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17

olivia

“ O kay, wait ; let’s go over it one more time,” Maggie says with a mix of shock and excitement as we sit at Walt’s for emergency drinks after last night’s flurry of events. “That fucking prick Cayden got you fired from the anthem gig, dumped you at the game , and then Hayes, like… the Hayes you almost kissed…is a Rider? And he drove you home, then you did kiss? Holy tits, Liv! This is…I don’t even know what this is, but I’m so excited!” She whips around, her eyes sparking with mischief and squeezing my fingers as if what she’s going to say next is the most important thing in the world. “Is Hayes a good kisser? Was there tongue? Did he press up against you so you felt his hardness like they do in romance books? Please tell me that happened!”

“Oh my God, Maggie, reign it in ,” I say through gritted teeth, glancing around the bar as my cheeks heat. “We’re in a public place. I sing here. But…yes…” I look down at my shoes, hardly believing I’m saying this out loud at Walt’s. “There was tongue.”

“I fucking knew it! Oh my God, this is the most fantastic thing since pumpkin spice lattes came back.”

“What’s all the fuss about, you two troublemakers?” Johnny teases, stepping toward us with an arched brow and wiping down the bar with a towel.

“Cayden dumped Liv at the Riders game last night!”

“No shit?” Johnny says with a wrinkled brow. “You okay, Liv?”

I know he’s never been a fan of Cayden, but the way this sweet old man looks out for me gives me the warm fuzzies. “Yeah, Johnny, I’m good.”

“She’s good because she made out with the new Riders player afterward.”

“MAGGIE!” I smack her arm, mortified she announced that.

“What? Johnny should know all the facts,” she says, giving him a wink as she chugs the rest of her drink.

I take a sip of my own drink, trying to hide the pleased smile on my face. These two are going to be the death of me. I give up trying to mask my joy. At least my death will be a fun one.

“I do enjoy it when you spill the tea, as you kids call it these days,” Johnny says as he reaches under the bar and pulls out a small bottle of champagne, practically slamming it down in front of me.

“Johnny…what is this?” I ask, extremely confused.

“I’ve been saving this for the day you finally got that no-good fool out of your life. Sorry it ended the way it did, sweetheart, but you’ll be better for it in the end.”

“Alright, what’s all the commotion about?” Walt says, approaching Johnny and cuddling up next to him. “Does that bottle mean what I think it does?” He glances between the champagne, Johnny, and my shocked face, a dazzling smile overtaking his. “You and Cayden finally over, Liv?”

I sigh, leaning my elbows on the bar and dropping my face in my hands in sheer embarrassment. “Yes,” I groan, “We’re done.”

“Well, hot damn! This calls for a celebration.” He knocks his knuckles on the bar, playfully nudging Johnny. “Round of drinks on the house, folks!” Walt calls out as the bar patrons cheer, none of them having any clue why they’re getting a free drink.

“Hell yeah, Walt!” Maggie says raising her glass and tipping it towards him.

“Jeezus, was everyone waiting for this to happen?” I gape, my eyes skating between my friends. “Why did no one say anything to me?”

Walt puts his arm around Johnny’s shoulder and gives me a sweet, sorrowful look. “You can’t see it from the inside, honey. We were just hoping, one day, you’d realize you were worth a hell of a lot more. We want you to be happy, and we could tell you weren’t.”

My heart melts, their kindness and understanding more than I could ever ask for. These two are so sweet. Everyone knows they’ve been together forever, but for some reason, they don’t make a big deal about it. Yet, I see their love for each other in the most mundane actions. The way they smile at each other from across the bar. The way Johnny always has a shot of whisky ready for Walt before they close every night, or Walt restocking low bottles before Johnny even realizes. The fact that they want me to have the same kind of love they share makes my heart swell. They created this safe space for me and everyone else in this town, and that’s why this bar is such a treasure.

There’s no other place like Walt’s.

“Well, I appreciate all of your kindness. I don’t know what I’d do without you and this place,” I say as Walt reaches his hand across the bar to give mine a little squeeze.

Johnny leans over, making a show of looking around the bar before talking to me in a quiet voice. “Now…tell me about this hockey player you were smooching with. I assume it was the one here at my bar a few weeks ago?”

My eyes widen as he winks, and I give him an evil look for him keeping this information from me. “What the heck, Johnny? You knew who he was?”

