ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: M.V.B. - Most Valuable Baby (Sports Secret Baby Romance) (Contemporary Interracial Pregnancy Romance) (55 page)

His emotions swirled together into something akin to frustration but ultimately not nameable. It hurt to breathe, to think.

He turned and hurried away, toward the back exit of the manor. In truth, he was storming away like a toddler, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt like he was losing whatever kind of control he had over that situation, which was starting to realize was none.

He had been idiot.

Frankie hated him. Worse, she was crying because of him.

Hanes clenched his hands into tight fists, anger searing through him and making him quiver. If only that anger wasn’t directed inward, he could do something productive with it and not self-destructive.

He past the dining room—heard his mother call his name—but he ignored her. He ignored all of his brothers, some of whom also called to him.

If he couldn’t do right by Frankie, then he didn’t want anything to do with this mess. He was done. He was so tired, so angry…

He slid the back doors open before hurrying through them and to the side of the manor, where his car was parked by the garage. A small part of him reminded him that he couldn’t just abandon Frankie there, but his empowering anger swallowed that part whole.

She didn’t want to talk to him? Fine. He would give her space, and he would find space of his own.

Hanes was loud as he opened the car door, got in, and then slammed it shut. He was even louder when he started the engine before driving off of the property. However subconscious as it was, he wanted everyone to know that he was leaving.

He looked in the rear view mirror. He saw a great puff of dirty dust in his wake, but not Frankie. She must have stayed on the porch swing.

Frowning—heart twisting—Hanes’s gaze fell forward again, his foot pressing a little harder on the accelerator. The sudden jolt of speed sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. His lips bent upward at the reprieve.

Not a second later, he decided where exactly it was that he wanted to go – the stables.

“You sure, Hanes?” Paul asked, eyes full of pity. His lips twisted from side to side a bit before he turned and spat into the dirt. “It takes a while to prepare them for these things, you know? It’s why we have the schedule.”

Hanes’s nostrils flared. Inside the stables—the stalls containing all sorts of animals, from horses and bulls to goats and llamas—the shade did little to cool the hot air. It made his blood hotter, his temper worse—he needed this thrill, something to focus on and lose himself in.

“Okay, okay,” Paul said, shrugging and turning around. “Don’t give me that look now. I was just making sure. It’s for your safety as well as the bull’s.”

“I know, Paul,” Hanes said, seething. “Don’t patronize me. If I want to practice now—”

“I said okay. What’s gotten into you? Something you need to get off your chest?” Paul walked over to Stanton’s stall, Hanes’s favorite bull.

Hanes followed him, though he kept back a ways as he tried to calm himself. Just seeing Stanton eased some of Hanes’s pain. He bellowed out a breath. “I just need to ride. Then I’ll see things clearer.”

Paul cooed at Stanton as he opened the stall. Then, as he ran a hand over the animal, he glanced back. “That’s a weird thing to say, but I trust you, Hanes. You do what you got to do.”

Hanes nodded. “Damn straight.”

It would have been nice to have an audience cheer him on again, but Hanes still felt a sense of peace as he settled himself on top of the bull. His hands reached forward and gripped the rope, his peripheral vision noticing Paul double-checking the straps on Stanton.

Hanes took a deep breath and focused on the back of the bull’s neck. The stadium was silent, save for the light whistle of the wind. It was almost easy to act like there was an audience out there, hushed with anticipation.

Hanes smirked.

“You ready?” Paul asked, ruining the illusion.

Hanes glowered, a hint of his frustration welling up within him again. “Yeah,” he said, grunting when the bull shifted. “Just open the gate already.”

A couple of moments later, Paul yanked back the gate as hard and as fast as he could.

The bull was not as energized or rebellious as he needed to be. He trotted out of the stall and bucked a little, but there was no real challenge to it. Hanes’s stomach didn’t soar into his chest, nor did his heart leap out of his throat. The adrenaline that coursed through him was stilted at best.

“Come on!” Hanes shouted, letting go of the rope with one of his hands to slap the bull’s hide. “Come on! Show me what you got! You’re better than this!”

The bull sped up a little, running in a slanted circle around the ring.

Hanes hit him a little harder. “Come on!”

He had been bull-riding all of his life. He had done it with one hand—had done it in worse conditions this. Much worse. And yet for some reason, that one hit was one hit too much for Stanton. Or maybe Hanes’s one-handed grip wasn’t as strong as he thought it was. He would never be certain.

The bull came to a jarring halt while tilting to the side, forcing Hanes to slide over its ribs. And then Stanton bucked, as the bull moved Hanes was thrown into air before he tumbled over the dirt.

The bull charged at him.

Hanes saw a brief image of his father in those moments.

“You’re going to be all kinds of asses in life,” the old man had said, ruffling Hanes’s hair. “Just try your hardest not be a dumb-ass. That’s the worst kind in my book.”

Hanes shut his eyes and curled up his body.

Sorry dad, he thought before the onslaught of pain came.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Frankie frowned as she watched Hanes drive off of his family’s property. Had something happened? She let out a taut breath, not knowing how to feel about his sudden departure. If nothing else, she knew he would come back. He wouldn’t just leave her there.

She leaned back in the porch swing and closed her eyes. Nothing but the slight rustling of the grass filled her ears, soothing her.

Frankie wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when she opened her eyes, her body and her heart relaxed. Her hands rested lightly on top of her belly.

