Forward Progress (Vegas Aces: The

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 FORWARD PROGRESS
VEGAS ACES: THE PLAYBOOK
BOOK FOUR
© LISA SUZANNE 2023

All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading,
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obtained from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America by Books by LS, LLC.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is purely
coincidental. All characters and events in this work are figments of the author’s imagination.
AUTHOR LINKS
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 BOOKS BY LISA SUZANNE

THE VEGAS ACES SERIES

Home Game (Book 1)
Long Game (Book 2)
Fair Game (Book 3)
Waiting Game (Book 4)
End Game (Book 5)
The Complete Series

VEGAS ACES: THE QUARTERBACK

Traded (Book 1)
Tackled (Book 2)
Timeout (Book 3)
Turnover (Book 4)
Touchdown (Book 5)

VEGAS ACES: THE TIGHT END

Tight Spot (Book 1)
Tight Hold (Book 2)
Tight Fit (Book 3)
Tight Laced (Book 4)
Tight End (Book 5)

VEGAS ACES: THE WIDE RECEIVER

Rookie Mistake (Book 1)
Hidden Mistake (Book 2)
Honest Mistake (Book 3)
No Mistake (Book 4)
Favorite Mistake (Book 5)

VEGAS HEAT: THE EXPANSION TEAM

Curveball (Book 1)
Fastball (Book 2)
Flyball (Book 3)
Groundball (Book 4)
Hardball (Book 5)

CLICK HERE FOR MORE

DEDICATION

To my family.
 CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 2: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 3: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 4: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 5: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 6: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 7: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 8: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 9: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 10: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 11: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 12: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 13: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 14: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 15: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 16: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 17: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 18: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 19: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 20: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 21: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 22: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 23: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 24: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 25: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 26: VICTORIA
CHAPTER 27: TRAVIS
CHAPTER 28: TRAVIS
 CHAPTER 1: VICTORIA

I read his lips. Love you.

Love you, I mouth back to him, and then I watch as the officers lead him out of the terminal
presumably toward a car to take him down to the station. Most of the photographers gathered there
follow them out, snapping pictures of him the whole way, but two stay behind to grab photos of me. I
do what I can to shield Harper from this disaster.
This is going to be all over the news tomorrow. Tonight, even.
There’s nobody here to help me. To help us. To escort us through the airport as we make our way
to baggage claim or out to Travis’s car so we can get home.
They dragged Harper’s father away in handcuffs, and she has no idea why. She’s crying, and I’m
crying, and Owen stands there smirking at me.
He didn’t follow the officers out to the squad car to watch his handiwork at play. Instead, he hung
around to gauge my reaction.
The nerve.
The fucking nerve of this guy.
How I spent three entire years with him is baffling to me.
Venom fills me. I don’t really care what Travis did to him. He had it coming, and the fact that he’s
standing here smirking at me makes my blood boil.
I wish Travis could punch him again. I wish I could stand by watching.
I walk over to him, ready to slug him good and hard, my other arm still around Harper as she
walks with me, but the second I get to him and lift my hand, he grabs my wrist just like he did not so
long ago—in the place where the same wrist is still sore because of him.
“Ah ah ah,” he chides. “Careful or you’ll be next, darling.” He inclines his head in the direction
the officers just hauled Travis, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.
I don’t need photographers catching me slap this asshole across the face. That would just give him
evidence against me then.
I don’t need people listening in on us.
I don’t need to make this any worse than it already is.
My heart pounds in my chest as I make a split-second decision.
“I hate you,” I hiss. I want to say more words, but I have a little girl listening and watching. How I
react here may pave the entire future of our relationship, and it’s with that in mind that I yank my wrist
from his grip and tug Harper along with me toward baggage claim.
It’s not that long of a walk, but it feels endless. I find the carousel where our luggage will drop, but
