The Marriage Effect, page 2
part #3 of Washington Wolves Series
Preserve, obsess over, whatever he wanted to call it. I rocked my neck back and forth and sighed. I couldn’t imagine what my aunt might have left me. She lived so frugally, never traveling, never doing much of anything, really. Maybe it was an antique tea set. Or her favorite corset.
“That makes sense,” I said politely.
“But she named you as the primary beneficiary of her financial holdings with only one caveat to be able to inherit.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the caveat?”
“You have to be married.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s funny. I’m the furthest thing from married, and I have no desire to change that right now.” I was still shaking my head. “What did she leave me, anyway?”
He cleared his throat. “A little over three million dollars.”
I bolted off the bench. “Three million dollars?”
“That’s correct.”
“How?” I pressed a hand to my suddenly racing heart. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
Richard sighed. “I was as surprised as you, Miss McKinney. But apparently, she was very smart financially and made good investments at the right time. And she felt very firmly that, as you know, the family inheritance be passed down to someone married.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed, remembering conversations with her when I was maybe eleven or twelve. About how back in the 1800s, if there was no male heir, and none of the daughters were married, the family estate would almost pass to the nearest male relative. Good Lord, she was crazier than I remembered. “And she can do that? Just leave the money sitting there until I get married? That’s nuts.”
My brain was spinning like a top.
“It may be, but it’s her money, her decision.” He cleared his throat again. “And it won’t just sit there. If you don’t find a husband within the allotted amount of time, the money will pass on to your cousin Collins.”
“Oh, fuck that,” I breathed. “That little twerp? No way.”
If my cursing fazed good ole Robert Ford, he didn’t show it. I sighed and took a seat on the bench again.
Collins had always been an annoyance more than anything. I was an only child, he was an only child, and while my parents couldn’t really be bothered much by my presence, his doted on him. That doting led to a spoiled, sulking child who turned into a spoiled, sulking adult. And considering he had about as much intelligence as a radish, I was absolutely not going to walk away from that money and let it end up in his pocket.
“Okay, Robert. Let’s go over this from the top.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t so bored anymore.
2
Logan
Things I didn’t have time for: mouthy redheads with million-mile-long legs who made me want to sit and talk to them when I shouldn’t have been at the party to begin with.
That was why I walked away from Paige McKinney, best friend to the woman who owned the team I played for, and that was why I didn’t look back at her.
Most of the guys on the team thought I lived under a rock because of how little I took part in things like this, but even if I did, I’d know who she was.
It was laughable that she thought I might not know who she was.
Not only was she a permanent fixture with the team, but she’d been on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition twice in the last ten years and featured in the spread five years in a row. It was impossible to avoid that tidbit about her, considering the guys passed those magazines around like they were the Holy Grail.
The second she turned and faced me, I wanted to pour bleach into my brain so that I could forget the shot of her that I remembered best, arms crossed over her chest, red hair flowing down her back, two sandy handprints on her ass as she smiled at the camera.
So yes, the fact that I wanted to sit and talk to Paige meant that it was absolutely the last thing I should’ve been doing.
The last time I wanted to talk to a woman who interested me, I ended up agreeing to play her fake boyfriend, only to discover that her real boyfriend was a teammate of mine.
“You heading out, Ward?”
I paused when Luke, the only guy who’d been on the team as long as I had, spoke to me. He was on the couch showing something to his daughter, Faith, who was only a few years younger than the twins.
The twins who had been blowing up my phone for the last hour, and the reason I knew I should be leaving.
“Yeah, I need to get home.”
He smiled in understanding. Before Allie, he’d been as antisocial as me. “Need or want to?”
I grimaced.
It was enough of an answer for him because he laughed. “Come on, man, it won’t kill you to stay for another ten minutes.”
“That’s what you think,” I mumbled under my breath.
My phone buzzed and then buzzed again, and I pulled the phone out of my pocket with a sigh. The two texts from earlier were still on my lock screen.
Isabel: How much does a new iPad cost?
Isabel: Tell Claire that she’s not allowed to touch my stuff. SHE BROKE MY IPAD AGAIN. And if she says it wasn’t her, she’s lying.
Isabel: Lia totally broke her own crappy tablet. I saw it happen. PS this is Claire.
And those were joined with a new one, from the actual owner of Iz’s phone.
Isabel: OMG GET THE TWINS THEIR OWN PHONES PLZ, THEY KEEP STEALING MINE.
Me: Iz, they’re not getting their own phone. You know 13 is the earliest they’re allowed one. I’ll be home in an hour, okay? See if Mrs. Connor can fix the iPad.
Maybe staying at the party for five minutes wouldn’t kill me. The thought of four females—ages twelve to sixteen—in possession of their own cell phones absolutely would. I sank onto the couch across from Luke and his daughter, the one who would probably never harass him about broken iPads or stealing phones or wanting McDonald’s for dinner. I silenced my phone, determined for once, to spend fifteen minutes socializing with one of the few guys on the team who didn’t annoy the hell out of me.
