face in unease. “I just want to know whether I need to steal a bat or make a phone call.”

His mouth had been open and poised to argue with me… until he heard the last thing I said. “What?”

“I need to know—”

“What do you need to steal a bat for?”

“Well, no one I know owns one, and I can’t go buy one at the store and have it caught on videotape.”

“Videotape?”

Did he know nothing?

“Aiden, come on, if you beat the shit out of someone with a bat, they’re going to look for suspects. Once they have suspects, they’ll look through their things or their purchases. They’ll see I bought one recently and know it was premeditated. Why are you looking at me like that?”

His mauve-colored eyelids went heavy over the bright whites of his eyes, and the expression on his face was filled such a vast range of emotions, one after another after another, that I wasn’t sure which one I was supposed to hold on to. He switched the icepack to the other side of his bruised jaw and shook his head. “The amount you know about committing crimes is terrifying, Van.” His mouth twitched under the rainbow of whatever he was thinking. “It scares the hell out of me, and I don’t get scared easily.”

I snorted, pretty pleased with myself. “Calm down. I went through this phase when I was into watching a lot of crime TV shows. I’ve never even stolen a pen in my life.”

Aiden’s careful expression didn’t go anywhere.

“I’m not trying to kill anyone… unless we had to,” I joked weakly.

His nostrils flared so slightly I almost missed it. But what I didn’t miss was the way the corners of his mouth tipped up into a tiny smile.

I smiled at him as innocently as possible. “So do you want to tell me who’s going to get the fists of fury?” I hoped I sounded as harmless as I intended, even though I felt the exact opposite as every second passed.

“Fists of fury?”

“Yep.” I held up my hands just a little so he could see them. He had no idea the number of fights I’d gotten into with my sisters over the years. I didn’t always win—I rarely won if I was going to be honest—but I never gave up.

The sigh that came out of him was so long and drawn out, I kind of prepped myself for the half-assed answer that was going to come out of his mouth.

“It’s nothing.” There it was. “Delgado—”

The brakes in my head came to a screeching halt. “You got into it with Christian?”

He glanced at me through those incredibly long eyelashes, moving the ice pack a little lower on his jaw. “Yes.”

That dreaded feeling in my stomach got worse. “Why?” I hopefully asked as calmly as I could, but I was pretty sure it came out relatively strangled.

Please, please, please. Don’t let it be why I think it might be. Christian had been a creep on Thanksgiving, but it wasn’t like he’d made grabby hands at me.

Aiden’s face said it all. His mouth opened slightly and the tip of his tongue touched the corner of it. That brief silence was cold. “You could have told me,” he accused.

I gulped. “Told you what?”

His gaze was through the thick row of his eyelashes, and I caught his hand flexing over the icepack. “What he did to you. How he acts around you.”

Zac. I was going to wring his neck. “I’ll tell you what I told Zac: it isn’t a big deal.”

The big guy went stone-cold still. A muscle in his jaw popped and a vein in his neck throbbed.

“It is a big deal, Vanessa. Zac mentioned it to me right before he left, but I thought if it was a big deal, you would have said or done something about it. You didn’t.” He leveled that dark, angry gaze at me, his jaw tightening. “I saw the way he looked at you after the game. I heard the way he talked to you while I was right there. He knows we’re married, and he still did that shit.”

Did he just cuss for the second time in a week?

“I am not okay with that,” he claimed in that incredibly deep voice, his spine straight and shoulders back. “I’m not fine with you always thinking you have to deal with things on your own.”

Remorse filled me, but only for a second. I straightened my own back and glared right back at him. “You didn’t have to get into a fight with him over it, Aiden. I don’t want that guilt on my head. The last thing I want is for you to get angry with yourself later.”

Plus, what would I have done back then? Told Aiden his teammate had tried coming on to me? He wouldn’t have done anything. I knew that. The Aiden from a few months ago knew that, too.

“I did have to, and I would do it again.”

I blinked. Then I blinked a little more, having to look up at the ceiling so that I could collect my words. A touch at the side of my jaw had me tipping my head back to look into those deep brown eyes.

Everything about him was serious and intent. “I know you think I wouldn’t care,” he said in that whisper voice that bled solemnness, “but I would. I do. We’re in this together.”