the belt isn’t moving yet. We stand back, waiting quietly in the crowd as we wait and try to blend in.
I reach over and put an arm around Harper’s little shoulders, and I bend down and whisper into
her ear. “It’s going to be okay, Harps. Be strong for Travis, okay?”
She nods as she brushes away her tears, and I feel like I’m on the brink of crying, too.
Especially as I hear whispers and jeers all around me.
“Isn’t that the woman that was with him?”
“Is that his daughter?”
“What did he do?”
“Is she Travis Woods’s wife? I heard he got married. Is that true?”
“It’s so sad the daughter had to see him like that.”
“He sucks anyway.”
 Chills run down my spine at everyone’s words. Some know I was with him, and others are just
gossiping freely with no idea that the man’s wife and child are right here.
I feel very much alone as I move closer to the belt, ushering Harper with me. I want to protect her
from this—from all of this, from the harsh words surrounding us, words I know she can hear, too, and
from the people taking pictures of us. It isn’t just the paparazzi now. I see phones aimed in our
direction from people who recognize us within the crowd, and I don’t know what to do.
I’ve not had any publicity training on how to deal with this sort of thing, but even if I did have
training, I’m not sure anybody could ever really be prepared to hear someone whispering cruel things
about the man they just married.
It wasn’t something I thought about when I jumped at the chance to marry the guy I’ve been banging
for the last couple months. It wasn’t even a consideration as I said yes to the man who stood up for me
and defended me when he got that ball back for me—something so precious and important to me. He
knew that, and he did what he had to in order to get it back.
And now he’s paying the price.
I realize it’s so much more than that. Real feelings are involved now, and I have fallen in love with
him and with his daughter, too…but I’m starting to think I bit off more than I can chew here.
Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.
I was so happy less than ten minutes ago. This is my life now.
“We never should’ve taken him. I knew he was a punk the second I saw him.”
Some old man wearing an Aces collared shirt says those words, and I hate this. I hate the man for
thinking he could judge Travis just based on his looks. I hate that they think they know him just
because they watch him on the field every Sunday.
A woman sidles up beside me. “What did he do?” she asks.
Well, she’s got balls, I’ll give her that. Bigger balls than the others who are whispering and
gossiping all around us. Some aren’t bothering to whisper at all, like the man who called him a punk,
while others shoot me sympathetic looks.
I walk away from the woman without responding, and I try to keep my eyes down on Harper. She’s
stopped crying for now, but she looks so little and so, so scared.
I wish I could fix this for both of us, but I don’t know how. I have no idea what to do.
I drag her toward the restroom just to get away from the prying eyes. We can wait in here where
it’s quiet and safe at least until the bags from our flight start to drop onto the carousel.
But there are women gathered at the sink gossiping in there, too. “What do you think he did?”
“I heard he was driving under the influence,” one of them says.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Rumor has it he’s a big party guy,” another says.
A third says, “Someone was saying he hit his kid.”
“He didn’t hit me!” Harper screams. Her voice echoes all around the small room. “He’s a good
dad and he would never!”
I usher her out of the bathroom. Even that apparently is not a safe space.
“What did he do?” she cries to me.
I don’t know what to say, but I do know that this isn’t the place to discuss it. “We’ll talk about it
later.”
We should’ve braced her for what was coming, but how could we have known that Owen would
set us up like this—with the police and paparazzi at the airport? The dick couldn’t even wait until we
got home. Un—fucking-believable.
We stand as far away from people as we can, and eventually, blessedly, the luggage starts to make
its way around the belt.
I grab my suitcase and Travis’s, and Harper gets her little one, and then together we struggle out
the doors and beeline for Travis’s Mercedes.
I feel like someone’s following me. I can’t exactly move quickly with two large suitcases and a
little girl beside me, but instinct tells me to walk faster.
I turn around and spot more people taking my picture or video footage…something they can use to
try to make a buck off selling a picture of Travis Woods’s family, most likely. They’re following us,
and despite my inner instinct to turn around and scream at them to stop, I don’t.
I don’t do anything at all. Instead, I walk as quickly as I can until we get to the car. I help Harper
into the car first, and then I toss our suitcases in the back, slip into the driver’s seat, and peel out of
the spot to head toward home.
Travis’s home.
My home.
Our home.
Without him.
 CHAPTER 2: TRAVIS