“Listen, missy, I’ve been a hockey fan since before you were born, and I watch the sports channels religiously when I’m not here. Trust me to know when a Rider sits at my bar. I knew that was Hayes Larson the minute he walked in.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, half not wanting to know the answer.

“Sweetheart, sometimes it’s better to figure things out on your own. Plus, I wasn’t about to out the newest athlete in town to a bunch of drunk fools.”

Maggie slams her hand down on the bar, pulling Johnny’s attention to her. “Well, if another hot-as-fuck hockey player comes in here, Johnny, would you please point them out? I could use the help,” she says with an overly dramatic sigh, draping her body across the entire bar. “I can only be so patient.” She keeps her face squished against the wood, her words mumbled as she looks to me. “Back to you and your love life, Liv.”

“In case you forgot, I currently don’t have a love life.” Or do I?

“Oh yes. You. Do. You’re showing the new player for the Riders around town next weekend, and you two have already played tonsil hockey. This has major potential, girlfriend, and I’m going to live vicariously through you until I find my own super rich hockey player.” Maggie looks at her phone as a text comes through, jolting up in her seat. “Shit, I gotta go. Sunday dinner at my parents’ house tonight where their lawyer asses will passively-aggressively lecture me about my poor career choices. Jesus, take the wheel.”

I laugh as we hug goodbye, feeling the best I have in a long time. “Thanks for meeting me for a drink this afternoon, Mags. You’re the best. See you at work tomorrow!”

“Love you too, Liv! You know I’m never one to turn down drinks and gossip,” she says, making her way toward the bar door. “Oh…Emo Guy said he’s bringing in bagels tomorrow…save me a blueberry one!”

As a musician, the one good thing about a breakup is the songwriting material. Finally having some time to sit down at my piano, I pick out a bass line my grandpa and I used to play together as a duet. It’s a boogie-woogie tune, which seems odd given the complex emotions I’m feeling. Sadness. Confusion. Loneliness. Heartache. It all seems to lead toward a moody ballad, but I’m drawn to a fast-paced rhythm, the chaos leading my fingers across the keys.

As my heart pounds through this simple bassline, I start to realize what a complete tool Cayden is. Last night I cried. But today? Today I’m filled with rage.

How did I navigate a gauntlet of unhappiness and let him be the one to break up with me?

Memories creep up of all the terrible things he used to say to me - things I had long forgotten about - flooding my mind and fueling my anger. I remember everything . Every time he ditched me to hang out with his friends. Every time he made me feel bad for wanting to spend time with him. Every time he said something I wanted to do was too expensive, but anything he wanted was a can’t miss opportunity no matter the cost. I pound the keys harder and harder, playing through the outrage coursing through my veins, feeling myself healing with every note shattering the stillness of the room.

All this time I thought I was an inconvenience to him. I always seemed to be in the way of whatever he wanted to do. But in reality, he was the one standing in my way. Being with him caused me to place limitations on myself. I was never enough. I couldn’t compete with anything in his life. I wasn’t worth the time, energy, or effort. I was a girlfriend in name only; a convenient excuse if he needed one. The lyrics begin pouring out of me, and I hit record on my phone, capturing anything I might miss. After a few hours, and some tweaking, a new song is written. One I’m happy to have purged from my soul.

Not every song happens this fast. Sometimes I work on something for weeks, or even months, before it’s where I want it. But with all the pent-up sadness and frustration from everything Cayden put me through, this song poured out of me like a waterfall - crashing down on the remnants of our shitty relationship and wiping it from existence.

Last night with Hayes gave me a fresh perspective of what a good relationship could be like. Oh my God, Olivia, it was one kiss; you are not in a relationship. Biting my lip, I upload the recording to the cloud, making sure my new song is saved in a safe place. Maybe I am clingy.

No, no, no. New mantra. I am not clingy . Cayden just wasn’t enough for me. He wasn’t worthy of me. He was nothing more than a lesson of what I truly deserve from a partner.

My stomach growls, and I realize I’ve been writing all afternoon since I got home from Walt’s. I order takeout from my favorite sushi place, and once it arrives, I plop down on the couch to eat and find something to watch on TV. A few minutes later, I hear a knock on the door. Glancing at the bag, my brow furrows. Did the delivery guy forget to give me part of my order? Peeking through the blinds, I see a different delivery man holding a package. I open the door.

