𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Where’s My Love – SYML
I HAVEN’T DATED anyone for as long as I have Gracie.
Ever.
Mostly because I was a hockey fuckboi before the kidnapping and after, well, I made a monk look promiscuous.
It’s weird how you get used to the small things—the bitching about a professor or a teammate over a protein shake in the morning, the kissing her after she drinks maple ambrosia so I get to savor the taste of two of my most favorite things together, the sharing of a vanity mirror while I shave and she plucks her eyebrows, the apartment never feeling empty when she’s around.
I like those small things.
They’re not so small to me.
After the day I’ve had and the strings I’ve had to pull, I’d have appreciated seeing Gracie’s welcoming smile when I got in.
Instead, the apartment is dark and there are no smells in here aside from cleaning products and marinara sauce for the endless bowls of pasta I eat because the housekeeper came today.
When Gracie’s in the building, she’s got one of those wax melts burning, the smell of which always makes me crave the butter pecan ice cream she thinks she’s hiding from me at the back of the freezer.
She isn’t.
I know where it is and what it’s next to—fucking lean proteins.
Dumping my shit by the door, I head into the kitchen and take a seat at the counter once I’ve pulled out a bottle of kombucha.
The quiet is already too much so I switch on the TV and leave her news channel playing.
Checking my cell for any calls or texts, be it from her or Officer Brownhill, instead, I find a bunch of emails from Kara with invitations to events I have no desire to attend, a circular the team has sent about the upcoming travel to L.A. for our next game, and a missed call from Kow of all people. But not even an ‘I’m home’ from Gracie.
Which is unusual.
Another small thing is us keeping each other in the loop about where we’re at. I started it when she became my PA; now, it’s a habit we both indulge in. Her because it’s expedient, me because it stops me from worrying about her.
Refusing to be concerned because it’s still only six, I call Kow, set the phone on speaker, and take a sip of my drink.
“Yo,” he greets like we’re back in the 90s.
A message pops up on my screen:
Gracie: Everything’s fine. I just have some shit I need to talk through with a girlfriend.
Girlfriend? What girlfriend?
Confused, I text back:
Me: Okay. Lemme know when you get home?
“Liam?”
Blinking, I focus on my conversation with Kow. “We talking now and I didn’t get the memo?”
He grunts.
“You ever miss beer?” I ask wistfully, staring at the raw fermented drink I’m sipping.
I’ll miss it even more if he’s calling to give me shit about dating Gracie. Especially now that he’s out of the playoffs and suddenly has the time to care about his sister…
My knuckles ache with how hard I clench down on the bottle in my hand.
“Nah. I don’t punish myself like you do.”
“You’re the same age as me and I know you’re not ready to retire.”
“Not for a couple years, but a few beers never killed anyone.” He clears his throat. “You at home?”
“Why?”
“Answer the damn question.”
“I’m here.”
“You heard from Gracie?”
My brows lift. “No? Fuck, have you two fought on the phone or something?” Is that why he broke radio silence?
Kow grunts in my ear. “Trent, Noah, and I are in the city.”
“Which city?”
“New York,” he mumbles.
“Why the hell am I only just hearing about this? Where are you staying? Are you coming here?” I’m not in the mood for a fight but at least they’ll liven this place up.
“We’re about ten minutes from your apartment.”
“Should I prepare myself to duke it out with you?” I half-joke.
He doesn’t laugh just mutters, “Nah.”
Huh. “I’ll let the doorman know to send you up.”
Leaving the bottle of kombucha on the counter, I contact the front desk then use the guest bath before they arrive.
When I open the front door, I get a read on their expressions, brows high, I ask, “Who died?”
Considering the day I’ve had, that’s too apt, but it doesn’t trigger a reaction from these asswipes.
Noah shoots me a look as he leaves the elevator, his outstretched arm as he draws me in for a hug coming as a shock. Kow dips his chin, telling me he’s still pissed—that comes as less of a surprise. Trent just whacks me on the back and, because he’s the largest brother, tipping me by three centimeters, I actually get shoved forward with the momentum.
It was a toss-up between him sticking to ice hockey or switching over to basketball as a teen, but I think he should have been a plow horse.
“What’s going on?” I demand, studying their solemn countenances after I lead them through the front door, along the hall, and into the kitchen.
Since Gracie burst into my life, that’s become the heart of my home so it’s second nature to bring them in here rather than the living room.
“Anyone want a kombucha?”
Kow pulls a face. “Nothing stronger?”
“No booze in the house. Temptation.” I’ve been practically teetotal since the night of Amelia’s wedding.
Noah shrugs. “I like it. Got that ginger-lemon stuff?”
“Yup. Trent?”
“Same.”
Kow huffs. “I’ll just have water.”
After sliding the three glass bottles over the marble counter, I lower my elbows onto it and study them.
“What’s going on? Is one of the folks ill or something?”
“Nothing like that. You genuinely haven’t seen Gracie?”
I arch a brow at Noah. “No.”
“She isn’t here?”
“For fuck’s sake, no. Why would I lie?”
Kow starts messing with his bottle cap. “We wondered where she went.”
