by Elle Kennedy
“Enters her?” Nate hoots.
Fitz sighs.
“—and they make love,” Hollis finishes. “Lovemaking all the way.”
I purse my lips. Honestly, I can see it. Coach’s exterior is so rough, I bet he throws curveballs in bed.
“Nah,” Hunter repeats. “I still vote for power fucker.”
“Coach doesn’t fuck,” Hollis argues. “He makes love.”
Someone clears their throat. “Gentlemen.”
We jump in surprise when Iris Marsh appears behind us. Biting her lip like she’s trying not to bust into laughter, she casually leans past Tucker to grab the silver clutch on the table he’s leaning against.
“Left my purse,” she says in a light tone.
To Hollis’s credit, he’s not the least bit abashed. I don’t think that dude is capable of feeling shame.
“Uh, enjoying the band?” Garrett asks her, as if we don’t all know she’d overheard us dissecting her sex life with Coach.
“They’re excellent,” she replies. “I loved that Arcade Fire cover.” She tucks the purse under her arm and takes a step back. “Anyway. Sorry to interrupt.”
Just before she goes, however, she leans closer to Hollis and murmurs something. So quietly I think I imagined it at first.
“He definitely fucks.”
Hollis’s jaw drops.
“But you didn’t hear that from me,” Iris calls over her shoulder, waltzing off in Coach’s direction.
“Told you,” Hunter says smugly.
17
Allie
“You really do look amazing.” I sidle up to the bride, touching her arm.
Sabrina looks over at me, her smile rueful. “Thanks. I feel like everyone is staring at me.”
“They are.” I grin. “I hate to inform you, but they’d be staring at you even if you weren’t wearing that dress. You’re hot.”
My gaze drifts across the room to where Dean is congregated with a dozen of his former teammates. The comments he’d made earlier about seeing me in a wedding dress are still troubling me. He knows that’s not something I want right now. Or at least he should know. I made it more than clear that marriage and babies aren’t on my agenda when we discussed it last year. But Dean is impulsive. He’s the kind of guy who might see Sabrina and Tucker basking in marital bliss and decide to spontaneously propose to me.
“What do you think they’re whispering about over there?” I nod toward the group of boys. Their conversation looks intense.
“Hockey, probably.” She takes a second to study them, then shakes her head. “No, they’re talking about sex.”
“Ha! How can you tell?”
“Fitzy’s face. He looks like he wants to wither away and die on the spot.”
I follow her gaze and laugh again. Yeah, Fitz does tend to get that pained look when he’s forced into conversations about topics he’d rather keep private. Usually it’s Hollis who drags him in. I shift my gaze. Yup, Mike Hollis seems to be doing the bulk of the talking, which is never good. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed his wife couldn’t make it tonight. I would’ve loved to meet the woman who married Mike Hollis. She either has the patience of a saint, or she’s as cuckoo bananas as he is. Summer used to live with her and claims it’s the latter.
“Have you seen Hannah?” I ask, searching the crowded ballroom. My best friend has been hard to find tonight. And she hasn’t been entirely herself since I arrived in Boston. When I was doing her makeup earlier, she was so distracted that at one point she forgot where we were going tonight.
“I think I saw her heading for the restrooms,” Sabrina says.
“Okay. I’m gonna track her down and try to get her onto the dance floor. Be right back.” I’m hoping I might be able to get Hannah to sing something too. I’m sure the band would be happy to let her, and I know Tucker would love it.
Outside the ballroom, I welcome the silence. A nice reprieve from the continuous hum of noise and buzz of voices at the reception. As I smooth out the hem of my dress, I catch a glimpse of Logan and Grace standing against a pillar in the wide lobby area. Canoodling, as gossip columnists would say. They haven’t spotted me yet, and I’m about to say hello when their voices carry in my direction. What I hear stops me short.
“Should we get outta here soon, Mrs. Logan?”
Um.
What?
“You’re never going to get tired of saying that, are you?” Grace is laughing.