The officer pulls up to the Clark County Detention Center, and I’m escorted inside where I’m first
searched by an officer.
“I’m not a goddamn threat,” I mutter. This whole thing is stupid. I broke a few dishes. Upended a
few drawers. Made a little bit of a mess. It’s not like I’m a criminal.
Except, a little voice in my head reminds me…I am.
I wouldn’t be here getting booked if I wasn’t.
The why doesn’t matter. I committed a crime, and now I have to do the time…or however that
saying goes.
And it’s only now I realize I’m being charged for vandalism…but not for assault.
What about the fact that I punched the guy in the face?
Does that not matter?
Why isn’t he pressing charges for that? Should I have punched him harder? Punched him twice?
I’d love to fuck up his face right about now, that’s for goddamn sure.
The officer takes my phone out of my pocket, which I could care less about, along with my wallet.
But when he forces me to remove the ring Victoria slid onto my finger just four days ago, that’s when
the gravity of all this really hits home.
What the fuck have I done?
I’m taken into another room where I set my fingertips onto a screen one at a time to have them
scanned. I’m escorted to the photography area next, where someone takes my photograph first from
the front and then my profile, and then I’m asked all sorts of questions to identify who I am.
It takes about an hour to book me, and then I’m given a calling card and told I can call my lawyer
unless I’d like to waive my right to one.
Instead of calling my lawyer, I call my father. He’s sort of my lawyer in a way anyway. I’m not
sure what urges me to do that, but I suddenly feel like a scared little boy who needs his dad.
The entire notion is completely ridiculous. I don’t need my father. I haven’t needed him since long
before I was twelve years old and he sent me away.
But in this moment, I find myself pressed to hear his voice…to tell me it’s going to be okay.
Maybe I’ve always needed him, and it took this for me to realize it.
Maybe he never knew what to do with his delinquent son, so he offered the best help he knew how.
I guess now that I have a child of my own, I’m starting to get it. I’m fumbling my way through this
entire thing, hoping I’m doing right by her…and maybe that’s what they were trying to do, too.
But did they?
I’m about to call my father from jail. Would I have ended up here if they never would’ve sent me
away?
I would’ve stopped at nothing to get that ball back for Victoria, so yeah. I think I would have. But
it’s just another realization how one decision can have ripple effects none of us were expecting.
I didn’t regret what I did up until I had to face the punishment for it, and now I’m terrified I’ve
jeopardized my entire future over something as stupid as a baseball.
It’s a collect call, so he knows it’s me and where I am as soon as he answers.
“Don’t say a word,” he warns.
“Not even hello?”
“This isn’t the time to be a smart ass,” he says. “I’ll give your lawyer a call. What do you need?”
“To get out of this fucking place.”
 “Can you post bail?” he asks.
I sigh. “It hasn’t been set yet, but yeah, I’ve got it covered.”
“Fine. Be patient and behave yourself. The bail process can take all night depending on a lot of
factors. Don’t talk to anyone about anything.”
“I won’t. Thanks,” I say, and I’m about to hang up when I hear his voice.
“Is Harper okay?”
“She’s with my wife.”
“Your…?” he begins, but he’s smart enough not to ask whether I married her because of this over
the jail’s hotline.
“Wife,” I repeat. I glance down at the spot on my finger where my ring sat up until a few minutes
ago. There’s already a tan line there. I study it as I wonder what she’s going through right now. Have
they made it home yet? Is she still wearing her ring? Does she want to?
“Anyone else I need to call?”
“My lawyer has a list.” On that list is my publicist and my agent. I suppose I’ll have to add my
wife now, too.
“Right. Take care of yourself.” He ends the call, and I blow out a breath as the officer leads me
over to a holding cell so I can wait for the bail amount to be set.
As it turns out, it’s a solid five hours in there.
I’m sharing the cell with three other men, and I’m added to the group last. There’s a toilet in the
corner, and I stay far away from that. One of the dudes in here is drunk, and he tries to make
conversation as soon as I’m escorted in.
“Hey, you’re Travis Woods,” he slurs.
The officer with me snaps at him. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk in here.”
“What did you do to land yourself in here?” he asks.
I still feel like that scared little boy, and this isn’t making things any more comfortable. I force on a
façade like everything’s fine. I hold my head up high.
“The Aces suck,” another guy in the cell says, a burly dude with a big blue star tattooed on his
bicep.
The logo immediately makes me think of Victoria and one of the first things she ever said to me,
but there’s not much these days that doesn’t bring her immediately to mind.
I keep my mouth shut and slide along the wall until I’m seated on the floor on the opposite side of
the room from the toilet. There’s an officer posted outside our cell, and thankfully he keeps the other
assholes in here quiet. Except for the drunk guy, who starts retching into the toilet.
Good. Get it out. Maybe he’ll sober up and leave me alone.
There’s literally nothing to do in here except be alone with my thoughts. The officer keeps us quiet,
so we can’t even make conversation. I don’t have my phone to play a game or a television to entertain
me or a coin to flip in the air. Instead, I’m forced to sit and think about why I’m in here.
I’m angry. That anger isn’t aimed at Victoria even though doing something for her is the reason I’m
here. It’s aimed at her dick of an ex who clearly wants her back. I’m certain having me arrested in
front of my daughter—a girl Victoria cares deeply about, too—isn’t the way to go about doing that.
I’m angry that Harper had to see me arrested. Maybe we shouldn’t have invited her to the wedding,
or maybe we should’ve made sure she went back with Evan and his family when they left yesterday.
Guilt rushes through me as I think about her watching another parent taken from her…as I think
about the Callahan family who wants to try to swoop in and steal her from me when all they’re really
after is my money. They don’t care about her, as proven when Jerry basically asked my father what
the plans for her were the day of the funeral as if he couldn’t get her out of his house fast enough. The
thought makes my skin crawl even more than the fucking roach skittering across the floor in front of
me.
I’m scared I could get into a shitload of trouble for this. I’m scared it might threaten my
relationship with Harper. The league has a personal conduct clause that I violated, and they’ll hand
down a punishment. The Aces might, too, on top of whatever legal punishment I’m facing.
I’m so fucked. I just pray I have enough people in my corner that I can get out of this mess to face
whatever comes next.
 CHAPTER 3: TRAVIS

