23. Nelly

Chapter 23

Nelly

I needed a night off. Desperately.

I needed to get out, get away from the house, get away from him and Matty, and take time to just put myself back into my own skin. Maybe even sleep at my apartment instead of in the much comfier bed at the guesthouse. I just needed to not feel the overwhelming stress of all of it.

I wasn’t happy with work except for the moments when it was just me and Matty, and because work was also home now, I couldn’t be happy at home . I couldn’t think of anything other than removing myself, at least temporarily. I felt suffocated and trapped here. I just needed to breathe.

I stared at Sebastian’s calendar on my phone as he and Matty colored in his coloring book on the kitchen’s bartop, the gigantic box of crayons open beside Matty and his little hands fishing around inside for something specific. There wasn’t a game for another six days, and Sebastian didn’t have anything scheduled for tonight or tomorrow morning. It could work .

“Can I have tonight off?” I asked.

Sebastian’s head snapped right up to meet my gaze, the bouquet of flowers he’d sent for the house sitting in a vase beside him. They were an odd choice for the house and didn’t match the decor in the slightest, but I’d set them out for him regardless. “Sure.”

“No,” Matty complained, his lower lip jutting out. “Daddy’s making pizza.”

“If Nelly wants the night off, she can have the night off,” Sebastian said plainly, his gaze lingering on me a second longer before dropping back to his son’s coloring book. “Don’t complain.”

“Thanks,” I sighed. “I just?—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” he said, plucking the orange crayon out of Matty’s discarded pile. “It’s fine. Do whatever you need to.”

I blinked, confusion rippling through me. He’d said that so nonchalantly, so indifferently — did he not care at all that I needed an out? Or was this his way of acting civil when he was clearly still frustrated with me, too?

And why did it have to hurt that this didn’t faze him?

“I’ll just… go get ready then,” I mumbled, pushing off the counter and stepping around the bartop. “Just need to blow off some steam. I’ll, uh, be at Smokey’s if you need anything.”

“I won’t,” he said.

————

I parked the Porsche at the back of the lot. I hadn’t had to worry about a flashy car being a problem for my entire life, and somehow now, in all of this, that was at the forefront of my mind — making sure the car didn’t get damaged on its first, and potentially only, non-Matty-related trek.

But as I hit the button to lock it, I couldn’t help but stare at the beast, couldn’t help but wonder what in the hell it meant and what I’d have to do with it if I made the call to leave. Would I take it with me? Surely not. It was barely mine, even if he’d put it in my name. And without him covering the insurance, I couldn’t afford it myself. I’d have to give it back.

I shouldn’t have accepted it in the first place.

But maybe that was on me for not getting my truck looked after, and maybe it was on me for not splurging the moment the excess funds hit my bank account and purchasing a new, used car that was safe and reliable. Maybe I’d put myself in this situation.

Maybe I was the cause of all of this.

I tried to put the car in the back of my mind as I walked toward the front steps of the dive bar. If Sebastian could feel comfortable leaving his Audi around here overnight, then I had to tell myself it would be fine.

Sebastian.

God, I needed a drink. I couldn’t control my thoughts this evening, couldn’t reign them in. Each attempt to shift gears just resulted in a worse train of thinking. Even the overwhelming noise of Smokey’s didn’t drown out the disappointment that swamped me — he hadn’t even tried to stop me from leaving tonight. Is there no part of him that cares that I’ve gone to the same place I took him home from?

And his comment before I retreated to the guesthouse… that had stung. Sure, I didn’t want him to need me at all ho urs or restrict me from going places just in case something came up with Matty, but the deadpanned, I won’t, had felt like a stab in the fucking chest.

Swinging myself up onto the closest barstool, I dropped my bag on the counter and decided I’d either get completely shitfaced, leave the car here, and go back to my apartment, or have a single drink and decide from there.

It was so, so busy.

