Royal Indiscretion, chapter 27 (Patreon)

Two chapters in two days. One more chapter and we can call this a spurt. It feels good to lose myself in the story. I haven't done that enough lately.

When Doug yanked his clothes off the hangers, the things spun on the rod and clattered against each other. If they weren’t hotel hangers, permanently attached to the rod, they would have flown across the room. Maybe that would have made Doug feel a little better. If he saw some visual sign of the pending disaster he could feel coming, he could…

Fuck. Doug didn’t know what he would do, so he went back to getting his belongings together. He had a flight in twelve hours, and he had nothing better to do than spend ten of those hours packing.

Doug was folding his shirts when someone rapped sharply on his door. For a moment he nursed the hope that it was Rudy Sava. After that little shit had stolen the rental car and then scraped up the side, no one would blame Doug for punching him in the nose. Hell, when Doug had picked up his car and papers from Hogan, the man had suggested that the duke might consider it a personal favor if Doug did.

He yanked the door open, emotionally braced for anything—Yves, Rudy, even the duke. In his head he had practiced the profanity-laced outbursts he would use on any one of them. Instead Lady Anne stood there, a slight smile on her face as she waited, a small black clutch purse held in front of her stomach. “Mr. Wasso,” she said with warmth.

Doug opened his mouth, but said nothing. His brain was still trying to shift out of furious mode, and he took a second to take a calming breath before greeting her with a moderately polite, “Lady Anne.” Doug couldn’t figure out what to say after that, and she stared at him.

Standing in the hall of a moderately priced hotel that smelled of vanilla and vinegar, they stood a foot apart and said nothing. 

She cleared her throat. “May I come in?”

Shame made Doug’s cheeks warm. “Of course.” Doug backed off to allow her into the hotel room. The second she came in, her expression turned more serious, and the hair on the back of Doug’s neck stood up. He waited for her to give some reason for showing up at his hotel, but she stood facing the windows, her back to him. He couldn’t tell if she was staring at his open suitcase or the view of heavy fog out the window.

“You look like a woman on a mission,” Doug finally said. This didn’t seem like a social visit.

“Where is Yves?” Anne asked, her voice as sharp as her rap had been. She turned toward him, her look almost reproachful.

Doug stomped on an urge to get defensive. “I assume he’s still with Nick and the dogs. That’s where I left him.” Fear crept into Doug’s heart, which was just stupid because Yves had made it clear that he didn’t want Doug getting involved. Unfortunately, Doug had never figured out how to turn off his emotions. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Why isn’t he with you?”

“Probably because he had Nick chase me off with a shotgun. I find heavy weaponry to be a successful deterrent. Did something happen?”

“Nick threatened you with a gun?” Her voice grew louder.

Doug hated people who ignored his questions, but Anne didn’t strike him as the sort of woman who would back down in a pissing contest. And since she had the information he wanted, Doug fought to keep a civil tone. “He didn’t really threaten me as much as hold it while telling me to go away. Why are you asking about this?”

She rubbed the base of her throat with a thumb. “I thought you two had grown close. I thought you would talk him into visiting the United States.”

“Where did you hear we were that close?” This country was worse than the league for rumors, only less accurate. When guys in the locker room talked crap about someone, they were usually right. These people had missed the mark with him and Yves.

“You should go back. Invite him to visit your home. No doubt having even a friendship with a royal should increase your social media standing.” Lady Anne had always appeared calm and collected—a sort of Princess Diana or Grace Kelly, but now desperation leeched through her façade.

“I asked Yves to come with me, to take a little time away from his family. He said no. And when I tried pushing the issue, Nick and the shotgun came into the picture.”

She visibly winced. “Let me call him. I’m sure I can convince him to take that vacation.” She took out her phone.

Doug narrowed his eyes. He had always hated the sort of subtle double-talk some people seemed to enjoy. As far as he was concerned, a person should drive straight through the offensive line if they wanted to come for him. Since Anne lacked that directness, Doug would have to give her a push in that direction. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You look like a woman who has just discovered that her brother is a murderous asshole who is a potential danger to his own son. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re protecting your own position or trying to minimize the potential for murder and mayhem.”

She froze, all except for her fingers which twitched for a second before gripping her phone tightly. “That was rather unsubtle,” she said after a long pause.

“I find it doesn’t pay to be subtle with you people. Besides, I’m a football player. We have a certain reputation for brute force, and since I’m a quarterback, I tend to prefer my brutality in the area of strategy and verbal mayhem. I also notice you’re not denying it.”

“Is there any chance I could convince you that you’re wrong?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

With a sigh, she sank down onto the garrish couch. “That’s a colorful metaphor, only in this part of the world, we believe hell is cold. Unbearably cold. Sometimes it is better to believe something, even if it is not the objective truth.”

“The word you’re looking for is safer, not better,” Doug corrected her. A small wince told him that his barb had hit home. This whole family was fucked up beyond even Doug’s ability to understand. “So, what has changed? What happened to suddenly make you willing to discuss this?”

