Until You Loved Me (Silver Springs #3)(93)

“It’s nearly noon.”

“But we didn’t nod off until after eight. Four hours isn’t enough. Let’s sleep the day away.”

He moved her hair to the side so he could kiss her neck. “I would if I could, but I have to get that DNA test in the mail.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She turned to face him. “Can I make some suggestions on how we proceed from here?”

“You mean with Matisson?”

“How to handle the press that could arise from this.”

“I think we need to prepare for the worst. The publicity will be embarrassing,” he admitted. “For both of us. Now that you’re connected to me, it’ll reflect on you, too.”

“I don’t care—”

“That’s easy to say before you hear the jeers and comments we’re likely to get. Wait until you see the gross shit about inbreeding that’ll be painted on posters and waved in the stands by fans of my opponents. It’ll make you self-conscious about carrying my baby.”

“That’s terrible! Who would ever poke fun at something like that?”

“Believe me, it’ll happen. Some people will find it funny. Because I’m famous, they think they can say anything they want about me. You’ve seen the ‘Mean Tweets’ segment on Jimmy Kimmel...”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes as he laughed. “Of course not. Look who I’m talking to.”

“Stop.” She nudged him in the ribs. “I’ve been watching more TV since I came here. I’ll get up to speed on pop culture.”

“I’m not sure I want you to. I like you just the way you are—a little out of it.” He laughed again to let her know his words weren’t meant as a criticism. Then he sobered. “Even when I retire, this won’t go away. It’ll follow me for the rest of my life.”

“I wish I could argue about that—”

“But I’m right.”

“You might be. Some of the players on the teams you face will probably mutter comments—to try to get in your head—but you can’t let them rattle you.”

“Again, easier said than done.”

She reached up to run her thumb along his jaw. “If the DNA test comes back and isn’t what we hope, I say we hold a press conference.”

“A press conference?”

“You need to make the announcement yourself.”

“You want me to tell the world what I don’t want them to know? What I don’t want anyone to know?”

“It’ll be better that way. If you make it very clear that what happened was terrible, reprehensible, but nothing you had any choice in, it’ll set the tone for everyone else. You can’t act as if you don’t want it to come out, as if you’re ashamed or hurt or whatever. That’ll just hand your detractors a loaded gun.”

“They’re already holding a loaded gun, even if they don’t know it yet.”

“Still, that’s your best play, the only thing you can do to control the fallout. Don’t you think?”

He frowned as he considered her words. He hated the idea of going on TV to hang himself, but she was right. “Yeah.” He started to get up, but she caught his arm.

“I did a little research while you were gone yesterday. Incidents of incest are woefully underreported. There have to be others—many others—who are in your situation. It’s just not something anyone wants to talk about.”

“Including me,” he grumbled.

“I’m saying you’re not alone. A baby doesn’t result in every case, but I’m sure pregnancy occurs far more than it should.”

“It should never happen.”

“You know what I mean.”

When she let him go, he got up to shower and dress—but heard his phone buzz from where he’d left it in the pocket of his pants. He almost ignored it. Because he’d learned the circumstances of his birth, he was afraid others were finding out, too, and this might be the first reporter. For all he knew, Cort Matisson had been so angry when he left, he’d contacted a journalist first thing and blabbed it all. Hudson wasn’t going to check it. But as soon as he shut the bathroom door, he opened it again and went to get his phone.

Caller ID indicated it wasn’t a reporter. “It’s the PI,” he said to Ellie, who was watching him with a concerned expression on her face.

He answered but didn’t give Samuel Jones the chance to say hello. “Thanks a lot,” he snapped. “You gave that douchebag Cort Matisson your card.”

“I didn’t tell him I worked for you.”

“You didn’t need to! Who else would hire a private investigator to go snooping around in his life? He figured out I was looking for my parents and showed up on my doorstep yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Jones said.

“I told you not to let anyone know what I was doing—least of all the people I was trying to find. You said you’d be discreet.”

“I was afraid he’d call the police.”

“Why would that matter? You would’ve been long gone by the time they showed up.”

“He could’ve given them my license plate number, in which case they could easily identify me.”