Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  He glanced up and gave his sister a half-smile. “Thanks.”

  She slid into the seat perpendicular to his with a mug of her own. “No problem. You looked like you could use it.”

  “That bad, huh?” He blew on the dark brew.

  “Let’s put it this way: I’ve seen death warmed over that looks better than you do right now.”

  “Gee, thanks?”

  She chuckled softly and sipped from her cup.

  “I need to ask you something, and I don’t want you to get upset.”

  She hitched an eyebrow. “Which means I probably will get upset.”

  “Well, try not to. Just remember I’m your big brother, and I may stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but my heart’s in the right place.” He cleared his throat. “You said some things about you and Owen, and I jumped to certain conclusions.” He turned up the softness in his voice. “Did you sleep with him, Manda?”

  Casting her eyes down, she rubbed her fingertips across the table’s ridged, distressed surface. “Did you talk to him?”

  “Briefly. I want your side.”

  Still not looking at him, she shook her head. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.” Her voice came out in a choke, and he covered her hand with his. She hid her face in her free hand, and her shoulders shook. “God, I feel so stupid.”

  “Hey, hey.” He released her hand and pushed a hank of hair behind her shoulder. “Don’t. He doesn’t deserve you. Even he knows it.”

  Both hands covered her face now, and she leaned her elbows on the tabletop and sobbed.

  At a loss for more words, Blake simply rubbed her back until her crying slowed.

  “I’ve been in love with him for so long,” she sniffled, “and I convinced myself he loved me back but that you stood in his way.” She paused to hiccup. “God, I made a complete fool of myself.” Her pitiful wail was muffled in her hands.

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” he offered lamely.

  She lifted her head, and her tear-filled eyes fixed on his. “Yeah, I did. Even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t hurt any less.”

  “No, I guess not. Shit, this stuff is not for beginners like you and me.”

  “We didn’t exactly have the best role models, did we?” she agreed.

  “At least you grew up with a couple who cared about each other.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Honestly, I think they stayed together because they didn’t know what else to do.”

  They sat in silence, sipping their coffees, listening to the rain patter against their mom’s house.

  “I’m sorry about Michaela,” Amanda said softly.

  He drew in a breath and blew it out. “I could’ve told you it wouldn’t work. I just thought it’d take longer to fall apart.”

  “Cynical much? Your name should be Bleak, not Blake.”

  He shrugged. “It’s realistic. I knew it was too good to be true. Why didn’t I listen to myself?” Guys like me don’t get girls like her.

  “Because your self isn’t always equipped to give the best advice.”

  “Wow,” he snorted. “That sounds almost grown-up.”

  She shoved his shoulder good-naturedly, and they returned to a comfortable silence where his mind drifted where it always went: M. To the tiny pleats between her brows when she was mad or thinking really hard; to how she wore fake glasses because she thought she needed them to look smart; to how her eyes sparkled with mischief; to the adorable side of her she kept buttoned up behind her lawyerly façade, and how lucky he’d been to glimpse it. How being with her never felt like settling; it felt like being on top of the fucking world. How lucky some other guy would be when he captured her heart. How much he wanted to hear the smile in her voice right now.

  Yeah, maybe I’ll change my name to Bleak.

  As if punctuating that thought, their mother drifted into the kitchen looking like death’s death warmed over.

  “Rough night, Mom?” He knew it had been. He’d been there. She hadn’t screamed or thrown things, but she’d sat staring into nothingness, her elbow the only part of her body that was busy because it brought her drink to her mouth over and over and over.

  “Don’t be a smartass, Blake,” she grumbled as she poured herself a coffee.

  “Well, Merry Christmas to you too.”

  She shot him a bleary-eyed look over her shoulder. “Even I know it’s Christmas Eve.”

  Yeah, and only two days before I can politely escape and go home to my empty condo. Whoopee. That’s what I get for letting myself believe in something as schmaltzy as love.