“Never.” He smacks a kiss on her lips. “Mrs. Logan.”
Yup. Didn’t imagine it the first time.
I shoot forward like a rocket. “I’m sorry—but…WHAT?” My shocked voice echoes in the cavernous lobby.
They break apart guiltily as I march toward them. I move so fast, I nearly trip on my stilettos. I can’t function. Or think straight. My mouth keeps opening and closing as the implications settle.
“Why does he keep calling you that?” I ask Grace. “Oh my God. Did you guys—”
She cuts me off before I can finish. “Come! Let’s go powder our noses!” Then she grabs my arm and practically drags me away.
I glance over my shoulder to find Logan grinning sheepishly. He shrugs at me, then winks. That’s all I need. Holy shit. Holy shit.
“You guys got married?” I exclaim as we burst into the bathroom. Fortunately, it’s empty.
“No,” Grace says.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Yes,” Grace says.
“Oh my God. How? When?”
Her light-brown eyes focus everywhere else but on me. She pretends to admire the stack of linen towels next to one of the ornate sinks.
“When?” I repeat.
“Over New Year’s,” she confesses.
“What!” I shriek. “You got married four months ago and didn’t tell anyone?” Something terrible then occurs to me. “Wait, does everyone else know and they’ve just kept it a secret from me and Dean?”
Grace is quick to reassure me. “Nobody knows except us. We didn’t want to break it to my dad before graduation. He would freak if he thought I wasn’t fully concentrating on school.”
Stunned, I sweep my gaze over Grace’s girl-next-door features and tentative smile. She’s the perfect match for Logan, yes, but she’s two years younger than him. And they’re married?
“So you two just…eloped?” I’m utterly dumbfounded.
“Sort of? We didn’t plan to. It just happened.”
“It just happened,” I echo. “How does something like that ‘just happen’?”
“I mean, we’d discussed marriage before and realized neither of us really wanted a wedding. His parents can’t even be in the same room, so Logan didn’t want to be in a position where he was forced to choose. And then over the holidays, we wound up at this bed-and-breakfast in Vermont that was owned by a pastor. And not only does he officiate weddings, but he managed to get us a last-minute marriage license because the town clerk is part of his flock, and it was like, serendipity. Is that the word? I hate that word.” She’s blushing so hard, even the freckles on her nose look redder. “Anyway, I have zero regrets. Neither does he. We’re forever.”
Emotion clogs my throat and stings my eyes. I’ve always been a sappy romantic. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” I wail.
“You have to promise not to say anything, Allie. We’re not ready to tell anybody, not until after graduation.”
“I promise,” I say, using the pads of my index fingers to delicately wipe my tears. “It’ll stay between us—”
A loud retching noise suddenly echoes in the bathroom.
“—and whoever’s throwing up in there,” I finish.
Grace pales. She shoots a panicky look at the last stall in the row. I’d been flipping out so hard when she’d dragged me in here, I hadn’t even noticed that closed door. I assumed we were alone.
“Everything okay in there?” I call at the stall.
There’s a long pause, then, “Yeah, all good
. Give me a second.”
It’s Hannah.
She appears a moment later, still clad in the green sheath dress I’d picked out for her today after Dean informed her if she wore black to a wedding, she was dooming the bride and groom to an eternity of morbid misery. I don’t think that’s a thing, but it succeeded in convincing Hannah to add some color into her life. The dress is the same shade of green as her eyes, which are currently lined with fatigue as she approaches the wall of sinks and mirrors.
“How much did you hear?” Grace sighs.
Hannah offers a wry smile. “All of it.”
She places her cupped hands beneath the automatic faucet and fills them with water. She proceeds to rinse out her mouth before her eyes find ours in the mirror again.
“You okay?” I fret.
She slowly shakes her head. “I’m starting to think no.”
A knot forms in my stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“I might need a…um…pregnancy test.”
Silence crashes over us. It lasts about a second before my loud gasp reverberates in the air.
