Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “I’m not coming with you.”

  Frosty blue eyes narrowed. “Who said I was even going to ask you? Presumptuous bitch.”

  I hid a smile. “Okay. Carry on what you were saying, then.”

  “So, anyway”—Hayden’s fingertips traveled up and down her glass—“I think I might go.”

  “You should go. From what I saw of him, he seemed like a good guy.”

  “There’s just one problem.” And here it comes. “I can’t go alone. You have to come with me.”

  “Why do I have to be there?”

  Hayden’s pitched lowered as she leaned into my personal space across the table. “To read the signs.”

  “What signs? The only signs for you to read will be fan-made. The man’s playing hockey. That means too busy to send you romantic signals.”

  Hayden’s sigh was the start of her not letting this drop.

  “I thought you’d want to come with me. It’s a free NHL game. What dumbfuck would say no to that? Beer, wine, nachos. Hot hockey players doing crazy stuff with a puck.”

  It wasn’t about the game, or Hayden or Jason. It was mostly about Beau, and me showing at one of his games when I already felt like I saw too much of him. What craziness he could achieve with a puck was irrelevant.

  I re-crossed my legs and slid my drink toward me. “Beau’s going to think I’m there for him.”

  “Beau will think no such thing. Jason will set him straight.”

  I didn’t mean to snort, it just came out. Beau had a hard time listening. He’d think what he wanted, didn’t matter what he was told. “Hayden, my lovely, that’s horseshit.”

  We drank cocktails for the next hour and, so far, I’d gotten away with not committing myself to the Kings game. The club was filling up, the AC losing the battle to humidity from a room slammed with bodies.

  I used my escape to the restroom to check my phone. This many cocktails in my system meant I’d tricked myself into feeling brave enough to make the first phone call.

  The gold gilded mirror reflected my anxious expression as I listened to the dial tone. I called a second time when Julian didn’t answer, figuring out what time it would be in Miami. Could be midnight. Late for Julian, especially since the Dolphins lost the game today, and would be put under double the pressure this coming week to get it right in the next game.

  I wasn’t prepared for Julian’s hoarse voice in my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi.” I turned away from the mirror. “Did I wake you?”

  Two women shoved into the bathroom, taking shared high-pitched laughter into the same stall to carry on the festivities.

  “Just,” said Julian. “I haven’t been asleep long. Has something happened?”

  His voice. It’d been hours since I’d last heard it, but I didn’t remember it sounding this good.

  “No, everything’s fine.” It wasn’t. Might never be again.

  “So, why the call?”

  He would never have asked me that. It wouldn’t have mattered why I’d called, just that I did. I could’ve breathed down the phone for sixty minutes straight and Julian would’ve listened to every breath.

  “I don’t know why—” My idiocy disintegrated with the feminine voice tinkling from Julian’s end of the line. At first, I wasn’t quite sure if it was the chatter and laughter from the restroom I was in, but then Julian confirmed I wasn’t hearing things.

  “I’ll be down in a second,” he called to someone who should not have been in his home. “Angel—”

  Without thinking, I yanked the phone from my ear and hung up.

  I wasn’t interested in who it was. Just that she was there. She was there, and I was here, and I was sick. Sick to death of feeling like this. The villain fighting for a way in. For some grand gesture that was too big to exist.

  And for the rest of tonight, I wouldn’t be the villain. I was here with my friend and I would go back into that bar and act like it. Julian wasn’t home pining over me. There was a high chance he was subbing me this very second.

  Jamming my phone into my purse, I shouldered open the bathroom door. I squared my shoulders, held my head high and straightened the crease lines in my silky dress. So tight to my body, I could barely take a full, satisfying breath.

  Before hearing that girl’s voice, the intrusive sight of Beau with a bunch of his friends at our undersized table would’ve induced a minor eye twitch. Now, though, his timing couldn’t have been more appropriate. A chorus of loud voices and pointless conversation was vital in drowning out my thoughts. To cover up what I really hoped wasn’t going on at Julian’s place.

