Bad boys downfall, p.2
Bad Boy's Downfall, page 2
part #1 of Tennessee Thunderbolts Series
I grin. He has me there. “That must be why they keep me around.”
He shakes his head and grips the back of his neck. Then, his eyes cut to mine again. They’re dark and unreadable, two deep pools of black. “That’s not why, Lola.”
I draw an inhale at the intensity in his gaze. At the sound of my name on his lips. Before I can ask what he means, he changes the subject again. “You have a lot of friends in Seattle?”
“Yeah.” I smile, thinking of my childhood and high-school friends. “It will be nice to see them. The whole group is coming home for Christmas so, I’m looking forward to it.”
“A lot of parties?”
“Some.”
“Old boyfriends?” His tone is teasing but his eyes still hold mine with a watchfulness that makes my blood rush to the surface.
I clear my throat. I think of the two guys I dated in high school. They were both quiet, respectful, nice guys. They were nothing like River, with his tattooed knuckles and raspy voice. “They’re still part of my friend group.”
He nods, as if I’ve confirmed something for him. His jaw tightens, not unlike Dad’s when I piss him off.
“What about you?” I blurt out, wanting to shift the attention away from myself.
“What about me?” River mutters.
“Are you seeing someone?” I wince the second I say it because, desperate much?
“Several someones,” he admits.
He doesn’t say anything I don’t know and yet, his words cut. I look away again, not wanting him to witness the hurt that flashes through my eyes. I clear my throat. “Why not bring someone?” I lift my chin toward the living room, where my dad and Maisy are surrounded by their friends.
Harper is holding Maisy’s left hand and by the way Mila is gushing, I know they’re discussing wedding plans.
“Because none of them matter.”
I look at River again. My breath freezes in my throat. I wish I understood half the riddles he speaks. I can never tell if he’s being serious or teasing me, the same way the fraternity brothers like to mess around.
“So you just come and are forced to hang out with me?” I summarize. “By default, since we’re the only two unattached people at these things.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
I finish my wine. “Me neither.”
River smirks. “Don’t kiss any ex-boyfriends over Christmas break.” His tone is teasing, his eyes unfathomable.
I snort. “Whatever.”
He passes me a dish and we both make plates to pick on.
“Patton! Stop hogging Lola,” Damien calls out, waving me over.
“Yeah, Lola, I wanna hear about California,” Devon tacks on.
My dad groans loudly and Maisy wraps an arm around his waist. It’s no secret my dad would prefer I remain in Tennessee. But, for someone interested in computer science and software development, Silicon Valley holds an allure that Knoxville doesn’t offer.
I give River a small smile before I join the group in the living room. As I’m swept up in conversation, the afternoon slips away. Soon, the team is leaving, and I realize I won’t see River again until after the holidays.
I wish I knew more about his holiday plans. Does his family have a big gathering, with grandparents and cousins? Even though I usually exchange conversation with River at these events, I know almost nothing about him.
He’s hardly forthcoming with his past or personal life and while I regularly stalk the shit out of his social media profiles, he doesn’t post often enough for me to deduce anything with certainty.
“I’m heading out.” River hugs Maisy goodbye. “Thanks for having me, Mais.”
“Of course. Pass by over the holidays. Axe and I will be here.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, noncommittally.
Even though it’s the lamest thing I’ve ever done, I scurry into the kitchen and pull out the tin of Christmas cookies I made River. I’ve already given tins to the Bolts women. It doesn’t feel right to exclude him just because he doesn’t have a significant other.
Or has too many.
Whatever.
I swallow back my nervousness and wait until Dad is saying goodbye to Beau Turner and his girlfriend, Celine, before I slip outside.
“River!” I call.
He’s nearly to his car but he pauses when I say his name. Slowly, he turns toward me.
“Where’s your coat?” he scolds.
I shiver against the cold wind as I approach him, holding out the tin.
“What’s this?” His eyebrows knit together.
“I, they’re cookies. Christmas cookies,” I stammer.
