Page 63 of Crush
“Just go.”
He stood and made for the door with his tail between his legs. He stopped in the doorway. “Goodnight, Brynn,” he said apologetically.
“Goodnight. Good luck with the playoffs.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall.
What a mess we've gotten ourselves into now.
Chapter 23
Shea
On a normal day, Brynn wakes up before anyone else and starts breakfast. Today, she slept in and took the morning off. I couldn't blame her. I let her sleep in.
A hangover clouded my mind like a morning fog. I wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or last night's revelations. Regardless, I stumbled around the kitchen and whipped up a breakfast for Chloe and I: eggs, bacon, toast and oatmeal. She didn't feel like talking much to me. She stared at her food and pushed it around her plate without interest.
“Not as good as when Brynn makes it, huh?”
“Nope,” she said, popping thep.
“Hey, be good for her while I'm gone, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
“Please, Chloe. She was kind enough to agree to stay here to take care of you. She has her own friends and life outside of us, you know.”
“I get it, Dad. I'll thank her.”
“Okay.”
By the time I'd showered, packed my bags, and needed to head out the door, Brynn still wasn't up. I hugged Chloe and told her to say bye to Brynn for me instead.
Iwould'vewoken Brynn so I could say goodbye to her in person—if I wasn't feeling like a complete jackass over the fact that I'd tried to kiss heragain.Right after I tried to tell her we needed to keep things strictly professional, too.
That'stwicenow I've blown a kiss with Brynn.
Hopefully the Brawlers can manage to do a little better in our series against Tampa.
***
The Boston Brawlers must've been a sorry sight at 10:00 AM on the team plane. Coach was the last member of the team to board, and he didn't like what he saw.
“For Chrissakes,” he grumbled as he slowly patrolled the aisles, wafting his hand in front of his nose. “Stinks like rum and puke in here. Great way to kick off the playoffs, gentlemen. Nothing says Stanley Cup contenders like a plane filled with groaning drunks. Boston Boozehounds, that's what they oughtta call us.”
Coach saw me and his face crumpled with disappointment. “You too, Ellis?! I expect it from them, butyou?”
“Sorry, Coach. Guess I got a little carried away with the festivities last night myself …”
He threw himself into his seat with a groan. “I really gotta get Mr. James to move that damn gala untilafterthe playoffs. What's the point of throwing a rager right before the most important stretch of our season? Makes no goddamn sense to me. Year after year, we shoot ourselves in the foot with that idiotic party.”
Even though Coach had a right to be mad, the good news was that today was still an off-day. We flew to Tampa three days before the playoffs actually began: the first day was for travel and rest, the second and third days were for practice. We didn't play Game 1 until the fourth day, so we had plenty of time to recuperate.
But I wasn't dumb enough to try to speak up and make Coach feel better about hisplane full of drunks.He was right to be pissed.
The plane taxied down the runway, fired its engines, and with a lurch, rushed forward.
