by Mignon Mykel
Damn Mikey.
Damn him.
I looked back at the message from Asher, just as she texted me again.
I have Emersyn for the day and Porter’s with Cael/JJ. I have errands and need a girl’s opinion.
I laughed at that.
Well, I needed something to do…
I have time, I answered.
Asher was quick to respond. Great! Awesome. I’m going to sneak out before the girls wake from nap. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.
Shoot. That wasn’t a lot of time.
Quickly I raced through a shower and putting on real clothes—aka, clothes that didn’t see a gym. I was finishing a single French braid when I saw Asher pull her big SUV into a parking spot in front of my apartment.
I locked up and went out to meet her. The moment I pulled open the passenger door, she turned down the radio—an old Ray Lamontagne song blaring through the speakers.
“Thank you for agreeing to come with,” Asher said as I settled in the leather seat. “I don’t have a clue…” She shook her head, laughing at herself.
“What don’t you have a clue about?”
“This stupid dress-up event the team is putting on. Didn’t you hear?”
I shook my head, turning in my seat so I could talk with her. “No. What ‘stupid dress-up event’?”
With both of her hands on the wheel, Asher maneuvered the SUV out of my apartment complex and toward the main freeway.
“I mean, I shouldn’t call it stupid. It’s a really great thing and if Porter heard me say it was stupid, he’d probably—”
“Asher.”
She stopped and took a breath.
“So, you know the team does the charity hockey game at the beginning of the season for Bri.”
I nod but let her continue.
“With everything happening with Ryleigh—” Asher had to pause, and I saw her scrunch her face in all directions, no doubt fighting the tears that were evident in her eyes. “The boys decided to do something big. Bigger than Casino Nights, and Dining with the Team nights. Both do incredibly well, but they wanted to do something for mom.”
Now I was fighting my own tears. I didn’t really know Ryleigh Prescott—other than maybe a handful of times she’d been up in the box during games, over the years. But I did know her sons well.
“That’s really sweet.”
Asher nodded, swallowing hard. When she spoke again, her voice was clear. “So I need a new dress. I have a black one for Casino Night, and another black one for dining and awards and whatever else I’m supposed to show up at, but this is going to be like a gala. I mean, they’re calling it a Gala. I was going to ask Sydney for her opinion but she’s pregnant and busy and all of that. And we both know I’m a bit of a loser and don’t actually talk to the other wives.” She laughed lightly, and I rolled my eyes jovially at her.
“You’re so full of it Asher. Everyone likes you; you’re just hard to open up.”
“I prefer a small circle of friends,” she justified.
“Me too.” Even though I wasn’t in the spotlight—at all—compared to Asher and her family, I knew that the life of a hockey player’s family was often on display. The Enforcers were very homey compared to other teams; we didn’t have any players who were dating A-list actresses. TMZ wasn’t horribly interested in the guys, either. But I could remember how interested everyone was in Asher and Porter when they first started dating.
I understood her need to keep her circle small.
And while I got along with everyone, I was happy to be included in Asher’s circle.
“So, what did Porter have to say about you needing a new dress? Surely the man wouldn’t have made you get a new one.”
“He doesn’t know,” she answered sheepishly.
“Then why is this such a big deal?” I asked with a loud laugh and bigger smile.
She shrugged with just one shoulder, a small smile on her face, without answering for a few beats. Finally, “You know he and I didn’t do the big wedding. He helped me pick the other two dresses—which, I’ll have you know, are the only fancy things in my closet. I kinda wanted to surprise him, like girls do for their husbands at the wedding. It’s been a hard few months for him so…”
Smiling, I tipped my head back to the headrest. “Asher, I love you.”
Her laugh, husky and light, filled the SUV. “Love you too, friend.”
Being on the outside, I watched a lot of relationships through the years. I was envious of them all. Most loved like Mikey had loved Trina.
Porter and Asher’s relationship was different.
Theirs was the most fun to watch—mostly because they were seemingly so different. He was loud and a jokester, running his mouth whenever the time called for it. She was reserved, a thinker. Sometimes Porter would say or do something that would piss her off, and she wasn’t afraid to give him the silent treatment.
But they were always back to good the next time I’d see them.
Because they loved just as hard as Trina and Mikey, Caleb and Sydney, Trevor and Callie…
“You should come,” Asher said a few minutes later, after driving in silence. “I can get you a ticket.”
“I’m sure that the tickets cost a fortune. Hence, the reason for doing the whole thing.”
“No, no. Not like a guest. But as part of the team. Keep me company when Porter is mingling.”
I smiled over at her, sure she was joking. “You can mingle, too. Besides, when we’re done with you today, Porter’s not going to want to take you off his arm.”
“Promises, promises,” Asher teasingly chided. “Be my friend and come.”
“I am your friend.”
“Which means you’ll come.”
“I didn’t—”
“I think you’d look good in red. Let’s find you a red dress…”
“Asher… What about Anderson? I’m sure that Mikey will be going, and that means I’ll be the one watching him.”
