Cross-Checked (Boston Rebels #3)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

AJ

W hen I get to my car after that disaster of a game and an even worse press conference, I’m still fuming.

The parking lot is mostly full, as the majority of players left their cars here when they headed out to the Neon Cactus, the unofficial bar of the Boston Rebels that’s walking distance from Liberty Arena where we play our home games. I’ve never set foot in that bar, or gone out with the players after a game.

Walsh’s wife, Marissa, has planned a little celebration tonight to honor my award nomination. I know it would be an asshole move if I didn’t show up. And as hard as I’m trying, I cannot seem to muster the emotional energy to care.

I lean against the driver’s side door of my car and pull out my phone. I need to make my apologies to Marissa, and also let Lauren know I’m canceling since Jameson was going to head home to the twins while she came out with me. She’ll probably decide to go home with him if I’m not going out tonight.

AJ

Hey, so sorry to do this, but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. I’m exhausted and just don’t feel up to it.

I’ve no sooner hit send on the text to Lauren than she walks out the side door. “Hey, there you are! You ready to go?” Her voice is so light and full of excitement.

“Uh, I just sent you a text, actually. I think I need to cancel. I just don’t have the energy to go out.”

She crosses her arms and raises one of her auburn eyebrows. In the yellow haze of the flood lamps that bathe this parking lot in light, her dark red hair glows a fiery orange. “Bullshit.”

“No really, I’m exhausted.”

“Are you sure you’re not just headed home because you’re pissed we lost the game and that McCabe didn’t do what you asked him to?”

“I mean”—my sigh is so large it feels like it deflates me—“that’s part of it, for sure. And I think all the travel is catching up to me.”

I don’t mention that one reason I’m exhausted is because I flew down to Carolina for Game 3, then flew back to Boston for Lauren’s bridal shower, before returning to Carolina the same day, because I don’t want her to feel bad. Or how that was compounded by my lack of sleep on the plane after Game 4, when I found out McCabe is my neighbor.

Lauren’s one of my closest friends, but I like to keep my personal life...personal.

“Well, given how excited Marissa is about getting everyone together, and that Audrey and Jules are coming out specifically to celebrate you, I think you need to show up for at least one drink. Plus, Jameson left a while ago to relieve Morgan, who was babysitting for us, and she’s going to stop by too. I think Jules said you wanted to talk to her about some social media consulting for the team?”

My god, those four really do talk about everything. Is that what it’s like to have sisters, and sisters-in-law, and cousins? The longing for close female relationships like that hits me unexpectedly hard, like a sucker punch that has my stomach clenching in anticipation of something I’ve always wanted but never experienced.

“Fine, but just for one drink. Otherwise, I’ll probably fall asleep at the bar.” I’m not joking. The physical toll of carrying Abby for hours, combined with the emotional toll of watching McCabe self-destruct at the press conference like that, has me just wanting to crash into bed. Thanks to my messed-up hormones, my body’s response to acute stress like I experienced tonight is almost always an exhaustion phase where I feel steamrolled by fatigue for a day or two.

We head over to the Neon Cactus, and I’m thankful it’s only a few blocks away and that Lauren’s yapping for the entire walk. My feet feel like lead and my eyes feel like if I closed them it’d be impossible to reopen them for at least eight hours. Everyone’s already there when we arrive, and I’m just thankful that McCabe doesn’t have childcare tonight, so I don’t have to worry about him showing up.

After saying our hellos to the team, Lauren and I head to the bar to grab a drink, and I take a moment to look around. Neon Cactus is known for its variety of tequila, and I’ve heard you can get a hundred-dollar margarita here, but it looks like we walked into a dive bar. The walls are lacquered wood panels, with a variety of neon and metal signs covering most of the surfaces. There are Christmas lights strung up around the top of the bar like someone put them up years ago and never took them down. In the very back, there are pool tables, but the rest of the bar is full of pub tables with booths around the perimeter.

Walsh shows up next to us as we wait for the bartender to deliver our order. “Hey, boss,” he says. “Just wanted to say how happy I am for you about this nomination, and how sorry I am that our captain was such a dick tonight. I’ll talk to him.”

Walsh is such a genuinely good guy. You’d never know it to watch him play, because he chirps the opposing team non-stop and lands a dirty hit in almost every game. But he’s a leader among the players, a fantastic husband and dad, and one of those people who just seem to exude warmth and energy.

He’s not originally from Boston, but he’s always looking to give back to the community that welcomed him and his family with open arms years ago. If I ever need a player to show up for something, he’s the first to volunteer. If I had asked him to say something at tonight’s press conference, he would have done it happily. He’s a team player, through and through.

