Cross-Checked (Boston Rebels #3)

Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

AJ

“ I still don’t think you should go,” Nicholas reiterates as he stands from his seat at my small kitchen table and clears our plates.

“She’s heard your argument and made her decision,” Nicole says, looking up at him with a sympathetic smile. She’s still in her scrubs from her shift in the NICU, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek bun.

Nicholas looks down at her fondly, presses his lips together, and nods before looking over at me. “This is one of those situations where you aren’t looking for any more input, huh?”

“Yes, and it’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

“But Chet’s going to be there,” he says, exasperation ringing out in his tone. “And you haven’t seen him since the divorce.”

The last conversation I had with Chet was almost seven years ago, when we were in the middle of divorce proceedings and I was still the assistant GM in St. Louis. I called him into my office, along with the GM, Joey Connelly, to let him know that our AHL affiliate needed a new head coach, and we were “promoting” him.

No one in the room believed that going from the NHL to the AHL was a promotion, even if it was for a more impressive title. And Chet showed his true colors, yelling and berating me, saying that this was all revenge for him cheating on me and because he’d forced my hand in trading McCabe.

Joey hadn’t known about the cheating before that meeting. But after Chet acted like a goddamn toddler and talked to me like I wasn’t his boss, Joey dismissed him, then looked at me and said, “You’re too good at your job to be here.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I’d asked, worried that he was firing me.

“Even with Chet leaving, there’s too much emotional baggage for you ever to reach your full potential here.” Joey had laid out reasonable arguments for me to consider looking for other opportunities: he was nowhere near retirement, which meant there was no room for me to grow professionally in St. Louis; my years with the organization would always be colored by the fact that Chet had gotten me my first job there; McCabe’s trade had been a mess; and my marriage had disintegrated through it all.

He wasn’t wrong. He also wasn’t pushing me out. He was encouraging me to spread my wings, which I appreciated. So I’d used the rest of that season to put out feelers with other teams, and ultimately I’d ended up coming to Boston.

And I haven’t seen or talked directly to Chet since then.

“I’m not worried about seeing him, Nicholas.”

I get why he thinks it’s better that I avoid my parents’ annual fundraiser as I have every year since Chet and I split. But now, if I’m in St. Louis and I don’t go, it feels like I’m hiding. And I’m done doing that.

He and Nicole both narrow their eyes at me, then glance at each other.

“Someone’s bringing new energy,” my brother says, raising his eyebrow before he turns and sets the dishes the sink.

“I like it,” Nicole adds.

I’ve always done everything in my power to avoid running into Chet, including not going to family functions since my parents had kept him in the divorce, instead of me. I guess our family’s social connection with his family ultimately meant more to them than their relationship with me.

That realization should have been shocking, but it wasn’t—not even back then. And for the past six years since Nicholas and I moved away, we’d done our best to maintain our distance.

I hadn’t had to worry about running into Chet during the season because he’d stayed in the AHL—until this year. For reasons I am obviously not privy to, Joey brought him back up to coach for St. Louis midway through the season. If we play them in the finals, I’ll be seeing Chet anyway.

“Is there something you want to tell us?” Nicole asks, her voice taking on a singsong quality, like she’s trying to cajole me into divulging secrets. Behind her, Nicholas is rummaging through a drawer for the right sized container for our leftovers.

“Besides the fact that I’m over my ex-husband?” I ask, while I mentally debate what—if anything—to tell them about McCabe and me. He said he didn’t want to hide this, but Nicholas currently works for him, and I don’t want to make anything awkward between them.

But it’s not just how things have developed between us that is making me feel more resilient. It’s my friendship with Lauren, and how she’s brought me into her close-knit friend group with her sister, Jameson’s sisters, and Morgan. It’s the way I’m at ease now with the team, no longer feeling like I have something to prove. It’s the way I’m letting go of my need to control every aspect of my public image. I’m actually looking forward to being able to be open about my relationship with McCabe, once the playoffs are over.

I’m still contemplating whether it’s better if I don’t say anything to Nicholas and Nicole until I can talk to him about it, when there’s a knock on my door.

In the months I’ve lived here, not a single person other than Nicholas or Nicole has ever knocked on my door. And I gulp, because I know there’s only one person it can be.

Nicole presses her lips together like she’s stifling a smile when Nicholas asks, “You going to get that?”

There’s a second knock, while I sit there staring at them. Shit. They damn well know there’s only one other person in this building who I know, and there’s no good reason he should be knocking on my door at seven o’clock at night.