I hadn’t realized that this was clearly a hockey bar the handful of times I’d come here with Rosie, but looking around now after being immersed in that world for months, it was obvious. Atlanta Fire jerseys hung on the walls and the backs of some of the customers, and a game between two teams I didn’t recognize was playing on the big screen with a crowd around it. Women in tight blue shirts with players’ names on the back above their numbers moved through the space with ease, sliding in between somewhat familiar faces I recognized from the rink.

His teammates were here.

Shit .

I grabbed my bag, reluctantly turning in my barstool. I wanted to get away for the night, not be shoved right back into this from a new angle, and more than anything, I didn’t want to be confused for… what had Sebastian called them? Fires?

“Blue give you the night off?”

Sandy brown, slightly overgrown hair, and a wicked smirk filled my vision the moment my stool spun all the way backward.

Bryan.

Why did it always have to be the freeze response with me?

“Maybe you are a flame,” he chuckled. “You picked here, of all places? ”

I swallowed down my irritation, the burn of it far more annoying than any alcohol. “I didn’t realize this was a hockey bar.”

He snorted. “You know they all say that the first few times they end up here, right?”

His body slid between the barstools, nearly as tall and large and looming as Sebastian. He leaned up against the counter, one elbow on the bar, his jersey hanging loosely around his midsection but hugging his biceps. I should have run, should have gone straight back out to the Porsche and driven anywhere else, shouldn’t have come here to begin with.

“So, tell me, Nelly .” He grinned, the hard lines of his jaw tensing from the action. “Were you hoping to find the best center on the team here, or is this just a coincidence?”

“Do you genuinely think that highly of yourself?” I scoffed. “Last I checked, Sebastian’s been having to fix your mistakes the last two games.”

His grin turned quickly into a scowl as he plopped his rear end down on the empty barstool beside me.

“To be fair, I watched from home, and that was a great assist you pulled off in Calgary,” I said, and a single brow raised in my direction, the satisfaction of receiving a compliment going straight to his fucking head. “Was just a shame it was for the other team.”

The satisfaction fell in an instant, and I drank every bit of it up.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Bryan?—”

“Do you genuinely think he cares about you?” he snapped, his tongue dragging over his canines as he looked down at me. Adrenaline built up from that look — like I was prey, like I was about to be eaten alive by wolves that couldn’t give a shit whether it hurt or went quick. The crowd behind him cheered as the puck slammed into a net on the television. “He doesn’t care about anything besides his son. He barely cares about hockey . But by all means, keep fucking the guy. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Mind your fucking business,” I said, but the words fell flat and were too quiet, too weak. Bile crept up my esophagus. I was angry and bitter, and for once, I wasn’t sure if Bryan was just being an asshole or if he was speaking the truth. But it bothered me that he knew about it, bothered me that he felt confident enough about it to say something to me — and it bothered me that he wasn’t getting up and walking away. He was as comfortable as could be beside me.

“If you came home with me… ” he smirked, leaning toward me just enough to send my heart rate skyrocketing. Confidence dripped from him, but it was arrogant, foolish, self-centered, and God , I knew that type, knew it like the back of my hand, had been engaged to it. “I care about a lot of things, Nelly. Why don’t you show me just how many services you offer?”

“Leave her alone, Addaway.”

The man behind the bar, much older than the one who had been here when I’d come with Rosie, stood with his arms on the plastic-covered countertop and a stern look on his wrinkled face. Grey hair fell in short, straight strands around the edges of his face, his beard barely more than stubble, his body lithe but lean and somehow intimidating despite being three-quarters of the height of Bryan.

“There are plenty of flames here. Find one,” he added.

With a disgruntled huff, Bryan shot a glare in my direction before sliding off the seat and disappearing into the crowd around the television.

“Thank you,” I squeaked, swallowing down the panic that had risen far too much. My mouth was dry and felt raw with every inhale, but I had my window now — I could go if I wanted to.

“You okay?” the man asked, standing up straight as his gaze bounced from me to the crowd.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Do you know him?”

He cracked the smallest little grin, and grabbed a glass from beneath the counter. He tapped the side of the Blue Moon dispenser, a single brow raising as a silent question, and I sighed and nodded. Guess I wasn’t leaving. “I know all the boys. My son plays for them.”

