Goalie (Texas Mutiny Book 3)

  * * * *

  Goalie

  Copyright © 2017 by M.E. Carter

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To John and Julie:

  For always showing what a friendship should be,

  and what a marriage can be.

  I love you both.

  Title Page

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Practically since I can remember, my mother has been a therapist. Her insight on all things psychological are always interesting, but particularly so with Goalie.

  When the idea for Goalie came about, she was one of the first people I began discussing it with. One day, she made a very poignant point.

  She said one of the things she had discovered in her career was about those couples who are happily married for fifty, sixty, seventy years. What made their marriages survive and even thrive while others fell apart wasn’t because everyone remained faithful. Quite the contrary.

  In her practice, the statistics on infidelity in the marriage was practically THE SAME for couples who married until death and those that divorced. The difference, she says, is in how the marriage was handled after the affair came to light.

  That, of course, got me thinking. What does happen post-infidelity? How does a seemingly loving couple handle that? How do they push through and what makes one marriage tougher than another? That is what this book explores.

  Santos and Mariana have a unique story all their own. And while it begins with infidelity, the story is not about that. It’s about the aftermath and the journey that they take. It’s raw and gritty and at times heartbreaking and at times heartwarming. It’s life.

  I hope you enjoy the journey. If nothing else, it’s fascinating.

  There she is.

  Looking at her, I can hardly breathe. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous, actually. Long dark hair. Shapely legs that go for miles. Killer rack.

  Much more glam than my “mom” bod. I shouldn’t be so critical of myself. I’ve had three kids in the last five years, and Theo is only a few months old. But it’s hard looking at her, knowing I’ll never have that body again. Is this why my husband strayed?

  No. I don’t know that for sure. Maybe he really is just tying one on with the guys like he claims.

  But I’ve heard the talk. I know the rumors. And she has the answers I need. I just have to have the courage to ask for them.

  Ringing my hands together, I take a deep breath and approach her.

  “Hi.”

  Tiffany looks up at me with surprise. Usually the only one to talk to her during the games is Quincy, the team captain’s girlfriend. Everyone else steers clear. Partly because Tiffany is a groupie—well, former groupie anyway. Now that she and Rowen Flanigan are together, she’s officially become a WAG, which stands for “wives and girlfriends.”

  But people also don’t talk to her because, apparently, she’s a former soccer player herself. She doesn’t treat games like social events. Instead, she watches the games really closely and ignores everything going on around her. So, I know she’s surprised I’m talking to her.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  She looks around like she’s confused. “Um, yeah. Ok.” She takes her feet off the chair in front of her and straightens her spine.

  We sit in awkward silence for a while. She’s had a rough go of it lately with Rowen having a meltdown on the field leading to a suspension and a nudie pic scandal she was the center of. Compared to how she normally looks, right now she looks like shit. Which is still better than ninety-nine percent of the population.

  I know she feels self-conscious about who has and hasn’t seen the picture that was blasted all over the internet. But I have questions, and she’s the only one with the answers, so leaving her alone isn’t an option. Still, I’m not sure how to ask them. Not sure I really want to ask them, if I’m being honest with myself. And I certainly don’t want to end up in a fistfight like she and Jessica Funderling did once.

  Yeah, she’s had a really rough time lately.

  But I have to know. I have decisions to make. And if my worst fear is true, I’m running out of time to follow through. I have to do this now.

  “I have questions for you.” I turn to look at Tiffany, who visibly cringes. “I don’t want to fight with you or anything. I just need information. Honest information.”

  She bites her lip and nods her head.

  “I’ll be as honest as I can,” she agrees quietly. “I owe you that.” She snorts a sardonic laugh. “Actually, I owe you so much more than that.”

  She takes her own deep breath and looks at me.

  “What do you want to know?”

  This is it. It’s now or never. I need answers for my own sanity. I don’t want to know, but I need to.

  I make eye contact with her and throw it all out there, no matter what the cost. “You’ve slept with my husband.” I don’t ask her. I want to make sure there is no doubt that it’s an accusation, a challenge. I’m challenging her to tell me the truth.

  She just holds my stare. Then she responds in the way I was praying she wouldn’t, but knew she would. She nods. “Yes,” she utters, her eyes getting glossy.

  I, however, shut my emotions off completely. This is a fact-gathering conversation. I can break later.

  “How many times?”

  “I don’t know.” A single tear sli
des down her cheek.

  “Were you the only one?”

