by A. S. Teague
Nodding, I force a smile to my face. “It’s fine, Ab. Really. But, before you go, let’s go tell Connor about his wish.” I give her hand a quick squeeze then stand up and head towards the door to find Connor.
Walking into work later that morning, I can’t stop smiling as I remember the expression on Connor’s face when we told him that, in less than a week, he would meet his hero. Abby had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when he launched himself at us, effectively knocking us over like bowling pins. His reaction was everything I had hoped it would be, and I’m so thankful that I thought to record it so that we could laugh about it for years to come.
Distracted by my thoughts as I meander into my office, I take off my jacket and toss it on the edge of my desk. A vase full of flowers tumble to the floor, spraying water on their descent.
“Seriously?” I mutter to myself as I scramble to pick the dozen roses up from the floor and shove them back into their container.
Bleh, roses.
They are so ordinary and overused. Yeah, they are pretty, but there isn’t anything special about them. I love the complexity of a mixed bouquet. How every bud stands out and shines even though it’s surrounded by other beautiful flowers.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I turn to Mindy. “Hey lady. You know where these came from?” I ask while still mopping up the spilled water. I don’t see a card.
Wagging her eyebrows, she grins. “Yeah. Jake left them for you.”
Rolling my eyes, I finish cleaning my mess up. “I wish he would give it a rest already.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “What do you mean?” She whisper-yells, “Jake is freaking hot. Why wouldn’t you want him giving you flowers?”
Everyone in the office knows about what happened the night of my birthday, but apparently, Mindy’s memory is short.
“Have you forgotten about the debacle at that club we went to on my birthday?” I ask.
Embarrassment washes over her face. “Shit. I did forget. Although it’s kinda hot, if you ask me.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I question, “What exactly is hot about grown men fist-fighting over you like we’re back in the Dark Age? Seriously, I was waiting for one of them to pick me up and throw me over their shoulder at any minute.”
Laughing, she nods. “Yes! That’s so freaking hot!”
I shake my head at her before grumbling, “If you say so.”
She winks at me before returning to her desk. Sitting down to get started, I close my eyes and allow myself a brief moment to daydream that these flowers are from Brock. I’m in the midst of imagining him taking me to a candlelit dinner and then a walk along the beach when I catch sight of Jake sauntering up the hall, in my direction. Shaking my head to clear it, I brace myself for whatever is about to come.
A smug smile on his face, Jake boasts, “Hey, Sidney. I see you got my flowers. Roses. Your favorite, I bet.”
Not wanting to be rude, I plaster a fake smile on my face and nod. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. But, uhm, what are they for?”
“No reason. Just thought you deserved some. Hey, I know you were busy this last weekend, which is why we couldn’t go out, but what about next weekend?”
Relieved, I shake my head, “Oh, I’m sorry. I have something going on this weekend, actually. My nephew’s meeting his hero, and I want to be there for that.”
Undeterred by my refusal, he rocks back on his heels. “Okay, no problem. I’m leaving to go out of town that Saturday anyway, but I’ll be back Friday. The following weekend, then.” He says it as a statement and not a request.
Pressing my lips together, I mull it over. What’s the harm in one date with him? As long as he keeps his hands to himself, it may not be so bad.
He’s no Brock.
Regardless of the fact that he’ll be a poor substitute for the man I really want to see again, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date.
Even longer since you’ve had sex.
At this point, I am almost a born-again virgin. Laughing to myself at the thought, I look back up to where Jake’s leaning against my cubicle wall. Reminding myself that he is good-looking and, at the very least, I’ll get a free dinner out of it, I nod my head once in acceptance. “Sure, I don’t think I have anything going on that weekend. I’ll have to double check, but I should be available.” I give him a shy smile and hope that I’m not setting myself up for the evening from hell.
Clapping his hands together and then rubbing them, he says, “Great. I’ve got your number. I’ll call you when I get back from my vacation that weekend.” He winks at me, again confirming that he’ll call me soon, before heading back the direction from which he came.