  As his mom approached the table, Blake pulled out a chair for her and she plopped down with a grunt. The silence that had filled the gaps in his and Amanda’s conversation took on a turbulent quality. Was it his mom, or was it him? Was he just so damn apprehensive that he invited the uneasiness?

  “Blake, while you’re here, I’d like you to pull some boxes down from the attic for me.”

  “No problem. Just show me what and where you want them,” he replied, relieved for something to do besides stare at his mother and sister. Wonder if M’s parents have invited over a ton of people for Christmas dinner? Bet their home is filled with fun and lively conversation. Of course it is, if M’s there. Warm fuzzies enveloped his chest as he recalled how nimbly and graciously she had done what neither Amanda nor he had been capable of even conjuring during their disastrous Thanksgiving dinner: she’d taken their mom under her wing, almost literally, and coaxed her with overwhelming kindness. She hadn’t needed to, yet she had. That was M.

  Okay, idiot. Stop wallowing in M World. “Did you know that most people only think they have one big attic when in fact there are—”

  “Blake, stop!” his mother groaned.

  He bit back his hurt. “Too early for trivia, huh?”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “It’s always too early for trivia.”

  M likes my trivia. If she were here … She’s not, dickhead. Get over it already.

  Amanda gave Blake a few head jerks like she was trying to tell him something, but he frowned back in confusion. She darted them to the ceiling as though looking for patience before training them on their mother. When Mom’s mug was drained, Amanda quickly rose and held out her hand. “Ready for more, DeeAnn?” Since Amanda had someone she’d called “Mom” her entire life, she referred to their mother by her first name. Kinda weird, but then, what wasn’t weird about their family?

  Mom signaled she was ready for more coffee, and Amanda refilled her cup and placed it in front of her. Then she wrung her hands and sat down. “DeeAnn … Mom … I wanted to ask you something.”

  Their mom raised dull, watery eyes to her.

  Amanda darted an uncertain gaze to Blake again and wrung her hands a little harder. “I found out something recently that I wanted to ask you about.”

  Oh shit. He hadn’t cued in that they were having this conversation. How could he have forgotten so easily? His focus should have been on his sister, on this family melodrama, but it wasn’t—just like he struggled to focus on hockey. On anything but what he’d lost.

  Their mother sipped at her coffee and waited.

  “I took a DNA test,” Amanda said, her voice quavering.

  The coffee cup slammed onto the tabletop and wobbled, and Blake reached out to steady it. Their mother’s wide eyes stared into Amanda’s. “And what did you find?”

  “I’m … My father is …” Amanda burst into fresh tears.

  Blake took one of his mother’s hands between his. Tears welled in her eyes too. “Mom, Amanda discovered that her adoptive dad is her biological dad, and she’s—we’re—wondering what happened.”

  Their mother covered her mouth with her free hand and let out a gut-wrenching sob. Blake’s insides rolled, but he kept a stoic mask plastered on his face while she recovered. Amanda sniffled softly. “I wanted to tell you both for so long, but your father wouldn’t let me.”

  “Dad wouldn’t let you tell us what?” Blake said softly.<
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  For the next hour, Blake learned his father hadn’t been so selfless. After they married and she gave birth to Blake, his mother did settle down, but his father was away from home more and more, spending long hours with his buddies because “the kid cried too much.” Feeling neglected, she had an affair that resulted in Amanda. Blake’s father refused to let her bring the baby home, insisting it would be a daily reminder of his wife’s infidelity. He had even gone so far as to threaten to take his anger out on Amanda, so their mother did the only thing she could think of to protect her. She decided to put the baby up for adoption. When she told her married lover—Amanda’s biological father—he and his wife adopted and raised her as their own. They’d never been able to have children, and Amanda was a blessing they welcomed.

  “Did Dad know her real dad adopted her?” Blake asked.

  His mother shook her head. “I was afraid for him to find out, and frankly, he never asked.” She looked from Blake to Amanda and wrapped her bony hands around Amanda’s. “I didn’t want to give you up, Amanda. It tore me apart.”

  Tears rimmed and spilled down Amanda’s face. “Did you love my dad?”