  She wipes away the tear with the sleeve of her Texas Mutiny hoodie. “I don’t know. I assume not, but I wasn’t paying too much attention. I was so focused on myself, I wasn’t worried about anyone else or what they were doing.”

  I turn back to watch the game, my eyes catching on my husband as he stands in the net, bright yellow jersey and matching gloves. He prides himself on being one of the best goalies in the league. He rarely lets a shot through. He defends that net with a vengeance.

  It’s ironic he never protected our family the way he protects that damn net.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tiffany whispers. “I was so selfish and stupid. I pretended no one was getting hurt because I was so far removed from the families. But I see it now, Mariana. I understand, and I’m just… so ashamed.” She turns completely toward me and talks fast, tears streaming down her face. “I know that doesn’t make up for anything, it never will. But you need to know, I need to tell you how so, so sorry I am. And how it will never, ever happen again.”

  I just look at her blankly as I gather my thoughts. I have so many. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m relieved to finally have answers. I’m frustrated. I’m scared. But I have to make sure before I make these decisions. Have to make absolutely, one hundred percent sure she is telling me the truth.

  “Prove it.”

  “What?” Her brows furrow in confusion.

  “I can’t base the rest of my marriage, if there even is one anymore, on one person’s information. If I confront him, he’s going to deny it. And I will have no proof except your word. And around here, your word isn’t worth much.” She flinches, but I feel no sympathy. She knows what I’m saying is true. “I need proof that you really did have an affair with my husband. I need solid evidence so when he tells me I’m off my rocker, I can show him exactly how I know he’s lying to me. My entire life is about to change, and I can’t do that without proof. So prove it.”

  She closes her eyes and licks her lips, steeling herself for whatever she’s about to tell me. “He um… when he’s about to, uh, finish… he hums.”

  My heart plummets. I know in that moment, without any doubt at all, it’s true. My husband has been unfaithful to me. I hear a whooshing sound in my ears as my brain tries to catch up. Ten years we’ve been married. Together over eleven. Part of my college life and all the years since have been wrapped around this man and his career.

  As my senses start to come back to me, the sound of Tiffany’s voice begins to register. “It never meant anything. The parties, they just used to get really crazy. Lots of booze, lots of testosterone. It was just really easy to fall into it without a second thought. It didn’t mean anything. I know he loves you.”

  “Stop.” I hold up my hand in front of her, and she immediately stops talking. “It doesn’t matter if it meant anything or not. It still happened.” I look at her and for the first time, it registers how distraught she is. Which is funny because she’s the other woman. Watching her, I’m glad she feels guilt. I’m glad she is crying over this. She should be crying over this. Women are supposed to stick together, and all that shit, right? But a part of me, a very small—miniscule maybe—part feels bad for her.

  I think back to the nudie pics of her that were leaked on the web recently and realize, she’s not acting. She’s not trying to save face. She really does feel remorseful. She learned a hard, hard lesson about how your actions can have unintended consequences. My confronting her is another one of those moments for her. And dammit, if that doesn’t make me feel just a tiny bit of compassion for her.

  Pushing my feelings aside, I finally respond. “Look, I’m going back and forth between hating your guts and wanting to hug you because I can see that you get it. You really understand what you’ve done.”

  She nods again and wipes more tears.

  “What you did to me, to my family, to any other wives you did it to, it’s despicable.” I can feel myself getting riled up again, so I take a deep breath to calm down. “But you didn’t stand up before God and my family and vow to stay faithful to me. Santos did. He’s the one who broke that promise, not you. And as much as it pains me to say it, I forgive you. Ok, well, not right at this exact moment. It might be a few weeks. But I will forgive you at some point because I know you’ve learned your lesson. So I think it might be time to forgive yourself, too.”

  A sob escapes her throat and she reaches to hug me. I hesitate, but ultimately put my arms around her, not in forgiveness, but strictly in thanks for being truthful. I pull away and look her in the eyes.

  “That being said, we will never be friends. Ever. In fact, I hope I never see you again. But if we do end up in the same place, please do me the respect of staying far, far away from me.”

  “Absolutely. I can respect that. You deserve that distance.”

  I stand up and start to walk away, but realize I have one last thing to say. “For the record, I don’t care what you’ve done. You didn’t deserve what Mack did to you. I hope you’ll find a way to use all of this mess to help other people know how to be better than you have been.”

  She sucks in a breath, like I slapped her. And I guess I kind of did. I’m not proud of being such a bitch. I pride myself on my kindness to people. But I don’t have to be nice right now. I’m pretty sure she knows that.