If I was going to talk to anyone here, this guy seemed like the least bad choice. “Who?”

“Xavi,” he chirped, slipping the glass beneath the nozzle and pulling. “Number 42. His jersey says Moreau. Best defense on the NHL if you ask me.”

I had a vague recollection of seeing him around, and on the ice, and if my memory served me well, he was a bright-eyed younger guy with light brown hair, a little shorter than Sebastian, and wickedly fast on the ice. “I think I’ve met him,” I said by way of thanks as he passed me the beer. “How much?”

“On the house.” He winked at me, and something about the calmness of him made me feel like that wink wasn’t creepy. “I used to play when I was younger, you know. Before I lost all my muscle, and opened a bar. Name’s Gabby.” He reached across the bartop and plonked a slice of orange into my beer.

“Nice to meet you, Gabby. Thanks,” I swallowed, slowly turning in my barstool to face him fully. “What position were you?”

“Right wing, back in Alberta. Xavi grew up in it all,” he said. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little shell-shocked. ”

“Do I?” Was it that obvious that I’d had blow after blow after blow for the last week?

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, leaning forward on the counter again but this time dropping down to his elbows, putting him lower than me. “I’ve heard I’m a great listener. Though Xavi likes to say I can’t hear a damned thing.”

I chuckled half-heartedly as I sipped at my beer. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t know if you’d be of much more help than telling Bryan to fuck off.”

He hummed his disagreement, his fluffy brows raising. “Try me.”

Sighing, I set my glass down, contemplating if it was worth it to bring it all up to someone so close to the team — but if Bryan knew, there had to be others. I could keep names to myself and hope for the best. But I didn’t know Gabby, and he didn’t know me, and I was surrounded by chaos in here with the possibility of literally anyone overhearing. It made me nauseous just to think about laying it all out for a stranger to dissect, but maybe that’s what I needed. Maybe my reluctance to make good choices would work out for once.

“Or don’t,” he offered, shrugging.

“I’m sleeping with a player,” I said quietly.

“Well, I gathered that much.”

“But I’m also his child’s nanny,” I added.

His brows rose again before coming down and knitting together, his upper lip wiggling as he scratched his mustache. “Right.”

“And I think wires are getting crossed for me,” I admitted, the relief almost palpable to say it to anyone that wasn’t Rosie.

“You have feelings for him, you mean,” he said. The words were so casual, so plain, that I almost wanted to deny it and tell him it was insane and he was wrong, but all he’d done was succinctly summarize my words. I averted my gaze, staring at the little bubbles rising in the light amber beer. “Does he have feelings for you?”

“Doubtful,” I huffed. “He said some horrible things to me last week after the game. I didn’t let him apologize for it, which, who knows, maybe that was wrong of me. But I have a history with that kind of thing and I couldn’t sit there and listen to him accept wrongdoing when I know from experience that it will likely just happen again.”

“So, you’re stuck between forgiving him and cutting it off?” he asked, tutting his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Tricky. I’m assuming you need the job, yes?”

I nodded. “I can find work, but the pay is hard to walk away from,” I sighed. “And I’d feel awful doing that to Ma—the kid.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced toward the crowd again, either hoping someone else would want a drink and save him from this or checking to make sure Bryan wasn’t coming around again. “If you didn’t need to worry about the kid or the money, what would you do? If you were deciding for only you.”

I didn’t like that question. I didn’t like it at all, and it wasn’t because I didn’t know the answer — it was because I did .

I didn’t answer. Instead, I took gulps and gulps of the beer, draining my glass halfway.

“Sometimes,” he said, distracting me enough that I pulled the glass from my mouth, “something gets broken, and it can’t be fixed. Especially when you’re mixing business and pleasure. And it’s okay to admit that it’s broken and decide for yourself that it isn’t worth fixing, if that’s what you feel.”

The backs of my eyes burned as I set the glass down on the counter.

“You seem like a sweet girl,” he added, pushing up onto his hands and raising to his full height. “You should make whatever decision you make for yourself and no one else. You matter in this, too.”