Moody: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 4

  “No. Shit.” He rakes his fingers over his face and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  My gaze narrows on him. “You don’t know if your daughter has had a seizure before?”

  He stops and looks at me blankly.

  “You think–” His mouth tightens and the muscles in his jaw bunch and twitch, and he looks away as if he’s trying to control his temper. “She’s not mine.”

  “Oh.” I feel my cheeks warm.

  Moody’s brows draw down and he opens his mouth to say something.

  “Moody?” Claire, one of the senior nurses, comes into the room, eyes darting between us, then to the little girl on the bed.

  It suddenly hits me who the girl is. Theo, Claire’s son, is a friend of Moody’s and one of his training partners. I heard rumors that he recently got married and had a little girl. The child must be her granddaughter.

  I turn my back on them, moving to the side of the bed where a nurse is checking the girl’s vitals.

  “So brave,” the nurse croons. “Logan, this is my friend Dr. Stewart, she’s going to make you feel better.”

  “I want Mama,” the girl whimpers past the thumb in her mouth.

  “Hi Logan.” I move to the bed and smile. The kid’s beautiful. Big brown eyes, deep dimples in her cheeks. I see the resemblance to Claire. “Can I look in your ears?”

  Logan nods and lets me examine her with only a few small snivels. Her left ear has a raging infection, most likely the cause of her fever, but I order the proper tests to rule out anything more serious.

  “You can sit with her now,” I say, when I’m done my exam. “I’ll be back to check on her in a little while.”

  A grunt is the only response I get from Moody as he walks past me towards the girl’s bed, hovering over her like a protective bear.

  “I can have someone cover your patients if you want to stay with her as well,” I say to Claire, who gives me a grateful smile.

  Over the next couple of hours, Moody barely looks at me, just sits sullen and brooding beside Logan’s bed.

  I can’t tell whether he’s angry or annoyed, but the few times he does catch my gaze, a shiver of apprehension races down my spine.

  Seeing him here, with the child, does something to me – long for something I’ll never have, regret what could have been.

  Leaning against the nursing station counter, my pen hovers over the chart I should be filling out, but my gaze keeps drifting through the door at the end of the hall, where Moody sits, long legs stretched out in front of him, dark brows pulled down in a frown as he watches the child.

  “Are you Dr. Stewart?” A dark-haired woman approaches me, followed by a man I recognize as Theo Ryan. “The nurse said you’re taking care of my daughter, Logan Ryan. She came in a couple hours ago.”

  “I am. I can take you to her. She’s doing much better. Her fever is down and we’ve started her on antibiotics for the ear infection. We’ll need to keep her tonight for observation, but I’m confident she’ll be able to go home in the morning.”

  Relief floods the woman’s expression. “Thank you.”

  Moody stands abruptly when the couple walks into the room, his gaze meeting mine briefly, before turning to his friends.

  “I’ll leave you,” I say to no one in particular, then turn and walk back to the nursing station.

  “Izzy,” Moody’s rough voice stops me.

  I turn, unable to meet his gaze.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

  “That she was mine.”

  “Yeah.” I glance down and chew on my bottom lip. “Not that it would have mattered.”

  He moves closer and cups my chin, making me look at him. There’s something in his expression that I can’t decipher – regret, pain, hope.

  “It would have mattered.” He stares at me, studying me with an intensity that makes my knees go weak. “If I had a child, it would have fucking mattered.”

  Does he know? About the child I lost. No. How could he? The only people who know about it are my parents – and Griffin. Shit. If he said something…

  I take a step back. “I have patients to see.”

  “We still need to talk. This isn’t finished between us.”

  I lick my lips, suddenly aware that it isn’t just Moody’s gaze on me. At least five nurses and one orderly, including Claire Ryan, is watching us.

  Blood pounding in my ears, I turn and quickly dart down the hall and around the corner, shutting myself in the empty staff room.

  My entire body is vibrating, shaking. Why do I let him affect me like this?

  “Isabelle?” Claire comes into the room and shuts the door behind her. “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Fine.” I straighten my shoulders. “I just need a minute.”

  “If you want to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” What a lie. But maybe if I say it enough I’ll finally believe it.

  “I didn’t realize you were Moody’s girl.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not his girl. I’m getting married. That was just…hell, I don’t know what that was.”

  She sits down on the couch across from me. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’ve just never seen that boy look at anyone that way before.”

  I shake my head, knowing it isn’t true.

  “He’s got a revolving door of women throwing themselves at his feet.”

  “He hurt you.” Claire smiles sadly as if she can read every tortured thought. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I know one thing. That man out there, he’s one of the good ones. If it weren’t for him, and the sacrifices he made, that little girl out there wouldn’t have a mother. I’ve never met a man more protective of the people he cares about, more willing to sacrifice himself for others.”

  “I use to think that too,” I say, doubtful. “But there’s a reason they call him the Destroyer.” In and out of the ring.

