Page 3

THREE

MJ

Royal

Whose ass do we have to beat?

I’m sorry, what?!

Royal

I heard about some Olympic douche canoe harassing you at book club.

Veda

Hey, now. You can’t go spilling pillow-talk secrets.

He wasn’t harassing me. And thank you for telling my brother about that.

Whip

For what it’s worth, we all know about it.

Fantastic.

Abel

Do we need to take care of this?

JP

Sounds to me like we do.

NO! Please pretend like this conversation never happened. I have to go to work.

Whip

In that case, think you can get us an autograph?

GOODBYE.

* * *

“Well, don’t you look pretty!” Carol flipped a lock of my hair as she walked by.

I scoffed, smoothing a hand over the soft curls I’d added that morning. “What are you talking about?”

Carol leaned over the nurses’ desk, resting her chin on her hands and blinking innocently. “I mean the fact you curled your hair and are wearing makeup. That doesn’t have to do with a certain thick-thighed rugby player, does it?”

“Of course not. I couldn’t sleep, so I had some time to kill this morning. It’s nothing.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly not believing my obvious lie. “God, if I were twenty years younger, I’d give my left tit to take him for a ride.”

A laugh erupted from deep within my chest. “I don’t know, maybe he’s into older women.” I popped a fresh piece of mint gum into my mouth. I knew Carol was joking, but it still didn’t stop the irrational spike of jealousy that poked at my ribs. “Maybe you should shoot your shot.”

She sighed wistfully. “I wish.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think my husband would understand?”

I giggled. “Poor Dub.” Carol’s husband, William—or as he was known in town, Dub—was the sweetest man. He literally worshipped the ground she walked on.

Carol clicked her pen and scribbled something as she spoke. “I’m telling you, Beth was absolutely salivating over him after he left.”

I rolled my eyes. “I bet. I’m sure she saw nothing but Olympic gold-medal-size dollar signs.”

Carol leaned in. “I think he only had eyes for you,” she said. “After you left, he practically ran out of Mr. Brown’s room, looking for you. I distracted Beth so she wouldn’t ruin all your fun.” She inched closer to whisper. “You’re welcome.”

I recalled our exchange the night before, and a tingle danced down my spine.

Carol’s eyes went wide with glee. “He showed up, didn’t he?”

I flipped through the chart in my hands, trying to forget about how all my friends witnessed our interaction and hounded me all night for more information. “Of course he showed up. Arthur is the most meddlesome old man I’ve ever met. We’ve talked about the Bluebirds before, so I’m sure he told his grandson where I would be.”

She tapped her fingers in front of her and did a little shimmy. “Did he drag all that masculine energy up there, burst through the door like a starving man, and proclaim his desire in front of everyone?”

I looked her over and laughed. “You read too much.”

Her nose wrinkled. “That’s fair.” She slapped a cardboard file folder onto the counter. “I’m just living vicariously through you. Dub’s idea of romance is a bucket of fried chicken and a six-pack of Budweiser.”

I smiled at my friend with a shrug. “I mean, at this point, I’d take that.”

“See!” Carol encouraged. “You need to get out there. Meet a handsome stranger. Maybe go for a mustache ride and make a few bad decisions.” Her eyebrows waggled, and her shoulders shimmied like bad decisions were the best part of the whole plan.

Trouble was, bad decisions had consequences. Like leading a man you’d been dating to think you were ready for more than you were.

I would know.

I turned to Carol, noting on my watch that I was already late for my rounds. “Look, I have no interest in Mr. Brown’s grandson or his mustache rides.”

Carol’s smile froze.

Her eyes went wide as they flicked above me and back down again. My blood ran cold as a cavernous pit opened in my stomach.

I stared at her. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

Her mischievous grin widened as she grabbed the folder from my hands. “I’ll make these rounds for you!”

Before I could argue, she was practically skipping down the hallway. I took a steadying breath before closing my eyes and slowly turning around.

