Page 5 of Undisputed Player
“Some plants like the dark,” I assured him. “Plants are resilient; they can adapt to new environments.”
“Like us?” he asked.
“Exactly like us.” I squeezed his shoulder gently. “We're very good at adapting, aren't we?”
He nodded, returning to his book with a quiet acceptance that sometimes broke my heart. No five-year-old should understand adaptation as a survival skill.
The afternoon brought art, music, and finally, our closing circle, where students shared one thing they learned and one thing they were grateful for. As they filed out to meet parents and caretakers, I stood at the door, offering hugs and reminders about upcoming projects.
Leo was the last to leave, waiting for me to gather my things so we could walk to the bus stop together. He helped me clean the whiteboard, a task he'd appointed himself.
“Did you have a good day, Elle?”
I looked around the empty classroom, at the leftover plant cups lined on the windowsill, at the books waiting to be read tomorrow, at the small boy who carried the weight of our circumstances with such quiet dignity.
“I had a very good day,” I told him, and in that moment, it wasn't entirely a lie. For these hours, I'd been able to teach, guide, and make a difference.
“How about you?”
“It was okay,” he said, considering. “But I'm glad we're going home now.”
Home. The word held so much uncertainty, yet it felt like the only thing that mattered when he said it. I helped him into his jacket, double-checking that he had his stuff.
“Me too,” I replied, taking his small hand as we stepped into the hallway. “Let's go home.”
We walked through the academy's grand entrance, past parents in designer clothes and children climbing into luxury SUVs, and I held my head high.
We might not have much, but we had each other. And some days, that had to be enough.
PROLOGUE TWO
Jax
The champagne flute shattered against the marble floor of my beach house, crystal shards skittering across the terrace like diamonds spit from the ocean.
I didn't turn to see which model had thrown it. They were interchangeable tonight—blondes in sequined mini dresses, brunettes with pouty lips, all orbiting me like satellites drawn to the gravity of my Rolex and devastating looks.
"Someone's dramatic," I drawled, swirling the ice in my whiskey glass. The clink of cubes echoed in the sudden silence, a sound as crisp and satisfying as the lighting framed my abs.
"You're a fucking asshole, Jax!" Her voice trembled, but not from hurt. She was clutching her designer purse like a weapon, angry eyes roving over my form.
I leaned back in my lounge chair, shirtless and barefoot, not paying much attention to the scene. The infinity pool behind me glowed, its edges dissolving into the Atlantic in a view that had been featured inArchitectural Digesttwice.
"Sugar," I said, savoring how her cheeks flushed at the dismissive endearment, "you knew the rules when you stepped into my car."
She'd lasted three days, a record this month. Most couldn't handle the quiet hours when I'd disappear into the gym to maintain this god-tier physique, or when I'd simply find someone else to entertain me.
This one had tried to nest. She left her mascara on my bathroom counter and a red thong tangled in my sheets.
Amateur mistake.
"Rules?" She snatched her sunglasses from the wet bar, Gucci strap slipping off her shoulder. "You said, 'No one's ever made me feel this way before.'" Her voice cracked on the last word, mascara already beginning to smudge beneath her eyes.
Ah, the classic line.
"And you believed him?" The second model laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. "Honey, that's his standard line. He said the exact same thing to me on Tuesday."
I had to give her credit—she wasn't wrong. Though technically, I'd used it onthreedifferent women this week. But who was counting?