My mouth suddenly dry, I nodded. “Yes.”

“Trust me, Van. Tell me. I won’t let you down.”

Yeah, my throat and tongue thought they were the Sahara. My eyes on the other hand wanted to be the Amazon. I didn’t even realize I needed to sniffle until I did it. As much as I’d been telling myself over the last two days that I’d imagined being a wee bit in love with him, my heart held on to the truth. I was. I hated it, but I was. I recognized it, sensing that stir in my chest. I was falling, if not more than a little, in love with Aiden. My husband of convenience.

And it was terrible. I had no right. No business to do so. This was an agreement between two people who barely spoke to each other. How could I do this for the next five years? What the hell was I going to do with it?

I had no idea.

“You believe me, don’t you?” he asked, tearing me out of my thoughts.

I made myself focus on the face that was as familiar to me as the rest of my loved ones’ were; that tight mouth, the hard lines of his cheekbones, the thick slashes of his eyebrows. Control and discipline in flesh and bone.

I nodded, forcing myself to give him my best easygoing, total-liar smile. “I do. Of course I do.” I touched his forearm. “Thank you again for standing up for me.”

He grumbled, “Stop it.”

I smiled a little more genuinely. “I have this cream for bruises, let me go grab it.”

Aiden jerked his head back like I was about to try to shove a hot dog in his mouth. “You know I don’t care about bruises.”

“Too bad. I do. He can be black and purple tomorrow—and I freaking hope he is—but I’d rather you didn’t.” I winced at the small crack in his lip. “What did he have to do? Take a running start to reach your face?”

Aiden burst out laughing, not even grimacing as his cut split wide.

“Seriously, Aiden.” I reached up to touch his bruised jaw gently with my fingertips. “Did he sucker punch you?”

The big guy shook his head.

“He actually managed to get a fair shot in?” I wasn’t going to lie. I was a little disappointed. Aiden getting punched was almost like finding out Santa Claus wasn’t real. He’d gotten into a handful fights in his career before—I’d seen footage of it online when I shared it on his fan page because people were vicious and loved that kind of thing—and while he wasn’t this hotheaded asshole who liked to get into it for no reason, each time it happened, he beat the shit out of whoever tried to start something with him.

It was impressive. What could I say?

Then he gave me that dumb look that drove me nuts and I frowned. “No. I made sure he hit me first, and I let him do it twice before I hit him back,” he explained.

This sneaky son of a bitch. I didn’t think I’d ever been so attracted to him before, and that included all the times I’d seen him in compression shorts. “So he’d get blamed for it?”

One corner of his mouth pulled back in a smug half-smile.

“Are you going to get into big trouble?”

He raised a big shoulder. “They might just dock my game check. They won’t sit me out. We’re too deep into the season.”

That had me choking. “A game check?” That was thousands. Hundreds of thousands. A stupid amount of money. Everyone in the world could look up his annual salary online. All that money was split up into seventeen total payments deposited throughout the regular season. All that money. I had to bend over and slap my hands against my knees, already on the verge of gagging. “I’m going to throw up.”

The sigh he let out went in one of my ears and out the other. “Stop. You’re not going to throw up. Let me shower, and then I’ll put that cream on,” he said, patting me on the back lightly.

He was wrong. I was going to throw up. How the hell had he just upped and thrown away that much money? And for what? All because Christian was an idiot who thought common rules of society didn’t apply to him?

I knew Aiden. I knew he had the self-control of a saint. He thought his decisions through. He didn’t even enjoy beating someone up, or something like that. He had thought enough about what he was going to do, to know that he wanted Christian to get the first punch in. I wasn’t going to think he hadn’t taken the repercussions of getting into a fight into consideration.

And he’d done it for me.

What a fucking idiot. He could have just given me the money and that would have been enough to make me forgot about that weasel trying to shove his tongue down my throat while attempting to grab my butt over a year ago.

But as much as I thought of how dumb it was to lose a game check, this burst of something special and warm filled my heart before quickly being replaced by guilt.

I ran upstairs, grabbed the stinky bruise salve that worked like a miracle, and headed back down, knowing what I needed to do to help ease the responsibility I felt for what happened. I grabbed a few things out of the freezer and the pantry and turned on the oven to make a quick meal for my off-white knight in shining armor.

