25. Mallory

Crew watches me as he shrugs into his suit jacket. His eyes are kind and soft, looking at me curled up in the corner of his couch like I”m a wounded puppy at a shelter. ”You really should come with me.”

“Nope,” I reply and tuck my knees under the hoodie I’m wearing. It’s Crew’s, since I came here in nothing but the dress I was wearing last night, and you could fit four of me in it.

“He told me to bring you.”

“He can fuck off.”

“Mallory,” Crew sighs. “I know he’s sorry. He told you he was sorry.”

”He texted me he was sorry. He knows where I am. He could drive his ass over here. It”s less than ten minutes from his house,” I remind him.

“He hasn’t had a chance to breathe let alone come here,” Crew defends his teammate like it’s his job. I guess, as co-captain with his brother, it is his job. “He did three print interviews this morning and one TV interview is scheduled for before the game with his dad.”

“Well then it’s best I stay out of his way.” I don’t move off the couch as he adjusts the cuffs on his shirt, twisting the cufflinks and giving me his best puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sure Dylan misses you.”

“Low blow.”

Crew’s mouth lifts a little in the corners. “I didn’t say I would fight fair.”

“Dylan has his grandparents,” I say, trying not to give in to that ache in my chest. “And if I was so important to his son, he wouldn’t have dumped me on you last night. Which made things worse, need I remind you.”

“No, you don’t need to remind me.” Crew’s rugged face grimaces.

Because this is the address the world still thinks Tate lives at, there were four photographers and one videographer outside the gates when Crew and I drove in. He gave me his jacket to cover myself from their lenses since the only way from the parking to the house is to walk by the gate.

I haven’t slept a wink. I laid awake in that guest room all night, my eyes wet with tears, my heart aching and my brain growing angrier with every hour that passed. Now, as Crew gets ready to leave for the arena for their afternoon game against the Thunder, I have no more tears. I’m just plain angry.

“Okay well if you insist on staying here, I’ll make sure the gate dude is aware. I don’t trust those cockroaches to not try and sneak in,” Crew tells me. “If they find out the mystery woman I came home with is also Tate’s girlfriend, then we’ll make the whole thing way worse.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I say. “I’m just the nanny.”

”No, you”re not,” Crew replies simply like there”s no room for debate on this. ”Anyway, lock the door behind me.”

He heads to the entry and I follow behind and lock the door after he leaves. Then I move back to the couch, grab my phone, and look up the only interview Tate’s given that’s made it online already. It’s the Quake’s official team website. He talks about how he assumed custody of Dylan after the mother, who lived in England, died in an accident. How he wasn’t hiding the child, just trying to ease him into his new life without more unnecessary trauma.

He doesn”t mention that he didn”t know about Dylan. He doesn”t mention that Diana was a bed buddy and not a girlfriend. He says he wasn”t with the mother anymore when Dylan was born but he ”very much takes responsibility for his son and is a proud dad.” He says that ”the nanny” is a close personal friend and he trusts Dylan with her ”despite the leak coming from her family.”

It’s the fifteenth time I’ve read the article since it went live at two in the morning. And the same painful thought hits me hard every time I read it. It isn’t Dylan who is Tate’s dirty little secret. It’s me. And I think I’ve finally reached the point where I love me more than I love the idea of being Tate Garrison’s anything.

Tears well up in my eyes again, but I brush them away. I will not cry over a lesson that I refused to learn any other way but the hard way. My phone rings on the coffee table. It’s a video call from my mom’s cell. I have been avoiding calls from every single member of my family since the news broke last night but I know it’s not something I can do forever.

I reach for the phone and swipe the green button. My mom’s face appears on my screen. Her blue eyes are narrowed with concern and her mouth is set in a hard line. “Mallory! Thank you for finally answering.”

“If you start to yell at me or lecture me I will hang up,” I warn as I settle back into Crew’s massive white couch. It’s so big it goes from one corner of the living room to the other. His furniture is all too big for this place but he doesn’t seem to care. “But don’t worry you can do it in person soon enough. I think I’m going to come home. Soon.”

”I will buy you a ticket for the next plane out if you want baby,” Mom says and she shoots me a small, supportive smile. ”And I won”t lecture you. I won”t yell. Believe it or not, I feel closer to you now than I ever have.”

“What? Why?”

She smiles again, this time it’s sheepish. “If anyone knows about losing yourself for a Garrison man, it’s your mother.”

“Mom, I have spent a little time with Mr. and Mrs. Garrison over the past twenty-four hours and, although I might be having some massive issues with Tate at the moment, I can tell you that Jessie and Jordan Garrison have been nothing but kind to me.” I watch her face twist a little like she just inhaled an unpleasant smell, but she doesn”t argue with me.

“I don’t like them,” she says flatly. “But I understand why other people do.”

Oh. Well, that’s new.

Mom”s eyes dart to something past the phone and then land back on me through the screen. Judging by the painting behind her she”s in her bedroom, sitting on her bed. She”s likely looking at the door to make sure Dad is nowhere nearby. He likes the Garrisons even less than she does. ”Look, when I fell for Jordan I was fourteen. I was also being raised by a functioning alcoholic and a narcissist. It was a toxic home life, to say the least.”

