The Final Move

by Victoria Denault

  “Thanks, Tommy,” he says gruffly and grabs my arm. “You should be at home recovering from surgery, not out drinking.”

  Before Tommy can respond, Devin wraps his long fingers tightly around my wrist and pulls me out of the bar.

  Outside, the air has gotten cold and the wind is blowing like a storm might be coming. Hard. Devin still hasn’t let go of my wrist and he’s dragging me toward a cab double-parked at the curb.

  I want to scream at him to let me go or to go away but I don’t say anything. I’m drunk. I’m weak. And the feel of his hand, even wrapped harshly around my wrist, is amazing. I missed his skin, his touch, his face, his…

  “Get in the fucking car,” he demands gruffly as he throws open the passenger door.

  I do as I’m told and he slides in beside me and slams his door. As the driver pulls into traffic, Devin glares at me. “Did you kiss him?”

  “Who?”

  “Donahue. That douche pouring liquor down your throat. Anyone. Are you fucking someone else already, Callie?” Devin’s voice is low and venomous.

  “Are you back together with Ashleigh yet?”

  “You were all over Donahue when I got there. My fucking teammate!” Devin is yelling at me now. Loudly. Really loudly. My head hurts.

  The driver’s eyes flare in the rearview mirror, and he turns a corner too quickly and my stomach lurches.

  “Were you really going to FUCK my teammate?”

  “I feel sick.”

  “So do I,” he snaps back and the driver turns another corner a little too quickly. My hand goes to my mouth and I try to focus on anything but the drunken nausea growing in my gut. “You don’t want a relationship? Fine. But stay the fuck away from my teammates,” Devin yells.

  “Pull over,” I tell the driver.

  “Don’t,” Devin barks at him.

  “PULL OVER!” I yell and he finally does.

  I throw open the door and stumble out and manage to make it to a garbage can near a bus stop before my stomach lurches and I bring up the last four hours of alcohol. Oh my God, I wish I were dead. I think I may be at any moment now. At least I feel like I’m dying.

  The wind is still blowing and freezing rain has started falling in thick, heavy drops. I’m getting very wet, very fast. My stomach starts lurching again and I feel Devin’s hands on my neck pulling my hair away from my face and the mess I’m making. When my stomach finally stops once and for all, Devin is still there, crouched beside me, one hand holding my hair and his other rubbing my back.

  It makes me feel better and worse all at the same time. He pulls me gently to my feet and I turn away from him, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my mouth. We’re both drenched.

  “Are you okay?” he asks tenderly, and my heart cracks again.

  I’m not okay, Devin. I miss you. I feel like I’m dying inside.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper back hoarsely.

  “Let’s get you back to Rosie and Luc’s, okay?” he says, moving away from me and back to the cab.

  As soon as Devin opens the door, the driver starts to complain that he doesn’t want to drive us. He’s scared I’ll puke in the cab. Devin tells him there’s a hundred-dollar tip in it if he’ll just take us a few more blocks.

  He nods and we slide into the backseat. The cabbie drives much more carefully now and my blurred drunken vision and my still unsettled stomach are grateful. There’s not a lot of traffic this late at night on a Tuesday, so we get to Luc and Rose’s rental apartment in Williamsburg pretty quickly.

  A block away he stops at a red light and I jump out of the car. I try to race my way to their apartment but I’m still way too drunk and I’m weaving all over the sidewalk, which is slippery from the freezing rain. I feel a hand under my elbow and suddenly Devin’s guiding me in a straight line.

  “I’m not letting you fall on your damn face,” he says almost begrudgingly.

  Oh God, he must hate me. He must think I’m just a dirty little drunken bimbo who can’t hold her liquor. Just some crazy girl he was stupid to ever get involved with. Who would want me? He deserves way better than me. Now he knows it.

  “Stop.” I glance up and his face swims into focus as he tugs me into the waiting elevator. He looks…broken. It takes my drunken brain a few seconds to realize I just said all of that out loud. “I don’t think you’re a crazy bimbo. I’m just…I’m upset. I’m hurt.”