When he came down the stairs a little later, the quinoa had just finished cooking and I’d turned off the stove.

“Smells good,” he commented, going around to grab a glass from the cabinet and filling it up with water. “What are you making?”

“Chana masala,” I told him, knowing he’d be well aware of what it was.

I wasn’t surprised when he made a hungry noise as he leaned a hip against the counter and watched as I lined one of the big mixing bowls I used to always put his meals in with bagged spinach. I peeped at him out of the corner of my eye and took in the coloring along the solid lines of his face.

It pissed me off.

“What’s that face for?” the man I’d once assumed didn’t know much about me asked as I measured two cups of the grain and dumped it into the bowl.

Shrugging a shoulder, I put three cups of the chickpea mixture over everything. “Your face is making me mad.”

He snickered and I groaned, realizing just how that came out. “I didn’t mean it like that. You have a fine face. Very good-looking.” Shut up, stupid. Just shut the hell up. “It’s your bruises. I feel bad. I should have done something about it when it happened instead of making you deal with it.”

Passing the giant bowl over, he held it between us, catching my eyes. His face was pensive and as open as it got, but what I realized was there wasn’t a trace of residual anger left on him. He really wasn’t bothered by what happened, not at all. “Don’t worry about it. I did what I wanted to do.”

He always did what he wanted to do. What was new? “Yeah, but it happened a long time ago.”

“And that makes me feel even more responsible, Van.”

I frowned. “For what?”

“For everything. For not noticing. For not caring. For not making you feel like you could tell me things.” His voice was hoarse and just a little ragged.

My heart hurt.

I really hurt in that split second following his admission.

Realistically, it wasn’t like I hadn’t known that we hadn’t been BFFs when I worked for him. I’d known, damn it. I’d known. But to hear him say it….

It felt like an ultra-fresh burn to a delicately skinned place. That place being right between my breasts. The most important place of all.

It took every single ounce of emotional maturity I had in me not to… well, I wasn’t sure how I could have reacted. But I did realize, the more I suppressed the hurt, that I couldn’t—shouldn’t—hold him being honest against him. It wasn’t news. He hadn’t cared about me, and he’d taken me for granted. At least he realized it now, right?

Yeah, telling myself that wasn’t helping much. My eyes really wanted to get teary, and I wasn’t going to let them. It wasn’t his fault.

I made sure to meet his eyes. “It’s all right. You did something now.” I took a step back. “Enjoy your food. I started putting up the tree this morning, but I stopped to return some e-mails. I’m going to go ahead and finish it.”

Those chocolate-colored eyes roamed my face for a second and I knew, though he didn’t say anything, that I’d been caught.

Whether he didn’t want to deal with me being a softie or if he understood my need to lick my wounds in private, he kept his words to himself and let me walk out of the kitchen with my heart a little burned around the edges.

I’d left a huge mess in the living room that morning. A bomb seemed to have gone off in a pile of tissues, and boxes were strewn everywhere. I’d gone shopping the day before to buy Christmas ornaments and decorations, and spent so much money, but I hadn’t minded because this was the first year I’d really have a tree of my own. I hadn’t bothered putting one up at my apartment because I was gone so much and there really hadn’t been room. Instead, I’d put up a three-foot pre-lit tree with glued on ornaments. This year though, the little tree was now in my bedroom.

Here, at Aiden and Zac’s, I scored a seven-foot Douglas pine that Zac had helped me carry and set up the night before. In a house full of tall men, there wasn’t a single step ladder in the vicinity, so I’d resorted to dragging a stool into the living room to help me reach the places I couldn’t on my own. The lights had gone on this morning, and I’d squeezed in some ornaments too.

I usually loved putting up a Christmas tree. We’d had one at my mom’s house a few times, but it wasn’t until I was with my foster parents that putting up a tree and decorating became a big deal. It had started to mean something to me. Climbing onto the stool, I couldn’t ignore the thought circling back around in my head.

He hadn’t given a shit about me.

Or at least, he hadn’t appreciated me.

That second idea was just as bitter as the first one.

I worked in silence for a little while, wrapping a beautiful red ribbon around the branches then stepping back to adjust it. I had just started opening up more boxes of ornaments when I sensed the other presence in the room.