  Claire sighs, then leans forward and pats my hand.

  “I’ve been around a long time. Made my own mistakes. But one thing I’ve learned is that just because someone’s the villain in your story, doesn’t mean he isn’t the hero of someone else’s.”

  With aching clarity, I know she’s right, but it still doesn’t change anything. “I’m getting married.”

  Claire stands, lips turning up. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll make the right choice.”

  “There is no choice,” I say weakly.

  She just smiles, then turns to leave.

  “There is no choice,” I repeat when she’s gone, trying desperately to believe it. Because if I’m honest with myself, no other man, not even Jason, will ever make me want, need, love the way Moody Brock does.

  And hell, if I don’t hate him for it.

  Chapter 9

  Izzy

  Pulling into the long driveway of Jason’s three-story stucco mansion, I take a deep breath. I haven’t seen him since the engagement party, and except for a few brief phone calls, I’ve barely spoken with him.

  Moody’s been back in my life for less than a week, and yet he’s somehow managed to knock my entire world off its axis. The harder I try to not think about him, the more my thoughts spiral out of control, and all I see is him.

  I know it isn’t fair to Jason. That’s why I’m here. Why I left work early. To tell him the truth. Well, maybe not the full truth. But enough to make him understand why I can’t marry him. I may not have a clue what my future looks like, but I know it doesn’t have Jason in it. The best thing I can do for both of us is to be honest, so he can move forward.

  The moment I open the door I know something is wrong. It’s dark, and there’s a faint whisper of voices, but it’s the strong smell of women’s perfume that makes my stomach curdle.

  I’ve never been one to jump to conclusions, but I know without any doubt as I walk down the long corridor of halls what I’m going to find behind the las
t door. Even though my head is screaming to run in the opposite direction, my feet keep moving as if they have a mind of their own.

  I hesitate briefly, my hand on the handle, then push the bedroom door open.

  They don’t see me. Not right away. And I stand there like a fucking voyeur watching the bad porno that’s being reenacted in front of me.

  He’s fucking her. Hard. Rough. Fast. With a skill he’s never used with me.

  I can’t move.

  Can’t react.

  This can’t be happening.

  Anger. Pain. Shame. Emotions lash and burn, and I fight back the wave of nausea that rolls through me, searing a path up my throat.

  “Oh God, Jason,” the woman moans, loud and throaty.

  They come together, both screaming out in pleasure, then he collapses above her, body glistening with sweat.

  It’s then that she sees me. Instead of being shocked like I expected her to be, she smiles at me, eyes filled with triumph.

  “Looks like we have company,” she says all husky.

  Jason’s head jerks up, his gaze finding me. “Shit. Izzy. What are you doing here?”

  What am I doing here?

  I almost laugh at the absurdity of the question.

  He’s standing now, moving towards me, naked. “Let me explain.”

  “Explain?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  I take a step back, then another one, until I’m racing out of the house, fumbling with my keys, desperate to get away. My vision blurs with tears and I miss a step on the outside porch, sending me tumbling face first into a cement garden sculpture.

  “Christ, Izzy.” Jason is behind me, his hands on my shoulder, trying to help me up.

  “Get off me.” Humiliated on a whole new level, I push at his still naked chest.

  At least he has pants on now.

  “Come back inside. Don’t make a scene out here.”

  “Don’t make a scene?” I repeat.

  I want to smack him. Punch him. He must see it in my eyes because he takes a step backwards.

  Fucking coward.

  Despite the emotions that war inside me, no tears fall. I’m just…shocked.

  I pull the five-carat ring off my finger and hand it to him with shaky fingers.

  He takes it, eyes glittering with an indifference that I feel.

  “How long?” I ask.

  With a deep sigh, he says, “Kirstin is an old friend.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s just sex.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat.

  “You’re bleeding. Come back inside.”

  “With your mistress?”

  “She’s not…” He rakes his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “You work all the time. Christ, I haven’t seen you in two weeks. And I can’t remember the last time we had sex. What did you expect?”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “Maybe it is.” I laugh sarcastically. “If I was honest with myself from the beginning I never would have been with you in the first place.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I came here tonight to break off our engagement.”

  “Bullshit.” His jaw clenches and his gaze burns into me.

  “It’s true. I’ve realized something in the past couple of weeks. I never really loved you. I just wanted to. I guess I owe you a thank you for making this easy for me.”

  I turn on my heels and walk quickly to the car.

  “Don’t walk away from me, Isabelle,” Jason says, the threat clear in his tone. His fingers wrap around my arm, twisting me towards him.

  “Let me go,” I hiss.

  He leans in close, face distorted in a scowl. “Who is he?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The man you’re fucking. Who is he?”

  “How dare you.”

  “Is everything all right?” An elderly woman, walking a miniature collie stands a few feet away, giving Jason a disapproving look.

  “Fine,” he grits out, releasing my arm, then muttering, “This isn’t over.”

