For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t seem the least bit fazed about admitting to me that she’s a cheater. Her star-glazed eyes show no hint of embarrassment. What is wrong with her?
“Let me take you to Ms. Russell.” I follow her down a hall, past a number of larger offices. We stop in a large room set up with many cubicles. We walk around a corner and stop at Flynn’s cubicle. She’s reading a document, and she’s so focused she doesn’t sense our arrival.
“Ms. Russell. You have a guest,” the receptionist says, sounding giddy.
Flynn lifts her eyes, startled for a moment, then looks back to the receptionist and narrows her eyes. “You could have just called,” she huffs. Now I feel bad for making her face Maddy.
Maddy rolls her eyes. “It’s been a pleasure.” She gives me a full-wattage smile.
Flynn makes a croaking noise in the background. It’s so childish, and yet I find her completely adorable right now because she’s always been a straightforward girl who says what she thinks.
“Thank you.”
The receptionist walks away.
“Really?” Flynn asks.
“Huh? What?” I’m a little stumped.
“You just smiled at the enemy,” she says in all seriousness.
“I didn’t even realize it.” I lean on the cubicle wall; it’s not very stable.
“And she doesn’t matter,” I say. “You do. We need to talk, and I’m hoping you’ll let me take you to lunch.”
She stands up from her chair and moves in closer to me. I’m not sure what she’s about to do. With Flynn it could be anything from a sucker punch to a kiss on the lips. I hope for the latter, but I know better.
“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. It’s in the past,” she says.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Phew, okay.” I want to lean in and kiss her, but she pulls away. I get it. She works here. Not professional on my part. Especially with all these other people around us.
She places a hand on my chest. “Myles, you misunderstood,” she whispers. “You and I are a bad idea. We’ve always been a bad idea. That’s why this hasn’t worked out in the past. Nothing has changed. We’re over. Please understand,” she says, and I can hear the sadness in her words, but she really believes what she’s saying.
“Flynn…”
“I have a lot of work to do, and this really isn’t the place.” She looks around at her coworkers. Some of them are eyeing us.
“Sorry. You’re right. Will you come by my place later?” I ask, practically pleading with her. She can see it in my eyes.
Her gaze softens. “I’m staying with Sloane. I need time away from…everyone.” She turns back to her desk and picks up some papers. I want to carry her out of here and talk some sense into her, but this is Flynn. Her job and appearances are important to her. I need to be patient and not lose my mind in the process.
“Bye, Flynn.” With my heart in free fall, I walk back out to the elevator. This can’t be happening. I can’t lose the girl of my dreams twice.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Myles
After practice I drive my car home and then head across the street to Malone’s. It’s only three in the afternoon, but I need some liquor. I’m not in the mood to be in my apartment, since I now have a memory of Flynn in almost every room, and thinking about what I lost again makes me fucking crazy.
“Hey! What can I get you?” the bartender asks as he finishes wiping down the counter in front of him.
“I’ll take a whiskey, on the rocks,” I say as I sit down. “Keep them coming.”
“Bad day?” he asks, his lips twisted to the side. He seems familiar. I realize that he’s the guy who carried Flynn back to Oli’s the day she found out about her cheating ex-boyfriend.
“Yeah, you could say that,” I grunt.
He passes me my drink and leaves to help other customers. I’ve been to this place with Oli a handful of times. As I twirl the whiskey in my glass, I try to figure a way of getting the most stubborn girl I know—well, now the most stubborn woman I know—to understand I had her best interest at heart. My mind keeps coming up blank. I throw down the remnants of my drink, and the bartender eyes me. He stops in front of me and gives me a refill.
The more alcohol I drink, the more I think of Flynn. I just spent the last month telling her we need to be open. I didn’t return the gesture. I took what I could get, and I was still the same fucking coward I was at eighteen.
The booze gives me the courage I need to call and tell her that. It’s good I have her on my recent call list because my hands aren’t steady. The phone rings, and I will her to pick it up. It goes to voicemail.