“You look tired, Ward.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and laughed under my breath. He had absolutely no idea. No one on the team did. They had no idea how tired I was. That down to the marrow of my bones, I was exhausted and had been for over two years.
Staying under the radar suited me just fine, for exactly that reason.
Media outlets didn’t really care about me. Fans didn’t snap my picture when I walked down the street. And none of my teammates knew that I was the legal guardian for my four younger half-sisters.
None of them knew that my dad’s second wife, younger than him by about seventeen years, decided to go “find herself” in parts unknown a couple of years after he died. That when she left, she handed off all four girls to my care with a signed note that said: “Logan is their guardian, XOXO, Brooke.”
Instead of handing him any of that information, I just nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
“Doesn’t get any easier as we get older, does it?”
Faith beamed up at her dad. “Daddy is the third oldest quarterback in the league.”
I smiled. “That right?”
She nodded. “Only Drew Brees and Tom Brady are older, but Daddy definitely looks the oldest of all of them.”
Luke wrapped an arm around her shoulders, playfully clapping a hand over her mouth while she giggled. “No one asked you, Turbo. Why don’t you go find Allie or Aunt Paige, okay?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her where Aunt Paige was, but I didn’t need Luke questioning how I knew.
“It’s too early in the season to look that beat,” he said as she scampered away. “We’re barely out of the preseason.”
“I know. I can usually make it to week eight before I feel like I need a weeklong nap.”
“My knees are killing me already.”
I rubbed my neck. “It’s my shoulder. That pick six last week in Arizona had me sore for days.”
“Well, yeah,” he said on a laugh. “When their tackle flattens your ass right before you stretched your arm past the line, it’ll have a negative effect on multiple body parts.”
Even though we both laughed, it wasn’t all that funny. Every year, it got harder to recuperate. Every game, every week of practice, pushed our aging bodies to the limit. Muscles and ligaments shoved past the brink of what they were designed to endure.
And if my physical body went through a beating every week, that was absolutely nothing compared to the mental exhaustion I was feeling because of four small, stubborn, dark-haired young women.
Luke and I talked easily for a while longer about the games being played tomorrow, the ones we’d actually be able to watch since it was our bye week. Faith came and went a couple of times, and teammates would come and talk for a couple of minutes before wandering off to other conversations.
“Man,” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I can’t believe it’s almost six. How old do I sound if I say I’m ready for bed.”
“Old,” I told him with a grin. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, surprised that much time had passed. My lock screen was flooded with texts, and the second my eyes snagged on the first one, I felt the color drain from my face.
“Shit,” I whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Luke asked.
Isabel: Why didn’t you answer your phone?? Molly got in a car accident. Uncle Nick is here. I SWEAR I didn’t call him. I think stupid Mrs. Connor did.
Isabel: He’s really grumpy.
Isabel: LOGAN, ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE. We’re at Virg Mason
Isabel: Sorry. I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar. Don’t blow a gasket, she’s going to be fine. BUT OMG WHERE ARE YOU
The last one had the blood freezing solid in my veins.
Nick: Thanks for finally screwing up big enough. I’ll take it from here.
“I gotta go,” I said unsteadily, shoving my phone in the general vicinity of my pocket and standing so fast that my head spun. “My sister … she’s in the hospital.”
He stood. “Are you okay? I can drive you, which one is she at?”
I was already heading toward the door, heart racing, mind racing, everything … just everything inside me racing to not feel like such an asshole for silencing my stupid phone. “She’s at Virginia Mason, and no, I’m good thanks. Uhh, just tell Allie thank you for the invite.”
My keys were out of my pocket before I reached the front door. As I sped down the highway to the ER at Virginia Mason Hospital, I tried not to let my mind immediately veer to worst-case scenarios.
“Shit,” I whispered for the fortieth time in the last thirty minutes. If any of the girls could hear me, I’d owe a fortune to the swear jar by the end of the day. The swear jar that was Molly’s idea, I thought, trying to swallow past a giant lump of fear. I’d briefly seen her that morning as she stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and looking for coffee.
“Have fun at your party,” she’d told me, punching me in the shoulder as I walked out of the kitchen. “Don’t be mean to anyone.”
“I’m never mean,” I said back, mussing up her dark hair.
My eyes burned hot, and I blinked rapidly. She was fine.
I swear, if she wasn’t, if her injuries were more severe than Isabel’s texts indicated …
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I took a few deep breaths to steady my thoughts.
It was easy enough to logically talk myself out of any panic. The hospital didn’t call me. No police officers had called me. Isabel hadn’t said anything about a serious injury in her texts, and neither she nor Mrs. Connor had left me a voicemail. That was good. It went a long way in my head.