The sun is rising over Vegas by the time the Uber pulls in front of my house.
I get out of the car and stare at the house for a beat. My beautiful girls are asleep inside, and I can’t
help but wonder how much longer they’ll both be my girls.
It was a thought that plagued me the entire time I sat in that cell, but it’s something I learned from a
very early age: fuck up and people will push you away.
I fucked up by having a bottle of vodka hidden in my closet, and my parents sent me to boarding
school.
And now I’ve managed to fuck up again. Victoria can’t send me to boarding school, but she can
leave me.
Harper can’t send me to boarding school, either, and maybe I have a bit more control over the
situation where she’s concerned. Or do I? There’s a family who wants to take her away from me, and
maybe she’d prefer to go with them anyway.
I’m still that twelve-year-old boy who feels very much abandoned and rejected by the people who
were supposed to love me most, and even though my dad tried to clarify why they did it, that doesn’t
erase the years of scars that built up over that wound.
History repeats itself. It’s a cycle, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose everything because of one
stupid mistake.
Harper’s parents sure as fuck did, and it wasn’t even their mistake that cost them their lives.
I head inside, and the house is silent. I find the Mercedes in the garage, and it’s a huge comfort to
know they made it home okay. I check Harper’s bedroom, and I find it empty. I wonder if they’re in
Victoria’s suite, but before I check it, I head to my bedroom first…and that’s where I find them.
Both asleep in my bed.
I stare at them for a beat as love filters over the holes the fear shot through me last night.
I don’t deserve them. I glance around at the huge bedroom that’s mine, and the nice furniture, and
all of it. I don’t deserve any of this, and it’s one more reason I’m starting to so strongly believe that
I’m destined to lose it all.
I don’t know how to hold onto it. I’ve never had anything precious enough to hold onto in that way,
I suppose.
I won’t let my paranoia get the best of me, though. Instead, I’ll take it one day at a time, and I’ll
cherish what I have for as long as I have it.
Victoria stirs, and her eyes open slowly. She sees me there watching them in the morning light
filtering through the window coverings, and her hand flies up to her chest as she gasps. “You scared
me,” she whispers. She glances over at Harper, who’s sleeping like a rock, and she moves to get out
of bed.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t get up. Let me wash the disgusting smell of holding cell off me.”
“Okay.” She halts her movement. “Did you just get back?”
I nod. “I’m going to go shower.”
She nods, too, and I can’t help but feel like there’s a wedge between us that wasn’t there before.
Maybe I’m the one creating it. Maybe I’m manifesting it. She looked hurt when I told her not to get
up, and as much as I wanted to hold her in my arms, I feel like I’m filthy. I sat on a dirty jail cell floor
for five hours while a drunk man puked in a toilet a few feet away from me. She deserves better.
It feels like yet another thing I’m doing for what I think is her best interest, but it turns out I’m just
hurting her in the end.
 And when I say she deserves better, I don’t just mean that she deserves better than to be hugged by
a dirty man who spent the night in jail.
I mean she deserves better than me.
I climb into bed beside her once I’m out of the shower, and I hold her in my arms. Harper’s just on
her other side, still asleep, and I wish I could hold them both at the same time.
I fall asleep for a couple hours, and when I wake up, I hear voices downstairs. The bed is empty,
so I must’ve really crashed. I put on some shorts and head downstairs, and I find a whole gathering of
people in my kitchen.
I sort of wish I would’ve put on a shirt, too. Maybe brushed my teeth.
Victoria is at the center, and Harper is in the family room on the couch chatting with my mother.
My mother is here. Chatting with my daughter.
My father is over in the kitchen with Victoria, and they’re talking to my lawyer, my agent, and my
publicist.
That scared little boy inside feels a huge sense of relief. I have a team, and they all showed up for
me.
Including my parents, who I really never considered as part of my team.
The room seems to pause as they notice my presence, and I feel awkward as they all turn toward
me at the same time.
Victoria met my parents?
And I wasn’t there to introduce them?
I can’t help but wonder how that went. I can’t help but wonder a lot of things as I try to make sense
of all this.
“Hi,” I say, and I wave.
Ellie takes the lead. “Good morning, sunshine. We’ve got a plan together here, so let me run it by
you and you can let me know what you’re thinking.”
“You have a plan?” I repeat.
“We’ve been here an hour already,” Ellie says. “And I’m taking immediate action to fix this mess.
I’ve got press interviews lined up starting later today.” She eyes me. “You’ll need to clean yourself
up. Shave, put on some nice clothes, be ready to talk about how you’re a football player first and this
season means everything to you. We’ll highlight how you’re a family man now. I’ll be there for all the
interviews, so I can give you some more coaching before we begin. They’ll be at the practice facility
starting at four o’clock this afternoon, right after OTAs.”
Shit.
OTAs.
I’m missing organized team activities. I’m missing important shit because I made a stupid mistake.
She keeps talking while I’m stuck on that point. “I just wanted to let you know up front that two of
your endorsement deals are pulling out—Legends Collections and Hive. I’ll work on seeing what we
can do to replace that income. I’ll need a list of people who can give you a good character reference.
Teammates, coaches, mentors, past and present. I have some charity work lined up for you, and I’m
guessing part of your league punishment will include that too since historically arrests have. You’ll
likely have a suspension and a fine, too.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, and then my dad starts up next before I even get a chance to process that…and it
was a lot. Lost endorsements? I hadn’t even considered that. Character references? Jesus.
“Swear jar!” Harper yells gleefully, and my mom gives her the sort of look that silences the child
who doesn’t realize the gravity of this situation.
 I walk over to the swear jar and write an IOU on the pad of paper beside it because it’s all I can
process right now.
“I’ve been talking with your lawyer, and we agree that you should plead guilty to the charge since
Platt has photographic evidence,” my father says. “The punishment will be less severe, and it’s
pointless to fight it. Guilty plea also means no trial, which will get you out of the headlines. My best
guess is a small fine and you’ll move on.”
I stare at him, too, as I process his words, but they’re all moving a million miles an hour while I’m
stuck over here in neutral.
More people say things to me, but it’s like I’m in a total fog.
I force myself to snap out of it.
Ellie’s right. There’s going to be a league punishment, and the thought didn’t cross my mind when I
went and got that ball and took whatever means were necessary to do what I had to do when I was
blinded by rage. He kept hurting her. It wasn’t okay.
But what I did wasn’t okay, either.
“And knowing Calvin,” Ellie adds, “you’ll get called in and he’ll yell at you a bit and maybe
threaten to bench you this season, but the Aces need you, so you’ll need to prove yourself in camp.
It’ll be hard and you’ll need to have incredible focus. The new playbook has never been more
important.”
Right. The new playbook. The map.
I glance over at Victoria. “We’ve got this, Trav,” she murmurs.
I nod. As long as I have her, she’s right. We’ve got this.
 CHAPTER 4: TRAVIS