He couldn’t be more different from McCabe. Maybe he deserves to wear the C on his jersey, instead of the A he’s sported for several years now.

“Thank you, on both accounts,” I say. “But you don’t need to talk to him. I’ve already got a meeting scheduled with him tomorrow morning.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Of course you do. Try to go easy on him, maybe? He’s really struggled this season to balance being a single dad and team captain. I don’t know how I’d be a parent without Marissa”—I swear his eyes do this sappy thing when he looks over at his wife, and it has me imagining cartoon hearts flying out of them—“or without our nanny, Katie. With all the travel...well, I don’t have to tell you how hard it is.”

Not every GM in the league goes to every away game, but my philosophy has always been that I need to be where my players are. If they can do the non-stop travel during the season, so can I. Besides, after playing college hockey, followed by coaching college hockey, then scouting for St. Louis, travel is just a part of my life.

“I appreciate that you’re looking out for him,” I say, and next to me, Lauren’s rumble of laughter slips out like she already knows what I’m going to say. “But he’s a big boy. He can stand up for himself.”

Walsh laughs then, too. “Against you? I’m not so sure he can.”

I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or if he truly believes that a 6’4” professional hockey player, who once beat the shit out of my ex-husband, would have a problem standing up to me. Of course, no one here knows about him assaulting Chet, so there’s that.

“Lauren!” A woman’s voice comes from behind us, and we turn to find Morgan barreling in our direction with Jules and Audrey right on her heels. She’s visibly upset, her face flushed and her eyes full of tears.

“Oh my god, Morgs! What’s going on?” Lauren asks, her expression and tone both full of worry.

Morgan’s gaze shifts to me. “Hi, AJ, Walsh. I’m so sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Of course not,” I tell her.

At the same time, Walsh says, “Nah, it sounds like you ladies have important stuff to talk about. I’ll see you later.” He turns to leave, giving Morgan the privacy she needs to share whatever’s wrong.

“I just...” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and as she does, the tears roll down her freckled cheeks. When she opens her eyes again, it’s clear she’s embarrassed to be crying in a bar.

“Hey, there’s a free table over there,” I say, nodding to a booth in the corner at the same time the bartender sets our drinks on the bar. I hand him my card and tell him to keep the tab open and then follow this close-knit group of women over to the table, feeling a bit like an outsider.

When we slide into the booth, I somehow end up sandwiched between Morgan and Lauren, with Jules and Audrey taking the seats on the outside of the rounded booth.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Audrey asks Morgan the second we’re all seated.

“I parked at my place on Newbury Street when I came home from Lauren’s,” Morgan says, “and then I was walking over here when Carter called.”

I have no idea who Carter is, but Lauren, Jules, and Audrey are all nodding.

“And he...” she stutters as a sob wracks her body. “...I think he broke up with me?”

“You think?” Jules asks bluntly, as Audrey and Lauren immediately jump into sympathy mode, giving Morgan supportive squeezes and cooing their disappointment.

“Yeah...I don’t really understand what just happened. He said he thinks I’m more into him than he is into me, and maybe we need to ‘pump the brakes’”—she uses air quotes and an eye roll to emphasize his words—“on this relationship.”

“Wait, this is the same guy who has been all in since the minute you two started talking a month ago?” Audrey clarifies. “The one who flew you to Miami with him when you’d been together for, like, three days because he couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you while he was traveling for work? The one who introduced you to his family after dating for a week? Who sent you non-stop gifts and couldn’t go a night without seeing you, even if it meant staying on FaceTime with him all night?” Her voice is rising in anger with each point she recalls about their short relationship.

“What a fucking love-bombing asshole,” Lauren says with a huff.

“God, it’s like you just can’t trust guys today,” Jules adds. “Most of them just want a quick hookup, and here you found one who was all in right from the beginning, and then he pulls this shit?”

“You guys are so lucky you don’t have to deal with this anymore,” Morgan groans, folding her arms on the table in front of her, and resting her forehead against them with a loud groan of frustration. “I used to think I liked being single. But watching all my best friends get engaged has me rethinking things.” She lifts her head again and glances from Audrey to Lauren to Jules. “I want what you all have.”

Jules’s laugh is low and throaty, her words quiet. “You know my and Colt’s engagement is fake, right?”

“Like hell it is,” Lauren says. “That man is down bad for you, just like you are for him. It might have started out fake, but there’s no way you can convince us it’s not real now.”

“The feelings are real,” she confirms.