“Olivia Brooks?” he asks, looking down at the package.

“Yeah that’s me, but I wasn’t expecting anything. You sure you have the right address?”

“Says your name right here on my packing slip. Just need your autograph here please,” he says, holding out his electronic pad for me to sign.

Scribbling quickly, I grab the package and head back inside. Did I drunk order something online? I open the box and inside is a card, along with fabric I recognize immediately, my breath catching in my throat. A Milwaukee Steel Riders home jersey. Quickly taking it out of the box, I flip it over and, sure enough, across the back in big letters is “LARSON” with the number 22 beneath it.

Holy shit. I hug the jersey to my chest, unable to help but take a quick sniff. A smile stretches my cheeks. It’s not like I don’t have a ton of Riders gear due to my singing gig. Well…former singing gig. I groan, dropping my head back and staring at the ceiling. Already forgot about that. But I’ve never worn anything other than my own jersey. I gently set it down and rip open the card as fast as I can.

Olivia,

I know you already have a jersey, but I thought you might like this one too. There’s no other siren I’d rather see wearing my number.

Hayes

My heart leaps out of my chest as I stare wide-eyed between the note and the gift it was attached to. He wants me to wear his number . I feel like I’m back in high school. Except I was not popular enough for any guy at my school to want me to wear his jersey. I remember always longing to be asked but always knowing I wasn’t cool enough, skinny enough, or pretty enough. I look back on that version of myself and wish I could tell her to hang in there. To tell her that one day, a sexy man with blond hair, brown eyes, and a smile that makes you weak in the knees will give you a jersey with his name on it.

I put the soft fabric over my head and walk across the creaky hardwood floors to my full-length mirror. The warmth of it soothes my bruised heart. It’s huge on my tiny frame, the sleeves hanging down past my short little alligator arms. It’s much larger on me than the custom-tailored one I sing in. This is more like the size an actual player would wear.

I love it so much.

As I’m admiring my reflection, my phone buzzes with an incoming call, and I can’t help but smile when I see who it is.

“Well, if it isn’t Hayes Larson calling his emergency contact. To what do I owe this pleasure? I do hope everything is alright.”

“Hello, Olivia Brooks. I was just calling to see if you got a little gift delivered to you today.” He laughs, the sound making me press my legs together. “Actually, I know you got it because I just got a notification.”

“Oh my gosh, Hayes. Thank you . This is too much and too sweet, and I…I absolutely love it. I’m actually wearing it right now.”

“For real?” he asks excitedly. “Can you show me?”

Oh my God, he wants to FaceTime? Shit. Do I look okay? I reluctantly hit the video button to switch the call and walk back over by my full-length mirror.

“Oh my God, Olivia. That jersey has never looked better on anyone. Not even me. Turn around; let me see the back,” he says as I turn around, trying to figure out how to get the camera to face the right way so he can see his name splayed across my shoulders.

“My little siren, you look beautiful wearing my number, and I’m pissed I’m a thousand miles away so I can’t enjoy it in person,” he groans, and I nervously laugh. I bite my lip as I look away from his gaze in the little window on my phone.

Did he just say I looked beautiful?

“Seriously, Hayes, this is incredible. I’m going to wear it when I watch the game tomorrow night.”

“Please take a selfie of that,” he says with a deep voice. Oh my God, the gruff tone of his voice makes my entire body shiver, and I hope he can’t tell how strong of an effect he has on me. “It’s a game-worn jersey from pre-season. I wanted you to have one.”

“So, you sweated in this? Gross,” I joke, trying to play off the fact that this conversation has me extremely turned on. Thankfully he laughs, doing nothing to help my ever-growing arousal. “I’m just teasing; I freaking love it. How’s Denver?”

“Much better now that I’m talking to you,” he says. “It’s been a long day between travel, practice logistics, and dinner. Glad to finally be at the hotel to get some rest. How was your day?”

“Good! Went to Walt’s this afternoon for a drink with my best friend Maggie, then I came home and worked on some music for the rest of the day. Got a new song knocked out I’m excited about,” I gush, recapping my day.

“You wrote a song? Today? An entire song?” he says, seemingly in shock.

I laugh, touched that he seems as excited as I am. “Yep, a whole song.”

“What’s it about?”

