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11: BRYNLEE

That paddling left my ass sore and red for a couple of days. Sitting sideways in meetings was odd since I looked like I had hemorrhoid troubles. Yet, when I went home at night, it was another experience altogether.

I’d spent more nights in the bed and tub rubbing one out to memories of Ambrose spanking me.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Bryn.”

“No problem. It’s just drinks,” I say, forcing those sexy thoughts from my mind.

“I know you’ve always worried about your brother finding out about us.”

Shrugging, I reply, “Again. Just drinks. Besides, I doubt he’d pop up here, and if so, I’d say it was a business meeting.”

He eyes me carefully over the rim of his glass before he takes another sip of his bourbon. He’d asked me to meet him at Tony’s Watering Hole after work, and I’d agreed since it was a Friday evening and I had no other plans.

“Besides, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want him to find out.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

He nods, sniffs, and looks around the bar. “No, you got it all wrong. I never gave a damn what your brother thought. He’s my best friend, but he doesn’t dictate where I sling my goddamn dick.”

My eyebrows rise, but I decide to get this meeting back on track.

“What’s so important you couldn’t discuss it at the office?”

“Your change toward me. You barely spoke to me initially, resented the sight of me, and shirked every command I gave you at every chance.”

“Still do,” I answer feistily.

“Yeah, but you...don’t shun my touch anymore. It’s like you welcome it and the punishments. Dare I say that you purposely thwart my authority to feel my paddle or hand on that sweet ass of yours?”

I lift my ginger-lime beer to my lips and take a sip from the mug, turning my head sideways to peer out of the window.

Bruno Mars’ 24K Magic plays in the background, accompanied by the chatter and laughter of the other patrons. It’s silent at our table, but not a tense silence.

“What’s changed, Bryn?”

Shrugging, I answer, “Nothing. Just thought you deserved a chance. Everyone does.”

Slamming his fist onto the table, he snarls, “Don’t bullshit me, Bryn.”

I jump. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’ve always expected you to be honest if no one else was.”

I don’t want to betray my brother’s confidence, but I can’t lie to Ambrose anymore. If there’s a chance of us finding forgiveness and laying the past to rest, it starts now.

Flicking my thumb back and forth across my bottom lip, I inhale deeply and slowly exhale.

“Bray mentioned that something strange happened between you and Lyndsey.”

I see the clenching of his jaw, his face reddening, and those hazel eyes, normally giving off a greenish or golden hue, are now a light umber blaze of fire. He turns his gaze out the window, and his jaw starts ticking as he locks his hands together.

“Ro.”

“Men don’t get assaulted, Bryn,” he bites out.

“They do. Just because society doesn’t talk about it and just because men are made to feel less than when it happens doesn’t make it any less true.”

He props his elbows on the table, and as much as I want to hear the story from him, I know that it’s his to tell, and he needs to tell it in his own time.

A server arrives at our table, but I simply shake my head, letting her know we’re not ready to order.

“She was my friend and confidante and the only one I could trust and rely on going into the MLB. She took me to all the parties and introduced me to anyone who would further my career beyond baseball. I appreciated her because those first months in Chicago were lonely.”

“I remember.”

“One night after a party in LA, we returned to the hotel and stopped at the bar for drinks. I stepped away to take pictures with some fans who recognized me. I returned to our table later and finished drinking before heading upstairs because I wasn’t feeling well.”

“How did you find out what happened to you?”

Ambrose props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his clutched fists.

“She later told me she’d poured the liquid contents from a vial she carried into my drink. In the vial, she’d dissolved a cocktail of pills, which included Viagra. That’s what gained and maintained my erection. I was confused after drinking it and felt sick. My head started hurting, and all I wanted to do was lie down.

“Lyndsey said I must be coming down with something or ate something bad. She promised to help me to my room, and I trusted her. Didn’t have a reason not to. When we got upstairs, I recall her helping me undress. I don’t recall climbing into bed. I do remember one point that she...”

He drops his head to his clutched fists and rocks back and forth. Reaching out, I rub his forearm to ease his mind, but it encourages him to continue.

