On top of all this, he’d been lying low. Resting his leg. Watching TV. Being bored out of his mind in an effort to please everyone around him. And no one noticed. Would it kill his family to tell him he was doing well? To give him some encouragement? A pat on the back, maybe?
“Hey, you in there?” There was a thump at his door.
Flynn turned to see his cousin Claire stick her head in. She smiled when she saw him. Claire had always had a soft heart, and for a minute Flynn thought she’d come to give him some praise. He was wrong.
“Got a minute?” she said.
“For you? Never.”
She ignored him and chewed her bottom lip. “I’ve got something for you. It’s outside.”
Now Flynn was curious. He followed her out of the RV and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Grunt holding a small fluffy goat against his chest. His overly muscled arms made the goat seem tiny. The guy had to be taking steroids, because that kind of bulk was not normal.
“You got me a goat?” He stared between the goat and his cousin.
She shuffled in place. “Someone gave it to the kindy as a pet, but it’s getting too wild with the children and we can’t keep it. I thought you could keep it here.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and Flynn wondered if that crap worked on her fiancé.
“You’re giving me a goat?” Aye, it wasn’t sinking in.
The goat bleated.
“Well.” Claire toed the grass. “Harry said you were collecting pets now. He said you had a duck. We thought with all your space, you wouldn’t mind having a goat too.”
Bloody Harry. Flynn was going to kill his brother. “I don’t have a pet duck.”
Claire gave him a look that said she knew otherwise. “If I go in there, will I find a duck in the bathroom?”
“It’s sick. I’m looking after it. The nearest vet is in Fort William. It isn’t a pet. As soon as it’s better, I’ll put her back in the stream.”
“Have you named her?” Claire looked like she wanted to laugh.
“Hell no, I haven’t named her.”
“Harry said you called her Daisy and bought her a pink bow.”
“There’s a good chance you had your last conversation with Harry. I hope you said goodbye. His life is about to end.”
Claire grinned widely. “Okay, I believe you. Harry was wrong. You don’t have a pet duck. But can you take the goat? At least until we find another home for her. You’re the only one with enough space. She’s no trouble at all. Honest.”
Flynn eyed the goat sceptically. He knew nothing about goats. He could see another evening Googling animal care in his future. He let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll keep the goat. But you better look for another home. This is temporary.”
“You’re the best.” Claire bounced in front of him before giving him a kiss on the cheek.
He wasn’t sure about being the best, but he was definitely the most gullible. Claire nodded to a spot behind Flynn and he felt the hair on his neck jump to attention.
“Will the goat be on TV?” she said.
Yeah, his neck had nailed it. The camera crew were back. They’d wandered off to interview people at Rangers Football Club in Glasgow, to fill in some backstory for the documentary. He’d been hoping they’d forget to wander back.
“Let the goat free, baby,” Claire said to Grunt.
The big buy opened his arms and dropped the goat.
“Not like that,” Claire shouted. She wrapped her arms around the animal and cooed in its ear. “Poor baby. It’s okay.”
Flynn shared a look of bewilderment with Grunt. It was their first male bonding moment. Flynn felt like they should mark the occasion with beer or something.
“Done here,” Grunt said.
Guess beer was out, then. Claire blathered instructions about goat care as Grunt grabbed her hand and dragged her back to his SUV. A minute later Flynn was left standing in a field with a camera crew and a strange goat.
The goat bleated at him. She then headed for the lounger and proceeded to eat the padding off the seat. Flynn pretended he didn’t see anything and went back into his van.
As soon as he stepped inside, the duck let out a loud protest quack.
Flynn put his hands on his hips and hung his head.
This was his life. And people wondered why he acted out.
There was another knock at his door, this one a lot more timid than the last. With a heavy sigh, Flynn went to open it. The shy assistant to the producer stood staring at her shoes. Flynn felt for the woman. She was always taking crap from the weasel, probably because she was the only member of the crew with a conscience.
“What’s up, honey?” He remembered the Ball Babe dig about him not bothering to learn their names and felt bad. “What’s your name again?”
She was startled by the question, as though she didn’t rate him knowing her name. It made him feel even more like a self-obsessed asshole than he’d felt before.
“Julia,” she whispered.
“Well, Julia, what can I do for you?” Flynn plastered a charming smile on his face, even though the woman was still staring at her feet.
“It’s time for your interview.”
“Interview?” He was trying his best to avoid the documentary crew—why would he want to take part in an interview?
“Your agent spoke to my producer. They arranged for a formal session where you would answer questions about your career.” Wide eyes looked up at him. They were pretty eyes, but they weren’t stunning. Not like Abby’s were. “Originally the questions were going to be seeded into a more relaxed situation. As though you were conversing with friends as part of your everyday life. But Mr Flannigan is getting a little impatient. So your agent thought a formal interview might be better. We’re setting up for it now.”
Flynn clenched his jaw. It was round about now the old Flynn would lose his temper, shout at the girl, shout at the producer, then call up his agent and shout at him too. But he was the new Flynn. He was being mature. Rage bubbled inside him, but he swallowed it down.
“I’ll get changed and meet you outside.” The words almost stuck in his throat.
