Page 21 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

CHAPTER 21

ROBBIE

Keller: Can you imagine my surprise when I answered the door to a man delivering enough groceries to feed a family of five?

As I lie on my stomach while the PT works me over, I’m grinning at my phone like a fucking lunatic.

Me: So random.

Keller: Oh, so you have nothing to do with this? Despite your cell number literally being on the order form?

Me: So weird.

Keller: Why did you do this, Robbie ?

I roll my eyes.

Me: Can a guy do something nice without being interrogated?

Keller: Chocolates are nice. Jewelry. Wine. Perfume. They’re all nice... Groceries?

Me: You said you haven’t been taking care of yourself and it might’ve caused your flare up. You need to eat properly to look after yourself and I couldn’t help but notice your cupboards and fridge were completely bare last night. So I ordered you some groceries… no big deal.

She doesn’t reply right away, and the longer I stare at my unanswered text message, the more I’m starting to wonder if I might’ve actually annoyed her. I mean, groceries Robbie… really? What the fuck, man? I groan at my own stupidity.

“Yeah, you’re really tight there,” Jace, the PT says, paying extra attention to my right glute.

I don’t let him know that my groan had nothing to do with my butt cheek and everything to do with a certain blue-eyed girl I bought fucking groceries for. But then my phone vibrates in my hand, and I find myself releasing the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

Keller: Ok, now I’m crying.

My skin pricks and I feel something knot my gut.

Me: What’s wrong? Why are you crying?

Keller: Robbie! That’s literally the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

I stare at her words, my brows knitting together. A hundred bucks of groceries is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for her? Is she bullshitting me right now?

Me: Buying you a few groceries is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you?

Keller: Well, no. I mean… it’s more the sentiment behind it. If that makes sense?

Me: No. You’re gonna have to spell it out.

Keller: No one’s ever worried about me enough to care whether or not I look after myself. Other than my parents, of course.

I drag my teeth over my bottom lip as an unfamiliar feeling tugs in my chest.

Me: Not even Tadd?

Keller: Especially not him!

That pisses me off. I rub my stubbled chin, staring at her response, but before I can reply, another text comes through.

Keller: OMG.

Me: What??

Keller: Are we FRIENDS?

I feel my chest tighten, but I force myself not to overthink anything.

Me: Just say thank you, Keller.

Keller: Thank you, Keller .

I shake my head.

Me: Are you feeling better?

Keller: Yeah, a little better. Thanks.

Me: What are you doing right now?

Keller: I’m having a lazy John Hughes day.

Me: John Hughes day?

Keller: Yeah. I started The Breakfast Club. I’m currently in the middle of Sixteen Candles. And up next is Pretty In Pink.

Me: For the record I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Keller: Are you serious?

Me: …

Keller: Ok, no offense but I’m totally judging you.

Me: …

Keller: Anyway… what are you doing today?

Me: Right now, I’m getting my ass pounded.

Keller: Casual Sunday morning ass-pounding?

Me: PT. My glutes are tighter than normal. I think it might be from being stuck in one positi on last night.

Keller: I’m sorry. You should have shoved me over. I have a habit of hogging the bed.

I don’t miss the way my heart shifts at the memory of sharing the bed with Fran last night. She sleeps like a dead person, and I doubt I could’ve moved her even if I tried. But, at that thought, I’m suddenly taken back to last night.

I’d woken up at about three a.m., thirsty as a motherfucker. It was still pouring rain out, and the lightning flashing through the window was enough to illuminate the tiny apartment for me. I took Fran’s wheat pack and popped it in the microwave to reheat it. I pissed. Chugged a glass of water. And I tiptoed back to the bed and carefully made my way under the covers. But just as I was placing the wheat pack gently against Fran’s stomach, she rolled over and curled into me, thigh wrapping around my hip, arm draping over my chest, a soft moan slipping from her lips. And I froze. Literally froze, there on my back, balancing precariously on the edge of the bed, scared that if I moved, I’d wake her. I didn’t know what to do. And so that’s how I stayed for the rest of the night. In the one position with Fran clinging to me like a goddamn koala. And, if I’m being honest, it was one of the best night’s I’ve had in a long while.

I smile at the memory, but then I find myself responding without even considering my words.

Me: Nah, it was surprisingly nice to share a bed with someone.

Keller: It’s been a while huh?

I could lie. But what’s the point?

Me: Yeah. Coming up 26 years now.

Keller: Wait. What? You’ve never shared a bed with someone?

I chuckle.

Me: Fran. I’m Robbie Mason. I’ve shared beds with plenty of people.

Keller: I think I just pulled a muscle from rolling my eyes so hard.

Me: Last night was the first time I’ve stayed.

Keller: You’ve never stayed the night at a girlfriend’s house?

Me: I’ve never had a girlfriend.

Keller: Shut the fuck up!

Me: …

The three dots appear in our text window before disappearing. Then they’re back. Gone. Back. Gone. And I think this goes on for about four whole minutes.

Me: You’re Googling me again, aren’t you?

Keller: Can you blame me? Like you said. You’re Robbie Mason, the hot-shot hockey player. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned really quickly over the last couple of weeks, it’s that hockey players are renowned playboys. I find it hard to believe you’ve never had at least one girlfriend. Unless you’re a manwhore like your buddy, Dallas. According to Google, he’s slept with over 500 women.

