Page 10 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO (Second Chance Hockey Players #1)

Chapter eight

Liam

I pace the room, the hardwood floors groaning under my steps.

My thoughts churn like a storm, and I cannot quiet them.

Having to collaborate with her is one thing, but this?

This is something else entirely. Now she is here, in my space.

Of all people, of all places - she is living right next to me. What kind of cosmic joke is this?

Her scent still lingers in my senses after brushing past me, some mix of vanilla and something sweeter. It clings to the edges of my memory, refuses to let go.

I clench my fists; my nails dig into my palms. My jaw tightens, muscles straining with the effort to keep my composure.

I am furious. A cold, simmering fury that settles deep in my chest. Right now, I do not know who I’m angrier at - her, for always getting under my skin, or myself, for allowing it.

For engaging with her. For noticing her.

Damn her for the way her eyes flashed when she snapped back at me, that spark of defiance that has always made my blood boil.

And that smirk that infuriating, self-assured curl of her lips that says she knows exactly how to provoke me.

It makes me want to wipe it off her face, to shatter the illusion that she has any control here.

But that is the problem, isn’t it? She does have control.

She still affects me and still pushes buttons I thought were dead and buried.

I stop pacing, planting my feet as if that will anchor my thoughts. My pulse pounds in my ears, a steady, maddening rhythm. I take a slow and measured breath through my nose, but it does not help. The rage sits there, cold, and unyielding.

This is not just about proximity. This is about intrusion. Hazel McKee is a thorn in my side, a splinter lodged too deep to remove without pain. And now she has embedded herself in my life again, in my estate, my refuge.

The universe must be laughing at me.

I run my hand through my hair, exhaling a breath that tastes like frustration. This situation is unacceptable. She is unacceptable. There has to be a way out of this.

I grab my phone off the counter and dial Richard’s number. He picks up almost immediately as if he has been expecting it.

“Good evening, Mr. Callahan,” he says, sounding far too calm for my liking.

“Don’t ‘good evening’ me,” I snap, pacing to the window, staring out at the pathway that leads to the guest house. “Explain. Now.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to clarify what you want me to explain,” he replies smoothly.

“Do not joke with me, Richard. I am not in the mood.” My hand tightens around the phone. “Why is Hazel McKee living in the guest house next to mine?”

There is a pause, and I can practically hear him choosing his words. “I did inform you that the guest property was rented out this month.”

“You didn’t tell me it was her,” I ground out. My jaw aches from how hard I am clenching it.

“Well, Mr. Callahan, if you recall, you gave me full autonomy over the guest house. You have never made it a policy to review tenant names personally. Your exact words were, and I quote, ‘I don’t care who stays there as long as they aren’t in my way and respect the estate.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Well, that policy just changed,” I grind out, taking a sip of bourbon that burns all the way down. “You should have flagged it. You should have called me the second you saw her name.”

“I wasn’t aware Miss McKee was a concern,” Richard replies, maddeningly even. “She meets all the criteria: professional, respectful, no history of issues. There was no reason to believe that you would object.”

“There is now.” My voice drops to a growl. “Fix. It. Refund her, relocate her - I do not care how you do it. Just get her out.”

Richard inhales slowly, the kind of breath that says he is bracing for the worst. “I would love to, but that is not possible.

The lease is signed, the deposit is non-refundable.

Even if we gave her double what she paid - and let's be honest, you would probably hand her the money tomorrow in this state - there is nowhere else for her to go. Every other unit is occupied. Short of dragging her out and tossing her bags on the street, there are no options.”

My hand flexes around the glass. “That is not my problem. I just want her gone.”

He sighs, deliberate and heavy. “Liam, it is six months. Just six. I do not know what is going on between you two, but Miss McKee has been nothing but respectful. There is no reason to think she’ll disrupt your privacy.”

I let out a slow breath, my anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

Six months. Half a year of enduring her presence, of knowing she is merely steps away. The thought gnaws at me, a bitter taste I can’t spit out.

“You expect too much, Richard,” I mutter, the anger simmering just below the surface. But I know it is futile. I have lost this battle for now.

“Be that as it may, sir,” he replies, his voice firm but professional. “The terms are set. There is nothing I can do.”

I stare out the window, the bourbon doing nothing to quell the heat crawling up my spine. Her presence lingers like smoke - unwelcome, suffocating.

Six months. God help me.

****

The sharp chime of the doorbell drags me out of sleep, yanking me from the edge of a dream I cannot quite remember. I groan, pressing the heel of my hand to my eyes. I glance at the clock on the bedside table - 7:15 a.m. Who in the hell…?

The bell rings again, insistent this time.

Grabbing a T-shirt from the chair, I pull it on as I head for the front door, muttering under my breath. When I yank it open, I am met with a wide, beaming grin and a face far too chipper for the hour.

Cara, my baby sister, leans on the door frame with a packet of chips in hand. She is dressed in an oversized hoodie, leggings, and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that only siblings seem to perfect.

"Good morning, big bro!" She chirps, brushing past me like she owns the place. Her caramel-colored ponytail swishes as she heads straight for the kitchen.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and follow. "Cara, it’s not even eight. What are you doing here?"

She grabs an apple from the counter and takes a dramatic bite. "Well, someone had to make sure you weren’t turning into a grumpy hermit. Oh wait…, too late."

I glare at her, but she just laughs and drops onto one of the barstools. “You look terrible, by the way. Sleep well?”

I shut the door behind her with a heavy thud. “It was peaceful until now.”

“Aw, poor Liam,” she teases, batting her lashes like she cares. She is already kicking off her sneakers, tossing them in a way that makes my eye twitch.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I mutter, but there is no bite in it. Cara’s always been like this - a storm that barrels in, makes noise, and leaves me cleaning up after her.