“Flynn, it’s Myles, but you probably know my voice. I need to say something, and you have to listen…or, I mean…you should listen to this message…” Fuck. I rub my head, trying to get my thoughts straightened out in my head. “Okay. I fucked up. I know I did. I looked you in the eye, and I lied to my best friend. Please don’t hate me. That night was messed up. I wasn’t thinking straight. And yes, I fucking feel guilty, okay! How could I not? That haunted look you had in your eyes that night has lived inside me. The guilt was eating away at me. I didn’t know how to tell you I lied. In your eyes, I was this good person. I didn’t want you to see me for the fuckup I truly am. I warned you, Flynn. That night at the skating rink I told you I have demons. That lie is one of them. So, there, I told you. Fuck! Don’t block me out.” I end the call, hoping whatever just came out of my mouth made some sense.
It looks dark out when I get ready to leave. Have I really been sitting here for five fucking hours? I slap a crisp one hundred-dollar bill on the bar and try to stand up. I’m fucking wasted.
“Hey, easy there.” The bartender comes up to me. “You okay to walk?” He looks like he doesn’t think I am.
“Yeah,” I slur and grab on to the bar. I lift my head and look at my building across the street. How am I going to get there without getting myself killed? It’s a fucking busy street.
“How about I walk you. You live across the way, right?” the bartender offers. He seems to go above and beyond in the customer service department.
“Nah, I’m good,” I respond. It’s a lie. I feel like I can fall asleep on the floor. Somewhere in the back of my head, I hope no one has recognized me and snapped a picture of my ridiculous state.
“I don’t think you are. You’re friends with that woman I carried home a while back,” he starts to say. I cringe at the mention of Flynn.
“Yeah.” I try to say it quietly, but I’m not sure I was effective.
He looks around the bar and tilts his head to the side, like maybe I’ve already been spotted.
“Look, this is my bar. If I let you cross the street and you get killed, it will be on my conscience. The people of Chicago will blame me for allowing their best player to get killed, and my business will suffer. I’d like to make sure you cross that deathtrap in one piece.” As he explains this to me, he waves for me to follow him, and I do because it makes sense.
We reach the curb, and we wait to cross. Fuck, people are driving like fucking lunatics. It kind of makes me dizzy, and I sway a little.
“Whoa, be careful.” He grabs my arm. “I don’t need you getting killed. Fuck. I figured, ’cause of your size and all, it’d be like water for you,” he says.
“I’m not much of a drinker.” We make it across the street. “Thanks, buddy. I’m good,” I say. There’s no way this guy is fucking walking me to the door. If Oli gets wind of this, he’ll never let me live it down.
“Okay, you have a good night. Score some goals for us tomorrow night.” He grins and takes off.
…
I wake up in the morning and check my phone. It’s already noon. What the fuck? Yesterday feels like a blur. I try to stand up, but the room is spinning. I’m going to hurl. I make it to the bathroom in time.
I hear Oli’s voice calling me from out in the hall.
“Yeah,” I yell back and then wince because my own voice makes my head pound.
Oli pushes my bedroom door open and cringes when he looks at me.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
“Your sister broke up with me,” I huff.
“No shit. I thought she was here, since she didn’t come home last night.” He turns to look around my room. “Where is she?”
“She said she needs space from you, too. She’s staying at Sloane’s.”
Oli leaves the room and a minute later returns with a tall glass of water and two Advil. This is why it’s nice he could move in beside me when he moved to Chicago. There’s nothing like family to take care of one another.
“Fuck, Myles, take a shower then come out here. We need to talk strategy,” he orders.
“I’m not in the mood to talk fucking plays now,” I rasp.
“I mean my sister, doorknob. We need to figure out a way to make her understand this is all my fault.” He looks at me as if I should have understood.
“Right,” I agree, throwing the Advils in my mouth and guzzling the glass of water. It feels good going down my throat. I trudge out of my bedroom toward the family room, and I feel like the floor is on an angle. I can’t still be drunk, can I? Fuck!