He frowns. “You made them?”
I nod.
His eyes pin me in place. “For me?”
“I, yeah. Yes.”
A devastating sadness sweeps River’s expression for one heartbeat before his jawline tightens. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I hope you enjoy them,” I forge ahead.
He dips his head.
I turn back toward the house.
“Lola.” He reaches out and grasps my arm.
I freeze, his touch hot on my skin. He drops his hold and immediately, I miss his touch.
“Thank you,” River’s voice is gruff, underlined with emotion he rarely shows.
I smile. “Merry Christmas, River.”
He scoffs, looking at the ground before meeting my gaze again. “Have a safe trip home.”
“See you in the new year,” I say.
“Get inside before you get sick.”
Grinning, I scurry inside and close the door behind me. When I do, Dad looks over, his brows drawing together in confusion.
Maisy sighs, her expression knowing while Celine tosses me a wink. I roll my lips together to keep from laughing.
River Patton may have a long list of someones but I know he won’t throw out the cookies I baked. I bet he eats every single one.
The thought warms me up more than the two glasses of spiced wine I nervously consumed.
Three
River
Addictive.
That’s the word to describe Lola’s Christmas sugar cookies. Fucking addictive. I consume the whole tin myself, not bothering to share with my buddies or Cullen.
I don’t want to read into what that says about me. Because the truth is, while I’ve brought Lola up a time or two over beers, I don’t want to share anything about her with my friends or brother either. The only person I’m comfortable talking to about Lola is Chiara. Figures, since she’s already dead.
Biting into a sugar cookie, I lean against her tombstone.
“You’d like her,” I admit, dropping my head back against the cold marble. “And she’d probably get a kick out of you. Everyone did.”
Images of Chiara run through my mind. At six, with big eyes and rosy cheeks, a Moana T-shirt stretched across her little belly. At nine, with a messy French braid and a gap between her two front teeth. At her funeral, the casket closed so no one would see the rope burns around her neck. I guess she could have worn a high-necked dress, one of those Victorian-era styles she secretly loved. She used to read historical romance paperbacks and wonder aloud what it would be like to be a lady.
But the morbid curiosity of people, seeking out strangulation marks or color changes in her skin, caused her foster parents to opt for a closed casket. I was glad for it. The Mercers are good people and don’t deserve the guilt they live with. They didn’t kill Chiara; I did.
I swallow the cookie, the crumbs dry and sticking to my throat. Except I know it’s not Lola’s perfectly baked sugar creations. It’s the guilt and I shame that I live with, that I deserve to shoulder, that makes it difficult to breathe.
“Fuck, Chi.” I knock my head against her tombstone again. “Why the hell didn’t you talk to me? I could’ve fucking helped if you let me.”
I close my eyes for a long moment, not wanting to look at the dates on her tombstone. They’re too close together. It’s been three years since she passed and the agony of that phone call, of learning of Chiara’s suicide, haunts me.
I grasp a handful of grass and tug, pulling the blades out of the ground. When I open my palm, a gust of wind scatters the grass and I watch it blow away. “Anyway, you’d like her. Her name’s Lola.” I turn so I can face Chiara, talk to the tombstone. “She’s so fucking sweet, so good, it’s like she doesn’t belong in our world. I guess most people don’t, huh, Chi?” One corner of my mouth hitches up but it’s not amusing. Or funny. No, the world Chiara and I grew up in is downright depressing. Fucking heart-wrenching. “Got no shot though. She’s a good girl and I’ll only bring her down. Fuck her up.” I snort, imagining Chiara’s retort. The way her eyes would blaze in anger when I got down on myself. She used to be the only person who could lift me up, who could pull me out of the downward spiral of my negative thoughts. When she died, I lived in that space for a long time. “She’s a good girl,” I repeat, as if saying it twice will help it stick in my head.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Cullen: Beers with the boys? 4 PM at Harrison’s.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and glance at Chiara’s name. “Cullen’s summoning me for a beer and I gotta get a workout in. I’ll see you soon, Chi. Rest easy, kid.” Pulling myself up, I touch my fingertips to her headstone and say a quick prayer. It’s laughable, me, praying, and God in the same sentence. But I know she’d like it, so I do it anyway. Then, I walk back to my car and pull out of the cemetery.