  From where he stood at our table, Beau’s head tilted, a stealth glance creeping over one shoulder as I made my way through the expanding crowd.

  Maybe I wasn’t playing as confident as I thought.

  Beau walked toward me and stopped me in front of the extravagant floor length mirror, our reflections not an image I was in any rush to see. His head bowed to speak uninterrupted in my ear, a move too personal and too in the open. One hand spanned my lower back and I sucked in a quick breath, releasing it slowly. I stopped myself from stepping into the embrace. Never mind it was a struggle to hear him over the music.

  I broke him off when he apologized for his friends crashing my night out.

  “Don’t be sorry,” I practically shouted into his ear. “There’s no reason we all can’t enjoy a drink together.” My mouth curved into a smile that wasn’t quite as genuine as I’d have liked. “We’re in the same club.”

  A teammate of Beau’s shouted over that they were heading upstairs. Hayden appeared like a glittering silver and purple angel as the hockey players disintegrated, her hand in Jason’s as she followed him to the staircase. Her wink behind his back was proof she was still Satan. I held up my clutch purse and my middle finger.

  “I know we aren’t mentioning him, but can I talk about this month’s Sports Illustrated?”

  Upstairs, Beau took me to the VIP section. Blocked off from the rest of the club by shimmering strands of stringed jewels. The closed-off exclusivity warned me I was playing with fire, and I faltered where it remained safe, on even, public ground.

  “… no, then?”

  I glanced up at Beau, concern pouring out of me. “You can talk about it, but I’ve changed my mind. I can’t go in there. I’d rather stay out here, if that’s okay.”

  It hadn’t crossed my mind Beau would stay with me.

  “We can sit at the bar?” I shot him another look. “If you want to…”

  “Will Hayden be okay in there? It’s not like I can see her out here.” Every one of my instincts screamed at me to drag her out of there and convince her to come home with me. But I was up here with Beau because I should be enjoying myself. There was no reason to leave now and go home. Even less of a reason to destroy Hayden’s night.

  I took several steps back before turning and walking to the bar. Beau was right behind me, wallet in hand as the bartender asked for my order. It was a heck of a lot quieter up here, with less people and more seating. Profiting the curious attention of everyone around us, Beau asked for a beer and a vodka martini.

  Nervous energy rattled throughout as I accepted my drink. “I’d be tempted to ask how you know this is what I’ve been drinking, but I’m afraid of the answer.”

  Beau lifted a Corona to his lips, lowering the bottle before taking a drink. “You left your glass half-empty when you went to the bathroom. And can we just clear this up—your friend’s with hockey players back there, not a killer cult. I don’t spend time with people if they aren’t good guys. You’re dating Miami’s savior and from this moment on, I respect that. I’d like you to see I’m one of the good guys, too.”

  There were no traces of teasing in Beau’s hazel eyes, or in the straight line of his mouth. Nothing but authenticity in his tone.

  “No paparazzi up here. Relax and enjoy yourself. I know how it is. You can’t speak to anyone without waking up the next morning to a fa
bricated backstory. No one will bother you up here, and that includes me.”

  Sipping my drink, I knew Beau was a good guy. I’d never doubted he was. Not really. And I let myself thaw in his company.

  “So, did you read my interview, or were you just there for the pictures?” I asked.

  Beau’s head inched back as laughter rolled up from his chest. “Hey, despite what you might’ve heard, I can read, eh. I caught a couple questions, though… and pictures. Nice job. It’s all I’m going to say.” His smirk disappeared behind his beer and he propped one elbow on the bar, his white shirtsleeve reflecting in the black high-gloss.

  A few more drinks in, and a healthier amount of pressure on my shoulders, I’d achieved the unthinkable and I was enjoying myself.

  “One more for the road.” Beau handed me the first of two shots and I knocked it back like poison. I lingered on the second.

  “We’re leaving?”

  “Since I don’t do all-nighters, you’re a cheap date, and I can’t take you home, yeah, I’d say we’re leaving soon.”

