Page 81 of A Game of Deception
My fingers itched to text him, to demand answers, but then doubt crept in like fog. The timing was a little too perfect, a voice in my head whispered. This has my father’s fingerprints all over it—another calculated strike to shatter us.
The thought should’ve given me some peace, a lifeline to cling to. If Daddy Dearest was pulling strings again, maybe there was an explanation for all this, a way to unravel the lie. But damn if those photos from five months ago weren’t burned into my brain—Xander standing next to Miss Perfect, the timeline matching up with every tabloid snapshot of their “dates.” God, what a mess. My chest tightened, breaths coming shallow as I forced myself to close the browser, shoving the phone away like it burned.
My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from my father’s assistant: Mr. Swanson requests your presence in his office immediately regarding an urgent team matter.
I closed my eyes, drawing a deep, steadying breath. Of course he wanted to see me. This was probably exactly what he’d been waiting for—the perfect opportunity to drive a wedge between Xander and me, to prove he’d been right all along about the “toxic” man who’d “destroyed” our family. Part of me wanted to ignore the summons, to march straight to Xander’s locker and demand the truth from his lips, watch those green eyes as he explained. But that wasn’t an option. Whatever my personal feelings, I was still the head of Sports Medicine for this team, and my father was still my boss.
I stood, smoothed the wrinkles from my top, and headed for my father’s office, each step feeling like I was walking through quicksand, the weight of betrayal and suspicion dragging me down.
He was on the phone when I entered, but he gestured for me to take a seat. I perched on one of the sleek leather chairs, back ramrod straight, face neutral—the same posture I’d adopted in this office countless times, a shield against his probing gaze.
“Yes, I understand the PR implications,” he was saying, his voice calm and authoritative. “We’ll issue a statement by end of day... No, I don’t want him doing interviews yet... Yes, that’s exactly right. Thank you, Davis.”
He hung up with a decisive click and turned his attention to me, his expression a false picture of perfect paternal concern—eyes softening at the edges, mouth curving in what passed for sympathy. “Tara,” he said softly, leaning forward slightly. “I’m so sorry you’ve been caught up in this mess.”
The genuine-sounding sympathy in his voice almost fooled me. He was good—had always been good—at modulating his tone to get exactly the response he wanted, like a conductor leading an orchestra of emotions.
“I’m not ‘caught up’ in anything,” I replied, my voice cool and clipped, refusing to give him an inch. “I’m here because you summoned me.”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair with exaggerated weariness, steepling his fingers. “I know things have been... strained between us lately. But I’m still your father, and I still care about you. When Ms. Ashworth told me the news this morning, my first thought was of you.”
“How thoughtful,” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my words. “And did you invite Ms. Ashworth to Miami, or did she come on her own initiative?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face—there and gone in a blink—before his expression smoothed again. “I didn’t invite her, no. She contacted our PR department yesterday, after having just arrived from London, saying she needed to speak with Xander as soon as possible about their child. She was waiting for me when I arrived at the office this morning. As you can imagine, I was caught completely off guard.”
“I’m sure you were,” I murmured, my tone laced with doubt, watching him closely for any tell.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp as a scalpel. “You don’t believe me.”
“Let’s just say the timing seems convenient.”
“For whom?” he asked, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Certainly not for the team. Not for our image. And certainly not for you.”
I said nothing, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply this had affected me—the way it clawed at my insides, stirring up insecurities I’d thought buried.
“I had truly hoped he had changed, Tara,” he continued, his voice soft with feigned regret, like a disappointed parent. “For your sake.”
The words hit their target, a precise strike. Had I been a fool to believe Xander could change? To think that the damaged, self-destructive man I’d stalked for years—the one who’d drowned his guilt in booze and bodies—could suddenly transform into someone stable and trustworthy?
“My sake has nothing to do with this,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded. “Why am I here?”
My father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes locking onto mine with that unyielding intensity. “You’re here because, as head of Sports Medicine, you need to be aware of any situation that might impact team dynamics. And because, as your father, I’m concerned about how closely you’ve been working with McCrae.”
“My work with Xander has been completely professional,” I said, the lie tasting bitter.
He gave me a look that said he knew better. “Regardless, I think it’s best if you maintain a strict distance from him going forward. For your own sake, and most certainly for the team’s image.”
There it was—the real purpose of this meeting, slithering out like a snake. Using the scandal he may have orchestrated to enforce the separation he’d wanted all along, to clip my wings and keep me under his thumb.
“Are you ordering me to avoid a player under my medical care?” I asked, refusing to rise to the bait.
“Of course not,” he replied smoothly. “I’m suggesting you delegate his sessions to other therapists on your staff. You would still oversee his treatment plan, of course, but the day-to-day interactions could be handled by others.”
“That’s not how I run my department,” I said flatly, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“Tara,” he sighed, his patience visibly thinning, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “This isn’t just about protocols. This is about protecting you. McCrae is toxic. He destroys everything he touches.”
“Including Jimmy?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharp and accusatory.
