Page 19 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 6
Ryan
“Everyone in the world is at this party and we’re supposed to be mingling with Levi’s side too, aren’t we?” Chelsea says. “So how come I’m stuck here sitting with you?” She smiles wryly as she stands in front of us at the small numbered table with me and Gramps. She tosses her card with the lucky number seven on it.
“I’m Gramps’s official caretaker—I mean pal—for the duration.” Gramps harrumphs and raises his middle finger at me and I grin, enjoying the hell out of annoying him. Giving his attention to Chelsea, he smiles.
“You’re babysitting me too, girl, didn’t you know?” He laughs, then coughs, then lifts the glass of yellow liquid that from a distance could either be bourbon or apple juice, but I know it’s bourbon.
“In that case, I’d be delighted to join you.” Chelsea ducks under the umbrella, adding her plate of food to the table with ours. I know whatever good humor she has is owed to Gramps, not me.
The vibes she’s saving for me are far darker and more mysterious and disturbing, but no less real because I can feel them down to my bones. Down to my dick, but who’s watching? Hopefully no one notices said dick is stiffening as I catch a glimmer of cleavage between the innocent pearl buttons of her lacy dress when she sits down. The white dress is meant to be a pure and feminine frill, but the playful flounce of it on her translates to something sexier than if she were dripping and naked—at least in my mind.
Because I have adirtymind this weekend it seems, taking every opportunity to torture myself with the forbidden temptation of the Wilde child. Not mean enough to steal a sip of Gramps’s bourbon, I lift my water glass as if my thirst is the ordinary, garden variety kind.
“I’ll even put up with your sidekick.” She slides a glance at me. On the surface I remain unaffected by those green eyes, while underneath I feel like she’s dissecting my soul, seeing all my faults and tossing me to the rubbish pile of possibilities.
But I know she sees the possibilities, feels those possibilities between us, is drawn the same way I am to that tempting rotten forbidden fruit that is me. How the hell did I get to be such a pariah? It feels surreal here and now, sitting with Gramps and the childhood version of Chelsea, the familiar version of her, buried underneath the jaded woman. If I look past, to who she was before I disillusioned her, to the passionate innocent I can see by her choice in dress, her easy way with Gramps and her real affection for him, then I can feel like the old me. The me before I let my dream life take over and become my reality, before all the pretense became real and I had less time for the real.
The only thing that remains real in my life when I’m not at home with family is hockey. Playing the game is my anchor. Maybe that’s why I feel so restless since the season ended. Maybe that’s why I’ve gravitated back to home and Gramps, so I can get a piece of myself back, feel like who I see in the mirror isn’t a paparazzi photo. That I’m more than my image.
That all those people who want a piece of me haven’t ravaged me to the point where there’s nothing left.
Leaning forward, I reach for Gramps’s glass of bourbon and lift it to my lips, knocking back a healthy sip. I feel his eyes on me, but he doesn’t say anything because my eyes are on Chelsea.
Is she part of the problem with her Gossip Girl spot digging at me, tearing away pieces of me, or is she still my friend, my kid sister’s soul sister and my sister by default, someone who knows the real me, still has an appreciation for that person, who can help me feel real? Who doesn’t just want to sit here with me because I’m a hot celebrity?
I’m betting she’s still that passionately decent girl underneath the ambitious, jaded broadcaster. I’m betting she hasn’t crossed the line to the dark side. Hell, she’s only been in her job for a month.
She says, “I was told Levi’s mom wanted the two families and friends to get to know each other so they have everyone sitting mixed in. Mrs. Brown is quite an event planner. She has volleyball nets set up for a game after lunch and a band too.”
In her eyes and tight smile I see the lack of enthusiasm for the volleyball, but I ignore that puzzling insight for the moment.
“You’re missing out on meeting Levi’s people,” I say, “But I can tell you who they all are.”
“Sure. Give me the guided tour.” She scoots her chair over so that we’re facing the crowd from our spot on the outskirts of the party.
“Let’s start counterclockwise.” I lean back in my chair and pat Gramps on the arm. “You paying attention? I’ll be quizzing you later—a new drink for each right answer.”
“You got my full attention, you little—”
“At the first table—at one o’clock—is Doc’s brother and his wife, Levi’s Aunt Jane and Uncle Jeb, sitting with our moms and my dad. At two o’clock—”
“You gonna do this for every table?” Gramps asks. “I need a fresh drink before—”
“Not yet, Gramps. Have some water.” I push his ice water toward him and he flips me the finger again. Chelsea laughs.
The sound of her laugh rolls over me, bringing me back years, making me feel like we’re kids again in the street, running. I used to chase that laugh, never catching it, never knowing what I’d do with her if I caught her. Only knowing I wanted to catch that laugh as she ran, hair flying and looking over her shoulder at me.
“Don’t encourage him,” I say, but I’m smiling. “The next table is more of Doc’s family. Levi’sgrandmother and two cousins. The serious-looking man is Levi’s older cousin Eli and the less serious-looking, beautiful, much younger woman is his wife, Helen. It’s the family mystery why she puts up with her husband. They figure she either married him on a drunken bender or for his money, but either way, she’s got her hands full. She’s stuck with him and is a surprisingly happy woman.”
“You know what that means, don’t ya?” Gramps asks, wiggling his brows.
Chelsea almost spits out the ice water she’s sipping, then manages to say, “I was going to say the same thing. Not much of a mystery, really. Old Eli has a big giant package.”
My turn to laugh until I remember she recently accused me of the same thing—on air. Then my smile deepens and my package twitches to life.
“Like me, you mean?”
