Game Changer

by Melissa Cutler

  Affection brought a smile to her lips. She was grateful for his lack of sentimentality. It made everything easier, somehow. As though, through his lack of pity, he confirmed her optimism about the future.

  With a broad grin, he gathered her in one last hug. “Catch you later.”

  On his way to his car, Presley turned right, rolling out of the parking lot and past them, and waved. Brandon pointed at her. “Take care of her,” he called.

  Presley gave him a thumbs-up and slowed down. “We all will. Don’t worry about that,” she called.

  Harper wrapped her arms around her middle. That was sweet of him to say, but Harper was going to take care of herself, just like she always had.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kayla dropped a small cardboard box onto the patio table where Harper sat, surrounded by Olivia, Marlena, Allison, and Presley. They’d gathered on the upper-deck patio of Locks to enjoy the view of green-tinged water rolling along the canal and birds sailing over the trees on the opposite bank, headed for their nests with the coming of night.

  “I know you’re not allowed to eat anything the night before surgery, but do cigars count?” Kayla said.

  Harper flipped open the lid, hooked her finger in the box, and took a peek. Cuban. And they smelled divine. “That’s an excellent question.”

  Marlena picked up a cigar. “I say we go for it. I’ve never had one, but they smell way better than the cigarettes Liam used to smoke.”

  Harper had planned to spend the evening prepping the bar for her absence and turning in early so she was well rested, but her friends had other ideas. They’d kidnapped her after her first cup of coffee in the morning and had whisked her away for breakfast and a spa day. New haircut, new highlights, new nail color—the works. It had been just the antidote she’d needed to take her mind off her nerves.

  Now, with the approach of night, breakfast seemed a long time ago. Her stomach was queasy and hungry at the same time, a mix of the fasting before surgery rule and her nerves about the morning. It was probably a good thing that food and drinks were off limits because Harper wasn’t sure her nerves would let her hold any food down.

  In the eight days she’d had to plan and prepare between green-lighting her surgery with Dr. Nguyen and the scheduled date the following Wednesday, she’d made several key changes to the bar. Her first order of business had been to promote Susan, who was one of her most trusted longtime employees, to manager, complete with a generous raise. She also promoted two employees to assistant managers, since they had been with her almost as long. She did this not just so Locks would function while she recovered from surgery, but so her business could continue to thrive while Harper started tackling her bliss list in earnest.

  Even still, it was hard to loosen up about her work ethic. Sitting on the patio tonight with her friends, knowing her business was going on as usual without her, was tough. But it was time to learn how to trust her employees.

  “Kayla, you’re twenty-two. What do you know about cigars?” Allison asked.

  Kayla reached for a cigar cutter that had been tucked in the box. “I know that when I smoke a cigar at a club, I get all the kinky boys’ phone numbers.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  Harper’s groan was drowned out by Marlena’s and Allison’s chuckles. As much as Harper didn’t want to feel like Kayla’s honorary mom, she couldn’t stomach the words Kayla and kinky in the same thought.

  Olivia lifted a cigar and turned it over, inspecting it. “Interesting. Maybe I should give that a try sometime.”

  “Right,” Marlena said. “Because you’re so kinky, Ms. I-Don’t-Put-Out-Until-The-Fourth-Date.”

  “That’s a great rule,” Olivia said. “It’s saved me from all sorts of loser guys.”

  Kayla flipped open a lighter and lit the end of the cigar she’d cut. After a few puffs, she handed it to Olivia. “Then you definitely don’t want to be smoking this in a club.”

  Presley picked up a cigar, then the cutter. “But maybe I do. Or I will, eventually. When I decide to give the male gender another try.”

  Kayla had moved into the guest room a few days after Duke’s party, and she was a surprisingly low-key roommate, though it was strange to live with someone after so many years of living alone. Her parents had divorced when Harper was ten, then her mother died when Harper was fourteen. Harper moved in with her mom’s sister so she could continue attending the same high school, but when she got sick with breast cancer, when Harper was seventeen, Harper’d had to leave. She hadn’t been able to handle watching it all again.

  She moved to Texas, where her father had lived, but even then she spent most of the time alone because he was never there. At eighteen, after high school graduation, she decided to take her chances in New York, in the town where she and her mom had passed through for a few days during a road trip vacation.

  She’d worked at Locks before it was Locks, when it was a rundown bar. She tended bar there and at another bar across town, saving money and learning the ropes. It’d bothered her that it was getting rundown, that it wasn’t being treated like the historic building that it was.

  Back then, the important thing for her was to never have any downtime to think. That had saved her for years. Head down, working. When she’d had the chance to buy a bar using her inheritance from her father, she bought the building and the bar housed in it. And she’d never left Destiny Falls and its environs again. Soon, she would.

  Kayla offered Harper a cigar, but she declined, not knowing if it would affect her vital signs or urine in the morning, or how it would sit with her empty stomach and nerves. Allison declined, too, saying she didn’t have the taste for them, but everyone else puffed away, enjoying the stillness of the evening and watching the sun set over the canal. The whole world seemed to be at peace.