  The elevator opens on the third floor, Luc’s floor, and I wrench my arm free from Devin and mumble, “I have to go.”

  Then I promptly drop my keys. I bend to retrieve them and almost fall flat on my face. He saves me once again, scooping me and my keys up and leaning me against the wall. He’s right in front of me now. Staring at me.

  “You’re not happy, Callie,” he says flatly, his eyes hooded and sexy as all hell. “Look at you. This is not happy. Why are you insisting on being unhappy?”

  “I wasn’t happy with you either,” I slur and sniff back tears. “I was scared. I knew you’d leave.”

  “I didn’t leave. You left!” he argues, his voice rising.

  “She came back.”

  He sighs and shakes his head in frustration. “You’re drunk. You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning anyway. Why am I even trying to talk to you?”

  He guides me down the hall and leans me against the wall again as he opens the apartment door. I stumble straight to the guest bathroom and puke again. He holds my hair again as I pray to the porcelain gods. I have never been this drunk in my life.

  Half an hour later I finally start to feel better. I’m still drunk, but the room isn’t spinning and my stomach is done rejecting its contents, mostly because there are no contents left. I stand up and reach for my toothbrush.

  He stays there in the bathroom while I brush my teeth, leaning on the marble countertop like I’ve just gone three rounds in a boxing ring—at least that’s what it feels like. I brush my teeth twice and swirl a copious amount of mouthwash.

  “You look like shit,” he tells me flatly as he turns, pulls back the curtain and starts the shower behind him.

  I glance in the mirror. My hair is matted and there’s vomit in the ends. I’m pale, sweaty and my makeup is smeared. I probably smell too. I start to peel out of my clothes.

  Devin watches me, his face neutral. I’m still too drunk to care if he leaves or not. Completely naked, I step out of the piles of my clothing at my feet and attempt to climb over the tub but start to lose my balance.

  I am never drinking again.

  Devin’s there once again, holding me under the arms and helping me into the warm, soothing spray. I hold on to the tiled wall for balance and close my eyes.

  A minute later, the shower curtain is pulled back, I feel a waft of cool air circle me and then his hands are on my waist. My eyes open. He reaches past me and grabs my purple shower pouf off the hook under the shower nozzle. I don’t turn around. Not because I don’t want to see his perfect naked body behind me but because I’m scared I’ll lose my balance again.

  I hear the body wash container lid flip open and seconds later he’s washing my back in slow, easy circles. Foamy soap slides down my front as he pushes it over my shoulders.

  “Face me,” he whispers and I slowly turn. He steadies me with his hand on my shoulder.

  He runs the soapy pouf over my breasts, my abdomen, my hips…

  I let my eyes drop and run over the hard planes of his athletic body. His skin is glistening with water drops and it enhances the hard cut of his stomach muscles at his hip and the solid curve of his well-developed thighs. He’s hard, his thick, long cock pointing skyward, but he isn’t acting like he knows it. His free hand cups my cheek. I finally raise my eyes to his. We stare at each other. He leans forward and presses his thick, soft lips to my forehead.

  He wraps his arms around me and we hold each other, the water bouncing off us. Thankfully, the spray on my face masks my tears as he finally pulls back and drops the pouf. Devin pulls back the cur
tain and steps out of the shower, carefully guiding me out after him.

  Devin stands in the middle of the bathroom, soaking wet and gloriously naked. He turns off the water and wraps me in a towel. He wraps one around his own waist and then opens the bathroom door and holds my hand as we walk to the office and he lays me down on the futon, pulling the comforter up over my still damp body.

  “I’m going to get you some water and an Advil,” he says softly near my ear.

  He starts to stand up and I reach for him. “Devin…stay with me.”

  I wrap a hand around the back of his head, my fingers slipping through his damp golden hair. My lips graze his and I feel him respond, pushing his lips into mine for just a second before he pulls away. I want to scream in protest.

  “I could stay,” he replies with a small sad smile. “I want to so fucking badly. But…you’ll blow it off in the morning as a drunken mistake. And I’m not your mistake, Callie. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. If you can’t admit that, then it’s over and it’s staying over.”