Shit. Do I tell him it’s about Cayden being a dipshit? Will he be mad? Will it upset him that I wrote a song about my ex? I really need the number to Taylor Swift’s songwriting hotline so I can ask her these kinds of questions.

“Well…it’s kind of about my recent past relationship with a giant douche. I literally refer to him as a douche in the song,” I nervously tell him. “Is that weird?”

Hayes sits for a minute, a myriad of expressions flashing across his face. “It’s not weird at all; I love that you call him a douche in your song. Can I hear it?”

Oh. Double shit. I don’t play my songs for people one-on-one. It’s awkward. I can sing in front of 50,000 people, no problem, but singing in front of a small group, or even just one person, makes me unbelievably nervous…like, puking nervous.

“You want to hear it? Like, hear me play it for you? Now? Over the phone? Just you and me?” I ramble.

“Olivia, I love hearing you sing. You could sing the words to the Declaration of Independence, and I would probably be a sobbing mess,” he says, making me laugh.

I love the way he makes me laugh.

“Funnily enough, this song starts with ‘four score and seven years ago.’” He laughs again, and if I keep smiling like this, my cheeks are going to ache.

“That’s the Gettysburg Address.”

Damn…he’s right. “Potayto, potahto,” I grumble as Hayes lets out another laugh, his video shaking as he looks at me expectantly.

“ Okay , I’ll play it for you. Just know singing for only one person makes me super nervous, and I might vomit,” I relay, my voice shaky.

“Why does it make you nervous?” His brows come together, an adorable tilt softening his face. “I would take you to a skating rink and show you how I shoot a puck into the goal. What’s the difference?”

“When I sing for a small crowd, everyone is staring at me, and they are, like… right there. They don’t stop staring. The entire time. Then I finish the song, and they are still staring at me, and no one knows what to say or do. It’s so awkward to pour your emotions out in an intimate setting. There’s a lot less emotion involved with shooting a puck.”

“I beg to differ. I’ll show you how emotional it is to hold my stick and shoot a puck sometime.” Did he just say hold his stick? Jeezus, get your mind out of the gutter. “But seriously, Olivia, there’s no need to be embarrassed or nervous around me. I’m literally you’re biggest fan.”

Why does this man make me feel safe being vulnerable with him ? “Well, when you put it like that, I can’t disappoint my fans. Hold on,” I say, walking into the music room and setting my phone at an angle so he can see me sitting at the piano. God am I really doing this? I swallow the giant nervous lump in my throat and begin to caress the keys.

(View the lyrics to Olivia’s song at the end of the book)

“Well…what do you think?” I ask, a sick feeling in my stomach and more nervous than I’ve ever been in my life. “I know it needs some work, and I could maybe tweak some of the lyrics, and …” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I shouldn’t have played it for you.”

He takes a minute and looks at me over the phone with fierce sincerity. “I have a few thoughts,” he says tentatively. “First, you are so fucking talented. The fact you wrote that song in a day, start to finish, is incredible. It’s going to be stuck in my head our entire trip. Second, it makes me want to go to that douche-nozzle’s house and beat the ever-loving shit out of him for ever making you feel like that. And third, my dick is so hard right now. Watching you sing while wearing my name across your back unlocked a fantasy I never knew I had.”

Oh. My. Lanta.

I was not expecting that. Any of that. My eyes are about to pop out of my head, and I have no idea how to respond, but his words go straight to my core, igniting a heat low in my stomach and making me shift on my piano bench.

“Really?” I sheepishly reply.

“What did I tell you about compliments, Olivia?”

“That you don’t give them unless you mean them.”

“Exactly. And I meant every word of what I said.”

I blink, my heart pounding against my chest. Like when he said his dick was hard? I mean…I’m not mad, but…what the hell is happening?

I swallow back the lump in my throat, trying to recover from all the dick thoughts bombarding my mind. “Thank you. It means a lot. And so does this jersey.”

“I’m glad you like it. Would you do me a favor, Olivia?” His deep, gruff voice has goosebumps prickling across my skin. “Will you sleep in my jersey tonight?”

Oh my fucking God. My core clenches around nothing, desperate for this man halfway across the country. I’ve only met him twice, but the way he talks to me makes me think he could ask me to rob a bank and I would do it without a second thought. Also, I could use the money. Still in a state of shock, I nod my head slowly.

“I may never take it off.”