Page 45 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Too bad you’re not going to law school man, you’d make a great interrogator,” I say.
“What’s with the ice?”
I shrug. “Icing my ankle. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be packing to leave on your honeymoon?”
“Thought I’d say goodbye to my best man since he deserted the brunch without a by-your-leave.”
I scoff. “So long. Have a swell time.” I join in with the old-school speak like we’re in a movie from the forties, his favorite era for the movies, oddly enough. I put up with it.
“What happened with you and Chelsea?”
“You think I’m going to tell you that? You know I don’t talk about—” I stop, realizing I’ve just admitted more than I meant to. He nods.
“I get the picture.”
I don’t know if he gets it, but I’m not about to discuss my foibles with a man at the happiest juncture of his life, about to go away on his honeymoon with his adored bride.
“Maggs is upset,” he says, “but I’ll smooth it over with her. In the meantime, you need to stay the fuck away from Chelsea.”
Slamming my fist on the bedside table satisfies my frustration, but it hurts like hell. I stand and pace around. “Fuck.” Because why can’t we have a relationship?
“I’m not sure I understand it, bro. Sure you have this bad rep, but that’s all temporary. You’ll get past the man-whore stage. Eventually.”
“Fuck you.” I flip him the finger and he grins, undaunted as I knew he’d be. Did I mention he’s my best friend? The most solid man I know?
“After I get back from the honeymoon, we’ll do something about your reputation. In the meantime, you should burn your little black book—figuratively speaking.”
“Because who has a black book?” I stop pacing. “You sound like your dad talking.” I grin because this isn’t a bad thing. “Beyond whether or not I retire as a womanizer, you don’t get it—she’s the girl next door, my childhood friend, practically like a sister—”
“Chelsea isn’t your sister. Stop it with that shit.”
“She may as well be. We have a history—of friendship if not as an official sibling—and I don’t want to mess that up.” Maybe I already have. Maybe I need to salvage what I can. I don’t tell Levi about my promise to her brother, my best friend and the most solid man I knew before he died. And I don’t tell him about four years ago, about what a fuck-up I already am.
Levi shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest. “Not even close, bro.”
“Look, we can’t have this conversation right now. You have somewhere to be, don’t you?” I give him a grin, though the last thing I want to think about is him on a honeymoon with my sister. If they didn’t make each other so happy, I’d be apeshit.
“You have a point—but we’re continuing this conversation when I get back.”
“There’s nothing else to talk about.” It’s not a lie, because there’s no way I’m going to tell even Levi about the mistake I made four years ago, about how Chelsea isn’t the kind of girl I should be fooling around with. I’m not the kind of man she needs in her life. She wants a forever guy, the kind who doesn’t tomcat around, the kind who hasn’t bedded hundreds of women—not thousands like everyone thinks, though I stupidly let them think that—too many to remember all their names. Though I swear I made a point to know their names while we were together, even if it was just for one night. There wasn’t one of them I didn’t enjoy the hell out of, not one of them I regret. Except Chelsea fucking Wilde.
Levi gives me a hug, bumping my back with his fist and I do the same.
“I’m happy for you, man,” I say. “For both of you.”
He shoves open the door, but before he leaves, he says, “One of these days it’s going to be you. Mark my words, O’Rourke.”
“Don’t go making dire predictions,” I say, laughing. It’s a refrain we’ve repeated more than once in the past few months leading up to the wedding. I’m starting to think he’s serious.
Starting to wonder why I’m holding back.
Too jaded. Too spoiled. Too many puck bunnies who saw me as a golden ticket more than a person. How the hell am I supposed to find a real relationship when I’ve never had one and have no idea where to look?
Except at the one woman who scares the shit out of me, who used to be the girl next door.
