Bed Buddies: Puck Buddies, Book Three Page 14

  “You could walk away from it all.”

  “I might have to.” She swallows hard.

  She doesn't say anything else and I’m tired of rich people and their fucked views on life. So we sit in silence, staring and waiting. After an hour I text Brady, but he doesn't respond. After another hour, I call but it goes directly to voicemail so I leave a message. “We’re here, in Boston, in some room at the hospital. Can you try to shoot me an update? We’re concerned.”

  He doesn't call back or text.

  Forty minutes later the door opens, and a man in scrubs comes in. He offers us a sympathetic smile. “Hi. I’m Brad, one of the nurses. The Brimleys—Mr. Brimley—asked me to come and update you. His father has passed.” He struggles with the words, “He didn't make it through surgery which we didn't anticipate he would. His injuries were—anyway, I wanted to make sure someone came and talked with you. I don't think anyone will be coming down to the grieving room. Mr. Brimley won’t leave his father’s side and his mother has been sedated.”

  “Is Brady there?” I ask, not sure what else to say.

  “Yes. He’s with Mr. Brimley, not leaving his side.”

  “You’re trying to be nice about telling us that we’re not wanted here?” Sami snaps.

  “I am so sorry—”

  “It’s fine.” Sami gets up and walks to the door, texting Vincenzo to bring the car around.

  She’s angry which makes sense.

  When we get to the car she keeps her sunglasses on, silent tears leak down her cheeks. She doesn't speak, so I don't. I sit beside her, snuggling her the whole way home.

  Chapter 18

  London

  December 24, 2015

  Sami

  The picture Brady sent me of the Tiffany’s box with the key in it is conflicting for me. While I think Brady and Nat might be a match made by God, and me, I think moving in so quickly is kind of irrational, even if it is romantic. But then again, Nat needed this. I brush my finger across the photo, almost smiling. I have to remember to act surprised when Nat tells me.

  “What has you grinning like that?” Mom asks over her midday martini. I agreed to have brunch with her when I arrived in London, but I was too tired yesterday. I was supposed to go to Matt’s when I arrived, but I chose my place to throw off the suspicions of my parents who were both here already.

  “Natalie. She’s moving in with Brady.” Answering truthfully is always to provoke her.

  “Wow! Isn’t that the boy she just met? The one you introduced her to a couple of months ago?” A smattering of judgment lingers below the soft smile.

  “Yes. They met in August. But when it’s right it’s right, I suppose.”

  “That is the truth.” Her eyes flash with something I don't know, a memory perhaps. “Speaking of that, what’s happening with you and the Brimley boy?” Her cheeks flush as she finishes the drink and waves a hand.

  Nadia takes her glass.

  “Nothing. We’re friends.” This is the first time this statement leaves my lips as a lie. We’re so much more than friends. I have never felt this kind of love before, ever. It’s terrifying and yet everything.

  “With benefits?” My mother says a statement I never imagined she would.

  “No.” A sly grin crosses my lips. “I gave up benefits for Lent last year.” It’s almost the truth.

  “Really?” Her steely eyes narrow. “Not even a tennis coach or a yoga instructor?” She can’t help but ask me about the only men in her life.

  “No, Mother. Jesus.” I exhale calmly, trying not to sound annoyed.

  Nadia brings a new martini to Mom and goes back to the side of the room.

  “You know, your father is going to want you to start thinking about marriage.”

  “I’m not interested in being married.”

  She laughs at me. “Then you need to come up with a new identity. We’re all commodities in this world. What kind of commodity are you? How will you make money?”

  “I’m a person for God’s sake.” I laugh back, astonished and unable to find this amusing.

  “Sami, if you honestly don't want him to make some ridiculous match where you spend Christmas Eve waiting for him to come back from his second home, then I suggest you recreate yourself, my dear.” Her candor isn’t entirely new but it’s surprising. “I’ve seen how that Brimley boy looks at you.” Her sneaky grin creeps back across her lips. “He likes you, a lot.”