I take a seat beside Oli on the couch, and we discuss strategy. An hour in and we’ve got a game plan. Now I just need to make some calls and set things in motion. Flynn may be independent and stubborn, but I didn’t become the top paid player in the NHL by backing down. I’m giving this game my all, and at the end of the day, I plan on winning her heart.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Flynn
It’s Christmas Eve. The firm closed at noon today. I’m back at Sloane’s apartment taking a long and relaxing bath. The voice message Myles left me replays in my mind over and over. He sounded drunk off his ass. I just hate that he can’t come clean when he’s sober.
Sloane is working this evening, so she won’t be home until much later. I turn on the television to KPLG’s channel to watch her Christmas broadcast. It’s already half past five so she should be on soon. I slip on a pair of leggings and the silly Santa sweater I bought for myself. I bought Sloane, Oli, and Myles the same ones so we’d match, but I won’t be seeing Myles and Oli tonight. It’s not that I plan on never speaking to my brother again. I do. Just not any time soon.
And wherever Oli is, Myles might be also. I can’t go there. He’s too hard to resist, and I have to resist him. I need a partner who believes in me. Who understands I’m tough enough to take whatever life throws my way.
And I am. But this is fucking hard. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m alone. I stare at the TV but can’t focus. Loneliness seeps into my pores, making me depressed. I’m clearly a failure at life. I can’t believe my brother went behind my back and kept Myles away from me. And Myles let my brother get away with it. Disappointment blankets me. My boys lied. They think I’m weak. My insides turn. I don’t think my behavior ever showed weakness. I wanted to believe I was a fighter. I truly believed I was. How was I so off the mark?
Even if I do face Oli and we put the lie behind us, I wouldn’t want Oli to leave Myles alone on Christmas. Not when I know that he spent the last number of years alone. My guts twist as I think of Myles. He was almost mine. Pain washes over my body, hurting me everywhere. My nerves won’t allow me to sit still, and I have a pathetic dinner to prepare.
With my wet hair tied up in a bun on top of my head I saunter toward the kitchen to prepare the Tofurky Sloane bought. She decided we need to go vegan tonight, which sucks because I like meat. The smell isn’t great, but Sloane assured me that with the mashed potatoes and gravy it will be enjoyable. The verdict is still out.
A part of me wants to make a quick run to Whole Foods and pick up a nice organic turkey and eat it all by my lonesome. Since that drunken message Myles left me, I’ve heard nothing from him. That’s what I wanted. I’m not sure why I’m so sad about it now.
The bell dings at Sloane’s door. I quickly rinse my Tofurkey-covered hands and make a run for the door. Even my Rudolph slippers are festive, which is about as holiday cheer as we are getting around here, since Sloane doesn’t believe in getting a tree or decorating.
I wonder who it could be. This building doesn’t have twenty-four-hour security like Oli and Myles’s place.
I peek through the door to see a Christmas tree.
What the heck?
I open the door. Well, it’s a tree with a delivery man standing behind it. Sloane must have had a change of heart. “Hi there,” I say to the tree until the delivery man places it on the ground then steps around it.
“Hello, Miss Russell?” he asks, to confirm my name.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“If I can get you to sign right here.” He passes me his electronic pad and pencil. Hmm. I didn’t realize deliveries happen on Christmas Eve. I sign for the tree, and the man asks me where I’d like it. I turn to look at the apartment. It’s small, so there aren’t many options.
“Over there across from the couch.” I point him the right way then run over to my purse to grab a few singles for a tip.
The guy places the tree down, and I realize how fancy it is, with beautiful silver and ice blue ornaments. “That’s for you.” I pass him the tip.
“Merry Christmas, miss.” He smiles, then he’s out the door. I walk over to the tree and take a closer look at the ornaments. There are some beautiful crystal-shaped ones. I finger them while my mind drifts to past Christmases I’ve shared with Oli, and some with my whole family. My breath catches when, on closer inspection, I realize one of the crystals is shaped like Tinker Bell and another like Peter Pan. “Myles.” I sigh to myself. He did this, not Sloane.