  Turning, I walk through the box one last time, grabbing my purse and ignoring anyone who tries to make eye contact with me. As the door shuts behind me, I pull my phone out and press the speed dial button on the home screen.

  After two rings, she answers.

  “Mama,” I sniffle as the tears finally start to fall. “Can the kids and I come stay with you for a while?”

  “Mmmmmmm…” I begin to hum. I squeeze my eyes shut, shifting my body weight on my knees, and grab her hips tighter. I feel myself getting close to the orgasm I’m chasing.

  Suddenly, the door flies open, breaking me of my rhythm.

  “What the fuck, man?” I shout, as Darren Pumin struts through the door.

  “Sorry. I thought you were done.”

  “Santos.” Sasha reaches between her legs and strokes her clit. “Keep going, Santos. I’m so close.”

  I ignore Pumin, who walks into the closet and rifles around. Instead, I look down and see Sasha’s creamy, flawless ass. I slap it once, making her squeal and begin relentlessly pounding into her again.

  “Hey, you want a Cuban?” Pumin yells from the closet. “I’m only bringing out a few.”

  “Hang on,” I shout back. “Let me finish here first.”

  I thrust a few more times and Sasha clenches on the inside.

  “I’m coming!” she shouts and then screams through her orgasm.

  “Right behind you, mmmmmmm…” Seconds later, my balls tighten up and I feel a familiar sensation as my orgasm races up my spine, exploding in the back of my brain. My hips continue with small gyrations, practically involuntarily, as I come down from the high.

  “Damn, you two are loud.” Pumin stands in the doorway of the closet, holding a few cigars.

  “No one asked you to hang out for the show, dickhead,” I respond as I kiss Sasha on the neck and pull out slowly. “Thanks, baby. That was just what I needed.”

  She drops down to her stomach in exhaustion while I remove the condom and fling it Pumin’s direction.

  “Ah!” he yells, protecting his face with his hands. “Keep your dirty spunk away from me! And pick that condom up off my floor, asswipe.”

  I hoist my jeans up and leave them unbuttoned as I do what he asks. “Relax. I never leave a mess behind. I’m more of a gentleman than that.”

  He scoffs. “What you were doing right there, that didn’t look very gentlemanly to me.”

  “I can be a gentleman and a dirty, dirty lover at the same time.” Sasha snorts a laugh into the pillow. “See? She agrees with me.”

  “He’s right.” She grins seductively. “He’s always gentlemanly when he spanks my a
ss.”

  Pumin cocks an eyebrow at Sasha. “Really. What other kinds of dirty things do you like, Sasha?”

  She rolls onto her side, baring her naked body to us. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

  “Here.” He hands the Cubans to me, never taking his eyes off of her, and whips his shirt over his head.

  I throw the rest of my clothes on and head out the door just as Pumin leans back against the headboard, his cock already in Sasha’s mouth. I have no idea how that woman can go so many times in one night, but I’m appreciative of her efforts. There’s nothing like a spine-tingling orgasm with a warm body that doesn’t care how kinky it gets after an intense game to take the edge off.

  I’ve been the starting goalie for the Texas Mutiny for three years now. Before that, I was the back-up goalie in San Diego. I loved being in California. That’s where my family is. Well, what’s left of it. My abuela died several years ago, so it’s only a couple of uncles and aunts now. But my wife Mariana’s family is in San Antonio so when I was traded here, it worked better for everyone. With three small kids, it’s good for my mother-in-law to come stay when I have long road trips. I know it helps Mari out a lot.

  After lighting up one of the fancy cigars, I dig my phone out of my pocket.

  No texts.

  Hmm. I double check and make sure I texted Mariana after the game.

  Having a drink with the guys to talk shop. Be home soon. Don’t wait up. Love you.

  Yep. It went through. That’s weird she didn’t text me back. She always does. But the baby has been keeping her up at night. She’s probably just tired and asleep already.

  I feel bad about not heading home straight after the game to help her out. I love my family and my kids more than anything in this world. But one thing this team prides itself on is its camaraderie. We’re a tight knit group, and I feel guilty if I don’t show up at least for a little while to these get-togethers.

  I am always in serious awe of how well Mari takes care of us, even when I get home late. She’s an amazing mom, a talented cook, and keeps the entire house running smoothly. She always knows my schedules, keeps me organized, and has been my biggest fan since college when I first noticed her at an afterparty.