Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2) Read online

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  Losing Seven

  Copyright © 2019 T.A. Richards Neville

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and locations are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, scenes or events, are purely coincidental.

  The author recognizes the use of trademarked brands, sportspersons, and products including NFL & NHL teams, which have been used without permission and are in no way associated with the trademark owners. All opinions, characters and scenes are entirely fictional and are in no way to be affiliated with real sportspersons, teams or events.

  Author’s Note

  This eBook is self-edited and I apologize for any errors I may have missed. I’ve taken some liberties with Julian’s schedule where necessary to fit the story. Sensitive issues from this point on. Please read with caution.

  ~

  …because life isn’t perfect

  and neither is love.

  I wrapped up the Tots skating session, waving good-bye to six-year-old and under ice bunnies tumbling toward the exit, proud moms and dads standing by in woolly hats and padded coats. This wasn’t my usual session, but I was covering for Alessa Simone, one of the other part-time instructors at the rink, while she was visiting family in San Francisco.

  With time to spare, I pushed off on the ice, transitioning into a backward crossover and gaining speed. I lifted off the ice in a waltz jump, landing on my right foot, my left leg extended and gliding behind me. I indulged myself for a few minutes longer. Aware that the ice was booked for someone else, I skated to the exit and tugged at the fingers of my gloves, pulling them off. My eyes drifted to a commotion on the far side of the rink. The stands were filling up with the public admissions.

  I gathered my things and sat down where it was still relatively quiet to take off my figure skates. I had already stayed too long. I fought with the double knot in my laces, making it worse with every yank, pulling the strings even tighter.

  “Are you winning?”

  “Hardly,” I said with automatic precision, my attention on my laces.

  “Maybe I could help?”

  I saw the black and yellow Bauers first, then I looked up, over a bulky, uniform-clad body. He shook off his gloves, hitched his helmet under one arm and then bent down, his right knee taking his weight. He made movement appear easy, covered in layers of padding, balancing on two blades. He picked at my laces, carefully working the knot free. “I’m Beau, by the way.”

  “Yeah, Beau Kessler. I know who you are. I think all of Canada and most of America knows who you are.”

  “There.” He let go of my laces and just when I thought he was done, he slipped off my skate with one hand supporting my ankle. I didn’t even need to ask, he was already working on my other lace, tackling the second knot with the same fluid ease.

  “Uh, you don’t need to do that,” I said, beginning to feel awkward and like I was four years old again.

  Beau glanced up at me through hazel eyes. He was head-to-toe in hockey pads now, but I knew from previous magazine coverage that under those hefty sleeves of his jersey hid more sleeves—tattoo sleeves.

  “And what if I want to?” His smile was trouble. Soul-destroying, toe-curling trouble. He reminded me of someone, and I kicked my silly, teenage-crushed brain into action, slamming the brakes on whatever was going on here.

  “I’ve managed to take off my own shoes for the past, oh”—I looked up, pretending to count—“seventeen years or so.” I smiled, picking up my skates. “But thank you for the help… Beau Kessler.”

  He straightened to his full, impressive height. “Doesn’t seem fair that you’re throwing around my whole name and I don’t even know your first name. Throw me an initial, eh?”

  We both smiled when he turned all Canadian on me. He wanted my name, that was all. I was being polite by giving it to him. He did untie my laces… I owed him.

  “I’m Angel. I’m a figure skating instructor here part-time.” I laughed, but it was all nerves. I was having serious déjà vu, and it felt so very wrong. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “You never even asked about that. Too much information, right?”

  He smiled, dragging a hand through his light brown hair. He had that long flow synonymous with hockey players. Conditioned and curling behind his ears, reaching the neck of his jersey. “Are you always this cute?”

  “If by cute, you mean painfully embarrassing, then no, I’m never like this. I’m going to leave before I do something really embarrassing, like ask for your autograph.”

  “It’s yours if I can ask for your phone number.”

  “I can’t,” I said, hoping I sounded at least somewhat regretful. “I really have to go. I actually have to be somewhere.”

  He skirted in front of me, brawny enough to block the aisle. “But you’ll be here again?”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  Beau’s smile upended, head dipping in what looked like disappointment. “Sure you do.” He looked at me through his eyelashes. “Do you mind that I’m jealous?”

  “Not at all. I’m secure in my relationship.”

  He groaned, but a new smile teased at his lips. “Even worse.”

  It was all for show. This guy was so famous he probably got laid every night. At least twice.

  “Good-bye, Beau.” He stepped to the side and I started to walk away. “Oh, and have a good practice,” I threw over my shoulder.

  “I’ll do my best,” he mumbled from behind.

  It was approaching eleven-oh-five when I left the Toyota Center. I tore away from the parking lot, cutting it insanely fine if I wanted to make it back in time. At home, my bags were packed and waiting for me. I was catching a flight to Boston this afternoon, and the odds of making that flight were looking grim if this traffic I was caught in didn’t let up any time soon. The roads weren’t what you’d call gridlocked, but I wasn’t going anywhere fast.