Julia blinked hard. “You’re going to do it? Without a fight?”
It was a direct hit. Flynn smiled at her. “Contrary to popular belief, honey, I’m not always a dick.”
She giggled, then flushed red when she realised she’d let a laugh slip.
“Go on. I’ll be out soon. Can’t do a formal interview in a T-shirt. Got to get into a suit.”
“I don’t think you need to—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I know press calls, honey. I’m wearing a suit.” A suit was armour in these situations. There was no way he was letting the weasel pry into his head without armour.
She nodded, mumbled something, then left. Keeping a tight rein on his fury, Flynn went to retrieve his phone so he could chew out his agent. He got two steps before he remembered he’d killed the phone after the last talk with his agent. He stared at the ceiling and tried to slow his breathing.
Being good was so bloody hard.
15
“When seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.”
Erica Cantona, former French national player
“What’s he doing, Muma?” Katy said with her nose pressed up to the kitchen window.
Those words struck fear into Abby’s heart. Had Flynn backslidden already? Were the women back? Was there going to be more noise? She caught Victoria staring at her from the corner of her eye and gave Katy a serene smile, when she felt far from serene.
“I don’t know, darling. Let me see.” It took effort not to rush to the window in an attempt to head off whatever Flynn was up to.
The sight took her breath away. Flynn in a pair of tatty shorts and an old flannel shirt was gorgeous. Flynn in a tailored suit was devastating. Abby experienced weakness in her knees and a mouth-watering need to pet the man.
“What’s happenin
g?” Katy tugged at Abby’s arm, snapping her from the Flynn daze.
Abby cleared her throat. “It looks like he’s being asked questions for a TV show, sweetie.”
Lawrence came up to stand beside them. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he spotted Abby’s flushed cheeks.
“He cleans up well,” Lawrence said.
“Yes. I’m sure he does. I hadn’t really noticed.” Abby’s lie made her cheeks burn more ferociously.
Lawrence grinned knowingly.
“Can we go watch?” Katy bounced in place. Today’s ensemble included pink jeans worn under a pink tutu, sparkling yellow play shoes, a red scarf tied around her waist and a faux-fur shrug—in luminous purple. Her face was makeup free. Her hair had three rainbow-coloured bows stuck in it randomly. “Can we? I want to. Can we?”
“I don’t think so. This looks like a very serious interview. I’m sure he doesn’t want anyone watching, or distracting him.” Abby looked down at her hyperactive daughter. “They don’t let people make any noise, baby. I’m not sure you can be quiet.”
“I can. I really can. Can we go? Can we?”
Lawrence rubbed his perfectly smooth chin. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what he’s saying either. I don’t see where the harm would be. We can stand well back. I’m sure we wouldn’t be a distraction. Katy will promise to be quiet, won’t you, little one?”
Katy made a zipping action at her lips. Yeah, like Abby believed that.
She chewed her bottom lip as she looked over at Flynn. He seemed to be acting as a magnet, pulling her in his direction. “I don’t know.”
“This is a fabulous idea.” Victoria’s words dripped sarcasm. “Why don’t we all go stand in a field to hear what pearls of wisdom Mr Boyle is sharing with the world? I’m sure he has much to teach all of us.”
The condescending smile on Victoria’s face made up Abby’s mind for her.
“You’re right, Victoria.” She smiled brightly. “This is too good an opportunity to miss. Who knows what we might learn. Let’s go hear what Flynn is saying.”
Victoria started to protest, but Katy was already squealing and running for the door, followed closely by a beaming Lawrence.
“Abby, surely you realise these sort of decisions can’t help your cause.”
She sighed as she looked at her sister. “I don’t know what happened to you, Victoria. I’m really sorry you changed. I miss the Victoria I remember from my childhood. The one who told the best bedtime stories and laughed easily. I want my sister back.”
Victoria’s face paled. “I’m not your sister,” she said before walking away.
Pain sliced through Abby, cutting her in a way she didn’t think was still possible when it came to her family. She blinked back tears and went to stand with her daughter. Victoria was right. Abby had lost her sister a long time ago. And there was no sign she was ever coming back.
Abby walked over to the fence she shared with Flynn. The summer sun was hidden behind a blanket of wispy white cloud. It was warm and peaceful, a perfect summer’s day. As she neared the fence, Katy waved at her from her perch on top of it, held in place by Lawrence. She was so happy, so oblivious to the problems swirling around her, and if Abby had to sell her soul to achieve it, Katy would stay that way.
Burying the stress of dealing with Victoria, Abby turned her attention to Flynn. He was sitting on a tall chair, surrounded by lights and reflecting discs, yet he seemed laidback, at ease and totally in control. His slightly overgrown golden hair was back from his face. It sat in place, but still managed to look a little tousled—not much, just enough to make a woman’s mouth water. He’d shaven, but left a sprinkling of designer stubble. He wore a three-piece navy suit with a fine grey pinstripe. His shirt was a crisp white, open at the neck, hinting at the chest Abby had seen many times. She wanted to flick those buttons open and follow the gap they made with her tongue.