“Where she went,” I repeat blankly. “Meaning that you know where she was before she ‘went’ wherever she went?”
“Yeah. We met her at her place.”
“She never mentioned that you were coming to the city for a visit.”
“She didn’t know either. It was a… surprise.”
A surprise.
Noah’s tone tells me it wasn’t a good one.
Suddenly, Gracie’s message takes on extra connotations.
“I figured I’d be your first port of call. You know, that you’d give me the whole, ‘She’s my sister. Don’t you mess with her or I’ll mess with you,’ spiel. I was looking forward to it, in fact.”
There are so many crickets in here, it’s turning into an infestation.
“Okay, fuckers, what’s going on? You’re acting really goddamn weird,” I say as I snag my phone and check my messages again—no reply from Gracie.
Noah scrapes his nail over the paper sticker on the front of the bottle. “She didn’t like what we had to say and she took off. We informed her bodyguard. What’s with that anyway? Why does she have security on her?”
I’m not sure which part of that triggers the most concern: that they know her bodyguard or that she ran out. But knowing security is with her eases some of my worry.
She’s safe… but hurting?
She said everything was fine though.
I figure that I’m slow to process the undertones here after the day I’ve had, so it takes me longer than it should to reason, “You came about your mom, didn’t you?”
The way the three of them hunch their shoulders clues me into how right I am.
Nostrils flaring, I send out a text:
Me: Ludvig? Do you have eyes on Gracie?
He should be making his way home, but if these assholes contacted him, as per his new schedule, if she goes out, he does too.
Still, Kow doubles down on his assholery by grumbling, “Gracie can’t just cut Mom out because she cares about you.”
“That isn’t what happened. Hanna basically said that Gracie wasn’t good enough for me, which is bullshit.
“If anyone has a lot to put up with here, it’s Gracie. Since the start, she’s been blamed in the papers whenever we lose a game—either she’s fattening me up or draining my concentration.
“God forbid, it has anything to do with me having a life outside of the game.” I grit my teeth when I see Ludvig still hasn’t replied. “Besides, I’ve wasted too many years not telling her how I feel about her.
“After everything that happened, she was the only thing that got me through—she was my lifeline. The last thing I need is Hanna convincing Gracie that she shouldn’t be with me—”
“Gracie? Our Gracie? That’s who we’re talking about right now, right?”
“Do you have to sound so surprised?” I snap at Kow. “Yes, Gracie. Your sister. GRACIE.
“I remember sitting in that hellhole, dried blood on my face, my ear gone, my entire head feeling like it was about to fall off as infection set in, thinking that I was going to die, and she was my biggest regret.”
Eyes wide, Trent leans back on his stool. “You not dating Gracie was your biggest regret?”
“Not dating her. Not being able to see her again… The idea of never seeing her again, of the last time we met up being the end,” I explain in a rush as the words take me back to the darkest of days I’ve ever known.
Grieving what I went through has been an arduous process, one that Mike has spent a long time trying to encourage. But through it all, Gracie has been a cornerstone of my recuperation—not that she or any of her family know that.
But that’s not the problem here.
“Did I play well after I was freed?”
Kow frowns. “Yeah, but that’s how you roll. You always play your best when you’re stressed AF. That’s how you won the Stanley Cup that year.”
I figure I have to spell this out for them: “How would you say I’ve been playing lately?”
“You never play like shit, but this entire season, it was clear that your mind was elsewhere.”
I stare at him.
Really fucking stare.
Grace each of them with that stare.
Trying to see if they’ll pick up on what I’m saying.
They just look back at me, confused.
“Fuck you. You’re just like the press, blaming her if the wind turns when we all know that I’ve been playing the best hockey of my career. And do you wanna know why? Gracie. Because I’ve finally found a fucking balance. I’m actually living my life and enjoying it. And you asswipes call yourselves my friends and are questioning all that?”
“I don’t understand,” Noah eventually says.
“What’s to understand? I used to play my best hockey when I was miserable. Now, I do it when I’m happy. Because. I. Am. Because I have other things on my mind—good things. Things I want to think about like…” I suck in a breath. “…how much I love your sister.”
Trent blinks at me. “You love… Gracie?”
“What’s with the hesitation? She’s awesome. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. How couldn’t I love her?”
Noah crinkles his nose. “But she’s difficult.”
“No, she’s not difficult. She just has opinions, and those opinions mean she isn’t constantly kissing my ass or thinking I’m a god because I chase a puck around a patch of ice.”
“Her career doesn’t align with yours,” Trent points out.
“Who says it has to?” I frown as realization strikes. “You’re not just here to fix things for Hanna—you’re here because you agree with her.”
Her message reads differently now.
What the fuck did they say to her?
“Of course,” Kow grumbles.
“No ‘of course’ about it. Hanna’s harder on Gracie than any of you.” My temper snaps at the limits of my control. “I pity the Bukowski family because not a single one of you knows what you’re missing out on by taking Gracie for granted.
“Look, I figure that you’re here for my sake and I appreciate that to a certain extent. But I wish en ostie that you were here to kick my ass and to tell me to watch myself because you’ll be there to break some bones if I hurt her. I actually appreciated when Kow and Trent beat my asses because I figured you gave a fuck, but you’re all so busy being mommy’s boys that you can’t see the forest for the trees.” Kow rears backward at that but I snarl, “Why would you think I needed you to protect me… and from Gracie of all people?”