  I connected my phone through the car’s Bluetooth, turning down the radio as the muffled ringing settled into a balanced and audible rhythm.

  “Hey.”

  I smiled immediately after hearing Julian’s voice. That was just how it was; he didn’t need to be here to make me happy.

  “Hey. Game day tomorrow, how’re you feeling?” I pressed on my horn when the driver in front sat unmoving, even after the filter light had turned to green. “Asshole,” I said, under my breath.

  “I’d feel better about it if you were there. I’m still getting over you not making the season opener. That shit hurt.”

  “That game’s been and gone, and you didn’t play.” Crawling my way through the line of traffic, I switched lanes, squeezing in behind a Jeep, hoping to make some progress.

  “Yeah, that wasn’t lost on me.”

  “You are the QB rookie. Starting in week two was great for you. Be happy, Julian. I am.”

  “I am happy. I’m ecstatic,” he deadpanned.

  “You sound it.”

  “Where you at, anyway?”

  “Trying to get somewhere on the 405, slowly and painfully.”

  “You going out?”

  “No, home. I just finished up a session at the ice rink. I’m flying to Boston in exa
ctly”—I checked the time on the dash—“one hour and fifty-three minutes. I’m not going to make it.”

  “You’re flying to Boston? You never said anything to me about that.”

  Oh, right. I didn’t.

  “It was last minute. Nell isn’t doing so great and I took a few days off from college. I can take my schoolwork with me. I have two papers to work on, and one’s due back next week.”

  “So, you can fly to Boston…”

  “Julian, don’t. She needs me.”

  “I need you.”

  “You are fine. Better than fine. Please, don’t make me feel bad. This day’s been strange enough. I met Beau Kessler, by the way,” I said, aiming for distraction. “Right-winger for the LA Kings.”

  “Are you seriously telling me this guy’s position? I know who Beau Kessler is.”

  “Right. I forgot you eat sports stats for breakfast.”

  “So you ditch me to hang out with the Los Angeles hockey team? I’m surprised you’d even tell me that.”

  “Yes, Julian, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  The traffic started to thin out as I drove by Highway Patrol blocking off a smashed-up Kia and a motorbike lying in a heap of twisted metal at the side of the road. I felt a bout of sickness at the fate of the passengers. It looked devastating enough to have ended in one or more fatalities. That was one thing I hadn’t missed about LA: the crazy traffic and the deadly freeways.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Julian asked, drawing my attention back to him. “Anything you need?”

  “You could complete the threesome? Beau’s really keen.”

  “Smartass. I meant with Nellie.”

  I sighed. “That helps, just asking. But no, I’m good. She still isn’t back to herself after the pneumonia, so I’ll be keeping her company, give my grandpa a break. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “Call if anything changes, or, just let me know how she’s doing.”

  “I will.”

  “Are you watching the game?”

  “Of course. You know you don’t need to ask me that.”

  “Wish me luck, baby, I gotta go. Let me know when you land in Boston.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Oh, and, Angel?”

  “Yes?” I checked the time again. There was a still a chance I could make this trip. I pressed the gas a little harder, testing the speed limit.

  “I miss you like crazy.”

  And then my chest hollowed just a little more. “I know the feeling. See you on the big screen.”

  I ended the call and funneled my attention into making it home on time. But more importantly, in one piece. I locked my Hyundai in the garage, my Mini Cooper back in Boston with the control freak who bought it. While rushing around the house, I ordered an Uber and grabbed my bag, checking off a list of what I’d packed. According to my memory, it was all there.

  My app let me know my Uber was outside and I stumbled out the door, locking up behind me.

  Twenty minutes later, I’d cleared security and was dashing through LAX. By the skin of my teeth and some unforeseen force watching over me, I made my flight with approximately ten minutes to spare.

  I was going back to Boston, and with that brought on so many emotions I was too wrecked to spare a second thought for. Instead of overthinking, I passed the time with a selection of mediocre in-flight movies, closing off my mind to what awaited me.

  A rriving at Logan International was bittersweet. So much had happened since I was last here. Some of it bad. A lot of it amazing. I only had my carry-on with me, so I sailed through arrivals, constantly moving with the other passengers. And it was late, so not as busy without that daytime rush.

  My plans were to get another Uber. I struggled with my cell, attempting to reconnect to my network but repeatedly denied access. After so many tries with no success, I was sweating, angry, and ready to throw my cell out the next window and on to the runway.

  “Yo, sis!”

  Sandwiched between cab drivers and emotionally charged family members, Marilyn’s arms cut through the air. I bit back a smile when she yelled, “Get the fuck over here, Cali Girl,” and the middle-aged man next to her in dress pants and a button-down scowled at his crass neighbor.

  We locked each other in a fierce hug, her arms squeezing my ribs like she was extracting meat. I squeezed her back just as hard. “Missed you, Mar.” Her shoulder muffled my words.

  “Missed you more.” We let each other go and I took hold of my bag, wheeling it behind me as we made for the exit. “So, how’s school out there?”