As soon as I drive through the gates, I shake off the feelings. The pain and hurt and remembering. To clear my head, I swing by the gym and work out until my limbs shake and my mind is blissfully numb.
Then, with my head on straight, I head to Harrison’s.
When I enter the pub, I grin at the cluster in the back corner. My brother and our group of friends have been chilling here, at the same booth, since high school. Back then, Harrison himself would sneak us a few pints if he knew I had a shitty game, or one worth celebrating. Did the same for Cullen. Harrison was a favorite uncle to every kid in our neighborhood. He celebrated your highs, gave you space to lick your wounds on your losses, and wasn’t afraid to dole out tough love when necessary.
He passed right before the Bolts signed me and I hate that I never got to tell him that he helped me get there. He would’ve gotten a kick out of me playing in the NHL. His daughter took over and even though it’s not the same Harrison’s, it’s not different enough to justify going elsewhere either.
“There he is,” my oldest friend, not counting Cullen, announces. Johnny Scarpetti whistles low. “Thought you had a new hunny or some shit. Where the hell you been, Patton?”
As I step into the group, Cullen slips out of the booth and clasps my shoulder hard before letting me slide onto the bench.
“Around,” I reply.
Johnny smirks. “Just being a little bitch, then? No woman?”
I flip him the middle finger. “No woman,” I confirm, despite the little lie I fed Lola. Truth is, I’m in a bit of a dry spell. Haven’t been with a woman in over a month which is a long-ass time for me. Not thinking of the reasons for that either.
“Sucker,” our friend David Kim laughs.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask, pulling a beer out of the bucket and popping the top.
“Hearing about Kieran’s date,” Johnny fills me in on the smoke-show Kieran showed up with at some party over the weekend.
I lean forward to hear the details, ignoring the pang of regret that while I was at Brawler’s, my true crew was hanging, showing up for Kieran.
But if I didn’t go to Brawler’s, I wouldn’t have seen Lola. Wouldn’t have tasted those sweet sugar cookies or…
Nope. Not fucking going there. Lola Daire is not for me. I know this as surely as I know the sun is going to set tonight and rise tomorrow. Some things are certain. And Lola being better off with almost any man on the planet other than me is a fucking fact.
I nod and smirk and even laugh twice before I tune fully back into the conversation. I do so just in time to hear Cullen say, “Bringing her to Christmas.”
I whip my head toward my brother, confused. “What? Who?”
He ducks his head, embarrassed. “Leanne.”
“The hottie he’s been hookin’ up with,” Kieran says, leaning back in the booth across from me.
“She’s gotta fucking ass on her.” Johnny takes a swig of his beer.
My brother smacks the end of his bottle and Johnny sputters, beer dribbling down his chin. “What the fuck, Cully? You coulda chipped my damn tooth.”
Cullen points at him, his eyes blazing. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Silence descends on the table. The guys glance between Johnny and Cullen. A few looks dart my way.
I heave out a sigh. Take a long pull of my beer. Smack my lips. “It’s serious then?”
Cullen nods. “I’m bringing her home, Riv. Want her to meet you. Mom and Dad. She’s coming to Christmas dinner.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to process his words before I spit out my own. Cullen runs a small, but successful, woodworking company. He’s been on his own for a few years now, provides for himself, and even flips our parents some money from time to time. He does okay for himself. Has a good head on his shoulders.
Of course, he’s looking to settle down. It makes sense.
But knowing that and hearing him confirm it are two very different things. Loneliness rolls through me but it makes no sense because I’m not losing Cullen. If anything, I’m gaining a friend, his woman, in my life.