Ellie and Jimmy take off, and it’s just my parents, Harper, Victoria, and me.
I collapse on the couch beside my daughter. My head is pounding after not getting enough sleep
combined with the whirlwind I was met with when I walked into my kitchen.
Character references and fines and charity work and a press conference today at four…it’s a lot to
throw at a guy first thing after spending the night in jail.
“Is there any reason you think he didn’t press charges for the assault?” my father asks once my
mother takes Harper upstairs to look at her dinocorn wallpaper.
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Walk me through what happened,” he says.
I start the story from the beginning when I rang the asshole’s doorbell.
“No,” Victoria says, interrupting. “Something happened before that. Remember?”
My brows dip.
“Owen walked into the bar where I was hanging out with my friend. He started saying stuff to me,
and I started crying. I hit him—slapped him across the face, and when I went to do it again, he
grabbed my wrist and gave me a nice bruise.” She holds up her arm that’s now healed.
No evidence of that one, I guess.
“Aha,” my dad says. “Eye for an eye. He has evidence of the vandalism so he’s just using that. It’s
just enough to mess with you.”
“So what’s next?” I ask.
“Your arraignment, which will take place in the next few days most likely, where you’ll enter your
guilty plea. Then the courts will set a date for your sentencing, usually within a couple of weeks. It’s a
straightforward case and it’ll likely result in nothing more than a fine.”
“Legally,” I mutter. But what the league hands down will be something else entirely. And what if
it’s not just a fine? As I think it, my phone starts to ring.
It’s the Aces team owner calling, and I know better than to silence the call.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett,” I answer cordially.
“Woods, get your ass to my office immediately.” He cuts the call before I get the chance to
respond.
I need to head that way anyway ahead of the press interviews.
I glance up at Victoria. “The team owner wants to see me.”
“We’re happy to stay here with Harper while you get this sorted,” my mother says to both Victoria
and me.
My mother. She’s here, and she’s supporting me. What planet did I walk out onto after I stepped
foot outside the Clark County Detention Center this morning?
“Thank you,” I murmur.
And then I head upstairs for another shower, a shave, and a suit.
I’m nervous as I head over to the Complex, and I fidget at stoplights by flipping a coin. I hold
Victoria’s hand while I drive. It’s a small measure that soothes me a little, but I have no idea what to
really expect from this meeting.
“You can wait down here,” I tell Victoria once we’re in the lobby. “I’m sure Ellie will be here
soon.”
I head over to Calvin’s office, and I stop in front of his secretary. “He’ll be with you in a moment,”
she says without looking up from her desk. She presses a button, and a beat later, the door opens and
an angry looking team owner stands on the other side of it. I fight the urge to grab my coin out of my
pocket to start flipping it.
Coach Thompson is seated inside the office along with the General Manager, Steve Shanahan.
Shit. This is big time. All three head honchos here to put me under a microscope, and all I want to
do is lay down and sleep off this horrible headache.
Actually, all I want to do is go back to the Bahamas, rewind the clock a few days and live in the
bliss we had while we were there.
I draw in a deep breath and head into the office.
“Take a seat,” Mr. Bennett says gruffly as he takes a seat behind his desk. I slip into the only open
chair nervously.
“I assume your absence at OTAs today has something to do with where you spent your evening?”
Mr. Bennett begins.
I nod but don’t say anything.
“We are aware of your arrest given the fact that it’s all over the media, and all three of us are
hugely disappointed in you, Mr. Woods,” he adds. “I expect all players on my team to conduct
themselves with pride, and we’ll be following the legal process closely. We’ll make a decision about
your status with the team once we know all the facts.”
“My status, sir?” I ask.
“A lot depends on what the league hands down as your punishment,” he says, and he avoids eye
contact with me as he talks. “We’ll expect a suspension, but whether we release you or bench you
after that remains to be seen.”
“Release me or bench me?” I ask. Shut up, Travis. Shut up. Don’t get into more trouble. That little
voice in my head does nothing to stop me from asking the question on the tip of my tongue. “Are those
the only two options?”
“No,” Coach Thompson says. “There’s a possibility we’ll trade you, and I suppose there’s also a
possibility you’ll play, too, but we’re all very disappointed in this news particularly in the final year
of your contract. We’d like some more information about what happened before we make any
decisions at all.”
Mr. Shanahan starts with the questioning. “Can you tell us about the charges against you and your
version of what happened?”
I suck in a breath and blow it out slowly. “I’m being charged with misdemeanor vandalism. It’s so
stupid.”
“Did you vandalize something?” Mr. Bennett asks.
I shrug and nod at the same time. “Well, technically, yeah, but the guy had it coming.”
“Whether he deserved it or not is of no importance,” Mr. Bennett says.
“What did you vandalize?” Coach Thompson asks.
I clear my throat, and then I decide that these men make up part of my support team, too. They
brought me into this organization, and they have the power to kick me out of it. So honesty feels like
the best policy here.
“My wife’s ex was holding onto something that belonged to her. He hurt her, and I confronted him,
and then I looked through his house until I found the item. And I clocked him in the jaw on my way
out.”
The three men in the room, all powerful, important men, look at each other and have some sort of
silent conversation while I wait for whatever’s coming next.
“Your wife?” Coach Thompson asks dryly. “My invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”
 “It was quick, and it’s new,” I admit. “As in…less than a week.”
“When did the vandalism take place?” Mr. Shanahan asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Last Thursday.”
“A week ago,” Coach murmurs, putting the pieces together that the whole wife situation must be
related.
I nod. “The guy who pressed charges—my wife’s ex—was the best man at my wife’s sister’s
wedding this past weekend. She was the maid of honor. My wife convinced him not to press charges
before we left for the wedding—not to ruin her sister’s wedding.” I shrug. “She agreed to marry me
while we were out of the country. When the plane landed back here in Vegas, the ex was at the airport
with a warrant, the cops, and the paparazzi.”
My wife. My wife. My wife.
I’ve said it ten times now and it still doesn’t feel real. And it also feels like I made a stupid
decision that could fuck my entire future because of her.
I’m not blaming her. I would never. I did it for her. I did it out of love paired with rage.
Maybe a little part of me is starting to resent that. And maybe a little part of me is worried that
resenting that will lead to me resenting her.
Or maybe I’m creating more self-fulfilling prophecies.
She’s good for Harper. She’s good for me. And that’s what I need to focus on.
“All we can do is wait for the sentencing to make further decisions regarding your future with this
organization,” Mr. Bennett says.
“My father is a lawyer, and he believes the worst that’ll happen is I’ll be fined.” I play with a
loose thread on the bottom of my suit jacket. I feel uncomfortable in this thing, like the collar is
choking me, and the thought still plagues me that maybe it won’t just be a fine. What if I get jail time? I
have no previous offenses, and I believe my father is right, but there’s still that tiny thought brewing in
the back of my mind.
“Be that as it may, vandalism is not taken lightly in the league,” Mr. Bennett chides. “Historically,
athletes have been suspended among other things. Once the league hands down the punishment, we
can determine an in-house one as well.”
I hang my head. Does he really think that’s not enough? I feel like shit over this whole thing.
I don’t feel like shit for the act of doing it. The asshole had it coming. But I do feel like shit that
I’m being punished for it to this extreme.
If I can get him to drop the charges, maybe all this will go away.
But that’s one hell of a long shot.
 CHAPTER 5: VICTORIA