“She kept telling me to relax. I was confused as fuck, not sure if it was a dream or reality. I remember calling her name several times and asking her to help me. She kept saying I needed to relax and that everything was okay. Things were hazy, and I wondered if it was a dream.

“The next afternoon, I woke up hungover and sick. She was laying in my arms, rubbing my chest, and smiling up at me. Regret hit me like a Mack truck. I didn’t remember anything, but she kept telling me how great it was. I felt bad and didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t remember. Even worse, I felt bad that I’d apparently cheated on you. I never learned what happened until after I married her.”

He grows quiet again, and I flag down the server for refills on our drinks. We sit in silence until our drinks are refilled.

“Men don’t say shit like this because it doesn’t happen to us,” he rasps.

“It does. It’s not right, but it does, Ro.”

“About four years into the marriage, I overheard her talking about the incident with someone on the phone. That’s how I found out. I walked into the room and asked her if it was true. She ended the call. I was furious, and she was full of apologies, crying, and saying she’d been so lonely, and she was sorry she’d taken advantage of me, but she had feelings for me and didn’t know what to do with them. We went through a rough patch in the marriage. I couldn’t trust her. On the other hand, I was embarrassed and didn’t know who I could tell or who would believe me. When it first happened, I felt horrible and avoided her as much as possible.”

“That bitch! Then why was she in your hotel in Charleston when you returned?”

“She’d come to tell me that she was pregnant, offered to have a DNA test, and asked if I wanted her to have an abortion.”

“Which you don’t believe in.”

“Yeah. She knew that.”

Silence takes over again, and I see he’s lost in thought.

“You don’t have to keep talking about this,” I say when he opens his mouth.

“No. I owe you. I’ve protected Lyndsey for far too long and me.”

“You deserved protection.”

“No. I was a coward. Fucking afraid no one would believe me, and if they did, they’d laugh at me. Afraid I would be a joke because how can a man be so weak as to be physically assaulted by a woman. The only person I told was your brother and my coach. Didn’t even tell my own brothers until years later.”

“What did your coach say?”

“Told me that men don’t talk about shit like that. He said I should be happy that she’d negotiated me a sweet deal when I was a rookie that would have me financially set for life. Told me to chalk it up to initiation into the league, swallow my pride, and keep moving. He said it happened a long time ago, and I should forgive and forget. Besides, I’d married her and had a kid with her now, so there was no use in crying over spilled milk. Said I should keep my head up and eyes open from that moment on and that it was a great learning lesson.”

“That fucker!” I bark, causing a few people to look my way. “Sorry.”

He purses his lips and looks out the window again.

“So, what did you do?”

“I swallowed my pride and kept moving. We separated for a while but then decided to reconcile after six months.”

“God! I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say, pushing the tears back.

“It happened to us, Bryn. I was supposed to trust you when I couldn’t trust no one else. I was so fucking angry that you didn’t want to tell your brother the truth about us. So, when I found out the truth, I couldn’t come back to you after all that time. If you didn’t stand by me before the trouble, I didn’t expect you to return to me after the trouble.”

“I just wish that you’d have told me anyway.”

“Would you have believed me?”

“Yes.”

“If I had divorced her, would you have come back to me? Would you have stuck by my side and faced your brother? Your family?”

Disappointment flows through me, and I shake my head. “No. I wasn’t strong enough or mature enough back then. I would have failed you.”

He laughs derisively.

“The road you take to avoid something is usually the road that leads you directly to it. I chose not to talk about that night so I wouldn’t lose you, and I lost you anyway.”

When his gaze swings back to me, I see it’s full of pain and regret.

“I failed you, Ro. I’m sorry, but I’m here now.”

We sit in silence, nursing our drinks, both lost in our thoughts, for quite a while before the server comes and asks if we’d like a private table on the restaurant side of the bar that we’re at Palm 51. Ambrose seems pleasantly surprised when I agree.

We ordered bruschetta and an antipasto platter. When it comes, we barely touch our food. However, we enjoy a bottle of wine that we have no problem polishing off.

“After losing you and having everyone I thought I could trust turn against me, I had nothing. It was a fast lesson that you could have millions, be surrounded by thousands of adoring fans and people screaming your name, and still be alone. It was a hard lesson but a damn good one.”