“Holy guacamole.” Jena’s whisper broke into Abby’s thoughts. She turned to find her friend standing beside her, flanked by Matt, who was in full police uniform. “What happened to the hobo?”
Abby shrugged her answer. She was thinking the same thing.
“This is his professional mode,” Matt murmured to them. “Don’t be fooled—he might act like an idiot, but my cousin is far from stupid. He knows how to do his job. And part of the job is dealing with the media.”
“I thought his job was running up and down a soccer pitch?” Abby said.
Matt gawked at her. “Do you know nothing about the sport?”
She assumed it was a rhetorical question, and turned her eyes back to Flynn. He gave an easy smile in the direction of the camera as he answered the questions the pinched-looking producer threw at him. His voice was deep and self-assured in a way that sent shivers running along Abby’s spine.
“Every footballer—every professional athlete—knows their career comes with a best-before stamp on it. I was lucky I had the run I did. There are players who injury out in their first season. I had a great career and have stored up a lot of good memories along the way.”
Abby’s jaw dropped. She shared an astonished look with Jena. Matt smothered a chuckle. “Told you,” he whispered. “Not dumb.”
“But he usually talks like he didn’t even finish high school and doesn’t care about it,” Abby whispered.
Matt’s eyes sparkled. “Flynn has an honours degree in Natural Sciences. It’s not something he broadcasts, but he doesn’t hide it either. He studied with Open University, distance learning while he played.”
“You’re pulling my leg. He’s famous for his playboy ways. He’s always in the press. When would he have time to study?”
“He’s twenty-nine, Abby. He’s had plenty of time to study. He only acts out when he’s bored. He doesn’t do it all the time.” Matt gave a wry smile. “Although when he does act out, he tends to really make it count.”
Abby turned her stunned face to her best friend. “Did you know any of this?”
Jena shook her head as she frowned. “No, but Matt and I are gonna have us a little chat about keeping secrets.”
The producer’s sharp voice cut through their whispered conversation.
“Are you trying to tell us you aren’t bothered at all that your career is over? You were cut down in your prime by an illegal tackle. Exactly the kind of play that would make your head blow off if it’d happened to one of your teammates. Yet you’re sitting there calmly telling me you’re fine with how things turned out.”
Abby swallowed at the steel in Flynn’s eyes. “Now, there wouldn’t be much point in losing my temper, would there? It won’t undo the damage to my leg. The player who tackled me was dealt with by FIFA. As I said, players know their time in the game comes with an expiry date. Mine just arrived a few years sooner than I expected.”
“So there are no hard feelings towards the player or his club?” The producer’s tone said he wouldn’t believe any answer Flynn gave.
Flynn looked straight into the camera. “None.” He exuded sincerity. “These things happen. It’s the risk you take when you play the game. It’s why I was paid the big bucks. That and the fact I was damn good at the game.”
The little man shifted in his seat. Each movement sharp and angry.
“What will you do with your time now? Any plans for the future?”
“There’s always TV work,” Flynn said with a wide smile. “I hear documentaries are easy to make. You don’t need much skill to pull it off.”
Jena slapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laugh.
“I beg to differ,” the producer said. “Still, there’s little chance any TV station would risk employing you. You don’t have any experience and you’re known for your unfiltered comments. Not exactly presenter material, wouldn’t you say?”
Abby pursed her lips. Was he intentionally rude?
“But my sexy good looks more than make up for my runaway mouth. I’m sure the ratings would go up just having me on screen—even if all I did was sit
silently and looked pretty.”
Abby smiled widely at him, and for a second she could have sworn his eyes flickered in her direction.
The producer started to say something, but Flynn held up his hand to stop the man. Ignoring the producer, he stared into the camera. He’d clearly run out of patience with the interview.
“Let’s not beat about the bush. Everyone knows I’m a public relations nightmare.” Flynn ran his fingers through his hair, making it seem even more sexily rumpled. “I’m too bad-tempered and impatient to go into coaching or management. I’m too much of a risk for TV. As you kindly pointed out, I don’t have any outside interests, other than the sort of hobbies that make headlines.” He gave a self-deprecating grin. “Last time I checked you couldn’t make a career out of getting drunk, sleeping around and acting like an ass. So I’m left with a dilemma. What will I do with my life? And the answer is I don’t know. I’ve been out of the game for six months now. My leg is still healing and I need to concentrate on recovery, rather than worrying about what I’ll be doing in five years’ time.”
He stared at the producer. “We both know I have enough money to let me sit on my hands for the rest of my life. I don’t need to do anything. Which puts me in the privileged position of having time to think. Time to recover. Time to reform.”
“Reform?” the moronic little man interrupted. “You’re reforming?” His laugh was sharp and bitter.
Flynn nodded, smiling at the man as though he were in on the joke. “It’s been brought to my attention recently that it’s time I grew up.”
Abby sucked in a breath. She felt Jena and Matt still beside her.
“You’re telling me there will be no more partying?” The producer was disdainful. “No more paternity suits. No more sex tapes. No more drunk driving or speeding. No more trashing hotel rooms. You’re a new man? The injury was a sort of epiphany for you and now you’re a born-again nice guy?”
Bad Boy (Invertary Book 5) Page 12