“Jaxon said Travis didn’t show up to OTAs today and then I saw the headlines that he was
arrested! What’s going on?” Mandy demands.
I rub my forehead as I try to come up with an answer. It’s then I realize I got married over the
weekend and my best friend doesn’t even know.
God, this is messy.
I blow out a breath as I pace the women’s bathroom here at the practice facility while Travis is
somewhere in this place with his boss. It’s a nice bathroom with a little lounge area toward the front,
and that’s where I’m pacing.
Mandy’s been after me all day with texts and voicemails, so I finally called her back when I found
a quiet and empty place to do it.
“Travis got my ball back last Thursday,” I begin.
She gasps.
“I don’t know the details, and I probably shouldn’t talk about what I do know. But he got my ball
back, and Owen pressed charges since Travis messed up some stuff in his house while he was
searching for the ball the night before we left for the Bahamas, and he was arrested as soon as he
turned up on US soil in front of Harper and the paparazzi Owen called to document the entire thing.” I
keep it brief and factual.
“Is Harper okay?” she asks.
“She’s okay. She’s back at the house with Trav’s parents. He got called in to get yelled at by the
team owner and I’m at the practice facility too because he has a press conference in a little bit to
clear some things up. I have no idea how that’s going to go.”
“Jeez, girl. How are you handling things?”
“I’m okay,” I say. “There’s something else. Something big.”
“What?”
“Don’t be mad at me,” I warn.
“What is it?” she demands.
“Travis and I…we um…we got married while we were in the Bahamas,” I say, running all the
words together quickly once I’m able to spit them out.
“You what?” she screeches.
“You heard me.”
“And you didn’t invite me?” She’s still screeching.
“There wasn’t time. We knew Owen was going to press charges, and Travis said there’s some
family back in LA who wants to try to prove he’s unfit to raise Harper. I told him I wouldn’t let him
lose her.”
“So you married him?” More screeching.
“My whole family was there, and it just felt…right.” Although in hindsight…was it? What the hell
have I gotten myself into? It’s the same question I keep circling back to.
She sucks in a breath. “It’s fast, but I guess I get it.” She ends her sentence in a tone that nearly
makes it sound like a question.
Mandy seems like she’s the one person I can talk honestly to right now. It can’t be my sister, or
even my parents. But Mandy is in the same situation in terms of dating a pro athlete—one who’s even
on the same team as the man I just married.
So I give it to her straight.
 “What Travis and I have is still so new. I mean, I hated him up until pretty recently, and suddenly
I’m married to an NFL star who got arrested for defending me. This is all just…a lot, and I’m not sure
how to deal with all this going forward.”
“I get that, but you saw this as the track you were heading on anyway, right? Just many many years
down the road?” she asks.
“I think so.” My voice is soft.
“That doesn’t sound very sure.”
“Because I’m not sure,” I admit. “When he got arrested at the airport, I felt so alone. I had to get
Harper out of there safely, but people were staring at us and taking pictures and making comments. I
get the fascination and excitement and all that considering who he is, but the idea that I’d be on the
receiving end of it never crossed my mind.”
She’s quiet a beat as she processes that, and I get it. It’s a valid concern she probably hasn’t
considered, either, but it could potentially affect her in the same way. “I haven’t really thought about
that, either.”
“I guess I’m just not ready for this kind of thing. I’m not sure this is the life for me. You know? I’m
afraid we rushed things when we could’ve thought it through and taken a different path, and now I’ve
got this ring on my finger and I’m not even totally sure what it means.” I hold my hand out in front of
me and stare at the gorgeous diamond.
What does it mean?
“It’s all so confusing. We entered a marriage of convenience, but it felt like more. I know where
my feelings stand for him, and I think I’m clear on how he feels about me, too. But…” I trail off.
“But,” Mandy says quietly. “There shouldn’t be any buts when it comes to love.”
I know she’s right, and I know she’s not trying to talk me out of my happiness with Travis. But part
of me wishes we could just go back to the Bahamas where life was perfection…the other part of me
wishes we could fast forward through this segment and get to our happy ending.
Because there has to be a happy ending for us somewhere down the line.
The thought of losing him, of losing Harper, tears at my soul.
But…
But.
There shouldn’t be a but, but the little voice in the back of my mind is starting to question whether
that happy ending is even possible for us.
“I should go back out to the lobby. I’m sure he’ll need me once he’s done with the big boss,” I say.
“But I need a Mandy-Jaxon update soon. Maxon? Jaxy? What do you want your celebrity name to
be?”
“What’s yours?”
“Tratoria,” I answer immediately.
She giggles.
“What?” I demand. “It’s not like I was going to go with Vivis.”
“God, I love you.”
“Love you more,” I say.
“Oh! I almost forgot. Emily Green broke her leg in a jet ski accident and they’re looking for
someone to cover the rest of her summer school classes. Any chance you can do it?” she asks.
“A jet ski accident?” I echo. I can’t commit to anything right now, but it sort of feels like the exact
distraction I could use this summer. “I’ll have to check my schedule and talk to Travis, but I can
probably make it work.”
 We end the call, and I walk over to the bathroom area to use a stall before I head out to the
lobby…and that’s when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye under one of the stalls.
Oh my God. Someone else is in here, and I just spilled every detail about what went down with
Travis and me…including why we got married in the Bahamas.
A wave of fear bolts through my chest and tingles all the way up to my head as I stare at the feet,
and then the stall door opens and a woman walks out.
I swear I looked before I got on the phone. Didn’t I? I thought this bathroom was empty…but life
has been hectic lately, so who knows?
She looks close to my age. She has dark hair and brown eyes, and she doesn’t look at me as she
walks toward the mirror and washes her hands. I should ignore her. I should walk into the stall and
shut it behind me and do my thing. I should act natural.
But I can’t. This woman just overheard everything I said, and I have no idea who she is.
She clears her throat. “You married Travis Woods?”
I swallow thickly as I stare at her reflection in the mirror where our eyes meet, and then I slowly
nod.
“How interesting.” The water shuts off and she grabs a paper towel from the dispenser to dry her
hands, and then she tosses the paper towel in the trash and faces me. “You see, he told me he never
wanted to get married. He told me a lot of things, actually, but the one that hurt the most was when he
said he was just a one and done kind of guy. He wouldn’t give me the time of day when I told him I
wanted to see him again after he spent the night with me at the club where he’s a member. I assume
you know which club I’m referring to…you know, as his wife and all.”
I press my lips together nervously as I try to come up with some reply, but words are failing me
right now.
“I’m Jillian,” she says, sticking her hand out to shake mine. “I’m meeting my boyfriend here after
practice today.”
“Your…your boyfriend?” I echo. Didn’t she just say Travis rejected her? Now she’s with some
other player?
“Yes, Cory Marshall? I’m sure you know him.”
I nod a little nervously. He’s been around a lot when we’ve gone to the Gridiron, and I know he
and Travis are close. He plays the same position as Travis, and I also know he’s not exactly the
settling down type. Last I heard he neither wanted a girlfriend nor did he have one.
But Travis didn’t have a wife a few days ago, either. Things change. Obviously.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. He’s a good guy.” I offer a smile, but she doesn’t smile back, and the whole
encounter makes me incredibly anxious.
She stares at me a little longer. “Hard to tell what these men are thinking,” she says, and I get the
impression from her words as well as the way she looks me up and down with disdain that she’s not
referring to Cory at all…but she’s referring to Travis and why he chose to marry me when she was
clearly desperate to be the one he chose.
I nod and smile tightly. I just want her to leave, but I also have the urge to ask if she heard my call.
She had to.
I need to do something.
I need to tell her not to say anything.
“Sure is,” I say in response to her words. “Listen, if you heard my call to my friend—”
She cuts me off. “I did. I heard it all.”
“I’d appreciate your discretion,” I say.
 “I’m sure you would.” She leaves those as her parting words as she stalks out of the restroom, and
I stare after her with a whole lot of fear over what I just did…and what she might potentially do next.
 CHAPTER 6: TRAVIS

