Page 5 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 1
Chelsea
Four Years Later
“It’sBeanTown Sports TV and I’m your Gossip Girl on air to talk trash,” I say with false bravado. But after only a month on the job I’m getting too smooth at sounding like a trashy gossip and my stomach protests as the lines of who I am blur in my head.
“What have you got for us today, Chelsea?” My partner in crime on the show, and full-time host of the daily sports show “Gossip Girl,” wiggles his brows.
“I have photos, but first let’s be clear—no names.”
“No fun. Let me see those photos.” In a rehearsed move, he rips the eight-by-ten glossies from my hand and stares at them, raising his brows.
“This looks like they were taken at Club Dynamo.”
I snatch the photos back. “You’re right. And—”
“Isn’t that—?”
“RO surrounded by no less than three women? Yes, it is.”
“He’s more than surrounded by them, ladies and gentlemen, but I don’t think we can show these photos on daytime network TV. This isn’t HBO.”
I laugh, but inside I’m dying because he’s right. The photos show some girl grabbing Ryan O’Rourke right where it matters and he looks like he’s enjoying it. I didn’t take the shameless photo. It was sent in via text by a viewer and we didn’t even have to pay a dime.
“If you want to see more,” I say with a wink, “check out our website.” Though people will be disappointed if they don’t already know better that we won’t show the worst bits of the photo and will always block out most of RO’s face. After our first photo of him, the one the studio paid dearly for when an old BC friend showed me, we got in trouble with the Brawlers management and Ryan’s agent. It showed Ryan getting a lap dance from a topless woman at some club that I still can’t identify and he looked dangerously close to sucking her tit. The expression captured on his face I’ll never forget. That ecstasy. A look I’d seen one other time. In person. A look that has haunted my dreams ever since.
But the station had come to an understanding with Ryan and the team and so now if we show photos of anyone on the team, they need to be mostly sanitized and his face or at least his eyes need to be blacked out and we can only use his initials now. The station has to go along with it or their access to players for regular interviews will dry up. But the die has been cast, so most people know who we’re talking about—Boston’s favorite celebrity crush. He’s too beloved, especially by women, to be called a bad boy.
“If you have photos or video clips you’d like to share, send them in,” I say to the camera. “You know what we’re looking for. Celebrities in Boston and extra points if they’re doing something naughty.” I wink again and give them the email address we set up. We have no trouble getting plenty of fodder for the show featuring RO and others so my job is easy now. I spend most of my time sifting through the material people send in rather than going out and getting anything myself.
I finish my segment with some inside tidbits about a local celebrity divorce and feel like I need a shower when the camera’s red light goes off. Maggie waves at me offstage near the exit to the dressing rooms and offices and that’s the only cue I need. Running like I’m fleeing the scene of a crime, I head straight to my best friend’s arms. And in spite of the fact that Ryan O’Rourke is her big brother, she greets me with a big smile and a hug.
“Don’t get mad about . . .” I wave a hand in the direction of the set. She rolls her eyes and then her grin returns.
“Who cares about that? We’re on our way to Nantucket. You ready?”
“You sure? Not even a teeny bit mad?”
She shakes her head with impatience and we turn away from the cameras and the talk show set. Probably because she’s deliriously happy about her wedding in three days, she’s not mad at all about the latest gossip. We’re taking the ferry to Nantucket together a day early for her bachelorette party.
Maggie’s wedding is on Saturday. It’s only Wednesday and she’s already over the moon. Her fiancé, the brainy and hunky Levi Brown—and Ryan’s best friend—has to work until late today so he’s coming in the morning.
It occurs to me that Levi may not be as forgiving about the latest gossip about Ryan. I haven’t seen him since I got the job and I’m not looking forward to the confrontation, but I push the thought aside. After all, seeing Ryan O’Rourke himself is the real confrontation I have to worry about, isn’t it? And not just because of the Gossip Girl shit. Maggie’s cheery voice rescues me from biting my lip off in worry.
“My future in-laws are finally reconciled to me not staying at their house with them. I got you and me rooms at the best inn right downtown. We have spa appointments first thing in the morning but tonight we get to go out and party—my last hurrah.”
Remembering the last time I was at a last hurrah party, my insides clench with pain and pleasure and my heart rises like a bubbling lump of dread in my throat.That night withRyan O’Rourke. Shit.
“Hey, even if you’re not mad”—I’m talking faster than I should, but I can’t help it—“I’m sorry about trashing your brother on the show just now.”
She shrugs. “Calm down, Chels. He’s a big boy. He can take it.” She screws up her face. “It’s not like he doesn’t deserve his rep. Hopefully he has a sense of humor about it by now.”
She puts her arm through mine and we walk down the hall to my shared office/dressing room. Looking around, she takes a seat while I check my emails before shutting down my computer for the long weekend. I had to promise more than I can probably deliver to get the time off after only being on the job for a month. The thing that convinced my boss was the prospect of some dirt from a sports celebrity wedding and a bunch of exclusive photos and video clips. I only agreed to send him photos if I got permission from Maggie. No way was I going for stealth, not at my best friend’s wedding. Luckily Maggie is cool with me sending a few candids of the family—including Ryan and whatever girl he ends up bringing.
We leave the station, which is located in the North End of Boston on Canal Street, near the Boston Garden. It’s a bright day with a slight chill in the air, a perfect June afternoon. My show will air later and I don’t even want to see it. I jump into her car, which she’s parked illegally out front—and has somehow miraculously gotten away with no ticket—and I throw my bag into the back.
“Is that all you have?” she asks.
