Page 95 of Not A Chance

News flash: we had a grueling schedule that was going to exhaust us all.

My mouth flattened into a grim line, which Andrews took as agreement with his statement.

“Right. So, knowing Indie, it’s not like she’s avoiding you, right? I mean, even if she is, it’s not like you can put yourself in front of her and demand she talk to you,” he said, followed by a chuckle, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Hell, we’re leaving for Dallas tomorrow night.”

His mention of tomorrow night’s flight went right over my head. My mind focused on the idea that I catch a plane to see Indie.

Did she think she had to handle anything, big or small, on her own anymore if she didn’t want to? Did she think that she needed to keep parts of her life away from me so I could concentrate on hockey?

The weight that had been sitting in my stomach all day turned into a wrecking ball.

God, I don’t want her believing there is anything more important than her.

I stood abruptly, leaving my beer basically untouched. Andrews’s shocked face became wary.

“Shit, Theo. What did I say? I didn’t mean any offense.”

I could barely hear him over the plan forming in my mind. His wide eyes watched me as I walked around the table and gave him an absent pat on the shoulder.

“You’re good, kid. Thanks. You helped a lot.” I tossed the words his way as I moved past where he sat, headed for the exit to the bar.

I had a Chihuahua to pick up and a plane to catch.

On the street outside the bar, I pulled up my phone and hit Ray’s number. When I heard the call connect, I started speaking before he had a chance to say hello.

“Listen, Ray, I don’t have long, but…” Once I started rattling off my plans, everything else just fell away.

The thoughts in my mind had been frozen since I’d hung up with my father the night before. I wasn’t sure if the previous eight hours could count as nighttime because I hadn’t gotten a single second of sleep.

I’d texted Theo when we landed but had no memory of what I’d typed.

Worry and exhaustion had me in a daze as my father’s driver led me to the car and helped me into the back seat.

“Miss.” Winston cleared his throat in the front seat. I dragged my foggy gaze over to him. “Miss Indigo. We’re here.” He jutted his chin to indicate we’d stopped in front of my parents’ front door.

“Oh” was all I could manage. What was my father going to say when I went inside?

He smiled kindly—for being an asshole, my father seemed to hire genuinely nice employees—and spoke softly. “Shall I get your bag? Or, erm, did you forget your toiletry bag on the plane? I could drive you to the nearest department store for replacements before you go in?”

Winston’s kind offer to help me avoid this meeting for a little while longer permeated the thick wall of worry that I’d surrounded myself with. A small smile formed on my lips for the first time since I picked up my phone last night.

“No, Winston. But thank you. You’re really too good to me.” I patted the hand that he’d placed on the backrest of the front seat. “I’m good to go in.”

“Of course, miss.” He nodded and got out of the driver’s seat as if he hadn’t just offered to help me run away.

He ushered me into the front hall, where Angelina gathered me in her arms for a quick kiss on my cheek. “My girl. Good to see you.” Her greeting was warm, but her expression was strained. “I’ve been told to take you directly to his office, I’m afraid.” Her smile dimmed.

“I’ll go.” Before she could argue, I’d given her hand a squeeze and headed down the long hallway to my father’s office.

I paused in front of my father’s imposing office door, my knuckles poised to knock. I took a deep breath and tried to convince myself yet again that just because this was an unusual meeting request, it didn’t mean it was going to be as bad as I was imagining.

Right before I knocked, I heard muffled voices coming from inside the office. My spirits rose for a second at the thought that he was dealing with something important and my conversation with him would be cut short.

I rapped my knuckles on the door gently and was granted entrance with my father’s deep voice calling out, “Come in.”

I pushed open the door and stepped right into the middle of his conversation with a youngish man in a designer suit. It was draped over his body too perfectly to be anything but custom.

If he was in a meeting, why had he let me in?

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