But there was an entirely separate part of yourself that logic couldn’t touch when you were the one responsible for the people you loved most in the world. That part of me, my heart, whatever, couldn’t stop imagining Molly with a breathing tube or pale in a hospital bed with bandages covering her face, and I had to grit my teeth to the point of breaking as I finally approached the hospital and jerked my truck to a stop in an empty parking space.
I took a moment to remind myself that she was probably fine, but it wasn’t easy.
Once I was inside, I’d let none of them know that those fears were bouncing around in my head. I’d walk into the room, and no one would have a single clue that inside my skin, my bones were rattling with the need to be assured that she was okay. That the people in charge of her health were competent and doing their jobs, and watching her with the same love and care that I would.
I ran into the ER entrance off Spring Street and gave my name and Molly’s name to the security guard behind the desk. He gave me a polite smile and curious look at my face. I had to breathe steadily because I’d probably lose my shit if he asked if I played football. Thankfully, he didn’t; he just buzzed open the door and told me where to go.
The waiting room was a buzzing hive of activity, but everyone was too focused on their own issues to look at me as I strode quickly through the room.
“Nice of you to show up,” a voice very much like my own came from behind me. The teeth-gritting and deep breathing were back in full force, but I kept my face blank as I turned to face my younger brother. He was a mirror image of me, the only differences being a couple of inches in height, about thirty fewer pounds in muscle, and his face was clean shaven.
Defensive answers pricked the tip of my tongue, but I let them roll away unsaid. “Is she okay?”
Nick slowly lifted one dark eyebrow. “Define okay.”
I kept my eyes steady on him but didn’t take the bait. It never went well if I took whatever bloody chunk he was trying to use for me to emerge teeth-first out of the water. After a second, he rolled his eyes.
“She sprained her wrist from the impact of the airbag, and they need to check for a concussion, but she’s alive, and she’s coherent. Is that okay enough for you?”
I didn’t answer, showing him my back so I could go see my sister, but I felt my shoulders deflate with instant relief.
“Hey,” he said as I started walking away. “This is it for you, Logan. I’m filing a petition for guardianship. You can’t have shit like this happen on your watch and still think you’re the best choice for those girls. They should be home with me and Cora. We can provide them with a stable environment, two parents who are home at five for dinner around the table.”
Whatever relief I felt fled, leaving in its wake a slow stretch of cold dread. We’d had this argument so many times over the past two years, but he’d never really had enough ammunition to actually try to bring it before a judge.
Two years ago, the first time he’d tried, he didn’t live in Washington. Hadn’t moved into their school district. Wasn’t married.
I looked at him over my shoulder, not giving him the satisfaction of igniting my temper. “They’re not going anywhere.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. I’m going outside to call my lawyer right now, asshole.”
“Prick,” I mumbled. “I hope she charges a lot.”
He scoffed, muttering something under his breath that I ignored as I turned down the hallway that led to Molly’s room. Outside of it paced Mrs. Connor, a grim look on her slightly lined face. When she saw me, she stopped short and glowered even further.
“Over an hour, Logan,” she said. “We’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”
I held up my hands. “I know. I didn’t … I didn’t hear my phone. I got here as soon as I could.”
She sighed heavily and adjusted the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
“What did the doctor say?”
Mrs. Connor glanced into the hospital room, where I could hear the chatter of girls, the soundtrack of my entire damn life, and smiled tightly. “Well, he wouldn’t tell me much, considering I’m not their parent or guardian,” she said pointedly, then looked down the hall where Nick had passed me. “But I guess I can’t blame him, considering I was the person locked in the bathroom while she snuck out of the house and met her friend in order to day drink.”
“What?” I roared.
A couple of nurses at the nearby desk gave me dirty looks, and then from the now silent hospital room, I heard a stage whisper, “Oh shiiiiit, you’re dead meat, Molly.”
I blinked a few times, my entire brain a frozen block of confusion. “You … how did you get locked in the bathroom?”
The smile tightened even further. “That would be the twins.”
My hands curled into fists, and I felt like I was one new little revelation away from growling like a trapped bear. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. I’ll … I’ll talk to them. They’re now grounded for a month, and … wait, Molly was drinking?”
Mrs. Connor held my eyes, and for the first time, I saw a flash of compassion. But it was fleeting. “Logan, I feel sorry for you, I really do. They’re a handful, and I know you’re doing your best, but I can’t put up with this anymore. The Vaseline in my shampoo bottle was cute and everything, but I’m fifty-two. I don’t have it in me to try to rein them in. Today was too much.”
“Mrs. Connor, please.” I stumbled over my words, the growing realization that I was about to lose my fourth housekeeper in a year had my tongue not working properly. “I’ll give you a raise.”
She patted my shoulder. “Sometimes, some things aren’t worth the money. Consider this my notice. I promise I won’t ask for a recommendation.”
And then she was gone.
While I stood there gaping after her like a water-starved fish, two small bodies entered my peripheral vision.
I pinched my eyes shut and counted to ten before I felt someone’s thin arms wrap around my waist.