I stare at the flowers, which look pitiful after their tumble to the floor, before turning my computer on to get started on my workload. With Abby leaving again, I am going to have to fly through it to get Connor to his appointment on time.
I’ll have to worry about my date with the office man candy later.
My next title fight was finally announced. I’ll be meeting Ryker “The Stryker” Hawke.
What a douche.
The UFC just acquired him from another organization, and while he fights in my weight class, he’s usually about twenty pounds heavier. Bottom line: He’s a fucking beast and I can’t take him lightly.
I’m determined to have a good showing. I’ve refused to admit to anyone but Mark the humiliation I felt after my last fight, but it has me itching for a shot to redeem myself.
Hawke’s been talking a lot of shit to anyone that will listen, and it’s been killing me not to respond. But Mark’s still trying to clean my last mess up, so he’s keeping me on a short leash.
Ultimately, two of the bars I got kicked out of decided to sue me for damages. Not Raw though. At least I still have somewhere I can decompress on the weekends. Tripp insisted that I was lucky they didn’t press criminal charges, so I sucked it up and paid the clubs off to avoid dragging the shit out. Tripp and Mark have been trying to make me get my shit together for a while. I think they’re both hoping that this is the kick in the pants I needed to finally do it.
They keep calling this meeting with the kid “the redemption of KO.”
I’d be lying if I said that I’m not nervous as fuck, so I beg Tripp to go with me.
“Come on, dude. Just go with me. You don’t have shit else to do today.”
Shaking his head, he shoves another piece of bacon in his mouth, “This kid doesn’t want to meet me. Hell, he won’t even know who I am. Why are you so hell-bent on me going with you?”
I can barely understand half of what he says as crumbs tumble from his mouth.
Since I’m in the middle of a training camp, my second breakfast of the day consists of half a dozen eggs and two grapefruits. Tripp’s idea of a good time while I’m in camp is to rub it in that he can eat whatever the fuck he wants. This morning, it’s sausage-gravy biscuits and about half a pig’s worth of bacon.
Pissed off because I want his food, I tell him, “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. How the hell can anyone stand to watch you eat?” I purposely ignore his question. I refuse to admit that I’m nervous about anything, not even to Tripp.
Looking down at his plate, he mumbles, “How the fuck do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Dude, you practically live here. And I haven’t seen you with a chick in months.”
His lack of eye contact makes me pause.
“Wait. You fuckin’ someone?” Racking my brain, I try to think of the last time he was here at night and realize he has been out a lot.
Rolling his eyes, he huffs. “No. I don’t have a girlfriend. But remember that chick we met at Raw?”
I smirk. “We met a lot of chicks. You’re gonna have to be a little more specific. Just tell me how big her tits were.”
Throwing a strip of greasy bacon at me, he laughs. “You’re such a fucking prick. I’m not telling you about her ra
ck. Her name was Aly.”
When he pauses, waiting for the reminder to spring some kind of memory, I shake my head. I still have no clue who he’s talking about.
He groans. “Remember, she didn’t like you? The only chick in existence to not like you?”
I remember meeting a girl, but I’m pretty sure she did like me. “Oh, yeah! I do remember her!” I smile proudly only for it to morph into a frown. “She was a bitch though. What’s wrong with you, man?” I swing a fist at his shoulder. “You must be seriously hard up for some pussy.” I narrow my eyes and stare off into the distance while tapping my chin. “Wait, never mind. I remember now… She had fan-fucking-tastic tits.”
This time, he slugs my arm. Laughing, I turn my attention back to now-cold eggs just in time to hear him crunch another piece of bacon.
“Mmm,” he teases.
I glower at him. He’s taunting me with food; I’m taunting him by being an ass. Such is our relationship. No sense in screwing with something that works.
“She must give incredible head,” I push. “Is that why you’re going out with her? Mad blow job skills?”
The humor in his eyes disappears, rage filling the emptiness.
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Just kidding, man. I’m sure she’s great. I don’t remember much from that night anyway, so what the fuck do I know?”
