Page 28 of Rushing Her: Seattle, Westerners
Elora says nothing further, and reporters fire off questions. Her eyes flick toward me, but she does not turn my way, so no one realizes I’m there.
When she speaks again, it’s to say, “As for this unidentified woman’s claim that she is pregnant. We ask that she come forward and have a paternity test done. Both of my players assert that they are not the father of this child. Thank you. No questions.” With that, she shuts the crowd down, and those near the podium walk my way behind the curtain.
Brayden wraps his arms around my body the moment he reaches me, and it’s apparent that he’s stressed out being here. I turn and point to Warner, standing off to the side.
“Let’s get out of here and head home,” he offers.
I smile at my man. “Sounds perfect to me.”
With us today are three other bodyguards who work with the same company Warner does. She wanted us to have a full detail, and Brayden insisted it would be safer for me from now on.
Typically, we park our SUV in the stadium’s underground garage, but today, we left the vehicle in the parking lot nearest the exit we planned to use after addressing the press. As we leave the building, I register motion in my peripheral vision and turn, but Warner shoves me at Brayden, who cocoons my body andlifts me from the ground. In the scuffle, I hear Warner grunt and a woman yelling and screaming.
“Warner!” A member of the security team shouts her name, and Brayden shifts enough for me to see liquid doused across her back. The material is disintegrating, and a weird, smoke-like mist wafts off of her.
“Shit,” Warner bellows and starts stripping. “Fucking acid!” Her bra and panties are all that remain.
Another guard tosses a shirt at her, and she covers herself while stomping over to the person on the ground. When she rolls over, we can see that her hair is grey, and her body appears older than the woman from the clinic. She’s not as slim either.
“That’s not her,” I tell Brayden, and he agrees.
“Yeah, but she still attacked you.”
“Take the principal home now,” Warner orders, and the guy tips his head at her as we are directed to the car.
Ihaven’t been to Brayden’s house yet. We stayed at the cabin until this morning before attending the press conference. There was no practice today because of the Labor Day holiday.
Pulling into the Laurelhurst neighborhood, lake houses line one side of the road, while on the other side, lofty mansions overlook the roofs of the ones directly on the lake. We come to a stop in front of a remotely controlled gate.
“Extra security measures have been added to the house that required the homeowners association’s approval. They didn’t like the fence but agreed to it when I used the same materials for the one surrounding my property.”
“This is where you live?”
“Yeah. About six years ago, I decided I didn’t want to stay in condos with my dogs.”
“You have dogs?”
“Three of them.” He smiles, and it reminds me of when I told him we had three babies on the way.
As the gate opens, the grandiose brown and glass house presents itself. It’s breathtaking, perched directly on the lake. “Come on.” Brayden opens the car door and helps me out. He leads me to a rock pathway that follows the land and trees against the house, until it connects to a bridge over the lower ground. Double glass panels open up into the entry, and picture windows line the far wall, showcasing the lake and Mt. Rainer in the distance.
Three dogs run up to us—all different breeds.
Brayden has always loved animals, especially dogs, so I’m not surprised he has a few of his own.
“Okay, introductions. This is the old man, Alfred.” He points to a fawn and white English Bulldog, who sits in front of me, looking up with wide eyes and his tongue and a tooth sticking out of his mouth. He’s cute, and I lean down to pet his head. “This one is our lady, Helena.” He points to a black and white Staffordshire bull terrier. She’s sweet and leans into me for a pat on her side. The final dog has been trying to get to me for loving, but Brayden holds him back. “This wild child, who usually has manners, so I don’t know why he’s being a pill…this is Cujo the cleat destroyer.”
“Oh, my goodness, this baby wouldn’t do that.”
“The hell you say. He ate my cleats from my first year in college.” I remember how superstitious Brayden is about his cleats. This is a big deal.
“Let him go. And I can’t believe you named him that.”
“I didn’t. That’s what the guys on the team call him. His real name is….”
I look up as Bray releases him, but instead of jumping on me, he pushes the other dogs away to get closer. This one is a Boston Terrier.
“Well, what’s his name?” I glance up again, and the little guy presses right up against my leg.
