“You really think this is a good idea? Especially if you’re trying to stay under ICE’s radar?” Cruz said as I thumped my fist on Dillon’s door. I had to admit that the shitbag lived in a decent-sized place in a good neighborhood. Large trees created shade but did little to lower the temperature thanks to the high humidity. The lots weren’t large, but each plot around the houses was green and well-manicured with flower beds. Down the street, a sprinkler clicked, spraying a thick arc of water onto the grass.
So, Dillon had some money or made a good salary, but so did I. And I wasn’t in the habit of emotionally abusing women or cheating on my partner, which made me a much better option for Ida Jane. I wasn’t like Dillon. I wasn’t. But I couldn’t shake that dream or the way I’d treated her after my first talk with Coach. I should have been honest then. From the beginning.
“I’m going to protect my wife,” I snapped.
“I thought that was what the security guards and bad-ass dog were for.”
“The douchebag was at our game, and he made her upset,” I said.
“Her or you?”
Damn Cruz and his insightful comments. I didn’t need psychoanalyzing. I just required Ida Jane to be safe. Cruz was more intimidating than I was, so I’d assumed he was my best choice of a wingman. He was proving to be annoying, though, not helpful.
“How’d you find this place?” Cruz asked.
“None of your business.” I wasn’t telling him that I’d sweet-talked the front office secretary into letting me see the ticket holders to the last game and copied over the address to the credit card Dillon had used to purchase the tickets. That was all kinds of wrong, and I wouldn’t have had to go to such means if the garbage pail had just kept his distance.
I pounded on the door again. A shadow scooted through the space, and I narrowed my eyes. “Come out, Dillon. I want to talk to you.”
The door opened a crack and a woman’s face filled the narrow gap. “He’s not here.” She sized me up, her eyes lingering on my shoulders and crotch. Real classy.
“When will he be back?”
She opened the door wider. She had a baby bump poking out of her short top and low-ride shorts. “Not today. Wanna come in, and—”
“No, I want him to leave my wife alone,” I snapped.
She blinked slowly. “Um, who are you?”
“I’m Maxim Dolov, and Dillon needs to leave Ida Jane alone.”
She snorted. “The mousy little blond he dated during college? You actually marriedher?”
I clenched my fists, but Cruz pulled me back. “Please let Dillon know we stopped by—and that we’d appreciate him adhering to his restraining order that is nowpermanent,” Cruz said.
My teammate yanked me down the sidewalk and toward the new SUV that I’d purchased to accommodate Blade’s travel needs. I’d thought giving up my one toy would bother me, but it hadn’t. I enjoyed its greater space. And now I had a back seat to fuck my wife in—which I’d already done twice, to highly satisfying results. Ida Jane hadn’t had sex in a car before, either, which made the adventure all the more exciting for both of us. As I’d told Ida Jane, I’d never had a car back in Saint Petersburg, so I was catching up on typical American milestones.
“That was stupid,” Cruz said. “You can’t threaten pregnant women.”
“I didn’t,” I said with a huff. “Iwantedto threaten a pregnant woman’s asshole boyfriend, butyoudidn’t let me.”
“Whatever. That wasn’t smart. Coach will have my ass and yours if he finds out.”
“Then, he better not.”
“You owe me lunch,” Cruz grumbled.
“Fine. But then I’m taking you home. I want to get to Ida Jane’s office early. Some of the foster kids are at a group meeting tonight, and I like to hang out with them.”
Cruz raised his eyebrow.
I sighed, relenting. “They remind me of me,” I said. “But they have it better. Even though many of them live with people who don’t truly give a shit about them, they have a roof, food, clothes. Just those things make a difference.”
Cruz rubbed his fingers through his bristly beard. “Yeah, I can see that.”
He remained quiet, thinking. When we pulled into the parking lot of a Mediterranean place we both liked, he said, “So, your childhood was bad. Like,reallybad?”
“Drunk father, dead mother, and an older sister who started dating at fifteen in order to call in favors—like meals—with the older men she was with.”