Aiden was standing between the hallway and the living room, and his gaze was sweeping through the room, taking in the rest of the decorations I’d put up. The reindeer candles, a sparkly red Christmas tree made of wires, the wreath on the mantel, and finally, the three hanging stockings.

The three hanging stockings that I’d stitched sequins onto the night before, spelling out the first letters of each of our names. Black for Aiden, green for Zac, and gold for me.

Eventually, he tore his gaze away from the stockings and asked, “Need help?”

I’m not going to take this personally, I told myself. “Sure.” I held out the box I’d just opened in his direction.

Aiden took it, glancing from the decorations to the tree and back at me. “Where do you want them to go?”

“Wherever.”

Taking a step closer to the object of our decorative talents, he shot me a look. “Where do you want them to go, Van? I’m sure you had it planned out.”

I did, but I wasn’t going to give my help any shit. “Anywhere as long as they aren’t too close together…. Really. I just don’t want them close together…. And maybe keep them toward the top since those are small. Big ornaments go closer to the bottom.”

The sides of his mouth twitched, but he nodded seriously and went to work.

We stood there in front of the tree for the next hour, side by side. His arm brushed mine, my hip brushed his, and more than a couple of times, he caught me trying to climb up on the stool before he plucked whatever ornament I had in my hand and put it up himself. Neither one of us said much.

But once we were done, we took a couple steps back and took the seven feet of gloriousness all in.

I had to say, it was beautiful even if it looked a lot smaller with Aiden next to it. Red and gold with hints of green here and there, glass ornaments hanging from long branches, ribbon circling it—it was the kind of tree I’d dreamed about as a kid. I glanced at Aiden. His face was clean and thoughtful, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Instead though, I went with a safer question. “What do you think?”

His nostrils flared just a little and a soft, soft, soft smile perked up the corners of his mouth. “It looks like something from a department store.”

I rubbed at my arm and smiled. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

The firm man nodded. “It’s nice.”

It’s nice? From Aiden? I’d take it as ‘it’s amazing’ from just about anyone else. The more I looked at it, the more I liked it, the happier it made me, and the more grateful I was for all I had to be thankful for.

Thanks to Aiden, I was living in a wonderful house. Thanks to Aiden, I had money to buy the decorations, ornaments, and the tree. And thanks to Aiden, I had managed to save up enough money to pursue my dreams.

Maybe we hadn’t been soul mates, and maybe he really hadn’t cared about what I added to his life until I was gone, but I had so much because of him. And I would continue to have so much because of him too. That knowledge softened the hurt from an hour ago enough for me to clear my throat and say, “Ai—”

He interrupted me. “Are you putting up lights outside?”

“You did it all today?”

“Yep.” We’d done it all in a matter of hours.

After having to visit two different stores to buy enough Christmas lights to decorate the house, the trips had definitely ended up being worth it. Round, blue LED lights outlined the roof and garage. Two different individual packages of lights had to be used to wrap around the pillar by the front door. Another box was used to go around the big window, and I’d twined more lights through the branches of the tree in the front yard.

“You and Aiden did this?” Zac then asked, his arms crossed over his chest. I’d been outside putting up the last of the lights when he’d pulled his truck into the garage.

“Uh-huh. He even got on the roof with me even though I kept telling him to get back in the house before he fell off or one of the neighbors called the team and told them what he was doing.” There were specific things in his contract he was prohibited from doing: riding anything with wheels, including but not limited to motorcycles, scooters, mopeds, Segways, hoverboards, and skateboards. He couldn’t do anything that required a waiver, i.e. skydiving. And there was also a specific note in his contract that said he wasn’t allowed anywhere near fireworks.

I’d read his contract one day when I found it in a saved folder on his computer and I’d been bored.

Aiden’s exact response to me trying to shoo him off had been: “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sometimes, I really wanted to choke him out for being so stubborn. Then again, he’d been the one to bring up putting Christmas lights up when I hadn’t prepared for it, simply because I didn’t want to do it all alone.

Zac snickered, his hands in his pockets. “I’m not surprised. How long did it take?”

“Three hours.”

He glanced at his watch and frowned. “How early did he get home?”

Anddddd that reminded me what he’d done, what he’d said. I frowned and muttered, “Right after twelve,” knowing that was going to reel him in.