Me: There was someone. Back in St. Paul. We dated for a while. I was ready to make it official, but then Ma got sick, and I had to go back to Boston for a few weeks.

Keller: What happened?

I stare at my phone, pinching my bottom lip between my fingers. I haven’t admitted this to anyone. Not even Andy. It’s not a trust issue. More of a pride thing. But, for whatever reason, after last night, I feel like I can open up to Fran in a way I’ve never felt like I could open up to anyone else.

Me: Remember when you asked me why I fought Ben Harris?

Keller: You’re gay???

I can’t help but snort. “Gay?”

Jace pulls his hands abruptly from my ass. “Sorry. Too close?”

I realize I just said that out loud. Really loud. And I glance over my shoulder to find Jace’s face fraught with panic. Of course, our head PT just so happens to be a proud gay man. “Oh. No. Sorry, Jace.” I manage a light laugh, suddenly more than a little awkward. “Just reading a… a text message.”

Jace arches a questioning brow, and I don’t miss the curious smirk that ghosts his lips, and awesome. Homeboy probably thinks I’m gay now.

Me: No, I’m not gay. What??

Keller: Sorry. You lost me.

Me: Obviously…

Keller: So, you were seeing someone?

Me: Yes. I was seeing someone. FEMALE. I’d never been serious with anyone before. It’s hard to get serious with someone when you’re a professional hockey player. But we were dating for a while, and I really thought she might’ve been the one. Hell, I’d even planned on taking her home to meet Ma.

Keller: What happened?

My jaw clenches as anger courses through me at the memory.

Me: She hooked up with Ben while I was in Boston. Turns out she was nothing but a fucking puck bunny in disguise. And I was the stupid ass who’d been too blind to see it.

Keller: And Ben Harris was your friend?

Me: Yeah. We lived together for our first two years at the Lions. He became one of my best friends.

Keller: I’m sorry that happened to you. And at a time when you were going through so much with your mom.

As much as the memory of Ben and Macy’s betrayal still stings, it’s actually good to get it off my chest for once. Like a weight being lifted.

Me: I tried to keep it together as long as I could through the playoffs. But then afterwards, without the distraction of hockey, it all became too much. Between all the stuff with my ma, and Ben and Macy, I don’t know… I guess I just went a little off the rails.

Keller: The drinking and the drugs?

Me: Drinking, yes. Drugs, absolutely not. Hell, I’ve never even smoked a joint.

Keller: But what about the picture of you with the cocaine?

Keller: Sorry. That was rude. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it.

I drag a hand over my face with a hard exhale. That fucking photograph. I swear, it’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.I take a deep breath, contemplating myself for a moment.

Me: Lola Grey took that photo of me.

Keller: Shut up!

I really consider my next move. Telling Fran about Ben and Macy is one thing. Admitting the truth about Lola is something else entirely. But maybe this is what I need. To tell someone the truth once and for all…

Me: I started hanging out with Lola after we met in LA at a mutual friend’s birthday. She seemed fun at first. But I didn’t realize until I was in too deep that she had some serious issues. When I found out she was into drugs and shit, I tried to end it with her, but then she threatened to kill herself.

Keller: Oh my God.

Me: Yeah, so I stayed with her that night, slept on the couch, just to make sure she didn’t hurt herself. The next day, a photo of me passed out with a bag of fucking coke was splashed all over social media.

Keller: Why would she do that?

Me: She said if I didn’t want her, she was going to make me regret it by making my life a living hell. And she succeeded. The media had a fucking field day. I mean, sure, I lost a few million dollar sponsorship deals, but worst of all, it broke Ma’s heart. I had to try and convince her I wasn’t turning into my father.

Keller: And then you had to go back and play hockey again.

Me: Being forced to line up on the ice with Ben after what he did and try to pretend like everything was fine. I just couldn’t do it. It almost felt like it was all his fault. Like if it hadn’t been for the shit he pulled with Macy, then maybe none of that shit would have happened, you know?

Keller: That was the catalyst.

Me: Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I know I fucked up, and no one held a gun to my head. But things would’ve been so different if Ben hadn’t been a traitorous fuck, and Macy hadn’t been a cheating whore.

Keller: Can I ask you something?

Me: Shoot.

Keller: Why didn’t you come out and tell the truth about Lola and the drugs.

I stare at her text, mulling over my response for a long moment.

Me: Lola was already so messed up. I worried if I told the truth, then it would only cause her more pain. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she hurt herself because of me.

Keller: I get it. I’m so sorry that happened to you, Robbie.

Me: I can’t believe I just told you all that. You officially know more than anyone. Even Andy.

I grin as I tap out a follow up.

Me: Maybe we are friends...

Keller: Thank you for telling me. I know how hard that must have been, but I want you to know that I won’t repeat a word to anyone. I’ve got your back. I promise.

“Okay, we’re all done, Robbie,” Jace says, tapping my thigh.

I tear my focus from my phone, pushing up from the bench.

“Thanks, Jace.” I offer an apologetic smile, still feeling bad about the gay comment.

He nods, flashing me a conspiratorial wink before turning back to his station.

I hop off the bench and pull my shorts back on and head back through to the locker room to where most of my teammates are getting geared up for a skate.

Stopping at my cubby, I tap a quick reply to Fran.

Me: Thanks, Fran. I’ve gotta get on the ice. Talk later?

Her message comes through almost instantly, and it does something to my heart.

Keller: I’d like that.