16. Sinclaire

Trick turns again, and I jump in front of him. "Hey, Dad."

He's just come out of his room, and his own suitcase is beside him, leaning precariously against the wall where he flung it.

"What are you doing with my daughter?"

"Holding her hand," Trick says calmly. "We don't need to do this in front of the team, Jeff."

"Don't—"

"Daddy!" I cut him off. And then my face turns red, because at the name, Trick's hands tighten on my shoulders. "Dad," I correct myself. "Before you say anything else medieval, I'll remind you that I'm twenty-five years old and you forgot my birthday yesterday."

There are some snickers down the hall behind us.

Snark was the wrong thing to bring to this conversation, because my dad's eyes narrow. "So you paid me back by sleeping with my star player?"

I gasp.

Trick growls. "It wasn't her idea."

"I walked you to your room, you fucking asshole. I saw her—" He gestures wildly, and I think all three of us understand he means my clothes "—on your fucking floor. She was waiting for you."

"And I invited her to stay once I found her." Trick seems intent on taking the blame for this, and I can't let that happen.

"He invited me to stay and eat room service food we'd both ordered. Separately. He didn't try to seduce me. That was my idea."

"It really wasn't," Trick counters.

"He was a perfect gentleman." I sound desperate now.

"I sent you champagne!" My dad punches the wall, then winces.

Yeah, I bet that was concrete.

"We enjoyed it," I whisper.

Trick starts laughing.

Then the whole hallway starts laughing, which only makes my dad's expression all the more thunderous.

"We have a plane to catch," my dad finally says, glaring at Trick. "Sinclaire, let's talk for?—"

"She's riding with me," Trick says. "You want to talk to her at some point about this, that's cool, but it's not going to be right now after you made a scene in front of everyone. You're going to walk it off, Jeff, and then you're coming back to her with a different attitude."

"Excuse the fuck?—"

"I'm not your player anymore, man. I'm retiring to be her man. This is how it's going to be from now on, so get used to it. You want to talk to your daughter, you will do so from a place of respect for her as a grown woman."

And then he takes my hand, and we keep walking.

* * *

I've only been on the team's plane once before, that trip to Toronto at the start of the season, and that time I sat with the team staff in their special section.

This time, Trick leads me to the back of the plane, where we can see everyone but the only way people could see us is if they turn around.

He buckles me into the window seat, then fills the aisle seat beside me, blocking me off even further from the rest of the plane. From my father, and his teammates.

"Ignore them," he whispers. Then he laces his fingers through mine and gives my hand a squeeze.

"It's hard to." My heart hasn't stopped pounding since we got in the hotel elevator.

We took a separate car to the airport, not the bus the team organized. In two hours, we'll touch down in Florida and I'll have another reprieve from the heaviness of the unasked questions on this plane.

I'm painfully aware that if I weren't on this plane, everyone would be partying pretty hard.

One by one, the players file onto the plane. At some point I hear my dad's voice, way up at the front.

And then it's time to take off.

The roar of the jet engines and the force pushing me back against the seat is a welcome distraction. We climb away from Texas, banking hard, and we're over the Gulf of Mexico.

"Hey," Trick whispers in my ear.

Then his knuckle lightly grazes my cheek, and I realize I'm silently crying as I stare out the window.

"No, baby, it's okay."

"The plane is too quiet," I say, my voice breaking. "This should be a party."

He swipes away another tear. "Yeah, all right."

The second the seat belt sign turns off, he unbuckles and stands up. "Where's the champagne?"

"Got another announcement to make?" someone calls from the front.

Oh God. I shrivel into a very small ball and cover my face with my hands.

"It's definitely not about your RBI over the series," Trick snipes back. "But you'll get a ring anyway so shut the fuck up. Last night we did something incredible." He moves down the aisle, addressing his team in a way he probably never has before—definitely on the content, but probably also on the sheer volume of words that spill out of him. "And then after that, I did something privately incredible. I realized I'm in love. I didn't fall in love. That happened months ago. And I kept it a secret from all of you fuckers because I knew it would it would derail us. I made that sacrifice for you all, for us, so you can all do Sinclaire the honour of respecting her enough to party like the animals that I know you all are, because you are motherfucking World Champions."

I can hear the confused, whispered reactions.

Months?

Love?

Secret?

And it hits me. I wasn't the only one who sacrificed over this season so the team could perform well.

Trick did, too.

I unbuckle my seat belt, too, and I stand.

The champagne is behind me. The flight attendants are getting it ready, but I can help.

They smile at me when I reach for the first glasses.

"It's harder than it looks to hand them out with stumbling," one of them says.

"I'll be careful." I move ahead. The players in the row just ahead of where we were sitting are friendly, making eye contact and everything, and after they take their champagne, I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

It's going to be okay.

The noise volume rises as we move up the aisle. Trick keeps walking ahead of me, backwards, so his gaze is on me the whole time.

My beautiful oak of a man.

He's so glorious in his confidence that I don't even realize that I've reached the row where my dad is sitting.

My hand shakes as I hand him a glass of champagne.

He hesitates, than takes it. Then he pats the seat next to him. "Sit and toast with me?"

I hesitate, too, but he's done roaring, I can tell.

I slide into the seat, and this time it's Trick who hands me a glass of champagne.

Then he keeps going, serving the rest of the staff.

My dad clinks his glass against mine. "Happy belated birthday, kiddo."

"Thanks."

"Why did Trick say he's loved you all season?" His voice sounds like he's swallowed razor blades, but it's a polite enough question.

I take a deep breath. "Maybe for the same reason I've loved him all this time, too. I think we had a love at first sight moment before the pre-season started, and…we both kept that from each other. We did that for you, Dad. And the team. We didn't talk about it, it wasn't planned or anything, but last night?—"

"I don't need to know any details about last night." He exhales. "This is why you stopped coming to games?"

"Yeah. I think I was a distraction. I thought it was because I'd been too dorky when we met, but…maybe not."

Dad barks a laugh. "I'm guessing not. Fuck."

"Remember that day we took photos of the three of us?"

He makes a face. "Yes."

"That was the day we met—again, I mean. As grown ups."

"Jesus, Sinclaire."

"Well, it's true. You need to know that's how he sees me."

"That's fucking obvious, thanks."

I'm laughing now. "Okay."

He lifts his glass, indicating we should sip.

"It's not time yet."

"Birthday gets its own toast."

I give him a small smile, and we drink to the fact that I'm twenty-five now.

"He's rich, you know." Dad rearranges himself in the seat, nodding sternly. "He should give you a ranch as a wedding gift."

"Ummm…."

"If he doesn't marry you soon, I'll be having words with him."

"Okay, well?—"

Trick strides back toward us, his gaze dark. "Everything okay?"

My dad glares right back. "That depends on how much you love my daughter. What are your intentions?"

I slug back the rest of my bubbly and wave the glass in the air. "I need a refill!"

Trick takes the glass from me. "My intentions are entirely pure."

I think about how he buries his face in my pussy and start laughing out loud.

"Jesus, Sinclaire," they say together as one.

"What?"

"I'm trying to tell your dad I want to marry you, pet," Trick says softly. "Can you stop reminding him I want to take you to bed, too?"

The entire plane joins me in losing it this time.

And then the party starts in earnest.