Hook, line, and sinker. “How come? Those Monday mornin’ defense meetings usually last ‘til two.”

I punched him in the arm. “You tell me, big mouth.”

Nosey McNoserson immediately perked up. “What I do?” He’d barely asked the question when his eyes went a little wide and that chin went right back down, his ears seeming to perk up.

“You told him about Christian, you snitch. You know what happens to snitches?”

“They get stitches?”

I punched him again. “Yes! He got into a fight with him today.”

Zac’s lip dropped, and he gaped. Honestly, I loved Zac. I really did. “No!”

Okay, he got on my nerves for telling Aiden what had happened, but he was still so funny it was unreal. “Yes! He got into a fight with him!” Zac’s mouth went even wider, his blue eyes darting from one side to the other like he couldn’t handle what I was telling him. “He got—”

“Aiden?”

“Yes.”

“Our Aiden?”

I nodded solemnly.

Zac still didn’t believe me. “You sure?”

“He told me. He has the bruises to prove it.”

“No. He wouldn’t.” He looked away and then looked back at me. “Aiden?”

“Yes.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. “I don’t know…” His lips moved but nothing came out. “He doesn’t…“

“I know. I know he doesn’t.”

“What the hell took him so long? I told him a week ago,” he suddenly noted in exasperation.

Good gracious. He was making faces because Aiden had taken too long. Uh. “Because when I went to the Thanksgiving Day game, Christian called me honey or something, and was just being a creeper in general—wait. It doesn’t matter. Why did you say anything to him anyway? I told you that as friends. Circle of trust.”

Zac huffed and gave me a look that resembled one of Aiden’s a little too closely. “Why wouldn’t I tell him?”

“Because it didn’t matter.”

Yeah, he was definitely giving me one of Aiden’s faces. “If I was the one you were married to, I’d want him to tell me.”

“Traitor.” That made sense, but I wasn’t going to admit it.

The blond snorted. “Van, think about it for a second. Aiden’s not—he’s not going to give you a hug, tell you you’re pretty, and call you his best friend, but I know him, and he cares about you.”

Now he does, I thought. “If I die, he can’t get his papers fixed so easily.”

His blue eyes narrowed and he gestured toward the front door. “If you die, who else would he have that gives a shit about him?”

What was that supposed to mean?

“C’mon. Let’s go inside. I’m starvin’,” he finished up.

I took one more peek at the bright blue lights and followed him in. We had barely opened the door when the persistent beeping of Aiden’s ringtone started going off from somewhere in the kitchen. I ignored it and headed toward the fridge, pulling out leftovers from the day before.

“What do you have?” Zac asked, peeking over my shoulder as I scooped food onto a plate.

“Pasta.” I just handed it over. There wasn’t a point in asking him if he wanted it. Of course he’d want it.

“Yum,” he said, without even tasting it.

Aiden’s phone began to ring again just as I set my plate into the microwave to warm up. By the time it was done, the phone had stopped ringing and started up all over again. I sat down to eat, and it started beeping. Again.

“Who the hell is calling him?” Zac asked as he stood in front of the microwave watching his food heat up.

Leaning to the side, I dragged Aiden’s phone over and glanced at the screen. TREVOR MCMANN flashed across the screen. Ugh.

“Trevor,” I said.

Zac made an impolite noise. “I bet he’s callin’ about today.”

I winced. He was probably right. “Have you talked to him?”

“I talked to him on Thanksgivin’. I figured if he started talkin’ a whole buncha nonsense, I could pass the phone over to my mama,” he admitted with a laugh.

The phone started ringing one more time. Good gracious. I picked up his phone and hesitated. This was my fault. Wasn’t it? “I’m going to answer. Should I answer?”

“Take one for Team Graves.”

Damn it. I answered. “Hello?”

“Aiden what the—?”

“This is Vanessa.” I made a face at Zac mouthing, ‘Why did I do this?’

“Put Aiden on the phone,” he demanded without any pretense.

“Ah, I don’t think so,” I said quickly.

“What do you mean you don’t think so? Put him on the goddamn phone.”

“How about you hold your horses. He’s napping. I’m not going to go wake him up, buddy. If you have a message, pass it along. If you don’t have a message, I’ll make sure to tell him you called.” Either way, I wasn’t going to tell Aiden shit. Trevor just didn’t need to know that.

