I haven’t told Spencer about these fears. Things are so good between us. We’re happy, and I don’t want to ruin everything by telling him that sometimes I’m scared he’ll change his mind, or something from my past will come back to ruin us, or he’ll fall for someone else, or anything, really.
I’m just going to bury that hurt and keep making him smile. He deserves to always be smiling.
As I arrive to the massive stadium complex, I entertain myself by imagining different ways I could propose to Spencer. He’s made it clear he wants a proper dating period and engagement, and I’m fully dedicated to a nice, long seduction before I offer to make this marriage real. It will be fun as hell, and it gives me plenty of time to come up with the right proposal.
Fuck. Only Spencer could get me excited about a marriage proposal.
I find my way to his private locker room. My celebrity extends across the world, but here at the Grand Slam, I only get recognized by a few people, and I swear they’re calling me “Spencer’s husband” in French, which makes me chuckle to myself. Right as I’m about to knock on his door, though, something catches the corner of my eye.
I could swear his father just walked by.
Douglas Wilchins. The hockey legend himself, towering above the rest of the crowd. It was only a quick glance, but I saw his face clearly.
I shake my head. That can’t be. Why would Spencer’s dad be here?
The door in front of me swings open, and Spencer’s eyes light up when he sees me there. “Gabriel.”
I step into the room and into his arms, taking him in a quick kiss. My mind is racing. Spencer’s match is about to start. If that wasn’t his dad, and I told him it might be, it could ruin his game. But if his dad is in the crowd, and I don’t warn him, wouldn’t that be worse?
He tightens his brow. “Gabriel?”
I push a hand through my hair. “Sorry. Just…” I trail off and shrug lightly. “Nothing.”
Spencer frowns. “What is it?” he asks again, concerned.
“Shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This might be a total mistake on my part. But I’m pretty sure I saw your, uh, dad here. At the tournament.”
Spencer’s eyes get wide. “Excuse me?” he asks quietly.
“Maybe not!” I offer, but the more I think of it, the more I’m sure it was him.
Spencer grabs his phone. He talks quickly to whoever he called, explaining the situation, and tosses it aside again.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re about to play. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
But Spencer shakes his head. “No. You had to.” Somehow, he manages a half-smile. “Hell, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Good to know you can’t keep secrets from me.”
After a quick knock, the door swings open behind me. A man with a clipboard enters, nods to me politely, and addresses Spencer. “It is your father,” he says. “He has tickets to the tournament. None of your matches.”
The color drains from Spencer’s face as he nods. “Thank you. That’s all.” When the man exits, he kicks the wall. “Fuck!”
I grab his shoulder. “I don’t understand. Why is he doing this?”
“To mess with me. To humiliate me.” Spencer turns to me, and I see the pain in his expression. “He’s got a reputation for attending live sports. Boxing. Football. Horses. Anything, really. And he knows everyone will notice that he’s here and not at my matches.” He swallows. “He’s showing the world that he doesn’t support me.”
“That motherfucker.” My hands clench into fists as fury rises up. “What a pathetic piece of shit. He’s so insecure.”
“Gabriel!” Spencer cuts me off, and I realize I’m nearly yelling. “There’s no time.”
“Right.” I grab his hands, remembering what my role is. “You’re incredible. And you’re going to win this tournament. Don’t give him a second of thought. He’s not worth it.”
“He’s not worth it,” Spencer agrees, but I can tell he’s shaken.
I kiss him. “What can I do for you?”
He kisses me back quickly before pulling away. “Nothing. Go get your seat. Cheer me on. I can deal with this later.”
It sucks to walk away from him right now, but I can’t well follow him onto the court. “I’ll see you after you win,” I say and walk back out to the hall.
