65. Luke

Chapter 65

Luke

The mixof embarrassment and betrayal makes my skin hurt.

Your team wouldn’t like it.

How did I not see it?

The calculation.

The coolness.

My finger trembles as I press the button to call the elevator.

I thought I knew her.

Thought I was falling for Natalie Wagner.

But I was just a pawn.

The doors slide open, and I step in.

I don’t think she orchestrated the group wedding. There’s no way. And I can’t think of a single reason for her to be behind the release of those fucking surveillance videos.

Those fucking videos that eighteen people sent me as I was walking into this fucking building.

This Biters building.

I clench my fists.

How could I be so damn stupid?

As the elevator doors close, my phone rings.

When I see the screen, I somehow feel even worse.

This isn’t going to be fun.

I answer the call. “Hey, Mom.”

“Lucas Marie Anders.”

“Mom,” I groan. Why did I have to be an only child of a single parent in a family that insists on passing down middle names?

“Don’t Mom me. I’m the one who just had to see you humping some rich girl on the TV?”

Humping?

“Mom—”

“Your aunt damn near gave me a heart attack with the way she screamed when she saw it on the news. The news, Lucas.”

The news? That’s not good.

“Look, I know⁠—”

“And you were drunk.” She gasps like she didn’t catch me drunk when I was seventeen.

The elevator doors open on the ground floor, and I step out. “Mom⁠—”

“And then they showed the clip of you winking at her from the penalty box,” she whispers, like that’s even worse than the rest.

“What’s wrong with winking?” I ask, but she ignores me.

“Is this how you act after your games? You go out, get drunk, and publicly canoodle with Sleet Sluts?”

“Mom!” If I didn’t feel so close to puking, I might laugh at hearing her say slut. “That’s the name of one fan club; it’s not what we call… the girls.” I cringe as I say it.

“No?” Mom’s tone is full of exasperation. “Well, what should I call this girl?”

Either I’m in, or I’m out. And as much as my chest hurts right now, I know what I’m going to do.

I take a breath. “You can call that particular girl my wife.”

There’s a second of silence before I hear the phone clatter out of her grasp.