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  After meeting Brody, she was starting to reconsider.

  She didn’t just like sleeping with Brody. The sex was wild, passionate, all-consuming. When Brody kissed her, when he wrapped those big muscular arms around her, the ground beneath her feet fell away, her body sizzled like asphalt in a heat wave, and her heart soared higher than a fighter jet.

  When Doug kissed her…none of those things happened. His kisses were sweet and tender, and she really did like them—damn, there was that word again.

  “Honey, are you there?”

  She forced her mind back to the moment, to this conversation she’d been putting off for too long. “Sorry, I just spaced out for a second. What were you saying?”

  “I want to come visit you.”

  She nearly dropped the phone. “What? Why?”

  There was an annoyed pause. “Because I miss you.” Another beat, this time strained. “I was hoping maybe you missed me, too.”

  “I…” She couldn’t bring herself to lie, but she couldn’t quite tell the truth, either.

  Fortunately, Doug continued speaking. “I keep thinking about what you said before you left, Hayden. I know you asked for space, but…” A heavy breath resonated from the other end of the line. “I think space will only lead to distance, and the last thing I want is distance between us. Maybe if I come out there, maybe if we sat down together and talked this through, we could figure out why you’re feeling the way you are.”

  “Doug…” She searched for the right thing to say. Was there even a right thing? “This is something I need to figure out on my own.”

  “I’m part of this relationship, too,” he pointed out.

  “I know, but…”

  Tell him about Brody.

  Damn it. Why did her conscience have to chime in right now? She already felt terrible enough, sleeping with a man a few short weeks after telling her boyfriend she needed space. Could she really confess her sins, now, when Doug was so eager to patch things up between them?

  You don’t have a choice.

  As much as she wanted to fight her conscience, she knew that little voice was right. She couldn’t hide something this important from him. He needed to know. No, he deserved to know.

  “I’ve been seeing someone,” she blurted out.

  Dead silence.

  “Doug?”

  A muffled cough sounded from the other end. “Pardon me?”

  “I’m seeing someone. Here, in Chicago.” She swallowed. “It’s only been a couple of weeks, and it’s nothing serious, but I think you should know.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s…It doesn’t matter who he is. And I want you to know that I didn’t plan on this. When I asked for space, the last thing I wanted was to jump into another relationship—”

  “Relationship?” He sounded distressed. “I thought you said it wasn’t serious!”

  “I did. I mean, it’s not.” She tried to control her voice, feeling so unbelievably guilty it was hard to get out the next words. “It just sort of…happened.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she hurried on. The pretzel of guilt in her chest tightened into a vise around her heart. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” He spoke slowly, curtly. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Her throat tightened. “Doug…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. Not sure there was anything else to say.

  “I have to go, Hayden,” he said after a long pause. “I can’t talk to you right now. I need time to digest all this.”

  “I understand.” She gulped, bringing much-needed moisture to her arid mouth. “Call me when you’re ready to…”

  To what? Forgive her? Yell at her?

  “To talk,” she finished awkwardly.

  He hung up without saying goodbye, and she sat there for a moment, listening to the silence before her cell phone finally disconnected the call. She shoved the phone back into her purse and leaned against the plush driver’s seat, raking both hands through her hair.

  Between Sheila and Doug, she felt as if she’d spent the afternoon waving a red flag in front of a bull determined to gore her to pieces.

  At least nobody could call her a coward.

  10

  THE ATMOSPHERE in the locker room was subdued, the usual pregame chatter absent as the players changed into their gear and spoke in hushed voices to one another. Brody would’ve liked to blame the serious mood on nerves; the series was 3–2, and if they won tonight’s game they’d move on to the second round of play-offs. But he knew it wasn’t the pressure that was weighing everyone down.

  Fifteen minutes earlier, a league executive had informed the team that an investigation into the bribery claims was officially under way. Players would be interviewed privately throughout the week, and if the allegations bore any weight, proper disciplinary actions would be taken.

  And possible criminal charges executed.

  Lacing up his skates, Brody glanced discreetly over at Craig Wyatt, who was adjusting his shin pads. Wyatt hadn’t spoken one word since the announcement, his sharp features furrowed with silent concern, his big body moving clumsily as he dressed. He was definitely worried about something.

  Damn, winning this game tonight was going to be seriously tough. The morale was lower than the murky depths of the ocean, the players behaving as if individual axs were hovering over their heads.

  Which one of them had taken a bribe? And was it only one? For all he knew, half the guys could be involved. The notion caused his blood to boil. You had to be a real son of a bitch to deliberately throw a game. The media had claimed only one or two games had been fixed, and early in the season, but it didn’t matter to Brody when or how many. All it took was one game. One game could be the difference between making the play-offs and ending the season in defeat. It was a good thing they’d played well enough to make up for those early losses.

  “Let’s give them hell tonight,” Wyatt said quietly as everyone began shuffling out of the locker room.

  Give them hell? That was the big pep talk for the night?

  From the wary looks on the other men’s faces, Wyatt’s words of encouragement were about as effective as dry glue.

  “Craig, wait a second,” Brody said, intercepting the team captain before he could exit the room.

  “We’ve got a game to play, Croft.”

  “It can wait. I just need a minute.”

  The captain tucked his helmet under his arm. “Fine.”

  What now? Did he come out and ask Wyatt about the bribery bullshit? Bring up the affair with Sheila Houston?

  Brody realized that maybe he should’ve come up with a game plan before he initiated this conversation.

  “Well?” Wyatt said, looking annoyed.

  He decided to take a page out of his mom’s policy book: honesty. “I saw you with Sheila at the arena last week.”

  Wyatt’s face went ashen. Then he swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t bother with denial. I saw you.” The collar of Brody’s jersey suddenly felt hot and the padding underneath his uniform became tight. Sucking in a breath, he added, “How long have you been having an affair with Presley’s wife?”

  The air in the locker room grew tense, stifling. Wyatt’s face was still white, but his eyes flashed with anger and indignation. Shoving his helmet onto his head, he shot Brody a frown. “This is none of your business.”

  “It is if you’re the player who came forward and confirmed Sheila’s accusations.”

  A long silence fell, dragging on too long for Brody’s comfort. Wyatt’s face was completely devoid of emotion, but it didn’t stay that way for long. After several more beats, a look of weary resignation clouded Wyatt’s eyes.

  “Fine. You win. It was me.” The captain’s large hands trembled as he fumbled to snap his helmet into place. “I went to the league, Brody. I’m the reason this damn investigation is starting up.”

  Brody swallowed. His gut was suddenly burning,