  He tugs his hand out of my grip and turns and leaves the room.

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  Chapter 56

  Callie

  I’m not sleeping. I’m just lying there in the fetal position in my pink sweats and my oatmeal-colored tank top with my head buried in the pillow. I did get up and shower earlier. Even washed my hair and styled it a little. It’s the first time that has happened since Devin left my drunken ass forty-eight hours ago, so today is a victory in my opinion.

  There’s a knock at my door and Rose wanders in without waiting for a response from me. I stare at her through one open eye and she stares back with her dark eyes narrowed and her face full of judgment.

  Still, I can’t help but notice Rose looks fucking gorgeous. Her thick, straight, almost-black hair is shimmering down her back. She’s wearing a crimson empire-waist minidress with a satiny white ribbon around her torso just under her breasts. Her long, lean legs still look miraculously tanned and her tiny size six feet are wrapped in a pair of amazing black patent leather stilettos, making her look taller and giving her calves a pretty curve. Her makeup is darker than normal, with smoky gray eyeliner and shimmery translucent shadow, and her lips are glossy and pink.

  “You look like a fucking supermodel,” I tell her in a croaky voice, probably because it’s the first thing I have said to anyone all day—and it’s after five in the evening.

  “And you look like a reject from Celebrity Rehab,” she counters with a wry smile. “You know we’re having company in a couple of hours, right?”

  “I know you and the French Disaster are,” I confirm and sit up. “The only company I’m keeping is Ryan Seacrest on my TV.”

  Rose gives me a long, stern stare and then sighs dramatically. “Be right back.”

  I watch her disappear out my open door again and come back a few minutes later holding her laptop. “Move over,” she demands and I slide over on the bed so she can sit beside me.

  She plops her laptop half down on my leg and half on hers, and I look at the screen and see Jessie’s face and the background of her bedroom in Seattle. Fucking Skype. I groan loudly.

  “I love you, too, little sister,” Jessie sarcastically says in response.

  “I hate technology,” I complain and cross my arms like an angry child. “I swear it was only invented so you two could tag team me.”

  “And porn,” I hear in the background. “It was invented for porn.”

  “Is that Big Bir—I mean Jordan?” I say, not wanting to start a tirade because of the nickname. I always said it in jest but he hates me now and that means there are no more friendly barbs.

  Jessie’s pretty auburn head nods confirmation. I hear a door open and close.

  “He’s getting ready. We’re going out with Chooch and Ainsley for New Year’s,” Jessie explains.

  “I thought you hated Ainsley.”

  Jessie shakes her head and her perfectly tousled auburn hair cascades over her shoulders. “She hated me. But she’s slowly gotten over it. She’s even almost nice now. Besides, I love her boyfriend, Chooch.”

  “So…you and Jordy are okay?”

  I see her eyes darken and she shrugs. “As long as your name doesn’t come up. But if it does, well, one of us usually ends up slamming a door or sleeping on the couch.”

  I let out a gust of air at that. It’s like someone has hit me in the chest with a sledgehammer made of pure guilt.

  “Jessie, let him hate me,” I urge quietly.

  “No. You hate yourself enough for everyone,” Jessie argues back with a frown on her perfectly glossed lips. “Besides, he hasn’t gone through what we’ve gone through. Sure, he saw it, but he didn’t live it, so he doesn’t get to judge how you handle your life.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

  “But we get to judge it!” Rose adds almost happily. “And we think you’re an idiot.”

  “Yeah. I get that,” I tell her and roll my eyes. “You’ve made it perfectly clear. It’s his wife. She loves him.”

  “And you don’t?” Rose questions, eyebrows up.

  “I’m not his wife.”

  “Look, Callie,” Jessie starts, her voice flipping into a soothing tone. “Whether we think you are an idiot or not doesn’t matter. This is your choice. It’s your life. I can’t make you fall in love any more than I can make you jump out of a plane or off a bridge. And I shouldn’t be trying.”

  “She can jump off a bridge. I’ll help her do that,” I hear from somewhere off in the room.