Grace purses her lips. “I’m pretty sure this was an episode of Friends. I’ve been watching reruns.”
My gaze instantly drops to Hannah’s stomach even though the rational part of my brain knows that even if she is pregnant, she wouldn’t be showing yet.
Hannah catches where my eyes went and fixes me with a stern look. “Don’t say anything to Dean.” She turns to Grace. “Or Logan. Please. They’ll tell Garrett in a heartbeat, and I haven’t even taken a test yet. For all I know, it’s a false alarm.”
“How late are you?” Grace asks.
Hannah bites her lip.
“How late?” I press.
“Three weeks.”
I gasp again.
“Seriously, I don’t want Garrett knowing anything until I take a test,” Hannah says firmly. “Neither of you are allowed to say a word.”
“Neither of you are allowed to say a word about my thing either.” Grace’s expression is equally severe.
“But…” I sputter.
“Not a word until further notice,” Hannah orders, while Grace nods in agreement.
I just stand there, gaping at the two of them.
This wedding reception is chock full of HUGE NEWS, and I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it until further notice? Not even Dean?
This is my worst nightmare.
18
Dean
“Pretty boy. What are you doing here?”
“I texted you to say I was on my way.” Rolling my eyes, I stride through the front door of the Brooklyn brownstone where Allie grew up.
“Yeah, and I asked you why. So. What are you doing here?”
Joe Hayes leans on his cane as he watches me enter. His face displays only mild hostility, which is better than usual. Allie’s dad and I didn’t hit it off the moment we met, but I like to think that over the years I’ve grown on him. Although the one time I voiced that thought, Joe had nodded and said, “Like a fungus.” He’s a real delight.
“Brought you some groceries,” I say, kicking off my shoes.
“Why?”
“My God, you’re like Tucker’s three-year-old. Because I thought you might need food.” I turn to him with a mock frown. “Want to know the proper response when someone brings you groceries? Why, thank you, pretty boy, I appreciate the gesture. How did I get so lucky as to have you in my daughter’s life?”
“Dean. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. You’re a nice kid. But you’re not a drop-off-groceries-for-no-reason kind of guy. Which means you’ve got an ulterior motive.” He eyes the two paper bags I’m holding. “Any corned beef in there?”
“’Course.” I’ve been here enough times to know what he likes from the deli down the street. “Come on, I’ll fix us some sandwiches while I reveal my ulterior motive.”
With a chuckle, he hobbles to the kitchen behind me, relying far too heavily on his cane. I almost suggest we go and dust off his wheelchair, but stop myself at the last second because it’ll only put him in an even fouler mood. Allie’s dad refuses to use that chair. I’m not sure I blame him—it can’t feel great going from a fit, physical man to a weakened one with a degenerative disorder. Unfortunately, MS doesn’t have a cure, and Joe eventually needs to come to terms with the fact that his condition is only going to get worse. Hell, it already has. His limp is already far more pronounced than when we first met. But he’s a proud man. Stubborn like his daughter. I know he’s going to hold out on using the wheelchair for as long as humanly possible.
While Joe slowly lowers himself onto a chair, I prepare two sandwiches at the counter, then grab two beers from the fridge.
“It’s noon,” he points out.
“I need the liquid courage.”
Just like that, his expression becomes more pained than usual. “Aw man, no. Is that it? Today’s the day?”
I frown. “What day?”
He scrubs one hand over his eyes, the other over his dark beard. “You’re gonna ask for my blessing. Aw hell. Just get it over with and ask, then. You really need to drag out the torture and make both of us uncomfortable? I’d rather be waterboarded. Goddamn it. We both know I’m going to say yes, okay? So do it already.”
I gape at him for a second. Then a wave of laughter spills out. “With all due respect, sir? You’re the fucking worst. I had a whole speech prepared.”
But I suppose I’m glad I don’t have to recite it. I can’t imagine anything more humiliating than pouring your heart out to a man who equates sharing his feelings to literal torture.