When I opened them, Logan was smoothing two fingers over the very mustache I was refusing to ride. “I mean ... I’m not not offering,” he said.

I scoffed. “You’re a pig.”

He laughed, totally unaffected by my insult.

I shifted my weight, hoping the stance made me appear aloof instead of entirely embarrassed he had overheard me. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s visiting hours. I would know. I checked the website.” He winked and his playful grin widened, showing off bright-white teeth and a small dimple in one cheek.

That dimple was very, very dangerous.

“Look,” he continued. “I still feel bad about last night. I was a jerk, and I would like to make it up to you.”

I eyed him warily. After he left the book club, Lark was all too eager to fill me in on Logan’s status as a professional athlete. I was more of a reader than a television watcher, which had kept me completely unaware that much of the men’s Olympic rugby coverage included Logan’s prowess on and off the field.

He was practically a hometown celebrity. Nothing about him was safe, and my guarded heart was screaming at me to run in the opposite direction.

“Please?” His dark eyebrows rose.

I ground my teeth. It was the please , accompanied by the sincere, stricken look in his eyes, that made me crack. “Maybe.”

His grin widened. “I can work with a maybe .”

Logan reached over the nurses’ station to grab a sticky note and a pen. He scribbled something down and handed it to me. “There’s an exhibition match in a few days. Coming off the Olympic Games, the energy is still pretty high. It would be a great time.”

He handed the sticky note to me with a time and an address. I looked down, then back up. “This is in Chicago.”

Logan grimaced and dragged a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah ... there aren’t a lot of small-town games, unfortunately. But you’d be my guest. I’d take care of everything. All you have to do is show up.”

I gnawed on the inside of my lip as I considered his offer. Warning bells sounded inside my head. Logan was too charming. Too tempting. Too ... something.

I knew men like him and had been burned before. My eyes flicked upward. “I’ll think about it.”

I might as well have said yes based on the way Logan grinned. “That’s good. Perfect.” He headed down the hallway toward his grandfather’s corridor. He stopped at the locked door and turned to smile at me. I pressed the button to unlock the door for him.

“See you around, Thunder.” He turned, tossing a salute over his shoulder, and tiny butterfly wings tickled my stomach.

My carefully built walls were starting to show some cracks, and all it had taken were thick thighs and a rakish smile, apparently. I looked at the sticky note again before crumpling it in my fist and stuffing it into the pocket of my scrubs.

“You’re going,” Carol whisper-squealed from behind me.

A small laugh escaped and I shook my head. “I am not going.”

“MJ ...” She bumped my shoulder. “You’re going.”

My fingers toyed with the crumpled paper inside my pocket.

I was definitely not going ... right?

“I’ve got my rounds.” I plucked my stolen folder from her hands and grabbed the computer cart. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

I smiled, eager to escape Carol and her waggling eyebrows.

The rest of the morning was delightfully mundane. I administered medications, called family members, and checked on the well-being of my residents. When I rolled my cart up to room forty-two, I pulled in a deep breath before gently knocking on the door.

“It’s open,” Arthur called.

I pushed open the door and exhaled in relief to find him alone, reading a newspaper in his chair.

“Good morning,” I said, pushing my cart to the side of the room.

“A pleasure to see you, as always.” Arthur smiled and stood. He walked toward my cart, ready to take his daily medication.

I noticed that, despite the sunshine outside, Arthur’s curtains were drawn closed. “It’s a beautiful morning. Would you like those open?”

“With you here, I have all the sunshine I need.” He smiled.

I smirked at him. “Don’t try to butter me up now. I have a feeling our dinner last night was a setup.”

Arthur gave me a sheepish smile. The man had known exactly what he was doing.

“Can you forgive an old man?” he asked.

I eyed him. Arthur was dressed in a cozy brown cardigan over a T-shirt. His slacks were neatly pressed, and his sneakers were as white as his eyebrows. If I could have conjured the most charming old man, it would be Arthur.