I take a deep breath, feeling lightheaded, my insides hollow. The last few days I’ve been going through the motions at work, yet I can’t fight the emptiness or loneliness.
Another knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I realize it’s getting late, and I better get the Tofurkey in the oven, or Sloane and I won’t have dinner.
I answer the door first, though. There is a woman and two men waiting expectantly, all holding foil-covered trays. “We have a delivery,” the woman says. The two men nod to me and come in before I can react. I follow them into the apartment, trying to hide my confusion.
“Um…sorry, but there must be a mistake.” They pause and look back to me with puzzled looks.
“Are you Flynn Russell?” the woman clarifies.
“Uh…yes.” I don’t know why I’m nervous when I answer, other than I don’t know what the hell is going on.
“Where would you like these, miss?” the younger delivery guy asks, now that I’ve confirmed I’m the right person.
“W–what is it? There must be some mistake. I’m not having a party.” There is enough food to feed an entire hockey team, and those guys eat a lot.
“This is the address of Sloane Carmichael, correct?” The other guy speaks with a Russian accent.
“That’s right.” I pause, then… I take a breath. Maybe Sloane invited people over later and didn’t tell me. Phew! Okay. “You can put everything on the kitchen counter, and if there isn’t enough space, then the table is okay, too.” The guy places the trays he’s holding down, spacing them along the short kitchen counter. The woman and man set their trays on the kitchen table.
“The food is hot, but you can reheat in the oven if necessary,” she explains. Now that I look at her, I see she looks more like a chef than a delivery woman.
“Where is this food from?” I ask.
“My company caters functions for the Blackhawks. Myles asked me to make the best Christmas dinner known to man.” She snickers. She’s young and pretty with dark hair and brown eyes. She’s still wearing her white chef’s uniform.
At the mention of Myles’s name, a pang of pain hits me in the center of my chest.
“You have a mer
ry Christmas now.” She smiles and motions for the other two men to follow her as she leaves the apartment.
I snap out of my daze in time to answer. “Yeah…same to you.” I’m winded and woozy. What is Myles up to?
I close the door and take a few slow breaths as I make my way back to the kitchen. I don’t open the foil trays, even though the food smells delicious and I’m starved. The Tofurkey remains lonely and uncooked in the sink.
I’m glad we’ve been saved from eating you, I say to the Tofurkey. I’m clearly losing my mind. Why would Myles send all this food?
There’s another knock on the door, and my stomach sinks.
What does Myles have up his sleeve now?
I walk to the door slowly…unsure of what awaits me on the other side.
I turn the knob, and a flower delivery man smiles at me. “Delivery for Flynn Russell.”
“Yes, that’s me.” He passes me a clipboard with a paper to sign. He has a small trolley filled with boxes of flowers in vases.
“Would you mind if I set them up? I was given specific instructions to do so,” he explains, and who am I to get in the way of someone’s job. I wave him in.
“Who did you say they were from?” I ask.
“The sender wished to remain anonymous,” the delivery man says with regret.
“I see.” He places vase after vase on the coffee table. The arrangements suck the breath from my lungs. My mother loved flowers. My father used to go to a local florist every week to bring her a bouquet. Beautiful irises, blue and white orchids, hyacinths, and my mother’s favorite, the sunflower, as well as lots of hydrangea fill the vases on the table, and I know without a doubt Myles sent these flowers.
My eyes blur as I touch the sunflower and it reminds me of my mother. She always said they were bright and happy. I wish I could ask her for advice. I’ve spoken to her in my head over the years, but this is one of the times I wish I had an answer.
Even though I haven’t seen him for days, Myles wanted me to have all this. And if I’m honest, I’ve calmed down. I’m still mad that he kept a secret, but I also get that he was protecting me and Oli. I just wished he believed in me the way he does my brother.
Big Stick Page 20