“Goddammit, Vanessa. I need to talk to him.”

“And he needs his sleep.”

Trevor made a noise that was more than a huff and less than what? A growl. I could tell how pissed off he was right then, how important he felt the conversation he wanted to have with Aiden seemed to be. The thing was, I didn’t care. “You and I haven’t had a chance to chat lately, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. This shit today is your fault. I know it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m pretty sure Aiden pays you to support him, not call and nag. I know I sure as hell don’t want to listen to you right now. So, I’ll make sure to let him know you called.”

“Vanessa!” the son of an asshole had the nerve to shout.

“Yell at me again, and I’m going to make sure you regret it, do you hear me? I think you have enough to worry about without adding me to your list,” I growled into the phone, getting more pissed by the second. “And calm your asshole talking to Aiden too while you’re at it. I don’t appreciate you treating him like a little kid.”

“You’re a pain in—”

I pulled the phone away from my face and with my other hand gave the phone my middle finger. Putting it back against my face, I said, “Your ass, I know. I’ll let him know you called, but I’m just letting you know you should calm down before you talk to him.”

“He got into it with Christian because of you, didn’t he?”

“If you knew anything about him, you’d know he doesn’t do anything without a reason, so think about that.”

Trevor made a noise over the line that I quickly ignored.

“I’ll let him know you called. Bye.”

Yeah, I might have shoved my finger against the screen again a lot more aggressively than what was really necessary, but it felt like I needed to since I didn’t have a phone to slam into its cradle.

“He’s such a fucking asshole—” I started to say as I looked up, only to find Zac with a hand over his eyes.

I felt it right then.

Slowly turning on my stool, I found Aiden standing just inside the kitchen with his eyebrows raised.

“I hate him.” I held his phone out toward him. “And you should probably turn off your phone before he calls again.”

I was in my room hours later, when Zac slipped in through the door, his eyes bright, his expression that little-boy one that put me in a good mood. “Guess what?”

I paused the show I was watching and raised my eyebrows, sitting up straight on the mattress. “I don’t know. What?”

“I found it,” he said even as he skid across the floor in his pajamas, his cell phone clutched in his hand.

That had me perking up. “What did you find?”

Zac sat on the edge of my bed right next to me. His back was to the headboard as he held the screen between the small space between us. “Look.”

I did just that.

Maximized on the screen was an image of two men in Three Hundreds practice jerseys without pads. I didn’t have to look at the number on the bigger man’s shirt to know it was Aiden; I knew that body. I knew that body like the back of my hand. Plus, his helmet was off and hanging off the fingers of his right hand. I had to think for a moment about the guy standing a few feet away from him though. Number eighty-eight. Christian.

They were the only people on camera. With about five feet separating them, they were both facing the field where one could only assume was the rest of the team. There wasn’t any sound unfortunately.

On the screen, Christian happened to turn just as Aiden’s hands went to his hips, his body language deceptively casual if it wasn’t for the set to his shoulders.

It only took a few moments before Christian threw his arms out to the sides and took two steps toward the man I was married to. His stance became confrontational even before he pulled his helmet off and threw it, his feet taking him the two other steps between him and Aiden.

The big guy stood tall, his hands minutely flexing at his hips. Maybe no one else would notice the movement but I did. Christian’s face was visible on the screen, his cheeks turned red, his mouth getting wider as one could only assume he was yelling.

And then it happened.

Christian’s fist flew forward and Aiden’s head jerked back just slightly. The big guy took a step backward as his hands fell to his sides.

Christian hit him again.

The man known as The Wall of Winnipeg dropped his helmet on the ground almost casually. His big hands flexed and stretched wide at his sides shortly before he lunged. That huge fist went up and connected; Christian’s head flew back. Aiden hit him again with that dominant left hand, his big body up and towering over the smaller man’s by that point so that the only thing visible after the second hit was Christian on the ground just as players ran up to them.

Aiden let them push him away as he backed up, his attention staying focused on the wide receiver on the ground as they became surrounded by other players and staff.

Zac tapped his thumb against the screen, turning his head to give me a wide-eyed look.

I could only stare at him with my mouth just slightly open. We both only managed to blink at each other.

And the two of us said the same thing at the same time: “Holy shit.”