Tripp’s still glaring; I’m not getting off the hook that easily.
“You fucking cocksucker. Sometimes, I don’t know why I’m still friends with you. You’re on your own today, man.” He shoves out of his chair and throws his napkin on his plate. “Good luck with that kid. Try not be a total ass.” As he storms through my apartment, he snatches his jacket off the back of the couch and then slams the front door on his way out.
Nice fucking job, asshole.
After a few minutes pass, I pull my phone out and type a quick apology.
Me: T-Seriously, man, I didn’t know.
His response is almost instant.
Tripp: Of course you didn’t know. The only person you give a shit about is yourself. Why would you know anything about what’s going on with me?
Feeling a rare stab of guilt, I stare at my screen, trying to figure out how to reply. I can’t tell him that he’s wrong—that I do care about him. That’ll make me sound like a fucking puss. But, if I don’t say anything, it’ll only justify the way he feels. Realizing there’s nothing I can do to make it up to Tripp right now, so I put the phone back in my pocket and make a mental note to call Reb. She’ll know how to handle this. Or at least his shoe size so I can buy him the new Burberrys he’s been eyeing as my apology.
Drawing a deep breath in, I head inside my apartment. I have a dying kid to meet, and it’s almost time to go.
Mark was right The kid only lives about twenty minutes away, and I find his house easily enough. Pulling up to the curb, I check the number on the front door and study the house.
Situated in a neighborhood that has a lot of trees and sidewalks, the house is neither small nor large. It looks like your typical all-American home, and I can imagine him riding his bike while his parents shout encouraging words from the front porch.
What would it have been like to grow up here?
For a moment, I feel a pang of jealousy—for a dying kid. Outstanding!
Squashing the strange feeling, I remind myself that I am living a life most people only dream of. What the fuck do I have to be jealous of?
After having put it off long enough, I get out of my Jag and walk up to the house. All of the houses on this street have perfectly manicured lawns, but this one needs to be mowed. The bushes need to be trimmed, and several pots on the porch have sticks in them. As I stare at them, it dawns on me that they were probably full of flowers at one point. Hell, maybe this whole house is dying right alongside this kid. Oh, God, what if he looks like an empty shell of a person. All weak and broken, barely able to lift his head.
Fuck, what am I about to walk in to? God, I wish Tripp had come.
After one last glance around, I take a deep breath and lift my hand to knock on the door. My fist barely connects with the wood before the door is thrown open and a petite woman in her early thirties is greeting me. Something about her is familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why I recognize her.
“Oh my gosh, look how big you are!” She throws her arms around me in a tight embrace.
I stand awkwardly with my arms by my side. I’m not the touchy-feely type—unless I’m getting naked with a woman—so I have no idea how to respond.
There’s a shout from behind the lady mauling me. “Mom! Oh my god, let go of him.”
Immediately dropping her arms, she steps back and apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy that you agreed to meet Connor.” After glancing over her shoulder, she drops her voice to a whisper. “He’s been so excited since he found out you were coming. And, these days, he doesn’t have much to look forward to”
He doesn’t even try to stifle a groan. “Mom, I’m right behind you. God, you’re so embarrassing sometimes.”
Taking a step back, I stick my hand out in her direction. “It’s okay. I’m Breccan Carlisle. Most of my friends call me Brec though. It’s really nice to meet you.”
She takes my hand in both of hers before introducing herself. “I’m Abby O’Neil, Connor’s mom. It is such an honor to meet you. I’m so sorry I just jumped on you like that. Please, come inside. It’s chilly outside today,” she replies while dragging me inside the house with her.
I’m confused by her comment about the weather. It’s seventy degrees and the sun’s been shining, but I don’t get a chance to think about it before he squeals.
“Oh. My. God. Holy. Shit.”
“Connor!” Abby scolds.
An adolescent boy barrels past me to look out the door. “Mom! Seriously, did you see his car?” Turning back towards me, he exclaims, “Dude! Is that a Jag F-type?” He jumps up and down in place.
