Connell (Carolina Reapers 3)

Not solely about sex and pleasure, either, but about life. About laughing and letting go and not taking things as seriously as I had. He’d loosened me up in a way I never knew I needed. And the friendship? Sweet mercy, that man made me laugh. And he listened, really listened instead of just waiting for me to stop talking. He cared, took an interest in what was important to me, and good lord the man could wear the hell out of a brown jumpsuit. And I mirrored his enthusiasm for digging deep to the roots of what was important to him too—a perfect balance between us.

I turned the corner, hunting for a loaf of bread, and smiling like an idiot.

I loved that man.

I wanted to marry that man.

The shock of the truth in that thought pulsed through me like a lightning strike. It was enough to pause my search for bread, and there was little I loved more than carbs.

My eyes glistened slightly, but I blinked the happy tears away and shook my head. It was way too soon to think about marriage, but I couldn’t help it. I was tragically, helplessly in love with Connell.

I took a deep breath, slowing the giddy thoughts of our future together.

One step at a time.

A pang of loneliness hit me as I gathered the rest of my groceries. I hadn’t seen him in days. Joy of away games. Though, the distance did create a sort of charged anticipation that buzzed the entirety of the separation. It made it that much sweeter when he came home.

Finally checking off each item on my list, I headed toward the registers, but Lacy darted into my path, her cart forgotten feet behind her. I tilted my head at her frantic look.

“Lacy?” I asked, rounding my cart to touch her shoulder. “Is everything all right? Don okay?” My heart raced at the pain in her eyes.

She opened her mouth, then shut it as she scanned my face.

“What is it?”

“You haven’t seen it,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Seen what?”

She pressed her lips together before shaking her head. “Nothing. Not…a thing. Let’s get out of here.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling like the floor beneath my feet tilted.

“Lacy, what in the world is going on?” My patience left me, replaced with a hollowing panic I couldn’t understand.

“I was just here to grab a few things, then Don messaged me a funny meme, and then that led to some unintentional scrolling through social media. And I saw…I read…” she huffed. “Then I saw you and figured you’d already read it…oh, Annabelle, I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around me, but I quickly shoved her off.

“Is someone in my family hurt?” I quickly asked. “Because I’m clearly oblivious to what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone is fine…” she said, eyes dropping to the cell phone in her hand.

I reached a palm toward her. “Show me.”

She hesitated. “Let’s go to your place first.”

I rolled my eyes, snatching her cell from her. “Honestly, Lacy, I know you get wrapped up in social gossip but what could possibly merit this reaction—”

The floor completely dropped from beneath my feet, my stomach flying with it.

Because there, on her cell phone screen, was Connell. He stared at me from the website showing the cover of Charleston’s top men’s magazine, with the headline:

Defenseman for the Carolina Reapers, Connell MacDhuibh admits to infidelity and shallow standards for what he prefers in a woman.

I don’t remember scrolling down to read the article, but suddenly there were words and my eyes were widening at the pictures of Connell with numerous, gorgeous women. In lingerie. In a hotel room. Models. Picture perfect social stars.

“This can’t be right,” I said as Lacy placed a supportive hand on my back. “They had to get these pictures from months ago. Years ago.”

But no, there was the tie I’d given him last month.

My mouth went dry, my stomach churning with acid. Lacy’s cell trembled between my fingers as I read the article, read the quotes gathered from Connell himself. Read how he’d responded to questions about the romantic lifestyle of a Reaper.

“We all fuck around on the road because our relationships are only to keep our beds warm at home and raise our kids, and hey, it’s not cheating if you’re in a different area code. I mean, what bampot could possibly resist all the beautiful women throwing themselves at us, right?”

Fuck, it even sounded like him. Not the content that shredded my soul, but the way he worded it, I could almost hear his accent rolling around the words. Understood the Scottish slang word for idiot because he’d said it countless times before. Hear the confident and playful tone in his voice.

My eyes darted from the article and up, realizing I now had the attention of every single person in the grocery store—George, the cashier, the customers, the bag boy.