She flashes me a grin, twirling the apple around. “Nope. Thought I would grace you with my presence today. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Stop playing with your food.”

“Okay, mom”

“Cara,” I say, grabbing a glass of water. “Why are you here?”

“I missed you,” she says sweetly, now grabbing a banana, her already opened chips forgotten. “Plus, Dad said I should check on you. Make sure you are not turning into a hermit or something.”

I snort. “I am fine. And you could have called instead of showing up unannounced.”

“Oh, but then I wouldn’t get to see your grumpy, just-woke-up face.” She flashes me a teasing grin. “It’s a real treat, you know.”

“Delightful,” I deadpan, running a hand through my hair. “Now, what do you want, Cara? Because I know, you, visiting this early, means you want something, so spit it out.”

She clasps her hands together dramatically. “Can’t I visit my favorite brother just because I love him?”

I arch a brow.

“Okay, fine,” she grins, already heading toward the back door. “I want to pick a flower from your garden. That big red one by the pathway. It is pretty. You know, for inspiration. My art project is due next week.”

“No,” I say flatly.

“Please?” She draws out the word, dragging it like nails on a chalkboard. “I know you love your garden way more than you love anything, well, not hockey, but please.”

“No.”

“Not even for your fav sister?”

“All the more reason for the no…,” I say with a shrug.

She grins, eyes sparkling with defiance. “That wasn’t a request, Liam.” She is already heading for the door, grabbing a water bottle from the counter on her way out.

I sigh, shaking my head but following her anyway.

The sun is still rising, casting streaks of gold across the lawn. The air smells of damp earth and fresh-cut grass. I squint against the light, watching Cara skip ahead like she is five again.

"Don't touch the roses," I called after her.

"Too late!" she calls back, laughter in her voice.

I am halfway across the lawn, still debating if I should yank her back inside when Cara suddenly stops short. Her gaze narrows on something - or someone.

“Wait…, is that…?” She turns to me slowly, eyes wide. “Is that Hazel?”

I follow her gaze and my stomach knots. Hazel steps out, her hair loose around her shoulders, catching the sunlight. She is wearing faded jeans and a fitted sweater, effortlessly casual. My jaw ticks. My fingers curl into my palms.

“Yup,” I mutter, “Cara, why don’t we…”

But Cara did not wait for me to finish. She spins on her heel and bolts toward Hazel, moving faster than I have ever seen her move for anything remotely useful.

“Hazel!” She shouts, waving both hands like she is flagging down a plane. “Oh my God, it is you!”

Hazel, standing by the door of the guest house with her keys in hand, looks up at the sound of her name. Her eyes widen for half a second, and then, to my utter dismay, she breaks into a soft, genuine smile.

“Cara?” Her surprise melts into familiarity, and suddenly, she is grinning like it’s old times. “Wow, look at you! All grown up.”

Cara reaches her, arms flung wide as she wraps Hazel in a hug so tight, it makes me grit my teeth. Hazel laughs, hugging her back with just as much enthusiasm.

I walk towards them, close, yet still far away, watching them with my hands in my pockets, my jaw locked tight.

Hazel pulls back slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You’ve grown up so much, I almost didn’t recognize you."

"I’m almost an adult now," Cara boasts, standing taller. “Two more years.”

“I can tell.”

“You look amazing!” Cara gushes. “I have not seen you in forever! You just disappeared, on your favorite 11-year-old. I was looking forward to the gift you promised me, you know?” She tilts her head, her face scrunching with mock disapproval.

“You could’ve at least called or something, if not anyone, me. ”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Hazel says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Life got…, complicated.” She glances toward me then, just for a second, before turning her attention back to Cara.

“Tell me about it,” Cara says, nudging Hazel with her elbow. “But look at you now! Back in town, and wait…, are you living here?"”

Hazel nods, her gaze flickering toward me again. "Yeah, I’m renting the guest house for a while."

“Wow, you’re living right next to him.” She tosses a thumb over her shoulder in my direction, clearly amused by the situation.

“I know,” Hazel says, her smile tight but present. “Small world, huh?”

“Way too small,” I mutter under my breath, too low for them to hear.

I do not know what irritates me more - the fact that Hazel’s standing there with that calm, composed look she always wears like armor or the fact that Cara’s acting like they’re long-lost best friends.

Cara turns to me then, eyes alight with mischief. “Did you know she was here?”

“Yup,” I reply dryly, my gaze locked on Hazel, “I’m very aware.”

Cara snickers. “I bet you love that.”

“Ecstatic,” I deadpan, not even trying to mask my sarcasm.

Hazel’s lips twitch at that, a barely-there smile that she quickly smothers.

“I should head out,” Hazel says, glancing between us. “But it’s good to see you, Cara.”

“Don’t be a stranger!” Cara calls after her, still grinning as Hazel walks toward her car. “Now that I know you are here, you will see me all the time. Get ready for a constant visitor.”

“Looking forward to it...,” she says, blowing her a kiss.

I watch Hazel go, every step she takes is deliberate, every move precise. She does not look back. She never does.

“Wow,” Cara says, turning back to me with her arms folded. “I forgot how pretty she is.” She raises a brow, leaning in like she is about to tell me a secret. “You still mad, big brother?”

“Go pick your flowers, Cara.” My tone is clipped, and my patience is worn thin.

But she just laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "If you say so, grumpy."

I watch her skip toward the garden, humming a song like she has no care in the world.

Hazel’s door clicks shut in the distance, and I stare at it for a bit too long.

Six months.

Only six months.

I will survive.

I have to.