  Mom shook her head. “I thought I did, but looking back, no. I wanted to make Blake’s father jealous. Stupid, silly, destructive games.”

  Blake’s temper began rising. “But Dad said you didn’t want to keep her.”

  She swung her gaze to him. “Yes, I know what your father said. That’s what he wanted you to believe. I fought him on it, but I didn’t win that argument. And you looked up to him so. I didn’t want to destroy that.”

  “You made it worse!”

  “I expect I did. For all of us. That’s when I started drinking, and I never stopped. It’s not an excuse. Just a reality.”

  “Dad wouldn’t divorce you because he loved you too much,” Blake accused. His agitated mind spun, trying to untangle the web of sticky lies. Amanda sat like a statue, her eyes riveted to their mother as if seeing her for the first time.

  “Your father didn’t love me. He loved a woman named Charlene, but Charlene married his best friend. Frankly, I think that’s the real reason your father asked me to marry him. He was devastated, and he wanted to hurt her like she’d hurt him.”

  Blake shoved himself back from the table, the chair legs making an awful scraping sound. “You’re lying!”

  His mother looked at him blearily and shook her head. “Not about this. Those boxes I asked you to move? Your father kept journals, and it’s all there in the attic. I wanted you to bring them down so I could throw them out, but maybe you should have them.”

  Blake sat back as though someone had shoved him. Someone had. His father, from the grave … if his mother was telling the truth. “Is this the whole story you said I didn’t know?”

  “Yes, the whole sordid mess.” She pierced him with a bloodshot gaze. “Your father and I were toxic together. I asked him for a divorce—many times—but he wouldn’t discuss it, even though he was in love with another woman. Maybe if she’d been free … Well, it doesn’t really matter at this juncture. Too many lives were destroyed as a result, and I didn’t want to see that happen to you too. He forbade me ever telling you, Blake. He was so proud of you, and he wanted you to be proud of him. And I wanted that for both of you. Now I’ve destroyed that too.”

  “Why did my father commit suicide?” Blake’s voice came out strangled.

  Mom let out a slow, painful sigh. “Charlene died of cancer four years ago. Though their relationship ended when she married, your father still loved her, and I think he just couldn’t … She was his ‘one,’ and I think he wanted to be with her, and he only knew one way to do that. You could say he died of a broken heart.”

  Blake gaped. “So it wasn’t being married to you that destroyed him?”

  “Being married to me didn’t help, but no, I didn’t drive him to it. I loved your father, but I couldn’t cope. My escape was in the bottle. I wasn’t much of a drinker when I met your dad, but I learned to become one. Not that it was his doing, because it wasn’t. I wanted to have babies and stay home, but your father liked watching games at the bars with his buddies. I tagged along at first because I thought that’s what a wife should do, and I liked being with him.” She smiled sadly. “And he was such a handsome devil; I didn’t trust the other women. Small consolation, but I needn’t have worried. He might have been in love with someone else, but he was loyal to me.”

  The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and three people whose lives had been stitched together—not by choice, but by fate—sat in abject silence. Everything Blake had believed his entire life might have been a lie. He’d been the product of a bunch of fucked-up people who hadn’t followed their hearts. Not knowing what to think, he let his mind go numb.

  When his mother finally spoke again, he had no idea how much time had ticked by. “You know, I think I’d like to try rehab again. I’m getting too old to be this hungover all the time.”

  Chapter 35

  Shenanigans Exposed

  Michaela pulled in a breath and straightened her jacket in front of the imposing wooden door leading into the offices of Steadman, Fast & Hart. This was it. The moment of truth had arrived. Except she was armed with a few truths of her own that existed independently of whatever Steadman was about to tell her, and they were the reason she held her head high. Sure, her heart was hammering like a carpenter’s nail gun, but she owned her future. No one else.

  The receptionist gave her a curious look as she picked up the phone and announced Michaela’s arrival to Mr. Steadman’s assistant. Soon Michaela was ushered into a familiar conference room where she waited … and waited. She’d been around the firm long enough to know this was a common tactic Steadman used. He enjoyed throwing his adversaries off balance. Did he see her as an adversary, though?