  “It’s not like that. He’s just a friend.” It’s the biggest lie of the morning. He’s a friend because I kept him there, at bay, held against his will. Until now.

  “His father is quite successful and his mother has very good lineage. If Matthew were to impress upon your father that he has intentions to be something other than a hockey player, I think he would see him as an option for you.” She finishes her next martini too fast, holding the glass out for Nadia. “And not that Palfrey boy.”

  “It doesn't matter, Mom. I’m not getting married right now, not to Matt or anyone else. Dad can suck it.”

  That makes her giggle. She’s drunk and funny to see so loose.

  I take advantage of the moment of silence and change the subject to something I’ve always wanted to know, “Can I ask you something serious?” I take a sip of wine, purely to muster bravery—no, realism. I’m brave, although never real and this is the realest we have been in a long time.

  “Of course, darling.” She leans back on the wide sofa, getting comfortable, which doesn't look comfortable. She never does. She’s proper. You can’t be both.

  “Were you and Dad ever in love?” I don't remember a time when I would say they loved each other.

  “Of—” She stops, swallowing the lie she was about to say. “No. He was in love with a girl from Britain, one his father would never agree to. They met at Cambridge during your father’s year abroad here. She was—is the love of his life.” My mom’s eyes gloss over with the harshness of her words, “I never ask if her kids are his. I never ask where he’s been or if he saw her. It was never a surprise for me that even after we married they rekindled their affair. He’s never rubbed it in my face, which is kind.”

  “Why—no, how? How can you live like this?” I’m disgusted but not surprised in the least that I might have siblings in other places from other women.

  “It was the marriage my parents wanted. We got together when I was young. I didn't have a job or a means to make money. I had to bring my inheritance and trust fund with me into the marriage. That was my way of being a commodity.” She feigns indifference like a professional.

  “And that is what you want for me?” The words are so hard to speak my eyes almost water.

  “No.” She lifts her eyebrows but doesn't meet my gaze. “God no.” A real smile crests her lips. “Your father and I have been pushing you so hard because we don't want you to end up like us.” She offers me a look that suggests she might have really seen me for who I am, maybe all along. “I see the way that Brimley boy looks at you. And the way you look at him—”

  “Mom!”

  “And I just want you to know, I’ve seen that look before. It’s the one. The one every girl wishes to see. If it’s real, Sami, don't ruin it. Find a way to make it fit.” She chuckles bitterly. “We don't marry down in this family.” She sighs and shakes off the feelings I’ve accidentally forced on her. “Now it's time for my nap. Will you be here for dinner?”

  “No.” I crack a heartbroken grin. “I’m seeing Matt.” It feels good to tell her the truth.

  “He’s here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She gets up and saunters from the room, clearly drunk.

  My heart aches for her, but at the same time I don't pity them as much as I could.

  They chose a loveless life over money.

  My mother was Natalie and my father was William the Douche. And my dad has never changed.

  The fact I interfered and helped ruin Nat’s relationship and introduced her to Brady is even more justif
ied. There’s no way I could have sat by and let her become Mrs. Fairfield, or my mother. She and Brady moving in together is the right choice.

  It was right and it will always be right. They match.

  And the choice I’ve made for my future is going to ensure I will never spend Christmas Eve waiting for my husband to come home from his mistress’ house. I won’t ever wonder if he has kids with someone else.

  Because I won’t ever be marrying someone I don't love with all my heart.

  My phone buzzes, as if on cue, with a message from Matt.

  Answer the door, dress warm.

  I get up, hurrying to my room to throw on my warmest jacket and hat. I can’t believe the last hour and the intensity of my conversation. Seeing Matt is exactly what I need.

  As I walk up to the door, our butler offers me a sly smile. “I’m assuming the door is for you, miss.”

  “I think it is. See you later.” I wave and rush out, expecting to leap into his huge arms but instead Charles is there.