“Sydney won’t be coming. She’s been having those hip and nerve issues, so she’ll be home with the kids. All of them, bless her heart. I’m sticking Emersyn with her, even though Sydney said she’d be fine. And Emersyn is great with the little boys, too, so it’ll be great. Anderson can hang with Brandon.”
“I’ve pawned Anderson off on Sydney too often the last few months.”
“Yeah, for like…thirty minutes a day. Besides, Brandon and Anderson are always holed up in the game room. They won’t be a problem for Sydney.”
“I don’t know…”
“It’s decided,” Asher said with a wide smile, taking her eyes off the road for the smallest of moments. Her hands tightened on the wheel when she did, only to relax when facing forward again. “And we’re going to find you a red dress. It will make those natural highlights in your hair come out. I’m jealous of that, by the way.”
“My hair?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s so flowy and light…”
“Yours is thick and wavy, so, pretty sure you win.”
Asher shook her head. “It’s a pain. Thank God we’re not in Carolina anymore. Do you know how humid it gets there? And with this monstrosity? Shoot, no wonder Porter tried dumping me…”
“One, I’m pretty sure that’s not how the story went…”
Asher looked over the console at me again and winked with a grin.
This was the side of her that the team wives didn’t see.
So, yeah.
I was happy to be in her circle.
…and I could probably be convinced to put on a pretty red dress and go to a Gala I didn’t really belong at.
Chapter Eleven
Mikey
After visiting with Callie and Trevor, the Prescotts and I headed to O’Gallaghers to decompress. Even though I didn’t frequent the pub too often anymore, I needed the distraction—from the game, from the upcoming gloom and doom that my life was in December…
From Molly.
I wasn’t going to push it.
Oh, who the hell was I kidding? I was going to push it.
I’d push until she either bent, or she walked away for good. And if she chose to walk away for good, I’d learn to be okay with it.
And Anderson?
He’d be okay eventually, too.
As we walked into the pub, I didn’t recognize the bartender working but the boys seemed to. Called him Jake.
“Con’s in the back,” Jake told Caleb as we all sat at the mostly vacant bar. It was early enough in the day yet, but it wouldn’t be long before people started piling in to San Diego’s most popular Irish-American pub. “Want me to grab him?” The guy effortless popped caps off bottles and placed the glass down on napkins in front of us.
“Only if he’s free,” Caleb said, pulling his napkin toward him. O’Gallaghers was helping sponsor the Gala next week, but we didn’t come here to talk business.
We came because the boys needed a break from life.
And hell, I could understand that. I could understand the loss they were preparing for. This potential loss of Trevor was only a piece of the storm that was going on in the Prescott family.
I turned in my stool so I was facing more inward toward the Prescott brothers. Jonny was next to me, with Porter on his side, and Caleb at the other end. I reached for my bottle, but only lifted it by the neck, swirling it around in circles.
Winski wasn’t doing so hot.
He played it off during our visit, but before we left his wife told us about the massive migraines he’d been experiencing since being taken off the ice; the nightmares that had kept him awake overnight; the irrational bout of anger he had earlier in the day before being sent home from the hospital. When you played hockey—hell, any contact sport—you knew the risks. You knew concussions could be little things, but they could also be devastating to an athlete.
I didn’t think Winski would be sitting on our bench again. The puck had been going fast, but…
Shit, with his symptoms as they were, Winski probably had some dormant concussion issues that were just being brought to light now.
“He’s not coming back,” Porter, always the one to say what he was thinking, blurted out, as he stared at the bar in front of him, fingers playing with the corners of the black napkin. “Shit, life fucking sucks right now,” he added, quieter than his first sentence, looking up to the open industrial-type ceiling.
“The team will get through it,” Cael said, nodding a few times. “Trevor’s a big piece, yeah, but you’re a strong team. We’ll get through it.”
Jonny crossed his arms over his chest, pushing his stool back slightly to rest on the back legs. “And everything else? Fuck, Cael, I’m playing like shit—”
“You’re playing fine.”
“And I feel like everything is going to blow up, sooner than later. Losing Winski this close to break… Hell, teams who were on the top the first half of the season, end up on the bottom the second half, with losses like this one.”
I offered my insight, speaking the bit I knew was on their minds, “And with a coach, a goaltender, and a power forward who are likely going to lose their mom… We’re fucking screwed.”
“Which is why family shouldn’t be so fucking close in sports,” Porter murmured, finally picking up his beer and taking a long drag.
“Whatever, Ports.” Caleb started in on his youngest brother. “I’m really sick of that argument. You could have left. Your contract—”
“Enough, you two. God,” Jonny cut in, shaking his head. “You two fight about fucking everything.”
Caleb turned his attention to Jonny. “Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten tired of Porter and his woe-is-me, I got traded to my family’s team, speech.”
“Sure, but that’s Porter.” Jonny was always the levelheaded one. “Has been Porter for-fucking-ever. Stop beating a dead horse.”