Praise Jesus, he looks like a normal kid, and my body sags in relief. If it weren’t for the fact that his mother called him Connor, I would think that this was the wrong kid. He looks almost completely fine. Upon closer inspection, I notice some scarring and a large lump on his arm, but that’s the only thing that looks out of place. I was expecting to find some kid lying in a hospital bed that had been set up in the living room, not a kid who almost knocked me over while racing to get a look at my car.
His enthusiasm for my baby has my lips turning upward in a slight smile. I remember the first time I saw a Lamborghini in our driveway. It was a charity function my parents were hosting, and the man who stepped out of the driver’s seat was so fucking confident that I decided right then and there that I was going to be him one day. I haven’t purchased my Lambo yet, but I do look damn good getting out of my Jag.
Walking over to stand beside him, I nod. “That it is. Fully loaded, custom paint job, and washed twice a week.” I glance down at him. “I’m Brec. Nice to meet you, by the way.”
After finally peeling himself away from the door, he stares up at me for a full thirty seconds before he snaps out of his trance and sticks his hand out to me. “I’m Connor O’Neil. It is un-freaking-real that you are standing in my living room right now. When Aunt Sid told me that I could make a wish, you were the first and only thing that popped in my head. I didn’t think you would actually say yes though. Holy shit.” The last few words are said on a sigh to himself.
His mother begins to scold him for cursing, but instead, she closes her mouth and rolls her eyes.
Barely pausing to take a breath, he continues. “Brec—can I call you Brec?”
I simply nod because I doubt I’d get a word in anyway.
“Can we go look at your car?”
I nod once more.
“Hey, can I take pictures? You know, to show my friends. They didn’t believe me when I told them I was going to get to meet you. Oh, oh! Can I sit in the driver’s seat?” The entire time he’s firing off quest
ions, he’s pulling on a jacket hanging on a peg in the hall and shoving his feet halfway into a pair of high-top Chucks.
Laughing, I assure him, “That’s why I drove it, kid. Thought you might like it.” In reality, I just like my Jag, but the payoff of my lie is priceless.
He beams up at me as he turns to head out the door. Adoration is nothing new to me, but for some reason from this kid…it means something. And, suddenly, I’m smiling for a different reason.
After hearing a noise coming from the top of the stairs, I lift my gaze. An attractive redhead is making her way down. There’s something vaguely familiar about her.
Have I slept with her?
I really hope not, because if so, this is about to get uncomfortable.
Before she reaches the bottom, she stumbles and falls down the last three steps. Then she lands squarely on her ass. I immediately reach down and pull her up, biting a smile back when I ask if she’s okay.
Her head whips up and clear, blue eyes meet mine. My smile broadens, and I begin to chuckle a little when those pretty eyes widen. I think she mumbles that she’s fine, but a second later, she jerks her arm from mine and bolts back in the direction she came from.
Laughter comes from behind me, and I find myself joining in. But the redhead is almost at the top when she stumbles again and shouts, “Abby, you just had to have a fucking two-story house, didn’t you?”
“God, that was hilarious. Poor Aunt Sid.” Connor chokes on his laughter. His gaze lifts to mine. “She falls down the stairs all the time.”
I nod, chuckling at his honesty—and her embarrassment. But my gaze drifts back to the stairs. I don’t think I’ve ever slept with her, but I can’t place where I know her from.
“Okay, Con. That’s enough. Weren’t you on your way outside with Mr. Carlisle to look at his car?” Abby admonishes, still grinning broadly.
With the reminder of my car, Connor starts toward the door, pulling me with him. Giving up on trying to figure the mystery of the sexy aunt out, I follow behind the kid.
Once we get outside, I answer all of Connor’s questions. For a kid, he seems to know a lot about cars, and surprisingly, our conversation flows pretty easily. It isn’t nearly as awkward as I was expecting, and I begin to relax. I’m saying something about the engine and gesturing with my arm when Connor interrupts me.