“Or would you like me to answer it?” Nicole asks, amusement in her voice.

“No.” I shoot out of my chair, turning toward the entryway. If I don’t open the door all the way, and if I can stop him from saying anything, I can probably play it off like it was a food delivery to the wrong condo.

But when I pull open the door, he’s standing there in shorts and a T-shirt, barefoot, holding Abby, who yells “Ay-Ay,” and reaches her arms out to me. I can’t help but melt at the sight of them, and the way that Abby’s now saying my name.

“We missed you,” he says, his voice gruff like always, but with that undertone of affection he seems to reserve for me. And as he hands me Abby, he leans forward and kisses my forehead while pushing open my front door. He steps back quickly, with a strangled, “Oh.”

“Might as well come in now,” I say, knowing full well that Nicole and Nicholas are gawking at us.

“Uh...” He stands there, frozen, and I hold in a laugh.

“We already knew!” Nicholas calls out.

“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath, turning and carrying Abby back into my kitchen. “How did you know?”

“Well, we were suspicious when he came over to your hotel room to see Abby on a video call the first night you guys were in Philly,” Nicole says. And though she wasn’t there while we were on the phone with Nicholas, I’m sure he told her later that same night.

“Oh, hello,” McCabe says from behind me, and when I turn to see what he’s talking about, Tabitha is rubbing herself up against his ankles. I’m just about to remind him that she’s evil, when he bends to pick her up. She goes willingly into his arms, snuggling against his chest and purring.

What the actual hell? If I had tried to pick her up, I’d be covered in claw marks.

“Oh my god,” I say with a laugh. “The world’s grumpiest cat has found the world’s grumpiest man, and it’s a match made in heaven.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he all but growls, but there’s a heat in his eyes that I don’t miss. I wonder if he’s still thinking about our little tryst in the stick room yesterday like I am?

“And see,” Nicole says, “that right there? The way you just looked at her like you’d devour her if we weren’t standing here, and how you’re practically eye fucking him, AJ? You guys think you’re not obvious?” She lets out an easy laugh, because apparently we’re ridiculous for trying to hide this.

“It’s possible that we’re picking up on things because we already knew for sure,” Nicholas tells her.

“Right,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Back to how you already knew?”

“The night you guys got back from Philly, Nicole and I were already suspicious. So we decided to wait down the hall to see if you snuck over to his place after we left. We waited, like, ten minutes, and you didn’t come out, so we thought maybe we were just imagining things. So we went around the corner to the elevator and we were still waiting for it when you finally did head over.”

I rack my brain, trying to remember how incriminating that conversation in his doorway was. Did he mention the phone sex before we shut the door? Didn’t he say something about punishing me?

“You’re really cute when you blush like that,” McCabe says from beside me.

“This is humiliating,” I mutter, hugging Abby to me a little tighter and raining kisses down on her head to avoid looking at my brother and Nicole. In response, she wraps her tiny fingers around a piece of my hair and snuggles her cheek into my chest.

“It’s not like I didn’t know you’ve had sex before,” Nicholas says with a roll of his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about our sex life,” I rush out, nodding at McCabe, “any more than I want to talk about your and Nicole’s.”

“Why?” Nicole teases. “We have a very healthy sex life.”

“This is not the kind of thing I need to know about your relationship,” I say.

Even though we’re super close and Nicholas is in college now, it’s hard to step back from the active role I took in raising him. Coaching him through his first heartbreak, teaching him to drive a car, covering his boarding school and college tuition...those are just a few of the ways I’ve assumed a parental role over the years. He’s not technically my kid, but in a lot of ways, it feels like he is.

“Sooo,” Nicholas says as he stands at the kitchen counter, putting leftover food into the large plastic container. “I assume if you two haven’t told me, it’s not public knowledge. Who else knows about this?”

“Walsh and Jameson,” McCabe says. “But I need to tell my sister, too.”

He hasn’t told me a ton about Sloane, except that they were really close when he lived in St. Louis but that she moved to Nashville after he moved to Boston, and she has two kids of her own. I don’t know whether she’s married or not, just that he started considering going to Nashville because she’s there.

I probably should have asked more questions when he mentioned that yesterday in the stick room, but I was too caught off guard when I realized that fucking Trevor had lied to both of us. I needed to get out of there before I broke down and told him things about his contract that I’m not ethically allowed to share.

“Lauren and Frank,” I add.