I exhaled with a smile. “Of course.” I moved toward the curtain. “Now let’s get some life into this cramped old room, shall we?”

Arthur nodded with a grin, and I walked toward the large windows. I snapped the curtains open, and warm morning sunlight filled the space. As I turned, a photograph of a man with a group of young boys, covered in mud, caught my eye.

Arthur came up behind me, plucking the frame from his desk. “Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago.” He held the frame out to me. “I coached Logan when he was first starting out. It was easy to see from the beginning that he was something special.”

I accepted the frame and looked at the man in the photo. Clearly, it was a much younger Arthur. The short stature was the same, along with the way his eyes always seemed to be smiling. His grin was wide as he stood, sandwiched between the muddy teenagers.

My eyes landed on the sweet, one-dimpled face of Logan. Mud streaked across his chest and legs. He looked sweaty and happy as his arm draped over the shoulder of his grandfather.

I scanned the other teenage faces.

My blood ran cold as I stopped on one face—standing next to Logan, with his arm around his waist, was a face I had hoped to never, ever see again.

Trent fucking Fischer.

The room spun, the air thick with the weight of a thousand memories I’d spent years trying to forget. The laughter, the lies, the cold silence that followed when he was done with me. And now he was here, smiling, charming, digging through the cracks in my carefully built walls.

I felt sick.

I swallowed hard as I tried to find my voice. “Was this your team?” I asked, pointing to Trent in particular.

Arthur nodded. “Some of them.” He smiled down at the photograph, his eyes wistful with memories. “Logan’s there.” He then pointed to the other boys. “John played for a while but never went pro after college. Tim was a good kid—enthusiastic but didn’t have an ounce of talent. Brent had a real shot but had a bad ankle break that took him out for good.” Arthur’s bony finger tapped on Trent’s face. “Trent—too busy chasing girls and glory.” He shook his head like he was disappointed. “I still tell him that whenever I see him.”

“Oh, you ...” I swallowed thickly. “You still keep in touch with some of them? That’s nice.”

“Trent and Logan stayed close. Best friends, even now.” Arthur was too busy looking at the picture and recalling memories to see the way all the blood had left my face.

Best friends.

When Arthur looked up, he must have seen the way I’d paled and misinterpreted it for disinterest.

“Well.” He sighed. “You don’t need me taking up all your time. You’ve got old people who need you.”

I did my best to recover and fake a smile. “It’s too bad you’re stuck in here with all the geezers,” I joked with a wink, hoping he didn’t notice the subtle change in my mood.

Arthur laughed and clapped his hands together. “Don’t I know it.” Always the gentleman, Arthur walked beside me toward the door. “You have yourself a good day, MJ. And don’t forget—my grandson is a catch. He might be worth a second chance.”

I was still reeling from the revelation that Logan and my ex-boyfriend were best fucking friends , so all I could manage was a weak nod.

I stared at his back as he slowly made his way down the corridor toward the common areas.

My thoughts raced.

Trent’s face flashed in my mind—his charm, the way he had pursued me, convinced me to trust him, to let down walls I didn’t even know I had. And then the aftermath—the cold, empty silence, the texts left unanswered, the way he’d disappeared from my life like I was nothing.

He had taken something I couldn’t get back and left me with nothing but regret. The pain was still there, lingering like an old bruise.

Trent had talked about his best friend, but he’d never given me a real name. He always seemed vaguely jealous of his friend. Maverick was just a ghost of a person I had always hoped to meet, and suddenly he was in my life—real, tangible.

That twisted the knife even deeper.

I fought the swell of disappointment that bloomed in my chest. Of course Arthur thought his grandson was a good guy, but I knew better.

Logan was best friends with my ex—Lucifer himself, he who shall not be named, the scourge of the earth—and the company you keep says an awful lot about you.