Page 3 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“Go ahead,” she shouts back. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Cool. Thanks, Kate,” says Dylan above the noise of the machine as I steam the milk. “We have a family. Inexperienced. And a couple. Newlyweds. I’m not sure of their fitness.” Dylan rifles through his wallet and pulls out his bank card as I pour the hot, velvety milk into the takeaway cup, then press on the lid. “I mostly need Rita to carry the extra gear.”

“Thanks, Bro." I enter the purchase into the till and hold the payment device as Dylan taps his card. “It’s great to know I’m good for something. Even if it is just an underpaid pack animal for your guided trail business.”

“Who says you’re getting paid?”

“I love your sense of humor, Dylan. Now, here’s your coffee. Goodbye.”

Dylan laughs at me. He picks up the cup and turns to leave but, before he gets to the door, he stops and says, “Oh yes. Brodie called. He’s coming to Oak River, apparently. Didn’t say why.”

I gulp as my heart leaps up to my throat causing an involuntary cough. Why does Brodie Kent still have this effect on me? It has been years since we… Since we were at school together. Dylan’s childhood best friend; my first crush; the notorious, party-animal quarterback media megastar who hasn’t shown his face in Oak River since he left for a football scholarship. He is coming back.

“Really? Oh gosh!” Kate exclaims, standing up and approaching Dylan at the counter. “When?”

“I don’t know. Soon. The next couple of days. He didn’t say.”

“So, it’s not for definite,” I interject. “I mean, he’s a celebrity, professional sportsperson. He is very busy. People like that can’t just…”

“Visit old friends?” Dylan says looking at me as if I am mad. “Yes. I’m pretty sure he can do whatever he wants, Rita.” I roll my eyes at my brother like I used to when we were kids. “Hey, maybe, Brodie’s coming back to finally ask you to marry him.”

“You are so immature,” I say trying my best not to react knowing Dylan is only being irritating. I go back to wiping down the coffee machine.

“Could you… I mean, if it’s not going to be a problem…” Kate says in almost a squeak. “Maybe bring him here for a coffee or something. Just so I can…” Kate checks herself and alters the pitch of her voice so as not to sound desperate. “… to make him feel welcome in our little town.”

“Of course! Where else in Oak River are we going to go?”

Chapter 2

Brodie

“Idon’t know who took those photos,” I say, knowing the words sound lame the instant they leave my mouth. “You can’t even see that it's me.” I’m trying to prove my innocence but the looks I’m getting from the faces around the table show they are not convinced by my explanation. “It’s all blurry and out of focus. It could be anyone in there.”

The team manager, Bowden, stands and scowls at me, then looks from the picture on the flatscreen TV in his office to the faces around the highly polished, dark wood conference table. He doesn’t say anything but growls: a guttural noise that speaks volumes. Bowden paces and rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand.

“What do you want me to say?” I continue because no one else is saying anything. “I don’t know these people. I don’t even know when or where this was taken.”

“Brodie, you are not doing yourself any favors here. This is not a joke. This is a serious accusation from one of these women. Although, it’s not clear which one in this photo, but…” Bowden squints his eyes to refocus on the image as he sits down at his place at the table. I stay standing.

“You are assuming that what she says is true?” My lighthearted approach is fast turning to anger. A bubble of irritation at the start of this meeting has built up into a rage that I can barely contain. But then I see the madness of the situation. “This is so ridiculous.” I rake my fingers through my hair in disbelief which dissipates my growing frustration, but I take a moment before continuing. “The media love this sort of thing, don’t they?” I hold up an imaginary banner and spell out each word. ‘NFL player in smutty night out with the senator’s daughter, the night before a game.’ I drop my hands and shake my head again. I feel as if I am on trial. I look at each of the faces in turn: my coach, the manager, the PR people, the lawyers. “It’s just not true.”

“Mr Kent. Brodie. We understand,” says one of the suits. “We were young once too, you know.” A ripple of nervous laughter follows. “What you do in your time is your business, but…”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I struggle to keep my voice even. “Coach. Mr Bowden. Come on.” I feel as if I am talking to the silver trophies in the display cabinet for all the response I’m getting. It’s clear that the people in the room have already made up their minds. Their opinions are solid. And there is nothing I can say to change them. “You know me,” I plead.

“Brodie,” says one of the public relations guys. He is talking down to me even though I’m standing over him. “The truth is not important here. What is important, however, is how this kind of thing comes across in the press.” He looks from me to his colleagues. “It’s about protecting the reputation of the team. So…” The PR suits and lawyers nod and murmur that reputation protection is indeed the point. “It’s not personal, Mr Kent. We just need to do our job.”

“Okay. I get it.” I hold up my hands as if I’m being arrested. “This is what I know. When I was in a club one time, this woman said that she could make life heaven or hell for me.” I don’t look at the suits. I’m talking directly to my coach. “All I had to do was choose, she said. She asked me out on a date. I refused.” I laugh but there’s no mirth in it. “She’s really not my type… The senator’s daughter, I assume, now.”

“Yes. Senator Sheldon’s daughter, Nancy.”

“Right. Nancy.” I relive the night we met, and the brief conversation that followed, at the party in the dark basement club with loud music and a lively crowd. Although, up until now, Nancy Sheldon hasn’t entered my thoughts at all. It was weeks ago. I can’t pinpoint when exactly. “So, next minute, there’s this all over the web.” I realize my voice is probably above its normal volume, so I breathe and adjust my tone. “It’s my word against hers.”

“Precisely,” Coach Sanchez says with kindness. “I believe you, son. But that doesn’t mean anything outside of this office.”

“Brodie, Mr Kent,” says one of the suits. “We have to follow a protocol of investigation around matters such as this. Until the reports are finalized, we advise you, as a valued member of the team who is under contract, to not talk to the press and keep your media profile static for the time being.”

“And, I’m afraid, we’re pulling you off the squad,” says Bowden leaning forward on his elbows.

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