After I’m dismissed from the meeting with the head honchos, I walk back to the lobby to pick up
Victoria before we head to the press conference. Seeing her face brings me an immediate sense of
peace despite what went down in that office.
“How’d it go?” she asks as I take her into my arms. She’s stiff, and she doesn’t melt into me the
way I’m used to. Everything is changing before my eyes, and I have no idea how to navigate any of it.
“About as good as I expected. They’re talking about in-house punishments but I won’t find out
about any of that until after the arraignment,” I say.
I draw in a deep breath of her strawberry scent before I let her go, and I grab her hand as we walk
toward the media room for the press conference.
I pause before we make our way too much closer, and I turn toward her. “They also talked about
potentially sitting me, releasing me from my contract, or trading me. I have no idea what they’re
thinking or if those are just threats, but I can’t be traded.” Harper’s face pops into my mind, and I
can’t imagine uprooting her after I just bought a new house for us to set down roots here.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
“Any chance we can get him to drop the charges?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not likely.”
And that’s when I spot a woman walking across the lobby who looks very familiar.
It takes me a second to place her, and then I realize it’s because she’s wearing clothes.
Fuck.
It’s the woman from Coax…the one whose name I’m not sure I ever knew. The one who wanted
more. The one I avoided for weeks.
This is the last thing I need right now.
Victoria’s gaze follows mine to the woman, and she seems to stiffen more.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s get you in there for your conference.” Her voice is bright. Too bright.
Fake bright.
But I have to let it go because I have to face the press. Ellie rushes in through the doors, a bit of a
chaotic whirlwind in her skirt and white top, and she beelines for us.
She’s a flurry of energy as she gives me a few tips on what to say. “Start by being thankful they’re
here. Be apologetic and grateful. Take ownership of what you did, and be honest. It’s okay to say what
happened, but be clear and concise. Any questions?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, Ellie.”
She squeezes my arm. “You’ve got this, Travis. Just be you. There’s a reason people love you.
Show them what they love.”
I nod and we head in to face the reporters.
Victoria stands beside Ellie in the small group gathered as I take a seat on the stage. Bright lights
shine into my eyes as I glance out at the crowd. It’s hard to see how many people are here with all the
lights, so I begin by speaking from the heart.
“Good afternoon and thank you for being here. I’d like to begin by apologizing for my recent
actions. I’m committed to learning from my mistakes, and I’m sorry if I let anyone down.”
A voice breaks into my thoughts before I really get a chance to say anything else. “What are the
charges against you?” I can’t quite see who asks the question, so I can’t look him in the eye to address
him.
 “I’ve been charged with misdemeanor vandalism,” I say. Be clear and concise. Ellie’s voice rings
in my head.
“Can you tell us what happened?” another voice asks.
I nod. “I entered an acquaintance’s home with his permission, attempted to get back something that
didn’t belong to him, and then looked through the house until I found it. He felt I destroyed some of his
property.” I leave out the part about punching his jaw even though the fucker had it coming.
“Did you?”
I lift a shoulder and press my lips together. “I wasn’t exactly neat in my pursuit of the item.”
A little vibration of laughter echoes through the crowd.
“What was the item?” someone asks.
I fidget a little, unsure what to say. I don’t want to involve Victoria in this, and worse, I don’t want
her to feel like I blame her when I don’t. I own my actions, and I don’t blame anybody but myself.
“A special memento that belongs to someone important to me.”
The next question comes quickly. “Will you plead guilty or not guilty?”
“I plan to plead guilty. I take ownership of what I did.”
“What is the impact of the charges on next season?” a voice asks.
“That remains to be seen. I won’t find out until after the arraignment what my punishment is for
violating the personal conduct clause, and the Aces will determine my fate after that.”
“Will you be at training camp?”
“Yes.” That’s one answer I know without a doubt…provided they don’t cut me before then.
“What is your message to fans?” I recognize the voice of Jolene Bailey, a local sports reporter
who has been an Aces supporter since I’ve been here.
“I’m grateful for the support, and I promise to do better. I will think through my actions and all
their potential consequences moving forward.” I don’t say how stupid I think this entire thing is. If the
asshole would’ve just given her the ball back, we wouldn’t even be here.
But he didn’t, and I reacted poorly, and here we are.
“Is it true you got married over the weekend?” a female voice asks.
This has nothing to do with the charges.
“Yes, that’s true,” I admit.
“Is it true you got married because you knew these charges were coming and you were trying to
protect your daughter?” the same voice presses.
I want to shout no, that’s not why but I find I can’t. I’ve always been a bad liar, and Ellie just
coached me on being honest before we walked into this conference.
Thankfully, Ellie shouts out from the crowd before I get the chance to say anything. “That is
unrelated to the reason we’re here for this press conference.”
I’m grateful for her running interference, but it doesn’t change the fact that the question was asked
and now it’s in everybody’s head.
Everybody’s wondering the same thing.
It’s public now, and it could easily get back to the Callahans, which could hurt my case for keeping
Harper.
I wish I could’ve seen who asked the question…and I wish I knew how she knows what happened.
We didn’t tell anybody.
That line of questioning has the potential to damage my reputation more than the arrest did.
I use the awkward silence as my transition to get the hell out of here. “Thank you for your time
today and for letting me tell my side of the story. I look forward to the upcoming season and working
hard to earn a starting position.”
I get up from the chair where I sat as they grilled me, thankful it’s over, and then I exit the room and
practically run toward the locker room just to get away from the prying eyes.
The locker room is empty, and I collapse onto a bench and hang my head as I contemplate
everything that just went down.
I pull out my phone and check the live broadcast to see what people are saying.
I always knew that kid was a punk.
Trade him! We don’t need criminals on our team!
I love Travis!
He’s so hot.
It seems the crowd is split fifty-fifty.
I should know better than to read the comments on anything about me. The negative ones always
seem to speak louder than the positive, and people are already calling for my trade. I wonder if
Calvin will listen.
I know Victoria is in good hands with Ellie, but I also know I shouldn’t have ditched her. I give the
press a few minutes to clear out, and then I head back toward the lobby to meet her.
She’s standing with Ellie, and they’re talking quietly as I approach. “Sorry. I just didn’t want to
hang around while the press left.”
“Understood,” Ellie says with a smile, but Victoria still looks jittery and nervous…and maybe
even a little mad at me.
Well, she’s not the only one.
Half of Aces Nation seems to be Team Anti-Travis. I just have to figure out how to fix this.
 CHAPTER 7: VICTORIA

