Page 37

Chapter 37

Violet

B y the time Bea bursts through my front door, I’m nearly exhausted, but the sight of her curly hair, understanding smile, and full-body hug have me perking up. And if her proximity didn’t have me finding a new level of comfort and relief, her infectiously bright attitude does.

“I’m never going back to flying commercial. That was bloody fantastic. Remind me to thank Cal.”

Crosby comes down the stairs, swooping her into a hug as Gus and Obie wander in from the living room. I pull her bags out of the way, stacking them on the entryway bench, unsurprised to hear it was my dad who brought Bea to me when I would need her.

“Why does Wellsy get the first hug?” Gus grumbles when Bea and Crosby break apart. Obie rolls his eyes at his teammate. Everyone shuffles around to make room in the space, which is feeling entirely too small with the presence of three professional athletes. Bea just opens her arms. “I don’t need a pity hug,” Gus grouses, but a bright smile breaks across his face as he steps toward her. “But I could never deny Bea anything. We all know she might fly across the Atlantic for you, little flower, but she’d stay for me. ”

“In your dreams.” Bea sighs as Gus practically folds himself in half to be cuddled, her shorter stature trying to accommodate him. He nuzzles against her shoulder for a moment. Everyone laughs and begins moving back to the living room, where we all arrange ourselves into the available space. My townhouse isn’t as spacious as Crosby’s, but we manage to make it work. Bea and Gus are on the long sofa, Obie in a wingback chair to their left, and Crosby and I snuggled into the oversized armchair across from him. Bea takes a measured look around at all of us before drawing her legs underneath her. “Catch me up.”

Before I can start, Gus jumps in, “Violet was fired. But our team owner and Ethan’s boss know it was Ethan who leaked the audio from Vegas.” He props his head up on a fist, arm resting on the back of the couch, completely relaxed as though he’s swapping neighborhood gossip, not the events of the last few hours. Bea gives him her full attention, and I try not to feel offended, but Crosby’s light laughter next to me has me giggling along. “Coupled with the day he assaulted–”

“He did not assault me,” I gently correct. “Tell it right, or you won’t get to tell it at all.”

Gus rolls his eyes but complies, starting again.

“Fine. Coupled with the day he cornered Violet in an unprofessional and physically intimidating manner in the elevator, it was enough for Ethan’s job to be terminated.”

“And what about you, Vi? What about your job?” Bea looks at me. Crosby’s hand finds mine, and I lean into him.

“It’s still mine. Ava—she oversees the department and was Ethan’s direct supervisor—says there wasn’t evidence in his firing of me.” I sigh. Three little pulses of Crosby’s hand remind me he loves me. “But this has been a lot. My dad suggested I take a few days and consider what I want to do, and I’m taking the advice.”

“Smart girl.” Bea offers an understanding and soft smile before giving her attention to Gus once more. “Okay, but why did he do it? Not firing Violet—it sounds like maybe he’s wanted that for a while. Why did he release the audio?”

Gus shrugs his shoulders, lost as to the reason a successful, respected man decided to make it his mission to tear me down. Slowly. Professionally, at first, before finding a way to attack me on a deeply personal level.

“Greed,” Obie says. His face is hard, the usual sparkle of his green eyes dull and jaw locked tight. It’s a face he reserves for games against difficult opponents. It’s also the look he wears when he defends his family. When he feels everyone’s attention on him, he takes a deep breath. “That guy has been trying to figure out how to make everything he does bigger or better for who knows how long? We’ve all heard how the team talks about him: Ethan is the least-liked member of his own department. Getting to tell him ‘no’ the last few weeks has been freeing.” He leans forward on his spread knees, elbows resting lightly as he continues, “Then Violet came along, helped into her position because of her familial connections. No offense, Letty.” He shoots me a quick apologetic twist of his lips. I hold my hands up in resignation. It’s the truth. “But she’s not just some nepo-baby working for Daddy’s team. She’s smart. A quick learner. She understands the game and the players. She became good at what she did. The guys all loved her from the beginning.”

“No shit. Some more than others,” Gus jokes. Crosby lobs the throw pillow from our chair at him, hitting his best friend square in the face. “Hey!”

Bea reaches across just as Gus cocks back his arm to throw the fluffy square back at us, Crosby’s arm already extended in front of me as a shield.

“Children, the adults are speaking.” Her accent makes the admonishment even more severe, but she smiles when she gracefully flourishes a hand at Obie to pick up the conversation.

“I could have it wrong, but all he did was talk about getting the accounts to go viral. I think he just thought this would be one more opportunity to get people talking about The Midnight, and he could build from there. He didn’t care it had fuck all to do with hockey, and it only served as a bonus that it would hurt Violet in the process,” Obie finishes. The room lapses into silence. I let Obie’s logic work through my mind.