  As the door swung open and Steadman’s white head appeared, she inhaled a deep breath and crossed her hands in her lap. She was about to learn the answer to her silent question.

  He gave her a cool glance as he took a seat, oddly, across the conference table from her and not at its head. “Ms. Wagner, it’s a pleasure to see you again. How was your Thanksgiving?”

  Is he kidding?

  “As enjoyable as could be expected, under the circumstances.” She offered him a guileless half-smile.

  His expression unexpectedly softened. “Understandable … and regrettable.” He drew in a breath. “As you no doubt recall from our last meeting, I indicated our forensics team needed time to investigate the irregularities that had come to our attention. We have concluded that investigation and made some rather remarkable discoveries.”

  Don’t say too much. Don’t give anything away. She arched an expectant eyebrow. Just then, a knock sounded and the head of HR stuck her head in. “Ready for me, Mr. Steadman?”

  He waved her in. “Yes, Judith. Please join us. You know Ms. Wagner, of course.”

  Judith offered a tentative nod and slid into the seat beside Mr. Steadman, placing a closed file on the table. Unsure what to make of the woman’s presence, Michaela told herself having Judith here was preferrable to a cop with a pair of handcuffs ready to haul Michaela’s butt off to jail.

  Steadman cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we uncovered interesting facts, such as the extent of knowledge about the firm held by one of your colleagues.”

  Michaela’s confusion must have shown all over her face because Steadman barreled ahead. “We had a saboteur in our midst, Ms. Wagner. A very clever one who—unbeknownst to us, naturally—schemed and gathered intelligence about our innermost workings, from client files to IT. He used this ill-gotten knowledge to cause trouble and, for reasons known only to him, aimed it at a bull’s-eye he’d placed on your back.”

  “Who is it?” Michaela blurted.

  “Mr. Hewitt.”

  Though Michaela had anticipated the answer, it still hit her square in the chest, and breath whooshed from her lungs.

  Steadman’s t
hick brows cinched together. “I assure you Mr. Hewitt will be dealt with appropriately. We have handed our evidence over to the DA’s office. While I’m relieved we got to the bottom of the situation, I regret we had to put you on leave in order to do so, but we had little choice, you understand? To show our good faith, your pay has been reinstated retroactively, augmented by a holiday bonus, all seen to by Judith.” Judith gave a solemn bob of her head. “Now about your future here at Steadman, Fast & Hart.”

  Oh, this should be interesting. Michaela had been up most of the night after receiving the “summons” to today’s meeting, flipping through various scenarios in her head. She was about to discover how close to the mark her top guess about the firm’s tack would strike.

  “Ms. Wagner, we would like to offer you a swift path to partnership by awarding you the Fenton account.” Steadman smiled, but it was calculated, without warmth. “I can think of no worthier candidate.”

  Hmm. Not my first guess, but close. The bigger surprise was how unmoved she was by the offer of the coveted account, especially after craving a bite at that dangling carrot for so long. The revelation bolstered the conclusion she had already come to.

  Steadman’s droning brought her back to the conference room. “If you agree to stay, and we hope you will, there will naturally be a substantial increase in your compensation to bring you in line with someone in such a lofty position.” He sat back and steepled his hands.

  Naturally. Michaela quickly sorted through the scattered debris from the bombshell Steadman had just dropped: First, Brad had been responsible for all the scheduling mishaps, the mysterious file movements, the billing questions, and all the other inexplicable crises that had plagued Michaela. Second, he had hoodwinked the entire firm for “reasons known only to him,” which the firm no doubt knew but wouldn’t divulge in order to limit their culpability. Third, while they’d “handled” Brad, they were paying her off to keep quiet and not file a lawsuit against them.

  She darted a look to Judith and the nervous fingers the woman ran along the file. To Steadman, Michaela said, “And if I agree to accept this, ah, promotion, what are the next steps?”