I’m quiet the whole way home. I’m not sure what to say. I know I need to tell him what happened
in the bathroom, but he’s clearly going through a lot right now, so I let him sit in his own thoughts as
he contemplates how the press conference went.
We can talk later. I can’t seem to bring myself to address it right now, and certainly not when he’s
driving home, flipping his coin at stoplights like he always does.
When we get home, Harper is angry.
“Why are you ruining our family?” she demands as soon as we walk in the door. She’s addressing
her father, not me.
“What are you talking about?” Travis asks wearily.
Harper folds her arms over her chest. “Is it true you got married because of me?”
Travis shakes his head. “No! Why would you think that?”
“Because I saw the press conference and I heard what that woman asked.”
Travis glares over at his parents.
“You didn’t answer the question when the reporter asked about why you got married, Travis.” The
way she says his name so pointedly tells me she’s back to using his first name instead of Dad, and my
chest feels heavy because of it.
I feel like this is my fault.
It is my fault.
First he got my ball back, and now this.
I’m pretty sure the “reporter” who asked the question was the woman in the bathroom. It had to be.
We haven’t told anyone else.
And now Harper is mad at him because of it…what a mess.
“We got married because we love each other, and we also wanted to provide a stable home for our
favorite girl.” Travis wraps an arm around her shoulder, but she darts out of his grasp.
“Well my real dad would never have broken into somebody’s home to steal something out of it!”
She screams the words at Travis before she runs from the room.
The heavy words bite in the silence she leaves behind.
Travis looks both helpless and heartbroken, and he turns to his parents, clearly ready to place the
blame elsewhere. “Why the fuck did you let her watch the press conference?”
“She wanted to see her father on television,” my mother answers.
Travis blows out a breath.
“Want me to go talk to her?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “I’ll handle it. She needs a little bit of time to cool down.”
“Can I talk to you about something?” My eyes dart over to his parents where they sit on the couch.
“Privately?”
He nods, and he sort of looks like he can’t take one more thing stacked on top of this shit sundae,
but he needs to know what happened. He needs to know that someone knows everything because of
my mistake.
We head over to my casita and shut the door, and I pace nervously in front of him.
“What’s going on?” he asks. He leans against the backside of my couch and perches on the top of
it.
“That woman who asked about our wedding…” I clear my throat nervously, and then I blurt it out.
“I was in the bathroom, and I called Mandy because she’s been calling me all day. I told her
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