  “It is over. Don’t try to contact me.” I don’t wait for his reply. Instead, I quickly get into my car, then speed out of the driveway.

  In a haze, cars and houses pass me. I don’t even know where I’m going, until I pull up to Charlie’s Pub & Grill.

  I beat my palm against the steering wheel. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  Breathing heavy, I dial Griffin. No answer.

  I should go home. But I don’t want to be alone.

  Head throbbing, I walk into the bar, taking a stool in the far corner out of sight.

  “You look like you need a drink?” The bartender, a young, slender man in his mid-twenties that I recognize as a friend of Griffin, sets a glass in front of me, and holds a bottle of Glenfiddich above it. “Whisky?”

  I nod and give him a small smile, taking the glass and downing the amber liquid in one burning gulp.

  “Have you seen my brother?”

  “He hasn’t been in today. Another?”

  “Please.” I set my glass in front of him and he pours another shot, then moves behind the bar, coming back with an ice pack and handing it to me. “You okay?”

  I catch my reflection in the mirror behind him and grimace. My left eye is slightly swollen and there’s a small cut along my brow.

  “You want me to call someone for you?”

  “I have a friend coming,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know how truly pathetic I am. I think about calling Kate, but I really can’t handle the ‘I told you so’ at the moment.

  The bartender gives a small nod, refilling my glass when I empty it, then moves down the bar to help another customer.

  I sip on the third drink, already feeling the heat of the other two coursing through my veins.

  A deep, familiar laugh rumbles from across the room and every cell in my body goes on high alert. One glance over my shoulder confirms my fear.

  Moody.

  Leaning against a stool, pool cue in one hand, he lets out another raspy chuckle as a blonde whispers something in his ear while pushing her ample boobs against him.

  Perfect. Could this night get any worse?

  I need to get out of here before he sees me.

  Scrummaging through my purse, I pull out enough bills to cover the cost of my drinks, then start towards the door.

  “Izzy?” Moody’s deep voice rasps behind me.

  Shit. I keep walking, pretending not to hear him. I’m almost at my car when I feel him behind me.

  “Hey.” His hand, warm and heavy, rests on my shoulder. “You running from me now?”

  I don’t turn, just continue to fumble with my purse, trying to find my keys.

  “I’ve had a bad day. I just need to get home and–” My keys slip from my fingers and fall to the pavement. “Shit.”

  Moody crouches to retrieve the keys, and when he stands, I’m forced to face him.

  “Jesus, Izzy.” One hand cups my face, and his eyes go dark as he leans down to look at me. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

  For a brief moment, I lean into his touch, reveling in the strength and heat.

  “Answer me. Who hurt you?”

  “No one.” I take a small step back, but he moves with me, and now I’m trapped between him and the car. “I-I just fell.”

  He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push. “You should get that cleaned.”

  “I’m the doctor remember,” my words slur slightly.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not enough,” I say, knowing it’ll take more than a few drinks to fill the emptiness inside me.

  He grunts. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I can drive myself.” I wonder if he has any idea how difficult it is for me to be around him.

  “You reek of whisky.”
>
  He’s right, I shouldn’t be driving. “I’ll call a cab.”

  Another deep grunt. “Get in the car.”

  “What about your date?”

  His brows turn down. “Date?”

  “The blonde bimbo in there who was practically dry humping you.”

  His lips twitch up. “Is that jealousy?”

  “No.” Yes. And I curse myself for it. “God you’re so arrogant.”

  “She’s not my date.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, are you going to let me drive you home?” His gaze is too intense, as usual, making me feel things I don’t want to feel. And when he reaches out and brushes my hair away from my cheek, my breath tangles in my throat and my heart literally stops.

  “Yes.” The word comes out in a sigh even though my brain can barely register what I’ve just agreed to.

  He grins and my heart flutters in my chest. No one else has this effect on me. And I silently curse him for it.

  But those lips. So freaking kissable. And his eyes. I could lose myself in the dark depths. And then there’s his body. Muscles bulge and tighten, visible through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Every cell in my body screams for me to run my fingers or my tongue across the new ink I know he’s sporting.

  Yeah. I’m totally feeling those drinks.

  “Izzy?” His voice breaks through my alcohol-induced daydream.

  “Hmm?” I lean into him, drowning in his gaze that threatens to consume me.

  He lowers his head and I can feel the soft exhale of his chuckle on my cheek.

  “You need to get in the car if you want me to drive you home, sweetheart.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize I’ve been staring at him like some infatuated, hormonal teenager.

  “Right,” I mumble, getting into the car when he opens the passenger door for me.

  It isn’t until he’s sitting beside me, a cocky-ass grin on his face as he turns the ignition, that I realize what I’ve agreed to.

  Chapter 10

  Moody

  I pull up in front of the three story, brownstone condo and park the car.

  “I’ll walk you up.” I turn off the ignition, and see her hesitate before getting out of the car.

  “How are you going to get back?” she says stiffly when I hand her the keys.