  “Jordan! Stop it,” Jessie snaps and I see tears instantly fill her eyes.

  “Okay, that’s it.” I sit up straighter on the bed and grab Rose’s laptop in both hands. “Rose, give me a minute. Jessie, please put your fiancé in front of the computer and leave the room.”

  “What?” both my sisters question in shock and in stereo.

  “Do it.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” I see Jordan’s midsection float by behind Jessie as he walks by. She tilts her head upward and watches him go by.

  “Well, do you want to marry my sister?” I call out loudly. “Because that’s not going to happen unless you talk to me.”

  “Oh, so now you’re not happy just ruining my brother’s life? You’ve got to ruin mine too?”

  “Jordan! I told you I’m not putting up with this anymore!” Jessie snaps and stands. Now our view through the screen is nothing but both their midsections until Jessie turns, and now it’s just her ass we can see. It’s perky and perfect in a pair of dark jeans.

  “Jessie! Just go and let me talk to him!” I holler at the computer and nudge Rose until she almost falls off the bed. She stands up and huffs, but leaves the room.

  Jessie turns and bends in front of the computer screen. “I’m sorry for anything and everything he will say to you. I love you.”

  I just nod and watch her storm out of the frame. Jordan moves into focus, sitting swiftly at the desk in front of the computer Jessie just vacated.

  “Jordan, stop upsetting Jessie,” I say sternly. “After everything you two went through, are you really willing to fuck it all up? Again?”

  “She loves me.”

  “She loves me too, no matter how much you tell her not to,” I counter flatly.

  His normally good-looking face pinches up and he looks furious. He takes a deep breath.

  “I know you like people to think you’re a hard-ass bitch, and trust me, I used to believe it,” he tells me and runs a hand through his short blond hair—a typical sign that Jordan is frustrated. “But you’re fucking not. You’re capable of loving someone. You love Jessie and Rose. You love my mom and dad. I think you might even love Luc and me.”

  I don’t say anything; I just stare at him through the screen. He’s right: I do love them. All of them.

  “Do you love us?” he questions outright.

  I sigh. I want to tell him to get b
ent. I hate sharing my feelings, especially with him. But I really want to make things right with him for Jessie’s sake. “Yes, Big Bird. I love you, all of you. Immensely.”

  “And Devin?” he questions, his crystal blue eyes boring into me. “You love Devin?”

  Fuck. I keep my face neutral and nod calmly.

  He smirks at that, but it’s not his usual cocky, sexy smirk. It’s contemptuous and taunting. “Say it.”

  “Oh, come on. What the fuck are you trying to do here?” I ask hotly, quickly losing my patience. “Just stop upsetting my sister, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Do you love Devin?” he demands angrily.

  “Yes. Fine. I love all the Garrison brothers like they’re my own,” I snap, and I mean it but I wish I didn’t. Jordan’s such an annoying fuck.

  “Bullshit.” He almost laughs. Almost. “You love Devin the same way Jessie loves me, not like a brother.”

  “Nobody loves anybody the way Jessie loves you, which is why you are a dumbass for screwing it up,” I respond instantly and I mean it.

  He shakes his head, his smile confident. “You never said it. Say you love Devin.”

  “Are you high or just stupid?” I argue and I can feel the anger making my face flush. “I just said I love all the stupid Garrison brothers.”

  “Say, ‘I love Cole.’”

  “I love Cole.” I roll my eyes. “And Leah.”

  He nods. “Now say ‘I love Devin.’”

  “No.”

  “Callie.”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I yell. It’s loud. It’s venomous. It brings Rose rushing to the door of the room, a concerned look on her stunning face.

  “Say it,” Jordan says, leaning back in the leather chair he’s sitting in and placing his hands behind his head. “It’s not a big deal, right? I mean, you say you love your sisters all the time. I hear it. ‘I love you, Jessie. I love you, Rosie.’”

  “It’s not a big deal, it’s just ridiculous and I’m not a child like you, Big Bird,” I argue back.

  He chuckles. “You just said you weren’t a child and called me Big Bird in the same sentence.”