  When darkness fell, Harper lit the candles she’d brought out from her apartment, the ones she’d been determined to start burning and enjoying. She was nearly done when her stomach growled. “This fasting rule is for the birds. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and the cigars are making me crave a whiskey on the rocks and a basket of fries.”

  “We’ve got to take your mind off food,” Presley said. “We should start thinking about your birthday party at the end of July. The big four-oh.”

  Olivia nodded. “That’s right. You’ve got to have a party.”

  “I fully plan to. It’s on my bliss list.”

  “Can we help plan it?” Marlena asked. “I’d love to help.”

  “Sure. We can all plan it together,” Harper said. “I think I might have it here.”

  Presley waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “Nah. That just means you’ll feel like you have to work, and the whole idea is for you to be a queen for the night.”

  What a nightmare. “What if I don’t want to be queen for the night? What if I just want to host the party of the century?”

  “We’ll have to figure out a way to manage both,” Marlena said, ever the peace broker of the group.

  Karla puffed an impressive smoke ring. “What’s a bliss list?”

  “Everything I want to do after the surgery.”

  “So, a bucket list?”

  “I call it the bliss list because it’s time for me to start finding my joy in life.”

  Marlena offered her a dreamy smile. “I love that idea.”

  “Have I shown the list to you guys? Well, it’s actually written on a bunch of napkins, but I call it a list.” At their head shakes, she said, “I’ll go get them.”

  She walked to her apartment and grabbed the small photo album she’d preserved the napkins in. Her cell phone caught her eye and she picked it up. No messages or voice mails. She’d really thought Brandon would’ve called tonight to wish her well.

  Before she could second-guess the idea, she’d dialed Brandon’s number. His phone went straight to voice mail. Bummer. “He
y, Brandon. It’s Harper. I hope you’re doing well down there in Miami. I just had a quick question for you about being hungry. I ate lunch, but they want me to have an empty stomach going into surgery, so I’m fasting tonight, but all I can think about is food. Probably because I can’t have it. I’m not even a stress eater, you know? But I can’t stop thinking about French fries. How do you do it? How do you stay so disciplined in your diet? You don’t have a single food weakness. Sometimes I wish I could be as strong as you are about food, but all I can think about is shoveling fries into my mouth.” She winced. “And I’m rambling. Sorry. Call me back when you get this message.”

  She stood inside the door of her apartment, mortified that she’d left him such a rambling call.

  She dialed his number again. “Hi. Me again. I’m sorry about my last voice mail. All that rambling. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and listen to that message and think I’m not okay, because I am. I’m just . . . the anticipation is killing me and I’m hungry, but by the time you get these messages, all of that will be over, so there’s nothing to worry about. And now I’m rambling again. Shit. Sorry. I’m okay. Really. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Oh, God. With all the technology out there, why couldn’t anyone figure out a way to delete voice mails before the recipient heard them?

  Cringing and feeling like the world’s biggest dork, she shook her head, tucked the album under her arm, stuffed her phone in her pocket, and returned to the patio.

  Her friends were exactly where she’d left them, lounging in absolute leisure on the patio, smoking cigars and watching the night settle in. Harper set the album in front of Kayla. Presley leaned over and the two flipped through it.

  “Charity?” Kayla asked, tapping her cigar against the edge of the ashtray.

  “Yes. Starting next week, the bar’s hosting a weekly breast cancer support group on Wednesdays in the upper banquet room. We’re comping them the space and non-alcoholic drinks. Charity. It’s a start. I’ve got a lot of resources here and I’ve been helped by a lot of people. I want to give back. I’m embarrassed that it’s taken me this long.”

  Kayla and Presley passed the album to Olivia and Marlena.

  “That doesn’t look like your handwriting,” Olivia said. “Did you have help with your list?”

  “Yes. From Brandon. We wrote the list together at Duke’s lake house.” Harper flipped them back to the first page and pointed at the contract he’d written. “He witnessed me making the pledge to myself.”

  “Have you talked to him since he left?” Marlena asked.

  Harper’s eyes darted to her phone. “No. Not counting the text messages we exchanged when I let him know the date of the surgery.” But not an hour had gone by that she hadn’t thought about him, and not a day went by that she wished he’d get in touch with her. Had he found an apartment to rent? What had the photo shoot been like? Was he nervous about the show?

  Later that night, after her friends had left and Kayla had tucked away in her room, Harper returned to the bar and sat on a stool in the corner, restless and hungry, but afraid to be alone with her thoughts. Every few seconds, she eyed her phone, but Brandon had yet to call.

  On weeknights, the bar closed at midnight. Harper helped Susan and the other employees close down and clean up. By one o’clock, she was alone.

  She wandered back to her apartment and sat on her sofa, flipping through the photo album of napkins and drawing strength from the words. Despite their best efforts, her girlfriends hadn’t proved a comfort to her. The spa day was a great distraction, as had been their evening on the patio, but she really needed to talk to Brandon.