“You brought up the subject,” she said, deflecting his question.

“Trust me, I didn’t. You walked in here with an agenda that was all about your asshole brother. You even knew I had been talking to King Alphonse.” That was the only explanation for her assumption that Doug and Yves had grown close.

She gave a rueful huff. “Of all the royals, I believe Yves is the only one who does not have spies in a relative’s household.”

“And here I thought royals were largely symbolic, without real power or influence.”

She gave him a disappointed look. “Yves might be that naive, but you are not.” Considering that Anne was not that much older than Doug, she still had the ability to hit the mother-guilt button.

“No, I’m not,” Doug agreed. “Royals have money and influence, and people have killed for less.” A lot less.

She nodded. “Which is why Yves should take a long vacation in the United States. During transitions, sometimes emotions run high and people make rash decisions they regret later—decisions they wouldn’t make under other circumstances.”

Doug’s guts were tied in a knot so tight that for a moment he had trouble swallowing. He pulled out the desk chair and sat. “That would be great except Yves has decided to fall on his metaphorical sword and keep me out of trouble by—once again let me repeat this—having Nick send me away by brandishing a very large shotgun. I can draw you a picture of this if it’s not clear.”

“That is unnecessary.”

“Good because I suck at drawing.” Doug closed his eyes and tried to think through the low-level panic swelling in his gut. He opened his eyes, but the room offered no answers. A half-packed suitcase, a pile of rumbled clothes, the keys to one battered sports car—none of these offered any sort of help, and Lady Anne looked like she fit into the same category. Her blue-gray eyes appeared dull and she slumped slightly. “Since getting Yves out of the path of the royal hurricane seems out of the question, what’s the next best option?”

For a second she sat on the hotel couch with an expression that made her resemble crumbled paper. But after a minute, she straightened up and gave him a coy smile. “I'm sure I don't know to what you are referring. I assure you that our lovely country is not prone to hurricanes. Yves has enjoyed spending time with an American and practicing his English. Hopefully the two of you will be able to keep in contact in the future.”

She stood and headed out the door without a glance in his direction. Her spine was so stiff she looked like a wooden soldier… or a woman trying very hard to keep up appearances.

This was so not good. Sometimes Doug got a feeling in the middle of the game. He never knew what set it off, whether the players on the opposing team had some sort of body language or whether he was picking up on vibes from the universe, but he always knew when he was about to get sacked or the ball intercepted. And right now, he felt that steady onslaught of dread. Staring at the evacuation map on the back of the hotel door, he could smell the shit rolling downhill toward him.

A small voice pointed out that Yves had sent him away, and now Lady Anne appeared to have given up on him. Retreat was logical. But Doug had never been the sort of quarterback to ditch the ball. His life would be easier if he was. He would have spent less time in rehab, and he might not have an ankle that twisted when he fell off a damn castle.

Going home was definitely the best plan because Doug didn’t have a good path forward. He didn’t have the coverage for a direct attack on Duke Gerard, and even if he tried, Yves wasn’t interested in being saved. Being a quarterback meant knowing when a play just wasn’t going to work. Sometimes the offensive line wasn’t in position or the defense was just too damn good, and that’s when the field was even. In this case, Gerard had more players, more money and more information. Doug had a whole lot of nothing.

Except for a crush on a man who didn’t want to be saved. Doug hadn’t been this stupid since his teenage years when his hormones and muscles had outpaced his common sense. Doug couldn’t rush the line, he had no one to pass to, and that left him helpless. Helpless and pissed as hell about it. Short of pulling some dumb-ass trick play, he didn’t have any options.

The second that thought occurred to him, Doug’s mind conjured the Statue of Liberty play. It was a dumb strategy that he’d only gotten to use once in high school. Any coach worth his salt knew better than to have a quarterback try to fake out the defensive line. If the play went perfectly, it painted a target on the quarterback while the running back tried to get the hell out of the pocket before anyone realized he had the ball.

But as stupid as the play was, it had worked for Boise in the Fiesta Bowl, and the Patriots had pulled off a variation on it. Sometimes faking people out was the only way to get the ball downfield. Doug’s brain started to spin as the people became defensive and offensive players in his mental playbook. Gerard definitely had the field advantage. Anne and Nick might be playing for Doug’s team, but they might have sold out. He couldn’t count on either of them.

Doug’s gut told him he could count on Yves. At the very least, Yves was the sort of man who would try to do the right thing, but in this case, Yves was the ball, and that stubborn bastard was determined not to put anyone else in danger. 

Doug grimaced. He should walk away. He so should.

Silently cursing at himself, Doug took out his phone and dialed Caro’s number. She was going to kill him and leave his body out to rot as a warning to all future clients. And he deserved it. But sometimes a stupid play was the only one a quarterback could run. And if he needed a running back to get the ball out of the pocket, Caro was the only one he trusted to get the job done. She just wasn’t going to like what it would take to make a hole in the defensive lineup.