“Hi.” Just that one word was enough to rip the breath from Will’s lungs, his body heating up instantly. He hated how much power she had over him. Even in disgust, he still craved her, ached for her.

“Um,” she continued. “Since it looks like you plan on being in Baltimore for the next few days, I’ve decided to bring Owen up there so you can spend time with him.”

No! Seeing Owen meant seeing the boy’s mother, and Will wasn’t ready for that yet.

“The whole point of this . . . marriage was so you could bond with him, and that’s not going to happen if you’re seven hours away. He misses you,” she added tenderly.

Her words nearly ripped Will’s heart out of his chest.

“We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. I guess I’ll just text you when we arrive. Unless you want to be a grown-up and talk directly.” There was an exasperated pause. “Good night, Will.”

He chucked the phone onto the coffee table, barely missing the slice of pizza. She wasn’t just crazy, she was the queen of manipulation. Julianne would definitely use their son to get back into Will’s life. Fortunately, he saw right through her. He didn’t need the distraction of her in Baltimore this week, but the fact of the matter was, he did miss Owen. Something would have to be worked out. Something that didn’t involve him having to interact with Julianne.

Grabbing his phone again, Will scrolled through the photos of Owen he had taken. His throat constricted as he perused the pictures. He missed the feel of Owen sleeping against his chest and the sweet smell of clean baby after his bath. Will hadn’t realized how much of his life revolved around the little guy. After the hearing, the two of them would probably be spending a lot more of the season together than Will had originally imagined. It was the one consolation of the decision he’d made.

He laid the phone back on the table, which was littered with documents. The subpoena sat next to the custody agreement Roscoe had drafted up earlier. His agent had not been happy with either of the decisions Will had made over pizza and beer a few hours before.

“I know if I look hard enough,” Roscoe had advised him. “I can find something on her that will ensure you full custody.”

“No,” Will had replied. “That would only hurt Owen. Besides, you’re going to need to spend your time trying to get my suspension lifted so I can play football this fall.”

Roscoe had heaved a sigh. “Or you could just tell the committee and the league what they want to know, thus avoiding suspension altogether.”

“I’m not snitching.”

“The man is guilty, Will,” Roscoe had argued.

“Probably. But it’s not my story to tell, Roscoe. I have no proof where that money came from. Neither does the committee. It’s all conjecture. There are likely dozens of guilty players who know a hell of a lot more than I do. Let the committee target them.”

“The whole world will presume you’re guilty if you don’t talk.”

That part wasn’t as easy to swallow, but Will figured it was the price he had to pay for keeping quiet these past eight years. Back then, he’d been a fledgling player without a home in the league, his only evidence coming from his gut. Now he would play the waiting game, hoping Coach Zevalos developed a conscience before he died. Hoping the man wasn’t as diabolical as the media made him out to be. That would mean Will’s loyalty those early years was totally misguided.

“And your son? What will you tell him when he’s old enough to ask?”

Will had taken a long swallow of beer before he was able to answer Roscoe. “Let’s hope it’s cleared up before then.”

Roscoe had muttered a few choice words about not getting paid enough, but then he’d let it go. “At least you were smart enough to have Julianne sign all the separation papers before the marriage. It will move the process along that much more quickly. I want to file right away, so people will know she sold you out. We don’t want her to have any sympathy with the public. You’ll need it all on your side.”

Will wished he’d felt a little more comfortable with Roscoe’s plan than he actually did. But he couldn’t overlook the fact that Julianne had shared his secret with her brother. She was guilty and she deserved what was coming. It was her fault their separation would be linked to his testimony.

“You have to wait a full year for the divorce, so that’s another key reason to get the papers filed as soon as possible,” Roscoe had added.

“Great, now I really feel like a famous celebrity. My separation is going to last longer than the marriage,” Will had said wryly, before taking another sip of his beer.

“Don’t feel bad, you’ve still got Britney Spears beat.”

Will had scrubbed his hand down his face. “Hell, I’m not sure I want to ever hear my name and Britney Spears’s in the same sentence.”

That had made Roscoe chuckle. “Seriously, we’re not done talking about Owen’s custody.” He held his hands up. “After the hearing. For now, I’m just glad I have the kid’s birth certificate in my safe. She can’t get him out of the country without it.”

“She won’t take Owen out of the country.”

