Page 73 of Hearts Don't Lie
Stowe arrived home, subdued and stiff with nagging discomfort from his injuries, a cast on his arm and his ankle wrapped and immobilized. A routine came together easily. Hardin watched over him while Mac worked. Family and friends rotated through to relieve Hardin while Stowe napped, allowing him to work out, run errands, or just do nothing.
Despite being raised by parents who weren’t demonstrative, Mac noted nurturing came naturally to Hardin, to the point that she had to talk to him about not catering to Stowe. Caring for him was one thing, but coddling or enabling him… Well, she wasn’t going to have that.
Hardin’s eyes had twinkled good-naturedly when she had chewed him out one afternoon as they snacked on ice cream Cori and Mike’s kids had made the previous night.
“Got it, boss,” he said, then flipped some of it off his spoon at her. It had splattered down her face and onto the exposed skin of her chest. Hardin had lapped all of it up and then escorted Mac into the bedroom where he’d taken care of the rest of her while their son napped.
Mac’s heart was full to the point of bursting. She had her son home, and he was recovering beautifully. The young man she had pledged to love forever so long ago was back in her life, loving her and their son with a passion that often moved her to tears or took her breath away.
Hardin fed her soul and stepped into fatherhood with masculine grace and wisdom that their son responded to. During their one-on-one time, he had told her more than once how chill Hardin was, how much he liked him. Stowe also couldn’t get over how humble he was.
“How is a guy like him so humble? I mean, he’s like a big deal.”
“Did you ever think that maybe he enjoys being a normal human being?”
“No! That’s so cool, Mom.”
“Your father puts his pants on like everyone else, one leg at a time. If he forgets that, he risks losing his soul.”
Stowe’s expression was thoughtful, and she hoped he’d see Hardin as the person he really was, not as the international soccer star.
Mac cheered silently from the sidelines, relishing the progress in their relationship, witnessing the way they began to seek out their own together time without her—private jokes, future plans, and the launch of father-son traditions.
While Arlo hammered out the details of the “just cause” termination with the club owners, Mac’s worries turned to Hardin’s parents. She found the Ambroses’ quest for control over their son appalling. She broached the subject with Hardin late one evening, after Stowe was sound asleep. They lay in her bed, snuggling, damp in the aftermath of loving one another.
Inasmuch as she had been raised in poverty, Hardin had been raised with money, born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, and yet what they had in common was that they were the offspring of people who didn’t view parenting as a priority. The Ambroses hadn’t given up and had contacted him through their attorneys, threatening to break the trust, in essence to disown him after he blocked their calls and messages, trying to bring him to heel.
She turned to him and propped herself on her elbow, resting her chin in her hand. “What happens, Hardin? Are you going to be okay?”
“More than okay.” His expression was earnest. Quietly, he said, “So will you, Stowe, and any other kids we have.”
Mac sat up and reached for Hardin’s discarded tee at the end of the bed. She averted her eyes, processing what he had just revealed. It was almost too much, knowing financial worries would be a thing of the past. After scraping by most of her life, more successfully after moving to Colorado and starting Intrepid, it was hard to get her head around and difficult to accept.
Hardin sat up, still naked, the sheets bunched in his lap. He gently took her chin and turned her face to his. “Honey, look at me.”
She gazed into aqua eyes that were turbulent with emotion and leaned forward, kissing him softly, wanting to make it all better for him.
“Your kisses. They do so much for me, and right now they’re the balm that takes the hurt away. You help me find my strength. God, I love you.”
Mac scooted closer, her folded legs nesting between his sheet-covered ones. She kissed him again, this time with heat, then drew back and pinned his eyes with hers. “I love you too, baby.”
“You sure look good in my shirt even though you’re swimming in it.” That earned him a sexy smirk from her. His thumb brushed over her wet lips; then he smiled softly. “Like I said, I didn’t burn through my salary and endorsements. I’ve invested and it’s grown to be substantially more than it was initially. Even if my parents are successful in breaking the trust, it won’t have any impact. Got that?”
“I do.”
“Good. Boot those worries from your amazing mind, okay? No more worrying about money.”
Mac grinned. “Boots. Oh, I like your cleats reference.” She kissed him and chuckled. “Booted.”
He nodded approvingly and kissed her back. “I played because I love the game. But I also played because it was a road to true independence, no strings attached. While I have my parents to thank for helping me hone the skills I have, years of training and showcases and camps with the best, I’m so fucking tired of the attached strings, the expectations. Look what’s going on now, how my parents are trying to control me by holding the trust over my head. Too many have wanted a piece of Hardin Ambrose, one of theMEFL’s top footballers.I became a commodity to my club, the league, the world.” His voice was filled with anguish. “To my parents.” His eyes searched hers and he said huskily, “All you ever wanted was me. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”
As Stowe healed, Hardin quickly discovered their son had a sharp mind and hunger for knowledge. That included Hardin’s opinions about a range of topics, including Stowe himself and his parents’ history.
Hardin touched base with Mac numerous times the first day while Stowe nodded off, seeking advice on how to navigate the pointed questions and observations their son had made.
She offered very little other than “Keep me in the loop. Call if you really get stuck.”
“I am stuck. You’re throwing me into the frying pan, honey.”
