Page 62 of Playing for Keeps

Cat looks away from me and I know she knows something she’s not telling me. My gut roils again, but I calm it instantly with the memory of our lovemaking. It’s not just sex anymore, not about dancing around the edge with an exciting enemy. It’s all about loving a strong fierce caring woman with the sweetest vulnerable underbelly I’ve ever seen, a woman brave enough to show her hurt to me, to bare all on a chance we might have something.

“You should talk to Chloe,” Cat says, biting her lip, looking unhappy as she touches my arm.

“Oh, I will.”

My phone pings and I check it to see a text from Chloe to meet me at my condo. I text back that I’ll be there in twenty minutes. “Thanks for the heads up, Cat. I need to go home. Right now.”

But my parents are there. Fuck. As I walk back down the hall, I call Chloe.

“We can’t meet at my place. My parents are there.”

“Come to my house.”

“On my way now.” I punch off. It feels strange to be so curt, without emotion. We just made love this morning and it felt like real lovemaking, as in real love. Now? I feel like a brick, like I’m holding back, in some state of suspended animation. But that’s going to end the minute I walk through her door.

* * *

She letsme in and backs away from me, but I follow her all the way until she’s backed up to the wall that holds her Murphy bed. I give her a foot of space, forcing my arms to stay at my sides because I can’t stand the tragic cast of those violet eyes as I stare her down.

“Talk,” I say.

“It was all my idea, but I took it all back.” She stops and I can feel the tick in my jaw as my muscles tense. I wait for her to continue because there has to be more.

Her eyes glitter and I know she’s trying not to cry and I’m trying not to care.

“I did all the research, all the background, put everything together. My concept was a human-interest exposé.” She laughs and I can taste the bitterness in it, want to smother it with my mouth, but I don’t dare. I can’t touch her. I’m too angry.

“But that was before…” she waves a hand between us to signify what we have—or had.

“I’ve come to realize how unfair this would be to you—with your contract negotiations and all.”

“Fuck the contract.” It’s how I feel. Because who gives a fuck about a contract when you’re being fucked over by someone who you care about.

“I pulled the file and wiped the computer clean. I swear it. I took all my files and zip drives. Or I thought I did.”

Panic is rising in her voice, tears streaming down her face now, and she goes on. Numbness starts to overtake me, mercifully, as the unequivocal fact of her betrayal thunders to life.

“I tried calling the studio, about a million fucking times after I saw the first teaser. They won’t take my calls and now my number is blocked. I bought a burner phone and called again and got through to Maguire. He told me they’re triumphant. They grilled him for intel but he had nothing.”

“Then how did they resurrect your story so quickly,” I ask, calm banking the storm rising inside me as I keep my hands on her, keep the feel and knowledge of the woman I’ve fallen for in the forefront of my mind. But I can’t. The story is hers. And it was about me. And the best I can do is try to keep from feeling anything.

“When I saw the first teaser this afternoon, I went through everything in a panic and counted the thumb drives. One is missing. Maguire says they found the thumb drive under my desk. It must have fallen when I scooped everything up. I was in a hurry—too hasty. Fuck.” Tears glitter in her eyes and I grip her tighter.

“Then called Maguire into the office, told him to clear out his desk and take early retirement. He told them it’s not early retirement. It’s late by about twenty-four hours. Duff said, “I’m on the outs now babe, same as you, but I feel good and so should you.’ That’s what he told me.” She sniffles, swipes her arm across her nose, her hand across her cheek and I notice it’s shaky. She’s crying for her friend getting fired when she’s in more hot shit than he is. But I’m still numb, still betrayed.

“None of this would have happened if you— “

“I know, damn you. Don’t you think I know that?” She launches herself at me and I catch her automatically, the sensations of having her in my arms, against my body registering in a part of my brain that doesn’t care about trust and betrayal.

“It’s not your fault, Chloe. It’s mine,” I say into her hair. “I should never have trusted you.”

I push her away, feeling the loss, the aching pain of the hole in my heart that she’d managed to fill in with her bullshit like no one else.

* * *

My parents were watchingthe special, huddled together on the couch, my dad comforting my mom who was weeping unconsolably. On my behalf or for her brother Frank, I’m not sure. There’s a lot of old wounds opened up. As soon as I take in the scene, I walk straight for the television and yank the cable from the wall. Enough of this fucking bullshit. I don’t say the words out loud out of respect for my mom. I stand in front of them, forcing myself to meet their heartbroken stares.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say.