Then why does it taste bitter as fuck?
“Good. I’m happy for you, man.” I reach over and pull Cully into a one-armed hug. And I am happy for him; he deserves a good woman. I just wish I did too. “Mom know?”
Cullen grins. Smacks my back. “She can’t wait.”
Johnny clicks his tongue. “Gayle’s gonna make that pecan pie I love, isn’t she?”
I grin at the fucker. “I’ll save you a piece.”
Kieran chuckles.
The conversation shifts away from women and to less important topics: work, sports, weekend plans.
But I don’t fully reengage. I can’t. Because my thoughts are a million miles away wondering how, out of our entire group, I’m still alone. How have I professionally leveled-up but personally regressed?
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” my foster mother, Gayle, comments from the window.
“Stop being so obvious,” my foster father, Ken, replies.
Gayle laughs and drops the curtain. She clasps her hands together and I know she’s truly excited to meet Cully’s girl.
I got here early, and she already had the table set and prepped for Christmas Eve dinner, an extra place setting laid out.
The front door swings open and Cullen and Leanne enter.
“Merry Christmas,” my brother says in his good-natured tone.
“Ooh, Merry Christmas!” Gayle gives a little hop of excitement before pulling Cullen into the same warm, loving embrace she greeted me with.
The only difference is Cullen hugs her back. He wraps her up and squeezes where I only give a one-armed embrace with an awkward back pat at the end.
“It’s so good to meet you, Leanne,” Gayle gushes. “I’m Gayle. This is my husband, Ken. And our son, River.”
I force a smile and hold out a hand to shake Leanne’s.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says sweetly, shaking my hand. Her black curls bounce around her open expression and for a second, I think of Lola.
Leanne is just as friendly, her eyes filled with joy. When Cullen looks at her, emotion I’m not used to witnessing floods his features. He gazes at Leanne like she saved him. Hell, maybe she has.
“Come in, come in.” Ken ushers everyone out of the foyer and into the living room.
Wine is poured, drinks are passed out. Leanne and Cullen remain close together, always touching in some way. It’s the kind of shit that annoys me about couples but with them, there’s a sincerity that makes me feel wistful. It’s fucking weird and I don’t like it.
I accept a tumbler of scotch from Ken.
“Your earrings are beautiful,” Gayle comments, perching on the edge of the couch, beside Leanne.
Leanne fingers the delicate gold hoops. “Thank you.” She glances at Cullen and bites her bottom lip. “Cullen bought them for me.”
“He did?” Gayle looks shocked and then overjoyed by this news.
Ken guffaws. “Got good taste like his old man.”
“I love them,” Leanne confirms.
“Aren’t they lovely, River?” Gayle tries to pull me into the conversation.
“Lovely,” I confirm, the word coming out half warbled.
Cullen dips his head in embarrassment. Gayle inquires about Leanne’s family and their Christmas traditions.
And I try to catch my fucking breath. Cullen bought a woman jewelry?
Cullen, who used to have a rotating ring of women he was fucking, bought a woman gold earrings for Christmas and brought her home.
Gayle beams. Ken laughs. Cullen tucks Leanne’s hand into his own.
I watch their interaction like an outside. An interloper.
I’m here but not. Present but apart.
I take a big gulp of scotch. It burns a path down my throat, warming my blood which feels strangely cold, like its molasses moving through my veins.
“Do you have New Year’s plans, River?” Leanne asks me, most likely being polite. Making an effort to talk to me since I’m not making one to get to know her.
I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. One of the guys on my team is having a get together. It’s pretty low-key since we travel the next day for an away game.”
“River plays in Chicago on the second,” Gayle provides.
I give her a small smile. All these years of playing hockey and she still knows my schedule by heart.
“Oh, that’s exciting. It must be fun to travel so much,” Leanne adds.
I shrug. “Yeah, it’s cool.” I don’t tell her I rarely sightsee. That I only see the insides of airports, hotels, and ice hockey arenas. What would be the point?