  “Ah, you can leave.” I tipped the second shot down my throat, this one red in color and hot like fire. I wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m staying.”

  The confliction in Beau’s eyes ignited an unwanted comparison to Julian. One that could quickly sour my night if I paid it any more attention. “It’s so like him,” I vented out loud. “Always making it to the top, no matter the size of the hurdle.” I picked up my empty shot glass, waving it at the bartender.

  “He’s serving someone else.” Beau took my glass from my hand, putting it back on the bar top. “And I’d say you’ve had enough.”

  My whole face felt numb. “You don’t know me to know when I’ve had enough.”

  “Dunk’s drunk. Doesn’t matter who you are.”

  “I’m going in there now.” I pointed to the shimmering VIP entrance and slipped down from my stool. “Are you coming in with me?”

  My purse in his large hand, Beau nodded with a fleeting grin. “After you.”

  The security staff let me pass without question, and inside was just… dark. And velvety, and shimmery, and the music was different in here, more mellow. I crossed the floor and landed in a heap on oversized, round cushions, two arms wrapping my waist and Hayden’s laughter pinching my eardrum.

  I rolled over, pushing her off me. It wasn’t easy, considering how secure my dress was. “God, how drunk are you?” As much as I tried, I couldn’t get up. I was stuck on whatever the hell this thing was. Not a bed. Definitely not a bed.

  In the club’s soft lighting, Beau’s face hovered above me. Light brown hair escaping from behind his ears and framing colorless eyes. Irises as dark as the pupils.

  I lay on my back, reaching up one hand to sift my fingers through his floppy hair. With my other hand, I grabbed his open shirt collar and weakly pulled him closer, until he was lying beside me, our faces mere risky inches apart. Now I could distinguish the green in his eyes. Like a bottomless, murky river I could’ve easily gotten stuck in.

  Beau’s attention was a distraction I couldn’t last tonight without. I needed this.

  Another body flopped down beside me, and purple hair tickled my cheek, imbedding in my lipstick. Hayden was as sparkly as this room, the lotion on her skin streaked with a scintillating glow. “Isn’t this the best night?” she gushed, hands cupping my shoulder where her chin was resting. “And this is my new favorite club.”

  Beau sighed through his nose and sat up on the mass of cushions, offering a view of his back, and I watched the spotlighted ceiling and heaving chandelier roll above me.

  “Please come to the Kings game with me,” Hayden pleaded in my ear.

  In my lightheaded daze, I thought about going. I’d done this before: using people and alcohol to mask pain, and I was here doing it again. I just never dreamed it would be because of Julian.

  T o avoid results like in the previous game against Los Angeles, the coaches were putting us through our paces, and we were finishing up after the last of two indoor walkthroughs. We were outside now on the practice field, letting loose before heading out for the evening. There hadn’t been much going on today; mostly long meetings and treatments, and the footballs continued to fly until the whistle blew.

  I sent the final ball spinning through the air and whipped off my practice jersey as I crossed the field, to the sideline teeming with friends, families and out-of-control screaming kids.

  Usually during an open practice, there was no one here for me, same as it was for most of the other rookies and younger guys. Not today, though. And it showed on my face how I felt that Rebecca had turned up, regardless of her lack of invite. At the very front of the mob, wearing less than the cheerleaders.

  Tucking my jersey into the back of my shorts, I snatched a bottle from the field and squirted the electrolyte mix into my mouth. “What’re you doing here?” I narrowed my eyes against the late, low-lying sun splintering the silhouetted palm trees. “And who even let you in?” Families were regularly allowed access, not just anyone. To this team, Rebecca was just anyone. No one knew who she was other than me. And when I was at work, her name never left my lips.

  She sprung a badge from around her neck, displaying her family visitor pass that had been in my room this morning. Last place I’d seen it was in my dressing table, under a pair of fucking Armani boxers.

  “What the fuck?” I picked up the badge and scrutinized it closely. “How—”

  “Rook, my boy, who’s this gorgeous woman?”

