Mother Faker

Shayla: There’s a wire hanging in the living room, and I have no idea what it goes to… I’m afraid to turn anything on. If I do, and I get electrocuted, then Kai would have no parents.

Dylan: red you’re dead

Dylan!

Dylan: what? gotta have street smarts don’t cut the red wire Shay

Delia: Oh my God. Beckett probably cut it.

Why would Beckett cut the wire?

Delia: Because he’s a menace. Shay, you are not going to die. Dylan, shut up. Liv, tell your husband to fix this.

Shayla: I can’t find the red one!

That’s only in cars. Ignore her!

Dylan: I wouldn’t take that chance

I’ll have Beckett send someone this afternoon.

Delia: I need to vet whoever it is.

Shayla: Oh god, I’m going to die before that happens.

I’m shaking my head at my friends’ insanity when Sara walks in the door.

“Damiano came in today. He’s not happy.” She doesn’t even say hello before she gets down to business. I like it like that, though. As a mom, every minute of my day counts, and I appreciate that she doesn’t waste my time.

“He’ll just have to deal. Clayton isn’t going anywhere. We don’t have room in the cap.”

With a sigh, she studies her iPad. “Maybe you could set up a team-building activity for them in Vegas or something.”

That word—Vegas—sends a jolt through my system.

I cannot go back there with Beckett.

With a shake of my head, I push thoughts of my husband away for the moment.

“Yes, put together a list of ideas. And make sure Clayton and Damiano are paired up. You can handle the trip, right?”

“Well, no. The hockey team is also in Vegas, so I’m slated to go with them.”

I bite my lip. “I can do that. You go with the baseball team.”

Sara blinks at me. “Beckett only wants you.”

“He doesn’t care who travels with him.”

Sara cackles but quickly slaps a hand over her mouth.

“What?”

Twisting her lips to hide her true feelings, she squirms beneath my gaze.

I heave a sigh. “Just say it.”

“Olivia, Beckett hasn’t allowed anyone but you to accompany him on away games since I started working for you.”

That can’t be true. Sure, the man is demanding and I’m at his beck and call more often than not, but I thought that was just my annoyance with him on the matter.

“Well, he’ll have to deal. Plan the activity.”

As soon as she’s gone, I get out the calendar and look up the dates of Beckett’s last few trips. Then I spend the next hour reviewing his calendar for the last five years.

My stomach sinks when I realize our calendars match. When I didn’t travel, Beckett didn’t travel. When he had to travel and I couldn’t, then he went on his own.

My mind is a jumble of confusion. Has my fake husband been telling the truth? Has he really been looking at me all this time?

Hours later, I’m in a meeting with Sara, Hannah—another one of the women who works in my office—and the Revs’ general manager, Benny Riordan. Earlier, I filled Beckett in on the issue with Damiano and his catcher so when he peeks into the meeting, I assume he’s going to join us. As far as owners go, Beckett is as hands-on as they get. While he trusts the opinions of his inner circle and gives thought to what we have to say before he makes decisions, he’s still a control freak who gets the final say.

In all fairness, he works hard to grow this team, and I don’t miss the quiet grumbles of admiration from others in the league. So while he may be a controlling ass, he’s a smart one.

We all look up expectantly, waiting for him to sit before we continue our discussions.

With a nod at Riordan, he stalks toward me, but it isn’t until he’s leaning over my chair, his big frame crowding me and his rich scent encircling me, that I see what’s in his hand. He slides a Diet Coke in front of me, and while his arms surround me, he flips the top open. Then his lips ghost my ear. “Can’t wait for this weekend, Livy.”

When I turn to him, our lips dangerously close, he smirks. My tongue sweeps out, sliding across my lips, and in response, Beckett’s green eyes practically glow.

A throat clears and I rear back, making my chair swivel and the arm hit the table. I totally forgot we weren’t alone.

“Joining us, boss?” Sara asks as she gets up and holds a hand out to her now vacant chair like she’s offering her seat to him.

He shakes his head. “No, Livy has it covered.”

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You just came to drop off the soda?”

“My wife needs her afternoon caffeine. And what wifey wants…” His eyes are still dancing when he turns from me to Sara. “Gavin needs you this weekend. Livy will join me.”

Sara sucks in her lips to hold back her smile. “Of course, Mr. Langfield.”

I knock my foot into hers, and she dips her head to hide her laughter.

“Riordan, see me when you’re done.” With that, Beckett disappears.

What the hell just happened?

Life only gets stranger as the week continues. Daily Beckett brings me a soda like it’s part of his new job description. Then on Tuesday he calls a family meeting, offering to take over laundry duties. With the help of the kids, he creates a militaristic operation involving separating the colors from whites and darks from lights.

And the folding? Don’t even get me started on that. I never thought I’d see the day that Liam would fold laundry beside Beckett Langfield at our dining room table.

On Wednesday night, while we’re eating dinner, a rumble of thunder rattles the house so hard pieces of the ceiling fall into Beckett’s pasta. When he locks his jaw, I ready myself for his growl. He shocks me, though, when he finally opens his mouth.