  “It’s fine,” I said, zigzagging through the exit and out to the parking area, keeping pace with Marilyn. “I dare say I miss the excitement of BU. Just don’t tell anyone.”

  “Babe, you may be the only person who ever said that. Believe me, I won’t be telling anybody.”

  The walk to the parking garage felt like an age, and I cursed airports for being so damn intimidating. “We don’t talk anymore. How’s Mario? Are you guys married yet?”

  “Yeah…” Marilyn tossed me a fleeting glance. “We aren’t together anymore.”

  I gave her a dramatic look, emphasis on her keeping such a huge detail from me. We got on the elevator and Marilyn pressed the button for the third level. “Explain, please. And how could you not tell me this sooner?”

  “I just, you know…” She shrugged. “Didn’t wanna make a big thing of it.”

  “Did he cheat on you or…?”

  “No.”

  “No? That’s all you’re giving me?”

  We got off the elevator and I followed Marilyn to her car. She pressed the button on the key fob and orange rear lights on a silver Nissan flashed straight ahead of us. I shoved my cabin case in the trunk and then got in the car, fastening my seatbelt.

  “We hook up. Sometimes,” Marilyn provided on a loose sigh. “It works for us.”

  “Whose idea was this?”

  “Both of ours. He’s busy, I’m—”

  I snorted. “Do not say you are busy. This is me sitting in front of you. I know you aren’t too busy for a guy.”

  “Well, I want more than one guy. I want my pick of guys. Is that a crime? And I still have Mario, only in all the best ways.”

  “That’s true. I guess.”

  We drove out of the covered lot, merging into the exiting traffic.

  “Are you staying at your dad’s or you wanna go get a drink?”

  “Could you just take me to Glenvale? I’m hoping they’ll let me see Nellie tonight. It’s out of hours, but Nellie isn’t on regular time.”

  “I stopped by yesterday so Killian could go shower, or eat, or whatever. She isn’t doing too hot. Want me to stay there with you?”

  My heart sank a little lower in my chest. I knew Nellie was in bad shape, but hearing grandpa was keeping a vigil, I was worried. It must be worse than what dad was letting on. “No,” I said. “No use both of us losing sleep. We could go for dinner tomorrow.”

  Marilyn squeezed my hand. “Cool. Just message me.”

  We pulled up at the nursing home in record time, the car still running while I got out. Marilyn closed the trunk after me.

  “Give Nell a kiss from me, yeah?”

  “Always.” I wheeled my case to the home’s entrance and Marilyn drove away. I pressed the buzzer at the double-doors, watching through the patterned glass as a shadowy figure materialized. She unlocked one of the doors, asking my name before allowing me inside.

  “I’m here to see Nellie O’Hara. I know it’s late, but I flew in from California and she’s been really sick. I’m her granddaughter.”

  The nurse smiled. “Of course. Come in.” She closed the door after me and led me to the signing-in book. “Your grandfather’s here already. Been here all day, and every other day…” She handed me a pen. “Just sign and date, and then you can go right on through.”

  “That’s great, thank you.” I took the pen and filled in the next available line, then flippe
d to the page before. M. O’Hara had been signed four times yesterday. Twice in, twice out. It was good to know.

  Finished snooping, I walked the familiar hallway until I came to Nellie’s room. The door was closed, and I knocked before Grandpa told me to come in. He stood from his chair and I left my case by the door when he opened his arms to me. “How’s she doing?” I asked, seating myself in the only other chair in the room.

  Nellie was sleeping in her bed, so still she barely appeared to be breathing. She looked thinner, frailer, and her pallid complexion was something I wasn’t used to seeing. It scared me.

  Grandpa rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She’s weak. The infection really kicked her ass.”

  “You don’t look too much better, pops,” I said, noting the creases in his salmon polo shirt, and the shadows seated deep under his eyes. His brittle smile strayed no farther than one corner of his mouth.

  “No need to worry about me. I’m made of Irish blood. I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Yeah, well, even the Irish need to bathe every now and then.”

  “Now who said that?” I smiled and he winked at me, straightening in his chair and running a hand through his thick, silver hair. “How’s that boy of yours, anyhow? Jillian, is it?”

  I laughed. “You know it’s Julian. The Dolphins play the Seattle Seahawks tomorrow.”

  “Ah, you’re missing another one?”

  “He’ll play other games.”

  “That he will. He’s a talented thing. Reminds me a lot of Michael when he was younger. And believe it or not, a lot more tolerable.”

  If Julian’s career ended the way my dad’s did, before it even started… No, I couldn’t even think it. It would be unimaginable—a disaster.

  Grandpa and I talked awhile longer. I convinced him to go home and do whatever he needed to do to regain some of his humanity. “She’ll be here when you get back,” I reassured him. “And I’m here with her. I’ll call if we need you.”

  The nurses came and went, injecting antibiotics and checking Nellies vitals. I fell in and out of sleep, my back and neck critically stiff in the hard-backed chair. I covered Nellie’s hand with my own, her papery skin cool and fragile inside my palm. At some point later in the night, lucidity pulling at the seam of my dreams, I felt her hand squeeze mine.