Page 135 of Play the Game

I’m shocked. I glance at him as he watches Shutter lay in a comfy spot at the foot of the bed. “He can?”

“The dumpster cat came all the way upstairs and woke me up. Then he led me to you.” Emory pulls me in tighter. “So yeah, baby. He stays. Now tell me why your brother is in prison and why you’re hiding a stack of lawyer letters under our bed. Tell me what has you so twisted in your sleep that you felt you needed a knife.”

“You found those?”

He nods against my back. “I didn’t open them, but yeah. I saw the letterhead.”

A shaky breath slips from my mouth, and Emory places a soft kiss on my shoulder. “Take your time,” he reassures me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shifts us on the bed, and it causes Shutter to look back at us. He hisses at Emory.

“Apparently, neither is he,” Emory notes.

The touch of a smile grazes my lips, and I relax into his sturdy chest. “It started when my dad died.”

I feel Emory’s grip tighten against me.

“My mom was always the chaotic one of my parents. She liked to party and go out with her friends, which left my dad at home with me a lot.”

“Were you close with him?”

I nod.

“After he died and my mom was left to take care of me, I think she became resentful. One thing led to another, and she wound up pregnant with William—father unknown. I didn’t realize it at the time because I was too young, but she didn’t take care of her body like she should have.”

Emory’s hand skims my leg back and forth in the most comforting way. “What do you mean?”

“She drank while pregnant. Probably did some drugs.” I shrug. “William is technically undiagnosed, but after years of raising him and researching, I’m certain he has lasting effects.” I choose not to divulge the entire medical definition to Emory because we’d be here all night discussing my brother’s cognitive impairments. Instead, I go the easy route. “Long story short, he doesn’t make the best decisions. He’s easily influenced, impulsive, and he doesn’t grasp social cues. It was a struggle allthroughout his adolescence, and as soon as he turned eighteen, he caught himself in a mess.”

I take a deep breath.

“He was caught breaking and entering. They tagged arson onto his sentence too.” Frustration skims up my spine. “He wasn’t even the one to do it. He was blamed, and he took the fall for it because, again, he’s easily influenced and just…doesn’t understand.”

Emory remains quiet for a few minutes, and I start to feel anxious.

It isn’t until his hand rests against my side and he gives it a quick squeeze that I relax again.

“So you’re trying to help get him out. That’s the reason for the lawyer's letters and why you need money.” It isn’t a question, so I don’t answer. “You’ve been taking care of him all his life, haven’t you?”

My lip slips beneath my teeth, and I nod.

“Is that what your nightmare was about? Protecting William? Is that why you had a knife?”

I shut my eyes in hopes that it’ll give me the confidence to answer him.

“Yes.” I swallow a gulp. “I didn’t grow up in the best home, and after seeing my mom, it brought up some unwanted memories.”

Emory pulls me into his chest and kisses the top of my head. I hold in my tears, but emotion chokes me up regardless. “You’re safe with me, Biscotti.”

I know.

It’s beenfour days since I confided in Emory, and each day, I feel a little bit lighter. Every morning that he’s still lying beside me with a lazy smile on his face is another morning that he doesn’t serve me with divorce papers from realizing how much baggage I have.

I wasn’t sure what to expect after I told him about William’s condition and the situation that landed him in prison. For the woman who is supposed to help his reputation, I have a pretty fucked-up background that goes against everything the media has said of me thus far.

Neither Emory nor I thought we’d getthismuch attention, but after I posted our wedding photos and hisScottie Biscottiinterview went viral, we’ve been idolized. The Chicago Blue Devils are projected to be in the fight for the Stanley Cup, and that comes with even more media coverage.

If it leaks that I’m an ex-stripper from the Cat House who Emory met one day and was married to the next, paired with my mother’s background and the fact that my brother is in prison, well…let’s just say not all publicity is good publicity.

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