Of course she had overreacted. The hormones, his family’s obvious resentment of her—she should have known better. And the way he had looked at her when she accused him of…a shameful shudder wracked through her, tightening her chest. She had to apologize. Hanes Copper had been nothing but wonderful to her since the day she met him. He had deserved the benefit of the doubt. He had deserved better.

She got up and walked to the side of the manor. When she didn’t see his car there, a mixture of worry and aggravation twisted within her. Where had he even gone to? With everything that had just happened, what had been so important for him to leave?

Frankie bit her lower lip and stared at the empty parking spot, denial flashing through before she shook it off and walked back to the front porch.

She hesitated at the front door, nervousness making her shiver. She shook this off to and entered the mansion.

Even if the majority of Hanes’s family hated her, Gina didn’t. And that was something Frankie held on to give her courage as she searched through the house for any Copper she could find.

She should have figured that they would have remained in the dining room. Though their sullen expressions and hunched shoulders were such a surprising sight that Frankie actually gaped at them for a second.

“Um, excuse me,” Frankie said.

They all jumped and turned to her.

“Frankie,” Hanes’s mother said, relief in her tone. She pressed a bony hand to her clavicle. “How are you feeling, darling? I apologize for our appalling behavior beforehand. Greed can do the worst to good people.”

The rest of them murmured their own apologies. All except Gina and Thomas—Gina who was absent, and Thomas who stared at the table cloth like it was a television screen.

Frankie blinked owlishly, taken aback. Affection and relief floored her—damn hormones. She smiled wide. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She pointedly glanced around. “I was just wondering where Hanes had gone off to. He left here a while ago and he isn’t back yet.”

“He left?” his mother said, face scrunching. “Where would he go to?”

Exactly, Frankie thought.

“Probably to those bulls,” Thomas said, shaking his head a little. “He always goes bull riding when he’s upset, when he’s ecstatic—he’s addicted to risking his life in the dumbest way possible.”

“Right,” Frankie said, pursing her lips. He did love the danger of bull-riding—the rush, the distraction. That made sense. “Then could one of you drive me to wherever he would go to do that? I need to talk to him.”

“Thomas will,” their mother said shortly, glaring at the man in question. “He needs to apologize to his brother, anyway.”

Thomas’s eyes snapped to his mother. But if he had been planning to protest the order, that plan the second he saw the angered expression on the old woman’s face. He sighed and scooted backward.

“Thanks,” Frankie said, uncomfortable. She hadn’t wanted to drive with any of them, but Thomas? He seemed to hate her the most. Nausea churned within her gut.

Thomas nodded, standing up before motioning her to follow him.

Frankie waved an awkward goodbye to everyone else before she hurried after Thomas.

Frankie’s cheeks reddened once she realized that Hanes was at the stadium where his trailer was. Of course. Feeling foolish, she slid lower into her seat as Thomas parked the car as close as he could to the trailer. The whole Copper family must think she is too stupid and poor for someone like Hanes.

“If I tell mom I apologized,” Thomas said, not looking at her, “would you and Hanes be willing to saying that it actually happened?”

“Lie? To your mother?” Frankie would have laughed if she wasn’t busy hating herself and worrying about Hanes.

Thomas groaned. “Just asking.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door.

Frankie was quick to do the same.

Distant sirens grew louder and louder—so fast, so near. Frankie and Thomas stopped, both of them turning in the direction of the sound.

The street by the stadium was mostly bare, save for a car or two that drove down it every so often. For an ambulance to sound so close seemed ominous. There was nothing out here, no fires, no emergencies, no—

An ambulance came into view, speeding into the parking lot before screeching to a halt in front of the stadium’s entrance.

Frankie went ice-cold. Nothing but instinct held her up, her blood feeling as if it was losing all of its density. Weightless yet freezing.

“No,” she said. “Thomas, that’s not—”

Thomas moved toward the ambulance, his steps sluggish yet purposeful. There was a tension in his shoulders, a tension that Frankie had never seen in him before.

“Thomas?” she said, panting—no, hyperventilating. She pressed both of her hands over her belly, her growing child. “Thomas? That’s not for Hanes. Tell me that’s not for Hanes.”

Thomas just kept moving forward.

Frankie stopped breathing altogether. The suspended sense of fear was too agonizing, so eventually, she found herself following Thomas—her legs working on their own accord, as wobbly as they moved.

By the time that she and Thomas reached the ambulance, the paramedics were already wheeling a gurney out of a stadium and toward the vehicle. A bloodied figure was strapped to it, his entire body wrapped in blankets while his limbs, waist, and head were strapped down.

The paramedics were bringing the gurney to the back of the ambulance when Frankie got a clear view of the victim’s face.

“Hanes!” Tears poured out of her eyes and she rushed forward, only to be stopped by Thomas. Panic—turning into energy—turning into rage and pain—it seared through her, and she thrashed in Thomas’s arms. “Hanes! No, please, no!” She beat her fists against Thomas’s shoulder, a sob tearing out of her throat. “Let me go! Let me go!”

One paramedic held up her hand while her colleagues worked to get the gurney up and into the back of ambulance. When that was accomplished, she looked up at them. “You’re related to the victim?”

“Yes,” Thomas croaked, sounding as wrecked as Frankie felt. “She—she’s his fiancé.”