“You’re still wearing his ring,” I point out. “You’re still living with him, and you’re still coming to his games wearing his name on your back.” My eyebrows raise as I glance at the WAG playoff jacket she’s wearing. The fact that she’s even in the WAG group chat and sporting one of their jackets shows me exactly how serious Colt is about her, because players don’t take that shit lightly.

“Because she’s in lovvvve .” Audrey drags out the word, playfully teasing her sister. “And besides, he said the only way this was ending was if you broke up with him. You planning on breaking up with him?”

It’s a rhetorical question, asked only to emphasize that their relationship has become very real. Jules just rolls her eyes.

“I can’t see any other outcome than you marrying him,” Lauren adds. “He wouldn’t survive without you at this point, and I’ve never seen you happier.”

Jules sticks out her lower lip and blows out a puff of air, ruffling the waves of blonde hair that fall on either side of her forehead. “Yeah. I kind of can’t see any other outcome either.”

I feel Morgan’s pain. Even though I’m not super close with these women, except Lauren, I’ve still watched as my players and my friend have fallen in love with them. I’d never begrudge anyone their happiness, but it makes me wonder if I’ll ever have that kind of joy in my own life.

Of course, I’d have to open myself up to the idea of falling in love again. And I’d probably have to stop working eighteen hours a day and start dating. I’ve built a comfortable, safe life for myself in Boston, but it’s starting to feel more stifling than safe lately.

As if she can sense my thoughts, Morgan turns and says, “What about you, AJ? Any special guy in your life?”

I snort a laugh. “I’m already married to my job. I don’t have time for a man.”

“You sound like Paige,” Morgan says, and when I dip my eyebrows, she reminds me, “Lauren’s sister. She’s married to her job, too.”

Lauren looks like she wants to say something, but presses her lips together. Then she says, “AJ does give excellent relationship advice, though.”

My brow furrows. “I do?”

She knows about my divorce, my infertility, and that my husband cheated on me. I’m hardly the right person for relationship advice.

“Yeah. One of the first real conversations we had,” she tells her friends, “was right when I found out Josh was leading a double life, and AJ popped into my office. You remember?”

She’s looking straight at me. Of course I remember. It was the first time I felt like someone I worked with could also be my friend. I nod.

Lauren continues. “AJ told me that when a woman is beautiful, strong, and successful, she’s a triple threat. And that weak men don’t like to be threatened, so they’ll find any way to undermine and invalidate you—to make you feel small, like you’re nothing without them. But a strong man will encourage and support you, will want to see you shine and be successful in all aspects of your life, not just where it relates to him.” Lauren pauses and laughs before saying, “And then she offered to help me bury the body if I needed.”

“What body?” Audrey says with a laugh.

“I believe the offer was that if I needed to kill ‘the other woman,’ she’d show up with shovels.”

Now I’m laughing. “Hey, we women need to stick together. Look at you all,” I say, my eyes flicking to each of them. “The men in your lives are lucky to have you. And you know what the best part about that is?”

“The sex?” Jules offers, and Audrey swats at her from across the table.

“I mean, sure.” It’s been so damn long since I’ve had good sex, I can’t even remember what it’s like. “But I was thinking that the best part of it is, they all know how lucky they are.”

“So it’s just us with the sucky love lives then, huh?” Morgan says, leaning over and resting her head on my shoulder. I don’t think she’s even thirty yet, and with her strawberry-blonde hair, freckles, and cute upturned nose, she looks even younger.

I reach my hand up and pat her head. “I guess we’ll just have to keep killing it with work. I hear you started your own social media consulting company?”

She sits up, clearly surprised. “You did?”

“Yeah, Jules mentioned it. I’d love to talk to you about that at some point. I think our team could use some social media advising.”

Her eyes widen. “I...I’d love to talk more about that. But first”—she flags down a passing waitress—“I think a round of shots are in order.”

Jules groans. “I’m not doing fucking shots, Morgan. How about a round of margaritas?”

As we all order another drink, I point at Morgan and tell the waitress to put an extra shot in her drink. “I’ve already got a tab open. Last name’s Jones.”

As we sit around that table, laughing and chatting in our booth, I’m shocked by how comfortable I feel around these women. We range in age by a decade and a half, but it’s amazing how easily we find common ground. It makes me realize that there’s something inherently freeing about having girlfriends you can talk to.

I see it in how well they know the ins and outs of each other’s lives, and how supportive they are of each other. It couldn’t be more different from how I saw women treat each other—the backstabbing, the jealousy, and the competition—when I was growing up.

So while I’m not necessarily spilling any of my secrets, it’s nice to spend time with a group of women where I feel like, maybe, in the future, that could be a possibility.