I don’t think we’ll ever fully understand why Ethan did what he did. I’ll never personally know why he disliked me the way he did, but there’s a lot Obie said that seems to fill some of the gaps. Ethan was obsessed with success. I don’t think I had been there long enough to understand that, maybe, he was counting the department’s success as only his own. That he was willing to do whatever he could to achieve his goals.

“What a wanker,” Bea finally says just before she stands up and stretches. “All right, you lot—clear out. I’m knackered, and you have a game tomorrow.”

Gus and Obie begin to object, but Crosby extricates himself from my side, gesturing to the guys it’s time to leave. There’s lighter conversation as everyone finds shoes and coats before slipping out the front door.

Crosby presses a lingering kiss to my lips, a silent reassurance, before turning to Bea and offering her a peck on the cheek. “I know I’m leaving her in good hands,” he tells her, referring to me.

I wrap my arms around Bea’s middle just as she reaches for me. “Thanks for being here.”

“Are you sure you want to go to the game tonight?” Bea asks. I finish swiping on a coat of mascara to focus on her in the mirror. She stands behind me, looking at two Midnight home jerseys, one in each hand. We were both too tired last night to stay awake any longer. Any conversations about my job, The Midnight, or how I’m feeling were set aside in favor of sleep. Today, we avoided a little more, staying cocooned in blankets on the couch, fueled by takeout and the latest Netflix series with Kristen Bell and Adam Brody, escaping reality.

“It will be weird.” I spin and lean against the sink in the bathroom. “But I want Crosby to know I still support him. They’re down to their last few weeks of regular season games. Every single one of them matters. This stuff with the audio took a toll on him this past month. We both kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, and now that it has… it doesn’t change the fact he has a job to do. I think he’ll be more focused tonight. All the other chatter is white noise for him. He wants the work he does on the ice with the guys to matter more.”

“You’re a good person, Petal.” Bea smiles before looking back and forth again at her potential wardrobe possibilities.

“Who are you trying to pick between?” I giggle as the decision drags on.

“Gus and Nicky.”

“Nicky? Really?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

“Gus gave this to me last time and begged me to wear it the next time I was at a game. However, that boy does not need the attention, so I made sure to have another option. Figured that big, sexy Russian wasn’t a bad idea.” With that, Bea tosses the number eighty-seven jersey onto the bed behind her. She slips the number twenty-eight over her head, curls bouncing as she settles it over the black long-sleeved shirt she has on. With a little flourish, she twirls to show off the look.

“Gus is going to be so salty later.” I laugh. I turn back to the mirror, my favorite tube of red lipstick in hand. “Dad gave us the suite tonight, so I invited Allison to sit with us. Is that okay? I know you’ve only met once, but she and Henri are trying to keep the pregnancy secret for as long as they can.”

“It’s more than okay.” Bea slips into her sneakers, the purple of the side swoop perfectly matching the piping on the jersey. “It’s nice to get a glimpse into your life. You seem happy here, Vi. Ex-boyfriends and toxic bosses notwithstanding.”

I apply my lipstick, mindful to keep the lines precise, even as I watch Bea in the mirror. She picks up her phone and settles on the edge of my bed. I watch her lips turn down, the entire countenance of her face shifting, and her shoulders rounding a little. I grab a tissue to blot off the excess and head back to the bedroom for my sweatshirt. It’s one of my dad’s old ones, worn and comfortable. With the soft fabric dwarfing me, I push the sleeves back, sitting next to my friend.

“When all this dies down and the season is over, how about I fly over for a week?” I place a hand on her forearm. The offer doesn’t feel like enough. Twice, in the time since I left London, Bea has shown up for me. Dropped whatever was going on in her life, flown across an ocean, and stayed by my side when I needed her. Suddenly, I feel like an awful friend. I hang my head and blink back tears. I won’t make her feel responsible for my shortcomings. I clear my throat and look back up at her. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an awful friend.”

“Friendship doesn’t work like that,” Bea gently admonishes. “It doesn’t keep score. There is no quid pro quo. Right now, you need, and I have the ability to give. It won’t always be this way, and I have faith that when my time comes to need you, you’ll be there.”

“Of course I will.” The vow comes easily. Truthfully.

“Then, let’s leave it at that for now, hmm?” She brushes a tear that escaped off my cheek, then pats gently under her own misty eyes. “I’m ready to drink piss-poor beer and yell at grown men acting like cavemen.”

We dissolve into giggles, getting the rest of our things ready and heading downstairs to the Uber.