“You’ve been different since the kidnapping. We have your back, bro,” Kow states.
“Since when?” I demand, checking my phone again.
Nothing.
Is she working up to breaking up with me over something these assholes said to her?
“I don’t need you to have my back,” I growl, fury leaching into the words. “I can guard my own. Gracie needs her family, man. The people who are supposed to love her unconditionally are the ones who should have her back. Instead, she’s out in the cold.
“It wasn’t until she started working with me that I realized how much of a disconnect there is between you all. It’s sad as hell, but you’re the ones missing out because Gracie is a beautiful human being.
“Now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave because I’ve got to fix whatever mess you made with her. If you’ve ruined this for me, if she breaks up with me, that’s us—done. Do you understand?”
Kow jerks back like I slapped him. “Fuck off, Liam. You’d never do that—”
I don’t let him finish. “No brothers of mine would purposely wreck the best thing that’s ever happened to me without consulting me to see whether I’m happy or not.
“We haven’t even talked in months, not really, even before this stupid falling out, yet you’ve taken it upon yourselves to think that I must be crazy to be with her.
“I tell you what—she’s the one who’s out of her mind for dealing with me.” I snag my phone and hit dial on her number when Ludvig still hasn’t responded. “Just leave, would you? Before I throw you out.”
“What the hell has she done to you, man?” Noah demands as I round the counter, the phone to my ear as I await her answer.
“She’s done dick. Why do you intentionally see the worst in her? All she’s done is be here for me. She’s had time for me. She’s the one who hooked me up with a shrink. She’s the one who’s there whenever I need her, who remembers that I missed skateboarding, for chrissakes. Where the fuck have you guys been? Sure, you’re busy. We all are. But I will always pick her. Always—”
“Bros before hoes, man,” Kow rumbles.
That’s when I see red.
“Your sister is not a ho.” My fist flies to punctuate that declaration. Kow’s head tumbles back before he has the chance to shield his face, and Trent’s there to stop me from lighting into him anymore. “Don’t you dare put that word and Gracie in the same sentence,” I snarl, letting him hold me off because I don’t want to waste time on them when Gracie’s somewhere that isn’t here, their poison in her ears.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? We came here because Gracie’s ruining everything,” Kow snaps. “You’re letting her poison you against us—”
“Are you all so fucking unhappy with your own lives that you can’t let me have some happiness for myself? Or is it that you hate Gracie so much for being different that you can’t let her be with someone who loves her for who she is?” Disgusted with them, I shake my head. “Seriously, get the fuck out of our home and take your bullshit with you.”
Kow sneers. “Did we not even deserve to be looped in? You’re the shitty friend here. You just thought you could fuck our sister without any blowback?”
“I’d be happy with that. But you’re sulking with me is one thing. Agreeing with your mom and siding with her is another matter entirely. That is my problem. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me. Understood?”
“Kow, leave it,” Noah urges, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcibly shoving him toward the door.
“Some fucking friend you are,” Kow roars as he lets Noah drag him away.
“Some fucking brother you are,” I shout back, preternaturally aware that Gracie’s radio silence is probably the beginning of the end of our relationship. That’s when I see Trent hasn’t moved. “What do you want? I swear to God, Trent, if you call her names, I’ll—”
“You love her?”
His question has me releasing a breath. “Yeah. For a long time.”
He scrapes a hand over his jaw. “You said our home.”
“It’s her place as much as it’s mine.”
“Mom misses you.”
“I miss her too,” I say honestly. “But I’m not going to let anyone disrespect Gracie—even if that’s the people I love the most in the world and the people who should have been looking out for her since she was born.”
He flinches like I struck him. “Gracie’s always been difficult. Always gone her own way.”
“As if the rest of us haven’t,” I scoff. “Do you know she only came to the US to get away from you? To make a life for herself out of the shadow of the famous Bukowski brothers? Your mom constantly compares her to the three of you. You and I know that without even having to talk to her about it, Trent. Your dad’s better but he’s as hockey obsessed as we are.”
His grimace says it all.
“Get out of here, Trent. I don’t want to argue. It was a shitty day before this conversation happened. Now, I’ve got to find the woman I love and convince her whatever her asshole brothers said that had her running off is wrong.”
Trent surprises me by nodding. “Text me when you know she’s safe.”
“I’ll let her decide whether she wants you to know that or not,” I counter.
Another flinch but he nods and finally leaves.
When the call goes to voicemail again, I check Find My and see that her device last registered at her place.
An hour ago.
When I know she’s not there.
That’s when I let my fear for her, not for our relationship, run riot.
I call Ludvig, who finally deigns to answer, but I can hear his feet thudding on the sidewalk. Is he running?
“We’ll find her, sir,” he assures me, breathing heavily from exertion. “The Bukowskis told me she ran out—”
Blood draining from my face, I cut the call.
Knowing I have no alternative and grateful for my backup plan, I call in the big guns.
The Irish Mob.