  “Miss Ford.” He nods.

  “Er—Charles. How are you?”

  “I’m well, miss. Mr. Brimley is expecting you.” He pushes the elevator button.

  “Where is he?” I climb into the elevator behind him.

  “Being ridiculous, actually. But don't tell him I said that.” He pushes the main floor button and stands very still.

  “Ridiculous?” I’m nervous now.

  “Very.” He holds an arm out for me to leave when the doors open. “He’s here.” He opens the main doors to reveal a sports car sitting up front. Charles gets the door for me.

  “Get in the car.” Matt grins at me from the driver’s seat.

  “You’re driving?” The idea of either of us behind the wheel isn’t appealing. “Why aren’t you driving?” I scowl at Charles.

  “He insists I remain behind.”

  “I’m a great driver.” He gives me that smirk, the one that melts me and pisses me off. “It’s better than the limo.”

  “Good luck, miss.” Charles leaves me there with Matt at the wheel of a beautiful Jaguar.

  “Don't bring up the limo.” I point at Matt.

  “Fine, get in!” His eyes widen.

  Without arguing, I climb in, unsure of where we’re going. A countryside drive on the wrong side of the road on Christmas Eve sounds terrifying.

  “You really think this is a good idea?” I buckle up and almost offer a small prayer.

  “Yes. I’ve driven here before.” He chuckles and leans in, kissing my cheek, inhaling me. I close my eyes and savor the feel of him, especially after the weird afternoon I’ve just spent.

  “You ready?” he whispers in my ear as he kisses my cheek.

  I want to say no, but I also don't want to hurt his feelings. So I say nothing.

  He pulls away from the curb, turning left and jerking the car as he hits the sidewalk. My fingers grip the seat as he makes his way into traffic. I try closing my eyes but the feel of him hitting things and jerking to stops isn’t improved by not looking.

  We don't speak.

  He’s concentrating on not curbing the car and I’m trying to breathe.

  When we merge onto the freeway out of London, I exhale, possibly for the first time.

  “Where are we going?” I finally ask.

  He doesn’t answer, he smirks again. It’s annoying.

  After an hour, he leaves the highway, driving on a tiny road. There’s one lane and a sixty mile an hour speed limit, with hedges so high on either side of the car you can’t see over them. It’s like being in a maze, in a car.

  My fingers ache from digging into the leather seats.

  When he finally pulls onto a bigger road I calm down again.

  I can’t believe we didn't hit another vehicle or come upon someone on a bike. The roads here are insane.

  We drive through the country for a while, passing estates and farms and beautiful scenery.

  Finally, he makes another turn at some signage and enters a parking lot next to a large building. There are no cars but ours.

  When I glance over, confused, his grin gets even smugger.

  He gets out, getting my door and offering me his hand. I want to refuse it, but I climb out, curious to discover what has him grinning this way.

  He hauls me into his embrace, hugging and smelling me.

  Snow is softly falling around us, making the tiny noise it does, seeming to crackle or whisper to the ground.

  “I missed you.” He kisses my cheek, tilting my face. “Why didn't you come to my place when you flew in yesterday?”

  “I was bagged. I needed my bed. The jet lag hits me hard. I was asleep at eight last night and then awake at five. I hate the first night.”

  “Me too, but I was sort of hoping we could battle it together.” He lowers his face to mine, gently brushing against my lips. He doesn't kiss like he means it. It's polite kissing for the English countryside maybe.

  He links my arm in his and walks to the building. There’s a courtyard with picnic benches and maps of the gardens around us, some place called Stourhead. It sounds familiar but I can’t remember why.

  We walk in the snow through a gate to a house and then a small courtyard. A woman greets him warmly as if she knows him. “Welcome back, Mr. Brimley.”

  Back? He’s been here before?

  “The park is all yours.” Her smile is affectionate in a grandmotherly sort of way.