“Did you sink into depression?”

“Couldn’t. Ball kept me busy, practicing, playing, and watching tapes, and then there were the photo shoots and commercials. Then there was Cee-Cee. She always kept me from spiraling, but were there sad nights? Hell yeah. Lonely ones? Definitely.”

“How’d you end up marrying her?”

“After my daughter was born, I knew I wanted to be a part of her life. I didn’t want to co-parent and only see her sometimes. I wanted to be a permanent fixture in her life. With my parents pressuring me on one end and Lyndsey on the other, I did what everyone expected. I didn’t give a damn about what I wanted anymore, just that little girl.”

“You stuck with her after learning about that massive lie and violation. Why’d you divorce?”

Sighing, he shoves his fork into the salami, cheese, and olives on the antipasto platter before inspecting it closely.

Laughing, I ask, “You gonna eat it or investigate it for homicide?”

He smirks and pops it into his mouth. I figure it’s a stalling mechanism to not talk about the divorce, so I pour myself another glass of wine.

“Tired of the cheating. I tried overlooking what she’d done, and for a while, I did. We were cordial, and I began to believe we could work past the betrayal and the manipulation. It did nothing for our sex lives, though. I wouldn’t touch her and wouldn’t let her touch me. By the sixth year, she grew restless and cheated with another agent at a conference.

“We got counseling and stuck together. Eighth year, she got caught cheating again when I returned from our road games earlier because of my injury. I couldn’t get in touch with her, and when I returned home, I found out why.

“That time, it was with the owner of our team. I moved out briefly but came back. After that, she kept doing it until I got tired and said enough was enough. It was players, it was neighbors, it was friends’ spouses. She didn’t give a damn. I never moved back in, but I did finally serve her with the papers.”

“Why’d it take you so long?”

“I didn’t want to raise Cee-Cee separately, and I didn’t want to take her from her mom. While we were separated, it was hell on Cee-Cee, which is why I moved back in. I stayed in a guest room. Until I decided to divorce her.

“I woke up one day and realized that I was doing more harm to Cee-Cee by staying than I was protecting her. Cee-Cee’s old enough to understand. She sees the shit her mom gets into. I won’t sue for full custody because that wouldn’t be fair to our daughter, so we have joint custody. She wants both parents.”

“Is that why she’s got the sullen, moody teenaged thing going on?” I ask before popping a cheese cube into my mouth.

“That and she’s a teen,” he says, chuckling. “Truth?”

“Sure.”

“I found out that she got pregnant the last time she cheated.”

“Yours?”

“Impossible.”

“Why?”

“Stopped having sex with her two years before the marriage ended. We’ve been divorced for three.”

“Two years and no sex?”

He pulls a hand down his face. “No. If I was married to a whore, then I might as well find a whore that I wanted to fuck. I flew into North Carolina when the urge hit. Had a couple of regulars that I spent time with.”

“North Carolina?” I choke on my wine.

He nods. “Privilege and Prestige. It’s where the rich go to play and a private club that caters to your every whim.”

“Ro!”

“I’ve not been a great man, Bryn, in all these years. I’ve just been the best man I know how to be.”

“Do you...?”

“No. I haven’t gone in eight months.”

“You haven’t had sex in eight months?” I shriek.

“Thanks for the PSA,” he says drily, looking at the patrons around us.

They’re definitely staring, and I damn sure was loud.

“Sorry,” I apologize sheepishly.

“Got tired of that. I knew that I was better than that. So, I’ve focused on this company, my daughter...and my fucking hand. What about you?”

“I, um...it hasn’t been that long for me. I just broke up with Santiago Cruz.”

“Yeah?”

“With his move to Houston, there was no reason to hold onto something that wasn’t going anywhere.”

“So, it’s been what?”

“Four months.”

“You regret it?”

“No. We had fun while it lasted, but it was for the time it was.”

“You’ve been using your hand too, I presume?”

“Hell no! I have toys, porn, and a vivid imagination to get me off. Worst case scenario, I can call Santiago when he flies into town. I’m a woman of means,” I tease.

“And for that...you will be punished,” he growls, pulling his fingers through his beard.

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