I know this. My mom has never sugar-coated her relationship with my grandparents, who I have never met. Mom cut them out of her life before I was born. Only Beckett has vague memories of them. ”Your grandparents were also dirt poor and Jordan, although from a modest middle-class family, was going places. The whole town knew it, even back then. And he liked me back. I held onto that like it was all I had. Like it was the only thing that mattered. But I also didn”t know how to be in a healthy relationship.”

“Most teenagers don’t,” I add, trying to cut her some slack.

She smiles and nods. ”Oh, I know. But I was next level. I thought the only way to keep Jordan interested was to keep our relationship in a constant state of up and down. I literally should have worn a tiara I was such a drama queen.”

I smile at that and let out a soft chuckle. She has never been this open with me. “Anyway, he was in love with Jessie, not me. I think I realized that before he did so of course I tried to make her life a living hell and I dug my claws into him even deeper. Again, I had no self-worth. I thought he was my only hope of escaping my parents and my fate, which I thought would be to become a waitress or something.”

“Mom, you ended up going to a good school and getting a master’s degree in physics,” I remind her. “On a partial scholarship.”

”Hindsight, Mallory,” Mom says with a shrug. ”Anyway, I just want to say that I understand thinking that a Garrison is the answer to all your prayers. But you will be fine without this turd Tate, I promise you. In fact, you”ll likely be better off. And that”s why Beckett talked to the media.”

“Beckett?” I blink. “You mean Emmett.”

Mom tilts her head for a second before she shakes it. “No. Beckett is the one who talked to TLC.”

“TMZ.”

“Whatever.”

“How the hell did Beckett know about Dylan?” I demand.

“Emmett told him. In confidence,” Mom explains. “And now Emmett’s furious and told your brother he won’t be in the wedding.”

So Emmett didn’t screw me over. It was Beckett who screwed over me and Emmett. “Fucking hell.”

“Mallory! Language.”

“Oh come on Mom, this is swear-worthy.”

She sighs. “I guess it is. Your brother really fucked the whole family with this one.”

“Why would Beckett do this?” I want to know.

Mom shrugs. “He says it was because the tabloid was willing to pay him and the costs for Heather’s dream wedding have grown out of control. But I suspect he just wanted to hurt the Garrisons because of that Larue girl.”

“Mac,” I say and shoot my mom a withering stare. Beckett and Mac dated for years, my mother never liked her. But to call her ‘that Larue girl’ is a bit much. “But Beckett cheated on Mac. Why does he care if she moved on? Or with who?”

”Because your brother is petty,” Mom declares. ”And you know how Silver Bay is, everyone talks and the talk is that Mac Larue traded up. She landed the Golden Boy.”

“Tate’s the Golden Boy,” I correct.

Mom rolls her big blue eyes. “All the Garrisons are golden. Do you see why it’s annoying?”

“No,” I confess. “I mean if they weren’t good people then maybe. But… I like them.”

“So then why are you talking about coming home?” Mom counters and I sigh.

“Because…” I don’t finish the sentence.

And then the doorbell rings. I stiffen because I’m not expecting anyone and I’m worried that Crew’s prediction is right and a reporter or photographer has breached the gate.

“Is someone there?” Mom asks.

“Yeah. I have to go,” I say and start to rise up off the couch.

“Let me know when your flight is booked baby, or if you want me to book you one,” Mom says.

“I’ll get back to you,” I say as I move one of the curtains on the front living room window to see if I can see who is on the front porch. “Bye Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she says before I end the call.

I catch a glimpse of the tall lean frame of a man. And a chubby jean clad tiny leg dangling from the front of the man. I walk over to the door and crack it slightly. Jordan Garrison is standing there, Dylan strapped to his chest, and a canvas bag in one hand. He gives me a tentative smile. “Hi.”

”Hi, Mr. Garrison. Is Dylan okay?” I swing the door wider.

Dylan looks at me and grins. His chubby hands fly toward me. I reach out and let him wrap his pudgy fingers around my hand. Jordan nods. “Please call me Jordan, and my wife Jessie. And yes, he’s good, but he misses you, we can tell.”

“Oh.” I smile at Dylan. “It’s okay Dyllie Bear. I’ll always be your bestest bud.”

“Jessie thought I should bring you some clothes,” Jordan explains and hands me the bag he’s carrying. “She picked out stuff from your dresser. I hope that’s okay.”

I look down at the oversized sweatshirt I’m wearing and the pajama bottoms that are cinched as tight as possible but are still swimming on me. “Yeah. At this point any clothes are great. But I was going to arrange to head home tomorrow and pack my stuff. When Tate was at the arena for practice.”

”You”re quitting?” Jordan looks crestfallen. ”You”re leaving?”

“I think it’s best,” I reply quietly. I can’t look him in the eye. “It was my brother Beckett that leaked the story about Dylan. I had nothing to do with it, but if I hadn’t told my brother Emmett, then none of this would have happened.”