“Yeah? This is the same woman who sold you out to a Senate committee, dumbass. Stop thinking with your dick and use your brain. She’s capable of anything.”

Will’s temple had begun to throb. He let out an explosive sigh. The Julianne he’d spent the last month with wouldn’t take Owen back to Italy. Not without asking. But apparently, the woman with whom he’d shared his body and his soul these past few weeks didn’t exist.

He and Roscoe had agreed to meet again tomorrow to discuss the strategy for the hearing. As far as Will was concerned, the plan was simple; he’d plead the fifth. End of story. Everyone would have to leave him alone because he had nothing to say.

The lights of the Inner Harbor shimmered through the tall windows in the loft. Will lay down on the sofa, pulling the cashmere blanket that the decorator insisted he buy with it over his body. He’d just sleep here tonight. As he stared up at the high ceilings of his loft, listening to the city rumble on outside, Will realized just how alone he was. It was a feeling that used to never bother him. Until now.

Twenty-six

It was seven A.M. on Monday when Annabeth dialed Hank’s cell phone. They hadn’t spoken since the night she’d babysat Owen, and she prayed he’d at least answer her call. The Senate committee’s hearing was the next day, and she desperately needed Hank’s help to make things right.

“Annabeth.” As usual, Hank’s gravelly voice made her internal body temperature spike. “Is everything okay? “

“Yes. I mean no. Of course it isn’t.” She was dissembling when she needed to focus. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Not exactly the smartest question.

“No, I just got out of the shower.”

An image of a naked Hank popped into her head, and Annabeth had to gather her scattered wits. “Oh, well, good.”

Hank sighed. “Look, Annabeth, I’m sure you’re upset about this whole thing with Will, but he could have prevented it from coming to this. Obviously, the team wishes he’d cooperate because we’d prefer not to lose him to an indefinite suspension. But he’s being stubborn.”

Annabeth snorted. “Tell me about it. But that’s not why I’m calling you. Well, not exactly, anyway.” She heard rustling in the background, as if he were toweling himself dry. Annabeth fanned herself with the printed directions she had in her hand. “Remember when you said you’d like to take me places? To travel with me?”

The rustling stopped, and only Hank’s breathing could be heard through the phone.

“Well,” she continued, “I’d like you to take me somewhere. Today.”

“Today?”

“Yes, today.” She swallowed. “It has to be today.”

“Today,” he stated again, sounding a little as if he were trying to decipher something Sophie had said to him.

“It’s work related, if that helps.” She reminded herself that this was an ambush and to not take his impatience personally.

“Uh-huh.” He chuckled softly. “And what exotic destination do you have planned for us, Annabeth?”

She sat down on the flagstone porch, relieved he was taking her seriously. At least she hoped he was. “It’s not really all that exotic. Although it is called the Garden State.”

“New Jersey?” Hank choked out. “You want to go to New Jersey?”

She sighed. “I don’t want to go to New Jersey, Hank. I have to go.”

Hank slipped into military mode. “Annabeth, I think you’d better tell me what this is all about.”

“In the car. I’ll tell you everything when we’re on our way. Just hurry up and get dressed.”

Hank was silent for a long moment. “Where are you?” he finally asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

Annabeth crossed her fingers. “Outside. On your front porch.”

She heard the sound of feet clamoring down the stairs, and suddenly one of the ornate oak doors was being pulled open. Turning to face Hank, Annabeth had to bite her bottom lip to keep her mouth from falling open as her gaze traveled up a pair of bare feet and well-defined legs, to slim hips wrapped in nothing but a black towel. Hank’s sculpted abs and chest were bare, his fifty-year-old muscles rivaling anything she’d seen at the Ship’s Iron Gym. His hair was still damp; a dab of shaving cream lingered behind his left ear. He hadn’t even bothered to put his glasses on.

“Hi,” she managed to push out as her entire body sang with joy at the sight of him.

“Get in here,” Hank hissed.

Easier said than done—Annabeth’s knees had turned to Jell-O—but she managed to scramble off the porch and into his foyer. She placed her purse on the beautiful Chippendale table in the entryway, quickly calculating the amount of weight it could bear before sharply reminding herself that they needed to get to New Jersey right away. Spinning on her heel, she turned to find Hank leaning against the massive front doors, arms over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles. Apparently, he was not as affected by his near-nudity as she was.