“That’s it. I’m not risking the kids getting lead poisoning. Give me the name of the contractor you’re dealing with, Delia. I’ll make some calls and get them to speed up the process.”

Not because he’s annoyed that the ceiling is literally falling into his food, but because he’s concerned for our kids.

Delia stares him down, her nostrils flaring. “You think I don’t care about our kids?”

Beckett takes a deep breath, and right before my eyes, he morphs into the CEO who can woo even the toughest critics. Tough doesn’t begin to describe Delia, though, so I hold my breath and watch, hoping he can get through to her, because seriously, we need the roof fixed. And the stairs. And the walls. Two walls in Dylan’s room are still nothing but studs.

“I know you care about everyone here. And that you work long hours. I know you want a contractor who will preserve your aunt’s legacy. I also know that the motto in this house is that everyone helps out. So let me help.”

Every eye in the room is on Delia, and I swear even the younger kids are holding their breath while we wait for her reaction. Will she take his head off? And really, how much longer will he stay in a place that’s falling down around him?

How much longer can any of us live like this?

Delia takes a bite of her pasta and keeps her attention averted as she nods. “Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll send you the contractor’s information tomorrow. But no one does a thing without clearing it with me first.”

Shay, Dylan, and I exchange surprised smiles. Even Liam looks at Beckett with begrudging respect.

Score one for Beckett.

But also, why the hell is he trying so hard?

When Thursday rolls around, I’ve never been so excited for book club. Okay, truth be told, I’ve never been excited for book club period. But for the first time, I enjoyed the week’s reading. Claire Kingsley is hysterical, and although I have limited time to read, I downloaded the next book in the series on Audible, and I’ve been listening to it at night, rather than fixating on Beckett and how close he is when the lights go out. Or how sweet he’s being and the kisses he gifts me with when no one else is looking.

It’s like a game to him, finding places to hide—in the office and around this house. And when he does, he stalks to me, pushes me against the wall, or the door, or the freaking copy machine, and kisses the life out of me.

When he walks off, still looking just as polished and in control as ever, I have to run to the bathroom to splash water on my face to cool my flaming cheeks. And my hair? Don’t even get me started on the way he grips it while he devours my mouth. Without fail, he leaves me looking like we’ve just finished hours of uninhibited sex.

Just before book club tonight, I caught him with a wrench in his hand and before I could even ask what he was doing walking around with it, he pushed me into the coat closet, and all thoughts were lost to his mouth.

Though this book is easily a favorite of mine, I’m mostly excited for a few hours with my besties to discuss the changes in my relationship with Beckett—and this trip to Vegas—because for the first time since we started kissing, the kids won’t be around. There will be no excuses. We’ll be staying in a hotel, in the place where we got married, and he’ll probably want sex.

It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with him—come on, this is Beckett Langfield. The man is like porn in a suit with a god complex. The sex will be incredible.

But I’m not porn in a suit; I’m more like cheesecake—and not a delicate slice. I’m the round kind with lots of filling.

God, why do I always compare myself to food?

Although, cheesecake does sound delicious.

“Liv?” Del swings the wine bottle back and forth in front of me, and by her expression, it looks like it’s not the first time she’s said my name. “Want some?”

“God, yes.” I hold out my glass and watch as she fills it.

“Wait!” Dylan screeches. “I got presents for us!”

Shay rears back against the couch cushions and presses a finger to her ear. “I think you burst my eardrum.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Dylan hops up from the couch and picks up the bags sitting on the floor beside her. Each one is a different color. Mine is teal, with pink paper in it, and inside is a wine tumbler with Fueled by wine and smut scrawled across it.

Dylan bounces in her seat. “For our book club nights.”

Delia pulls hers out of a purple bag with teal paper and grins. Dylan really went all out. “I love it.” Immediately, she transfers the wine from her glass into it.

Shayla heaves a heavy sigh. “You should clean that before you drink from it.” She grabs it and pours the wine back into the glass. Then reaches for mine and Dylan’s before disappearing into the attached bathroom. From there, she lectures. “The chemicals they use to create this…” Her voice is drowned out by the sound of the water.

My heart sinks then, and I look from Dylan to Delia. Their sober expressions match the way I feel. Ajay’s cancer diagnosis really did a number on her. I’m not sure any of us knows how to get through to her, or if we even can. Life throws us all curve balls. It takes time to adjust and learn how to hit the ball a different way. But when it hits you square in the chest and you forget how to breathe, it’s hard to get back into the game. It’s hard to keep swinging.

Since losing her husband, the woman who used to be the most daring of us has been sitting on the sidelines.

And I wasn’t far from it either. Before Dylan forced us to admit how much we were spiraling, I was dangerously close to becoming bitter and closed off. With the support of these women, I dusted myself off and got back in the game rather than letting my husband’s affair take me out completely.

Is that what I’m doing with Beckett? Getting back in the game? Is any of what we’re doing real?