On the drive to dinner, I managed to pull my mind out of the gutter enough to be out in public without risking arrest. As long as I didn’t let my thoughts circle back to the errand we just completed.
That part took some self-control.
I ordered for both of us and handed the server the menus. We’d gotten a whack load of appetizers instead of meals—chicken wings, spinach-artichoke dip, pulled pork sliders, the works. Bailey was the opposite of picky, which complemented my less adventurous palate nicely. A.k.a., she let me pick all the food. She was the best.
“I meant to ask,” I said. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”
“Still have to decide with Derek and my parents.” Bailey pursed her lips. Her black sweater slid off her shoulder a little, revealing a glimpse of black bra strap underneath. I had to consciously clamp down on the thought spiral as she adjusted her neckline. “But I’ll probably wait until Christmas. It’s too expensive to fly home for both holidays.”
“My mom’s place is only an hour away. If you don’t leave, I’m dragging you home with me. Just FYI.”
“Really?” Her face brightened. “You’d want me to come?”
“Of course. I’d never let you spend a holiday alone.” Was that even a question? “Plus, then you can meet my dysfunctional family.”
Kidding not kidding on the dysfunctional part.
“I’m sure they’re not that bad.”
I grimaced. “You might want to temper those expectations. My mom’s fine, and my younger sister, Seraphina, is cool. But in the interest of full disclosure, my stepdad, Rick, is kind of a douche. Neither my sister nor I get along with him.”
Rick didn’t respect professional sports as a valid career path and made no attempt to hide it. I guess it wasn’t fancy enough for his snotty CPA ass. Too bad I would rather fucking die than stare at spreadsheets behind a desk all day.
Similarly, Rick thought Seraphina was a bit of an airhead and treated her accordingly, which pushed Sera’s buttons, as well as mine.
Then there was my mom, who ran around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to referee between all three parties. She was too soft-spoken to have much impact in that regard. Her quiet tsks and pleas to “be nice” did little.
Though having Bailey there as a buffer might be a good thing. Rick was probably less inclined to make his snide, passive-aggressive comments in the presence of outside company.
“Why don’t you two get along?” Bailey took a sip of her ice water, studying my face.
Too many reasons to list.
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time,” she said, raising her blond eyebrows. “If you want to tell me.”
I shifted my weight in the booth, suddenly uncomfortable on every level. My big mouth strikes again. I’d brought it up in the first place. Might as well clear the air about some of those family skeletons.
The server returned, setting down our plates of food. I waited for her to finish before continuing.
“It goes back to when my dad died, ten years ago.”
“Oh, gosh. You were so young.” Bailey’s hazel eyes brimmed with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for all of you.”
Breaking eye contact, I grabbed a slider and set it on my plate, giving myself a moment. While her intentions were pure, this was why I had dragged my feet on bringing this up—I hated the way people reacted. Being on the receiving end of pity never sat well with me. Although it shouldn’t, it made me feel weak.
“Yeah, well …” I kept my gaze fixed on my pint of beer. “It was a helicopter crash. I meant to tell you about it sooner. Just hard to slip that one into casual conversation.”
A sudden wave of guilt hit me. In addition to avoiding my dad as a topic of conversation, I avoided memories associated with him too. I had tons of his photos and NHL memorabilia at my mom’s house. They should have been displayed in my bedroom, but it was too hard to look at it all every day.
Maybe I was weak.
Bailey reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. Being comforted by someone felt unfamiliar, but surprisingly, I didn’t hate it. Probably because it was different with her. Everything was different with her.
“He was in Jersey, trying to make it back for my hockey game in Connecticut with his friend’s private helicopter,” I added. “His friend had an experienced pilot, but they hit an unexpected storm, and that was it. Chopper went down, and all that was left was the black box.”
Followed by a swarm of predatory reporters climbing all over the crash site. I still hated the fucking press. That would probably become an issue someday when I had to actually talk to them.
Of course, he never would have been on that helicopter if I hadn’t guilt-tripped him into coming home. It was my first season on a top-tier team, and all I’d been thinking about was myself. I never should have asked him to come.
I would never forget the way my mother had screamed when she received that phone call. The way she sank to her knees in the middle of our kitchen. The way a light went out inside her that never fully returned.
A knot formed in my stomach, and I drew in a deep breath, but it did little to quell the sensation.
“Why was he in New Jersey?” Bailey asked softly. “For work?”
I snapped back to reality. How long had I zoned out for?
“He played for them at the time. He had just been traded from New York, and we were still trying to sell our house.”
Her thumb skated along my skin, easing some of the tension I was holding. “Did he play hockey with you when you were growing up?”
“All the time,” I said, still avoiding her eyes. Talking about him made me feel nostalgic, sad, and uneasy all at once. “He’s why I started playing.”
“You must have loved watching him on TV.”
“Sure did.” I took a sip of my beer. Time to steer the conversation in another direction. It was easier to talk about my asshole stepdad.
“As far as Rick goes,” I said, “I have to qualify this by saying that my mom’s not a bad person. She never quite recovered after my dad died. It was like she was broken. Lost.”
More specifically, my mom didn’t get out of bed for a month and a half after the helicopter crash. After that, it was a merry-go-round of meds and therapy, a few good days sprinkled into a lot of bad. My happy, fun-loving mother disappeared and never returned. And my rebellious teenager stage did our relationship no favors—especially with Rick in the picture.
