Page 14 of Making the Save
“Okay. Why do you sound like that’s the end of the world?”
“Because right now…well, after my last album and that whole fiasco in Paris-”
“All charges were dropped,” Beatrice said, as if making a point. “That boy started the brouhaha and you got caught up in the middle.”
I didn’t know the details of what happened to her in Paris, and this did not seem like the time to ask. “Anyway, my label isn’t exactly head over heels about me. Getting drunk and marrying some rando athlete is not going to help that.”
I bristled at being some rando athlete to her.
“Sorry,” she said with a wince.
“I’ll take the blame,” I said. “I talked you into it. I bought you too many drinks. Make me the villain.”
A soft knock interrupted me.
Beatrice got up and opened the door to a hotel staff member, who brought in a covered tray of what I hoped to God was greasy hash browns.
The aspirin and second bottle of Gatorade helped, but I wouldn’t be cured until grease hit my bloodstream.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten that drunk. I was older now. Partying and hangovers had less appeal for me than ever.
However, I felt as if I could be forgiven this one time. After all, the Peaks lost the Stanley Cup to the Bruisers. I loved my brother and was real proud of him, but losing sucked. Especially when I didn’t play my best that last game.
Yes, I was older. Maybe too old. There were plenty of people out there saying that. Some of them were even saying the R word. Maybe, sometimes, I said it to myself.
On top of that was this situation with my brother. My other brother.
Nick Renard.
Plus, my mom died and Liam and I just shoved all our grief aside because the post season had been starting. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to grieve.
All that to say, when Sydney Malloy fell into my life, she tasted like something sweet after all the shit I’d been eating.
“You are so far from the villain in this story. We’re not doing that to you.” Sydney said, and put a hand on my shoulder.
I liked it when she touched me. I’d like her to do more of it.
Maybe, if the Queen of England hadn’t barged in on us, we might have gotten to some morning-after action. Had ourselves a proper wedding night/morning.
Her hand, as it left my shoulder and trailed down my arm, made me remember that kiss in the club. Talk about lightening in a bottle. I could have fucked her right there. Pulled the tiny scrap of underwear she wore under that dress out of my way and buried myself so deep inside of her that marriage would have been irrelevant. I would have made her mine so hard we’d never be the same.
Beneath my new jeans I could feel my dick twitch. Like it had suddenly realized it had been a very good boy all night lying next to the woman of my dreams and it would like a treat.
Down boy. That is not happening.
“Let’s eat,” I said, getting up to take a look at what Beatrice had ordered. “We can’t figure out anything on an empty stomach.”
I lifted the lid off each dish. Scrambled eggs. Bacon.Yes, please.I grabbed two slices and popped them in my mouth while I kept looking. Toast, well-buttered, andscore…hash browns. There was also fruit, granola and plain yogurt.
There was a carafe of orange juice and another one filled with steaming black coffee.
I might live.
I put together my plate filled with eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast and sat down next to Sydney.
She was eye-balling my plate like a starving animal too scared to take, but not disciplined enough to be cool about how badly she wanted it.
“You want me to make you a plate?” I hadn’t thought to ask. Shit. I was her husband, if only for a few hours. If Dad taught me anything, it was take care of your wife. “Take this, I’ll make another one.”