He speaks again. “I mean seriously. Look at this clown. Can you even believe this shit?!” He elbows me in the ribs and thrusts his phone at me.
Reluctantly, I glance at the screen. There’s a picture of a burly guy with his arm around an attractive woman holding up a diamond the size of a semi-truck trailer on her ring finger. Both of them wear beaming, white smiles. “Um, I have no idea who or what you’re talking about, bro.”
“Sera!” The footballer announces like I should know this. Mind you—I’ve never met this man before. “My best friend’s little sister. She’s marrying this idiot and everybody’s so damn happy about it. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”
“You like her or something?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to get any deeper into this dude’s misery—because I’ve got problems of my own. Clearly.
“Are you for real? Sera is annoying. When we were kids, she would tag along everywhere with her brother and me, and involve herself in all my business. She is annoying, I tell you. But…” he exhales heavily. “It’s just that…there’s nothing worse than standing by while a good woman ends up with a bad man.”
Nope. He’s wrong. There’s nothing worse than being that bad man. Being the man to break a good woman’s heart. I hate that this random as hell conversation is reminding me of that.
Ever since quitting my job at Kingston Realty and firing my daughter’s newest nanny, things have been exceptionally quiet in my house, even with Callie around.
The place just feels lonelier without Jessa there, especially in the evenings. I’m not sure how it happened, but the woman became the anchor of our home. Almost as soon as I was released from prison, Jessa moved in, taking over my master bedroom and my freaking mind. Now, nothing feels right without her.
Callie and I can usually find enough to keep us busy during the day, but after dinner, it hits hard. Everywhere I turn, I’m met with another reminder of what once was. Around every corner, I’m met with another reminder that Jessa is really gone.
She’s not standing by the stove, wooden spoon in her hand, beaming grin on her face as she prepares dinner. She’s not sprawled out on the living room floor, tickling my daughter while I handle the cleanup. She’s not sitting next to me at the kitchen island in the dark, arguing over which cake to stuff my face with next. Or warm and naked and curled up in my bed, stealing the twisted sheets away from me in her sleep.
It’s just…quiet.
Every night, I’m hit by this emptiness, overwhelmed by loneliness. I always thought I didn’t mind solitude. I liked that my house was on a secluded part of the family property. In prison, I mostly liked keeping to myself. But this? This is fucking different.
This isn’t just ‘being alone’. This is being lonely.
I glance at the footballer sitting next to me. “Look, I’m just trying to drink this beer and escape my own problems. I’m in no position to give anyone romance advice.”
He shoots me a sidelong glimpse. “What’s your deal?”
“I fell in love with the nanny,” I mumble. “Then, I broke her heart.”
After everything he just confessed to me, this crazy person has the nerve to throw me a judgmental look. “Bro—that’s majorly fucked up. What kind of asshole stomps all over the nanny?”
From the horror on his face, I can tell he’s probably picturing some little old lady with a ball of yarn in hand, reading glasses perched on her nose and a cup of hot tea on the side table as she rocks back and forth in an old-fashioned glider chair. I don’t have the energy to explain to him that Jessa Robson is young and juicy and hot as fuck. And that she betrayed me first.
He throws me one last scornful glare before rising from his seat. “This is clearly not the right seating choice for me tonight…” He grimaces. And then, he’s gone.
Yeah, that’s it. It must be the seating. Maybe the vibe is less demoralizing on the other side of the bar.
I grab my drink and trudge across the club.
Walker is going around with his cowboy hat and a surly look on his face. He’s aiming his camera at every famous person he can find. Apparently, Penny gave him a list of celebrities she wants him to try and get pictures of tonight. He has a big task ahead of him. The place is crawling with superstars.
Jude and his teammates are huddled together on the edge of the dance floor and from the intensity on their faces, it looks like they’re discussing football strategy.
I saw Iowa Paragons captain, Maxwell Masters sitting with his wife at the bar. Knox O’Ryan, the Paragons star running back, is here, too. There are film stars and pop singers and TV personalities and other beautiful, successful people everywhere.
And all I can think about is Jessa. With her sweet face and her sweet body and her sweet tooth and the way she introduced sweetness and fun back into my life.
How am I supposed to get over this woman?
Finally, I spot Cannon seated at a high-top table with a guy I vaguely recognize from some of the business magazines I used to read back in the day.
My brother claps a hand on my shoulder. “Bro, you’ve got to meet Liam Kline, hot shot young financier. He’s the owner of the Paragons football team and one of the major real estate developers here in Sin Valley.”
“The major real estate developer here in Sin Valley,” the man corrects my brother with a surly expression. He extends a hand to me and I shake it. “Eli Kingston, right?” he asks, his attention carefully scanning my face and from his expression, I know he recognizes me, too. He’s heard the stories about my arrest. My shitty reputation precedes me.
Cannon answers for me. “Yes, this is my brother, Eli. He’d be CEO of