These days, we got along, even if we weren’t close.
Bailey nodded. “I can imagine. It must have been devastating to your whole family.”
She wasn’t wrong. I think I’d been off-course ever since.
“Once she started dating again a year or so later, she dated a string of losers. Unemployed deadbeat types, probably after her for my dad’s money. One guy, Mitch, was a straight-up alcoholic.” I hesitated, weighing whether to continue.
Generally speaking, I hardly ever raised my voice. At my size, I didn’t need to in order to get the point across. Even when I got into fights in hockey, I wasn’t angry, per se. Annoyed maybe, or thinking someone needed sense knocked into them after a cheap hit, but not mad.
I could count the number of times I’d lost my temper on one hand.
But if I had a sore spot, it was men disrespecting or hurting women. Also see: Morrison.
“He pushed her against the fridge one night, and I beat the shit out of him.”
James might worry that I had anger issues, but it happened; I couldn’t rewrite history. Wouldn’t want to, either. He deserved it.
Her eyes widened. “How old were you?”
“I was thirteen. But I was big for my age, and I was fucking pissed. He didn’t know what hit him.”
“I believe it,” she said. “I’ve seen you fight.”
“Anyway, having a difficult preteen the size of an adult wasn’t a big selling point. I scared most of her boyfriends off, intentionally or not. Rick wasn’t the worst of them by a long shot—he’s decent to my mom, at least. But he didn’t want kids, especially ones that weren’t his. So he stuck around, but he made the rules. Which were basically, don’t be a pain in the ass and stay out of the way.”
What looked like sadness mixed with a hint of anger flashed across Bailey’s face. This was why I didn’t get into things like this, though with her, it was tolerable.
“And you still don’t get along?” she asked, tilting her head.
“I have a trust from my dad’s insurance. Once I turned eighteen and gained access, I moved out, and things improved a little. We can sort of coexist now. He and Sera still butt heads a lot, though.”
“What’s your sister like?” Bailey looked at me playfully. “Is she trouble like you?”
“A bit of a party girl, which is probably why she’s at ASU, but she’s a sweetheart. You’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will.” She grabbed a chicken wing and took a bite, recoiling and setting it back down on her plate. “Holy crap. These aren’t medium. They’re more like extra-hot.”
“I can send them back if you need, princess.”
“Princess?” She narrowed her eyes. “I can handle them just fine.”
“That’s true. You’re good at handling things.”
“Oh my god, you”—she laughed, shaking her head—“never a missed innuendo.”
“Now you know more than you ever wanted about my fucked-up family tree,” I said. “What about your family? All I know is that your brother hates me.” I bit into the barbecue pork slider, watching her reaction.
Bailey waved me off. “I wouldn’t say he hates you…”
“Yeah.” My lips quirked. “He definitely does.”
Until recently, I would have said I wasn’t a fan of his, either. But if it came down to it, I could get past it for her.
“My parents are your typical middle-class suburbanites. They’ll be married for thirty years next spring. And I have two older brothers besides Derek.”
“Oh good,” I said cheerfully. “Then they can all gang up on me when I meet them.”
“No, they aren’t like that.” Bailey picked up a blue corn tortilla chip and dipped it in the spinach-artichoke dip. “They aren’t into hockey, so Derek’s dumb grudge won’t hold water. And Derek will come around—eventually.” Her lips folded into a frown. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, actually. We used to be close.” She bit into her chip, expression clouding over.
“Maybe he’s going through something with that whole Jillian mess. But it doesn’t excuse him for being a crappy brother. Not to overstep.”
Friend or not, Derek should have stood up to Morrison about Bailey a long time ago. More than that. Derek should have pummeled Morrison.
Ward was like a brother to me, but had they somehow dated, I would have never let him treat my sister like garbage.
“I don’t disagree,” she said. “But between classes, the paper, and you, I’ll be so busy that I won’t have time to worry about Derek anyway.”
“That’s right. You must be happy about getting the sports section all to yourself.” I grinned.
“I am…Except it means more Bulldogs games.” Bailey drew in a breath. “Maybe that’s what I need to go incognito for.”
My smile faded, my tone dropping. “Anyone gives you trouble, they answer to me.”
It pissed me off that she was uncomfortable with the idea of being around these people, even in public. Especially when she’d never done anything to warrant their dislike. The way they treated her was fucking brutal. A bunch of spineless sheep.
“I think Jillian and Amelia already answered to Shiv.”
“I heard she gave them a nice little verbal smackdown,” I said. “But I meant the guys.”
“Yeah.” Her voice flattened, posture stiffening. “Speaking of that, I’m really dreading this interview with Paul.”
My second least favorite person. Well, tied with Amelia and Jillian. They were all so terrible that it was hard to even rank them at this point.
“I can tag along if you want. Sit there and glare at his sorry ass to keep him in line.”
I was 100 percent not kidding. I would enjoy nothing more than playing bodyguard around that idiot.
She paused with her hand in midair, reaching for a slider. “Probably not necessary, but I appreciate the thought.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’ll be okay,” Bailey said, biting back a smile. “Your caveman act is cute as always, though.”
And it was cute that she thought it was an act. This was how I was wired.