  I didn’t look to see who’d ran up on me. Rebecca had been rifling through my shit. When I wasn’t home. She’d been in my bedroom, raking through my goddamn underwear and fuck knows what else.

  She held out her hand. I recognized the tattoo vines casing Carlion’s wrist as he wrapped his palm around Rebecca’s. “I’m Rebecca. Julian’s half-sister.”

  There wasn’t going to be an argument in front of the media and all these people. Not from me. Rebecca knew she wasn’t my half-sister, so she could spout as much controversial crap as she liked. I wouldn’t be getting sucked into it. It was a redundant argument that wasn’t worth having.

  Carlion’s bicep flexed unnecessarily, pulling Rebecca nearer in his grip. “I can see why Lawson’s kept you hidden all this time.” A hasty glance projected over the wall of heads. “You didn’t bring your man with you today, did you?”

  “Oh, I’m single.” Rebecca bit down on her smile, pinching the inside of her lip, and I’d already decided I was out. She could do what she liked with Carlion, but I wasn’t hanging around to watch it. There was the option of extra treatments, but I was going home.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” I told Rebecca as I stepped away. I didn’t question why she looked so disappointed I was leaving. And I ignored her when she shook her hand free of Carlion’s and hobbled over the grass in her pencil heels.

  “Julian, where are you going? Are you mad at me? What did I do?”

  “What did you do?” I turned to face her, and too preoccupied to notice the change in pace, she smacked into my chest. She quickly pushed away from me, apologizing in meaningless mumbles, the flare of anger in her eyes lasting seconds. “I left you in my house and you went through my stuff without permission. Who does that?”

  “I did?” She sounded as innocent as the dopey look she was giving me. “When?”

  I flicked the plastic casing on the visitor badge. “This is when.”

  “I was putting your laundry away.”

  “Don’t touch my fucking laundry.” I caught myself before I went too far. That was one thing I was constantly having to control: my anger. “You’re going home.”

  “What, No! I like it here. And I’ve hardly found out anything about you.”

  “Except what color and size drawers I wear?”

  Rebecca scrambled behind me to the practice facility’s entrance, and I strolled inside satisfied that she couldn’t follow me.

  The team was beat from an ex
tensive week; subdued and ready to go home and rest up for Sunday. A couple of the defense staying longer for intensive rehabbing before the next battle started and more bruises and sprains were earned.

  Angela stood outside the locker room as I was leaving. I tossed my bag over my shoulder and let my gaze slide right over her. “Hey,” I said, as I walked past.

  Heels dashed the tile. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought we could talk.”

  “I don’t have anything to talk about.”

  “I’m your friend, you know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Julian.” Angela skirted in front of me, one hand pressing over my sweater. Blue eyes tentatively looked up into mine, a firmness stretching across her mouth. “I’m only telling you this before one of those idiots in there does.”

  Telling me what? I silently communicated. Allowing Angela to continue putting her hands on me was her opportunity to speak. Her vacillation gnawing at my nerves.

  “Angel was out with NHL player Beau Kessler on Sunday night. At a club. Just the two of them.”

  I gave myself a minute not to fly off the handle. It wasn’t exactly working.

  “And you know this for a fact?”

  Angela’s nod wrenched a breath deep enough to resonate as a growl. The two-minute walk to the parking lot and my Range Rover unfolded in a haze of pulsing red. Rebecca tailing me with an uneasy look in her eyes wasn’t so much of a problem anymore. Women everywhere I turned, and none of them the one I wanted.

  There was no need to tune out Rebecca on the ride home, because she didn’t dare open her mouth to me. Back at the condo, I unhooked Dog’s leash, connected it and took him outside.

  Aside from a lone streak of pink between parted clouds, the sky was a deep blue. Minutes from turning black. An acoustic guitar played from someplace I couldn’t see, and the streets leading to the beach buzzed with energy. Back here, though, the night was still.

  The time alone was with the intention of calling Angel and finding out what the fuck was going on. But I cut the call as soon as I hit dial. What was I going to say? Straight up ask her if she was out with another man because of something Angela said. It could be bullshit.