The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1)(41)

He paces around the small space, eyes shining with wildness. “My family told me today. A two-hour phone call with them and our lawyer breaking down your past. They had you investigated. I know all about you, Ana.” A bitter laugh comes from him. “They aren’t going to pay for Harvard if we’re together. They were very clear about that today—”

“Donovan—”

“No, let me finish. This is why I wanted you to come early, so we could talk. They told me many things. How you traipsed across the world, living with different men—”

I gasp. “Not true. My parents lived with all sorts of people, and I went where they did. Sometimes they left me—”

“—and then you stole your married lover’s car. He was thirty years old, Ana. He says you seduced him, some sort of Lolita. I don’t even know you!”

Oh my God. I stagger back as my past rushes at me like a tidal wave, sucking and dragging me under. I can’t breathe.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My chest rises. “I wasn’t the adult in that situation. He never told my parents he was married. She didn’t live with him.”

“His wife divorced him—over you.”

A whimper of shock comes from me. “I-I didn’t know that.”

“Explain why the girl I love isn’t who I thought she was!”

“Stop yelling,” I say, raising my hands and trying to infuse calm in my tone. “You don’t know the details—”

“Just thinking about you with some old guy makes me sick.”

I frown and glance away from him, emotion tugging at me as those needles prick at my throat.

I was a kid, a stupid, stupid kid. Bryson never wore a ring, and my parents felt good about his apartment situation. It was roomy, next to Central Park, and his younger sister and her friend also lived there, all of them musicians. A few weeks after I moved in, they left, leaving me alone with him. He owned a home in Connecticut too, and looking back, I suppose his wife lived there. I stayed with him in his loft, yes, and I slept with him (after I fell for him). I also cleaned and cooked our meals. I basked in his adoring attention, his embraces, his kisses, his music. I thought it was love.

While he was out one day, I borrowed his Porsche to drive out of the city. I pulled into his parking spot when I returned and a woman glowered there, waiting, her face angry. When she confronted me about what I was doing with his car, I haltingly admitted I was his girlfriend, not knowing who she was. She said she was his wife, and with her toddler crying on her hip, she called the cops. It wasn’t until Bryson showed up and explained that I was his unofficial ‘ward’ that they let me go.

The age of consent for consensual sex in New York is seventeen, and, boy, did Bryson hammer that in as he shoved my duffle into the back of his car. I’m sorry. How could I resist you? You’ll find someone else. Please don’t come back to my place again. He drove me to a hotel, paid for a week’s stay, and walked out of my life.

My parents rushed back to New York. My normally laidback dad was furious that he was married and about how he handled it, but I begged him to let it go. Mom suggested we try Italy, so we packed up and left.

My chest clenches at the painful memory.

“I didn’t know he was married. I was young—”

“Ana, just stop.” A torn expression flits over his face as he lowers his voice. He tries to take my hands, and I jerk them away. “Look, maybe he took advantage of you, okay, okay, but can’t you see that I can’t keep finding out these secrets? My family members are important people—”

“I never told you because I knew you wouldn’t get it,” I snap.

He shuts his eyes. “Look, I’ve known since we met that we didn’t go together, and I was drawn to that, but I can’t help wondering what else is going to pop up. Your family, your past, you not getting into Harvard, your friends, the pot—it’s too much. And I want to go to Harvard. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—until you. I can’t let you distract me.” He sways on his feet and braces himself against the wall. “We need a break from each other.”

And there it is. Finally. Confirmation.

“You don’t deserve me,” I say, my voice low and thick.

A hesitant expression ripples over his face as he stares at the floor.

“What else, Donovan?” My hands fist. Waiting. I know there’s more.

He slowly raises his head, and when they come, his words are slurred. “Ana… I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I’ve seen Harper a few times for coffee. I haven’t cheated on you, I wouldn’t do that, but I was confused and didn’t know which way to turn and she’s always been my friend and understood how my family is…” His voice trails off as he takes a deep breath. “I-I kissed her.”

I blink. “When? Tonight?”

“Monday. After I left your place.” The words are dragged from him.

Hurt lances straight through my heart. I sensed the breakup was coming, but to be with her on my birthday.

It slices deep.

“Kissing is cheating!” I exclaim. “You did tell her I didn’t get into Harvard. Screw your—what, parting gift? Please. I don’t want a thing from you—”

“What the hell?” River whisper-yells as he appears backstage like a storm and rushes to Donovan. “Your mic is on.” He reaches for the wireless box, fiddles with the buttons, removes it, then plucks the mic off his toga.