I set a plate in front of him before taking a seat across the table. All the wind’s out of my sails as I grumble, “So I’ve got your blessing?”
He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. “Got the ring with you?”
“Yup. Want to see it?”
“Bring it out, kid.”
I reach into my pocket for the blue velvet box. When I flip it open, his dark eyebrows shoot up like two helium balloons.
“Couldn’t find anything bigger?” he asks sarcastically.
“You think she won’t like it?” I despair for a moment.
“Oh, she’s going to love it. You know AJ. When it comes to jewelry, the bigger and shinier, the better.”
“That was my thought process,” I say with a grin. I close the ring box and tuck it back in my pocket. “All seriousness—are you truly okay if I ask her to marry me? You weren’t exactly my biggest fan when we first met.”
“Eh, you’re all right.” His lips twitch. “You guys are young, though.”
“When did you get engaged to Allie’s mom?” I ask curiously.
“Twenty-one,” he admits. “Married at twenty-two.”
I tip my head as if to say, see? “That’s way younger than us.”
“Yeah, but times are different now,” he says gruffly. “AJ has a career, goals. And women are having babies later and later these days. There’s no rush anymore.” Joe shrugs. “But if it’s something the two of you want, then I won’t stand in your way. AJ loves you. I like you somewhat. Good enough for me.”
I smother a burst of laughter. That’s about as ringing an endorsement as I’m ever going to get from Joe Hayes.
We clink beer bottles and then talk hockey while we eat our sandwiches.
My next stop is Manhattan. Allie and I live on the Upper East Side, but my mother’s office is on the west end, which is where the taxi drops me almost an hour later.
Mom smiles happily when the receptionist shows me into her office. “Sweetie! This is a nice surprise!”
She rises from her plush leather chair and rounds the desk to come give me a warm hug. I hug her back and plant a kiss on her cheek. Mom and I are close. Ditto for me and Dad. Truth be told, my parents are awesome. They’re both high-profile lawyers, so that means yes, my siblings and I had nannies growing up on account of that. But we also had plenty of family time. Mom and Dad were always there for us whe
n we needed them, and they definitely didn’t let us run wild like feral children. Well, maybe Summer, to some extent. That girl’s got the folks wrapped around her little finger.
“I have a big favor to ask,” I tell my mother as she sits at the corner of her desk. “Can I borrow the penthouse tonight?”
For my entire childhood, we would split our time between our house in Greenwich and our penthouse at the Heyward Plaza Hotel. My mom’s side of the family, the Heywards, built a real estate empire that made them billions, and the Heyward Plaza is one of its crown jewels. Although our villa in St. Barth’s isn’t anything to scoff at either.
“I feel like you’re a teenager again,” Mom says, narrowing her eyes. They’re the same shade of sea green as mine and Summer’s. My brother Nick is the only kid who inherited Dad’s brown ones. “You’re not planning a kegger, are you?”
“Nope. Nothing like that.”
“What’s the occasion then?”
Unable to contain my grin, I slide my hand in the pocket of my trousers. It emerges with the ring box, which I place on her cherry-stained desk without a single word.
Mom instantly understands. She releases a squeal of joy and suddenly she’s hugging me again.
“Oh my God! When are you going to do it? Tonight?” She claps her hands happily. My folks adore Allie, so I’m not surprised by her jubilant response.
“I was hoping. I know it’s weird to do it in the middle of the week, but Saturday is Allie’s wrap party for the show, and then Sunday my girls have a tournament in Albany, so I’m out of town. I didn’t want to wait until Sunday night, so.” I shrug. “I figured tonight’s the night. I know you’re at the penthouse this week, but I was wondering if you could clear out for a few hours while—”
“Say no more. I’ll drive back to Greenwich tonight.”
“You don’t have to leave the city,” I protest.
“I was going home on Friday anyway. A few days early won’t matter.” She claps her hands again. “Oh, your father is going to be so happy!”