  Her girlfriends were sympathetic to what Harper was going through, but none of them understood. She wasn’t sure why she felt like Brandon did, except that he’d been through worse. He’d had his leg amputated. So much worse than having her breasts removed. That he was stronger than ever made her feel stronger about herself. He made her feel brave. “Like a spirit animal from the great beyond,” she murmured to herself, grinning.

  She picked up her phone and looked at the screen for the zillionth time. Then, annoyed with herself for wanting so pathetically to lean on someone else, she stomped back down to the bar, the photo album in hand.

  She tucked the album into the side pocket of her overnight bag that she’d set at the bottom of the stairs in preparation for the morning. Still not the least bit sleepy, she flipped all the lights on. She only afforded the line of beer taps a single wistful look before turning her back on them in favor of the dartboard.

  She was going to be out of commission for a long time and it was going to be the hardest thing of her life, giving up control of this place for a little while. Watching, when she’d rather be leading. With every game of darts she threw, she played the time game with herself. If she stopped right now and went to bed, she’d get six hours of sleep. Then five and half, then five.

  Her phone rang, making her jump. She rushed to the bar, where she’d set it. Brandon’s photo shone on the screen.

  She hadn’t fully grasped how desperately she needed to hear the sound of his voice until she saw that he was the one calling. Tears sprang to her eyes. Relief swirled with an ache of vulnerability. She swiped at the tears and took a deep breath before answering.

  “Hey, you,” she said.

  “Chocolate chip cookies,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “That’s my weakness. That’s what I crave when I’m stressed, but I can’t eat them with my diet. I never stop craving them, though. I love cookies.”

  So he’d gotten her voice mail. Finally. She sniffed and pulled herself together, refusing to let him know how alone she felt, how scared. She was a badass, tougher than most. She was going into this surgery with iron-willed resolve. Right. “What’s your secret for resisting? Because I’m this close to turning on a fryer in the bar’s kitchen.”

  “I try to think of something gross that makes me lose my appetite. Like the way my hockey bag smells.”

  She smiled through her groan. “That is gross.”

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  The gentleness in his tone set her teeth on edge. How was she supposed to pretend that she’d achieved a state of confident serenity if he started pitying her?

  She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, the dark circles under her eyes standing out in stark contrast to the freshly dyed and styled hair she’d paid big bucks for that morning at the salon. Her final nod to vanity.

  She shook her head, tousling her hair and finding strength in the lick of soft hair against her cheeks. “I can’t decide which bra to wear to the hospital. I’m thinking the black lace couture demi bra I bought myself as a birthday present in New York City a couple years ago since it’s the most expensive one I own.”

  “Okay, besides that pressing issue.”

  She stomped toward the dartboard. “Damn it, Brandon. Why won’t you play along?”

  “Sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

  Shaking her head, she yanked three darts from the board. Everybody was worried about her and she was done with it. She’d wanted to talk to him because he helped her feel tough and encouraged her to celebrate the surgery instead of letting it drag her down. “I expect better than that from you.”

  “I’m not allowed to worry?”

  She backed up to the line, propped the phone between her ear and shoulder, then threw the first dart. Bulls-eye. “Absolutely not.”

  “That was a great bulls-eye.”

  She blinked, pulling her face back. “How did you guess that?”

  “See, when I donated some body parts to the universe, I didn’t have all this anticipation that you have. I have some flashes of memory about the moments before the explosion, then I woke up in a hospital the next day weighing a little less. But you’ve got it bad with all this waiting and planning. I bet you haven’t
even tried to sleep tonight.”

  She held her phone out and looked at it, wondering if she’d accidentally hit the video chat app instead of the phone, but no. “I laid down on the sofa for about two minutes before the restlessness got the best of me. How did you know I hit a bulls-eye?”

  “Because I can see you through the window, which sounds a lot more stalkerish out loud than it did in my head.”

  She let her mouth flop open as she processed that. He could see her through the window? As in, the window of Locks? Her heart gave a decisive squeeze that left her breathless as she raced to the door.

  She dropped the darts on a table, then unbolted the locks and flung open the door.

  Brandon. His clothes were wrinkled, he had dark circles under his eyes that mirrored hers, and he was leaning heavily on a cane, but he was there. Right exactly where she needed him to be. He stepped inside and she threw her arms around him. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  His cane clattered to the ground and his arms tightened around her. “I’m here anyway.”

  “We already said our good-byes. You bid farewell to my boobs.”

  “I know. But, as it turned out, I couldn’t miss your big day.”

  She had to swallow around the lump in her throat. “This isn’t my big day. This is a road bump. My big day is going to be when I’m well enough to get back to my bliss list.”

  “Fair enough. I hate that I’m going to miss that part, because that’s gonna be awesome.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. Yes, it was. She hated that he was going to miss it, too. “How did you get out of the show for the day? I’m sure you’re on a strict filming schedule.”

  “I managed to get five days off for family illness, until you’re out of the hospital and settled back home. And I was only able to because we’re in a pre-production phase. They’ve got me recording some bits and interviews and doing a ton of promo, but nothing major. I don’t meet the prospective brides for another three weeks, when the actual show starts taping. I wish I could stay and support you longer, but somebody scheduled surgery while I’m in the middle of the busiest summer of my life.”