“Well, it did and he doesn’t blame you,” Jordan says.

“He sure seems like he does,” I can’t help but share.

“My son is a bit of an idiot when it comes to relationships,” Jordan says simply with a sheepish smile. “Mainly because you’re the first real one he’s ever had.”

“Maybe we will be able to talk this out, but…” I can’t express to Jordan how complicated my feelings are. It’s personal and I’m not even sure I understand it all myself just yet. But I feel betrayed by Tate. And hurt. And… like we ended before we began. “Right now I think I just need some space. I don’t want to leave Dylan high and dry when his dad is going to hunker down for playoffs but we had started the interview process and I know there are some good candidates out there who can take over for me.”

“Don’t worry about that. My wife will likely insist we stay,” Jordan explains. “And I don’t have any issue being able to attend all my son’s home playoff games. Or do unscheduled drop-ins on that daughter of mine either.”

He grins, like the idea of surprising Tenley whenever he wants brings him joy. I smile back and nod before running my hand over Dylan’s downy blond head one last time. “Well, then… thanks for the clothes.”

“Oh I’m not just here for that,” Jordan says. “I’m here to drive you to the game.”

“The game?”

“Thunder versus Quake,” he says. “Your brother versus my son. Last game of the regular season.”

”Oh, I”m not going to the game.”

“I hate to break it to you but my wife said if I didn’t come back with you, she was going to come over here, with Tenley, and kidnap you,” Jordan explains and he gets this ridiculously serious look on his face. “My daughter watches enough true crime documentaries that I’m sure she isn’t kidding. And she’ll have you hog-tied and in the back of her trunk before you know what hit you.”

Sadly, I don’t think he’s exaggerating. I look down at my bag of clothes and back up at Mr. Garrison and Dylan. I give Dylan’s chin a quick tickle and he giggles. “Okay. Come have a seat. I’ll go upstairs and change real quick.”

* * *

Forty minutes later I’ve got a VIP lanyard around my neck, sitting on the edge of my seat watching the opening face-off from the Quake team box. Jessie is on one side of me and Tenley is on the other. Jordan is next to his wife and Dylan is asleep in his Baby Bjorn totally unaware his daddy is on the ice below. But I can’t take my eyes off Tate. Because he’s Tate, and also because he’s staring across the ice at my brother who is staring back.

“They are going to tear each other’s heads off on puck drop aren’t they?” Tenley asks no one in particular.

“They’d have done it in warm-up, but it would have got them booted for the entire game,” Jordan says.

There was a moment when both teams were on the ice for warm-up and Emmett and Tate skated down the center of the ice, shoulder-to-shoulder, exchanging what looked like heated words. I held my breath until I thought I would pass out but Crew skated over and pulled Tate away.

“Thank God Dyllie Bear is asleep.” Jessie sighs. “I don’t want him to see this.”

“I don’t want to see this,” I mutter.

The puck drops. Crew and the Thunder centreman battle for it. But no one is paying attention. It’s Emmett who skates across the ice and gets in Tate’s face. Emmett drops his stick and his gloves. Tate drops his stick but his gloves remain on and he doesn’t raise his arms. Nash and Crew ignore the puck and skate over to Tate but another Thunder player skates in to intercept them.

The ref’s whistle blows as Emmett grabs the front of Tate’s jersey and the fans start yelling and hollering. My fists clench in my lap. “What the hell is my brother doing?”

“Well it doesn’t matter, Tate’s not engaging,” Tenley remarks and she looks disappointed about it.

The first period goes on after that without a hitch. The Quake score and then the Thunder score. In the second period, the Thunder score early, and later in the period, Nash Westwood takes a penalty for a slash on my brother, who fucking deserved it if you ask me. And that”s when it happens. With thirty-four seconds left on the penalty, Tate intercepts a Thunder pass and makes it halfway down the ice before getting slammed into the boards. He somehow manages to hold onto the puck, break away, and take a shot. It sails past the Thunder goalie”s left shoulder and into the net.

Everyone is on their feet in the entire arena. Jessie squeals and claps. Tenley punches her fist into the air. Jordan is grinning. He looks down at Dylan who is startled awake by the noise even with his little noise-canceling headphones on. ”Dylan, your daddy just beat my record.”

I am still sitting, stunned. Tenley grabs my arms and yanks up to my feet. She hugs me. “He did it! He freaking did it!”

I stare down at the ice. The whole Quake bench is on its feet, leaning over and grabbing Tate’s jersey, hugging him and shaking him, high-fiving him. He’s smiling but he looks as stunned as I am.

They break to a commercial, you can tell because the red lights go on by the benches. On the Jumbotron, they flash to our box. Jordan grins and gives a thumbs-up. I blink when I see myself on the giant screen, Tenley”s arm wrapped around me. My eyes dart to the ice. Tate is looking up at the screen. His grin gets deep and he turns, pulls off his helmet, and squints up at the box. I swear he is looking right at me. And his grin deepens.