Page 97 of The Check Down
“Hey, Cap, you know a boat captain can marry couples, right?” Devon eyes Beau, then Paige. “If you two want to make ito-ffish, I’m offering best man services. I bet Coach’ll walk Paige down the aisle.”
“Sorry, Greenway. That’s not true. Unless said captain is an actual recognized marriage officiant, like a judge or minister or notary.”
Greenway’s jaw drops, the stunned expression making us laugh. “But in the movies…”
Paige chirps, “Aw, good thing you’re cute, Dev.”
While we enjoy the food and each other’s company, Coach Mundy and Mrs. Russell, the team’s owner, give speeches. Whoops and hollers sound around us when two players grab mics and treat us to a lovely a capella version of “Blue Christmas.”
When Griffin and Beau, along with ten of their teammates, line up along the front of the stage, Paige and I exchange bewildered looks. But as the group sings a football version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”—each player taking on his own gridiron gift and acting it out—we laugh and cheer with the crowd. Beau cheekily flashes his hand when he warbles “five Super Bowl rings,” and Griff’s enthusiastic touchdown signal every time he croons “seven points a TD” earns plenty of laughs.
During the last verse of the song, right before his turn, he flinches and his features lock up. His focus is fixed on one spot in the crowd, so I follow it, searching for who’s garnered this reaction, but no one stands out.
I don’t get a chance to ask him who caused him to tense up like that, because my own ghost of Christmas past makes eye contact when Griffin returns to his seat. Jack’s glare is colder than the temperature outside. When my current boyfriend notices my ex, he lazily drapes an arm along the back of my chair and dips his head to press a lingering kiss to my bare shoulder. Staking his claim. A move so brazen and possessive it makes me clench my thighs.
According to Paige, Jack is lucky to still have a job after he socked Griffin last month. What she doesn’t know is that I asked my man to speak up on his behalf. As much as I’d love to be rid of Jack for good, I don’t want to be the reason he loses his dreamjob. Shane was all too willing to accept Griffin’s explanation when he insisted it was a “slight misunderstanding that won’t happen again” in order to keep his right-hand man.
Once dinner is over, we mingle, and Beau and Paige leave to check out the upper decks. While Griff and I grab another drink at the bar, I keep Jack in my periphery to ensure we won’t cross paths.
“You want to check out the river?” Griffin asks when he swallows the last of his bourbon.
“Yeah, go on up. I’ll find you after I use the restroom.”
He kisses my hand. “Sure? I can wait.” When I nod, he says, “Don’t forget your coat.”
When I’m finished in the restroom, I snag my coat from the back of my chair and head up. The night air is brisk, but this area is covered, blocking any wind. The deck is lined with rows of wooden benches, and several people are hanging out up here, bundled in their coats and scarves to brave the winter night. I shuffle down the center aisle, scanning the group. Beau and Paige are huddled close, deep in conversation, but my guy isn’t in sight, so I pull my coat tighter and climb to the top deck.
This level has a covered section in the middle but open decks at the front and rear of the boat. I blink up at the clear night sky and breathe in the crisp air, relishing the slight burn in my lungs. I scan the people, looking for Griffin, but this area is crowded, too. Laughter and snatches of conversation float through the air as I search. I’m about to dig through my clutch for my phone when I see his outline. He’s standing at the back railing.
But he’s not alone.
Stressful situations typically cause one of two reactions in people: fight or flight. But there’s a third possibility, and that’s how I respond now—I freeze.
In the dim light from the covered area, she’s striking, with long waves of midnight hair that flow to her elbows. She’s dressed ina white calf-length faux fur coat and black leather leggings. Her cherry-red stilettos have got to be at least five inches and match the stain on her lips. Even with the added height, she doesn’t quite reach his shoulders. When she smiles up at him adoringly, my stomach sinks like a stone in the river we’re floating.
But when he tips his head back in laughter, focus fixed only on her? The most horrible sense of déjà vu strikes. I’m back at the Peabody, watching my world fall apart across a sea of people.
They may not be standing as close as Jack and the blond were that night, but there’s no denying the familiarity between them. This isn’t Griffin shooting the breeze with an acquaintance or a friend’s date.
I stay hidden in the shadows of the upper deck, spying, as she twirls a strand of her hair. He’s got one hand braced on the railing, and the other is punctuating his side of the conversation. Breath held, I wait, watching. Will he reach out and tuck a strand of her hair behind an ear? Or will he give her arm an affectionate squeeze? Or wrap her up in a life-altering hug?
My throat burns with unshed tears; I refuse to let them fall. But whensheplaces a red fingernail-tipped hand on his forearm, that burn rages into a wildfire and spreads to my belly.
In a blink, my frozen response switches tofight.
Hiding my shaking hands in the pockets of my coat, I approach them.
Griffin straightens but doesn’t look the least bit guilty when he smiles and says, “There you are.”
When I press into his side, the woman does a double take, and surprise flashes on her face and is gone as fast as it appeared.
Griffin rests his hand on my hip and pulls me in tighter.
I grip his waist a little too roughly, and I’m a little aggressive when I jab my hand her way. “Hi, I’m Brynn. Griffin’s girlfriend.”
Her eyes widen, but she recovers quickly and slips a cautious hand in mine. “Harmony.”
Seriously? What the hell kind of name isHarmony?