“Timing sucks, yes,” I offered, shutting down the brothers’ fight. “No, it’s not great that three important pieces of our team are dealing with personal things too, but guys, you built the Enforcers organization. Or, your dad started the build. You guys have made it what it is, and the city is rooting for you. You’ve made the organization a family one and with it, San Diego calls Prescott its family. Yeah, the next few weeks are going to suck. But it’s also why we’re doing this fancy-assed party next week. For Bri,” I said pointedly, directly to Caleb. “And for your mom. And the city’s going to show up, just like you three will; like the team will. Like the city and team have, again and again, over the years.”
Just then, Conor O’Gallagher came pushing through the swinging doors, taking my attention off my grieving friends.
“Hello, boys,” the tall brute said as he reached us, holding his hand out. He slapped/shook Caleb’s hand—then pounded his back when Caleb stood up from his seat, as they were the closest friends—before shaking mine, Porter, and Jonny’s hands.
“Mia and me will be at your shindig next Wednesday.” While O’Gallaghers was sponsoring and supplying adult beverages, there would be fancy suits doing the serving. “You sure you don’t want more than beer and wine? I can bring harder liquor. Even if it’s just in the back for you boys. Oh,” he turned his attention to me. “Speaking of boys. Meant to send you a text, but it’s been chaotic at the house. Your boy is good people. My daughter can’t stop talking about his heroic efforts. But,” he pointed at me, his face serious even if there was a small tilt to his lips, “she’s still my little girl. Your boy better keep his hands to himself.”
“Your daughter’s like…seven.”
“Eight. Going on fucking seventeen. She’s a diva, that one. Ava was a cakewalk at that age.” His comments were enough to lighten the mood again, and Caleb shook his head.
“Must be the age. Brody is showing signs to be like this one,” he said, pushing at Porter’s shoulder. “Ports isn’t even at the house that much, and Brody is emulating his uncle.”
“I’m an awesome role model, thank you very much,” Porter rebounded, putting a hand to his chest.
Just like that, the moment was back to good. Beer and good times, with good friends. Fixed everything.
For now.
* * *
It had been an okay-ish road trip.
Jonny didn’t play Saturday or Sunday because, yeah, he was playing like shit.
We lost both Friday and Saturday’s games, but pushed through Sunday just fine.
When I got back to the house Sunday night, the last thing I wanted was to see Molly packed up and ready to go, but I was prepared for the possibility.
Hell, the entire drive back from the arena to the house, I’d been expecting her to text me with an update and a Anderson’s sleeping over at the Prescott house text.
But it was a school night.
She wouldn’t send him off.
So, even though I was prepared for her to be ready to leave but hopeful she’d stick around, I was surprised when I came into the house and saw Molly in the kitchen, her back to me. She was in her sleep attire—her oversized sweatshirt that fell off a shoulder, and cotton shorts that showed off her toned thighs.
Her sleepwear told me she wasn’t planning on leaving tonight.
“Hey,” I said, moving to the counter. She turned and pushed a mug at me.
“Decaf.”
I lifted my brows as I sat at a stool, not saying anything.
She moved, propping her back to the far counter, her hands braced beside her with her fingers curling around the edge of quartz.
And for the first time in months—hell, probably years—she stared at me.
Didn’t lower her eyes.
Didn’t look away.
She stared at me and I could feel that shit in my soul.
“You guys played terribly,” she finally said.
I nodded, my hands cradling the mug after sipping off the top. “We did. It’s going to take some adjusting.”
“What’s your schedule like this week? Do you need me to pick up Anderson any extra da
ys? Will you guys have longer practices or anything?”
I shook my head. “Nah. No changes. Regular schedule applies.”
She took a deep breath and I watched as her chest rose and fell with the action. “I have plans Wednesday night.” Her grasp of the counter tightened. “Sydney said she was okay with Anderson staying at the house during the gala. I’m sorry.”
My unexpected thrill of her being here, fell away quickly.
Of course, she was making changes to the time she had with Anderson. It was what she’d been doing lately.
“That’s cool,” I said instead. She had a life. And she made it clear that she thought the two of us was a ‘mistake’—didn’t matter what I said otherwise. She had strong feelings against it, and I couldn’t change that.
It also likely meant, even though we’d had an almost heart-to-heart only a handful of days before, she was still leaving us.
Leaving Anderson, I corrected.
No.
Leaving us.
And the thought crushed me.
I’d loved someone enough to recognize these feelings I had for Molly.
I hadn’t wanted them. No, not at first. But now, with the realization that she was leaving us, I knew that when she did, she was going to take a big part of me with her.
My heart.
And I didn’t think I had it in me to find someone else after she left.
Finding love and losing it once, was hell enough.
The second time? Shit.
I wouldn’t try a third time.
My heart would leave with Molly, and that would be it.
“When does your school schedule start?” I asked, taking the high road. I wasn’t going to beg her to stay. Beg her to consider that maybe she could love me too.
Molly frowned. “Huh?”
“When does school start? When do I have until, to prepare Anderson for the change?”
She was still frowning.
“You’re still quitting, right?”
Her frown deepened but then she shook her head, brows raised. “Sure. Yeah. Right. School. Classes start January twenty-something. I hadn’t really… I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Yeah. Do that.” I stood from the counter. “Have a good night, Moll. I can take Anderson to school so…you’re welcome to stay but you don’t have to.”