  “Thanks, Agnes.” He leads me down a path and through a gate.

  “Is this a nature walk?” I grumble, hating nature and walking. Surely he knows this.

  It’s goes from a possible nature walk to a full-on hike as we head into the forest. I’m about to complain when I catch a glimpse of something I think I recall.

  As we crest a hill he doesn't speak. He doesn't have to.

  “Is that—?” I try to choke out. “Is this the garden from Pride and Prejudice?” There’s a small lake and a bridge, an arched footbridge across the pond. The water is so still that I can see the perfect reflection of the footbridge in it. I can almost see Elizabeth Bennet running across it in the rain. I gasp as he spins us to a hill and points above me to the very spot Mr. Darcy declared his love for Elizabeth Bennet. “It’s the Temple of Apollo.”

  “You brought me to the rain scene where he confesses he loves her?”

  “Merry Christmas, Sami.” He squeezes my hand and strolls toward the trail that takes us up.

  I don't know what to say. There are no words for this moment.

  Except maybe magical.

  The hike up changes the magical feelings inside me for about eight minutes. But when we reach the top, even through the gasping for air and cramp in my foot, I’m speechless.

  The Temple of Apollo is beautiful. The pillars where Elizabeth stood and leaned her back, hiding from the rain are right here, in front of my face. I leave him behind, hurrying to the stairs and rushing them, expecting majesty inside, but what I find is so much more romantic. The inside of the temple is old, ancient looking. It’s weathered and cracked. The ceiling is domed and chipped but I don't care.

  I take a turn about the circular space, wondering what it was like to witness this scene live, watching Mr. Darcy confess his love.

  When I get back outside, I walk to where she did, right to where the scene was. “This is the best Christmas gift anyone has ever given me, including the gifts from Nat,” I mutter to him and the falling snow and the silence I don't think I have ever heard before.

  When I turn he’s there, too close and too big and I feel like her.

  Her lifts a ring, no box, no wrapping. It sparkles in the faded light of the later afternoon. My chest seizes and my stomach cramps, but I know the second he utters those words I’m going to say yes. I love him.

  His eyes are full of emotions, the kind where you aren’t sure if the person is angry or if their eyes are just so intense that they almost frighten you “This isn’t a real ring.” He says exactly the opposite of the thing I
might have wanted him to. “It’s a fake stone,” he says too quickly.

  “What?” I’m lost.

  “It’s more than an engagement ring and less. I’m not going to ask you to marry me, not right now. But I want to ask you to think about that. Think about us being married and being together all the time and living together. I want you to promise me that you’re going to think about what if. What if we just chose each other and forgot everything else?”

  I swallow hard, I think he joins me in that.

  “My entire life I’ve worried that my dreams aren’t big enough for my family. They aren’t, which is crazy. Every other American family would jump for joy that their son was playing in the NHL—”

  “Not mine.”

  “No, yours and mine are the exceptions to that.” His fingers tremble slightly. “I hate feeling like I’m not enough for them. But I love being enough for you. I love that you just see me. That you understand my love of the game. But—” he pauses, “I want us both to do two things before we consider marriage or living together. I told you when I accepted your deal that we would begin again here, in England. We would start a new relationship, shedding the dead weight of the other one.”

  “We have.”

  “I know. And the two things we need to do before we can really move forward are firstly, redefine ourselves, become something worthy of our parents and their demands. We can’t stop being who we are, that's not an option. But we can make who we are fit into their world. And secondly, I want us to both move out of our houses, living on our own so if one of us isn’t enough for the other parents, it doesn't matter. We don't need them. I don't want to need them. I just want you.”

  Those last words seal it for me. I lift my hand to his, holding my finger for him to put the ring on. He grabs the right hand, instead of the left. “Let's use this hand. When I put a ring on the left hand, I want you to be able to separate those moments.”

  “This one’s pretty fucking awesome.” I blink a tear from my eyes, wiping it away quickly.