“Frank knows?” Nicholas asks, his eyebrows practically hidden under his messy crop of hair that hangs over his forehead.

“Yeah. The fact that we work together makes things more . . . complicated.”

McCabe quirks an eyebrow at me, and I’m wishing I could have told him about my conversation with Frank before having this conversation in front of Nicholas and Nicole.

“But Frank’s okay with it?” Nicholas asks.

“Yeah, but...you know what? I just talked to Frank this afternoon. And we...” I nod at McCabe, “...haven’t really had a chance to catch up about that discussion yet. How about I update you guys later, after we’ve talked.”

“Of course,” Nicole says, standing. “Let’s get going.”

“But there’s still all this cleaning up to do,” Nicholas says as he puts the container of leftovers into the refrigerator.

“You cooked, so I’m on cleanup duty,” I remind him, taking a few steps toward him so I can literally usher him out of my kitchen. “I’ve got it.”

“But...” he starts, and Nicole widens her eyes at him, indicating that he needs to take the hint and leave. I wink at her. Sometimes he can be oblivious to subtle social cues like that.

“Let’s go, hon.” Her voice leaves no room for argument, and he follows her as she heads toward the door, only stopping to give me a quick kiss on the cheek and turning to McCabe, confirming what time he’ll be back in the morning to watch Abby.

When they’re gone, my condo suddenly feels small. I don’t know why I’m nervous about telling him what Frank said today, but suddenly my throat is tight.

“Why do you look worried?” he asks, stepping toward me. But with Abby in my arms and Tabitha in his, we’re farther apart than I’d want us to be for this conversation. “Is Frank not actually okay with this?”

“He is, but he thinks we need to keep this under wraps until the season is over. I’m pretty sure he wants this GM of the Year award more than I do. He also made some compelling arguments about how our relationship might distract the team, potentially causing rifts at a time when you need to be as united as possible?—”

His brow creases. “He thinks that my teammates won’t support us?”

“I think he’s concerned that not everyone will. And since it’s a contract negotiation year for you, some people might...”

“...think I’m taking advantage of you? Or of this situation?” He fills in when I pause.

“Yeah.”

“You know, that thought never actually occurred to me,” he says, his tone bitter. “The idea that my teammates might think I’m the kind of person who’d get into a relationship with my boss for financial gain...” He trails off before he lets out a huff of a laugh while rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know they thought that poorly of me.”

“I’m sure they don’t.” Reaching out, I run a hand along his bicep before returning to rubbing Abby’s back. “I’m sure Frank is just trying to anticipate any and all potential issues.”

His throat bobs with the effort of swallowing down his pride. “Yeah, I guess waiting until the season is over probably makes the most sense, then.”

I note the way his words and his tone don’t match up. And how his teeth are clenched, like it’s taking a lot of effort to be okay with this. He has that hard, jaded look I seldom see anymore. Yesterday, he said he thought we should wait until the season was over. But maybe now that I said I don’t want to hide this anymore, he started to...hope?

Is that what pretending does to him? First, pretending like he didn’t have feelings for me. Now, pretending so no one finds out how real those feelings actually are?

“I don’t want to,” I say.

His eyebrows shoot up in response to my curt response. “What?”

“Keeping this a secret,” I say slowly, working my thoughts out in my mind at the same time the words tumble out of my mouth, “only makes it look like we have something to hide. Maybe in the long run, that would make the situation worse with your teammates than if you were upfront about it from the beginning?”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t change the way this will impact your reputation. Frank’s right that you deserve that award, and I don’t want to be the reason you don’t get it.”

“So then waiting would make sense, if the only thing I was worried about was my reputation. But it’s not the only thing I’m worried about.”

“It’s not?” The question is so raw, and so vulnerable, it makes me wonder if he doesn’t trust me not to break his heart.

“No. I’m also worried about how it will make you feel if I have to hide this relationship like there’s something wrong with us being together?—”

“There is something wrong with it,” he reminds me. “The power dynamic is off. You’re my boss. Legally, this puts you at risk of someone claiming this is sexual harassment.”

I tamp down the laugh that bubbles out of me, so instead it comes out like a low rumble. Not because there’s anything funny about sexual harassment, but because this so clearly was not that.

“Yeah,” I tease, “but if anyone is guilty of sexual harassment, it’s you.”

“Me?” He sounds affronted.

“I mean, you did maul me in my office, then come to my hotel room uninvited...” I give him a wink to make sure he knows I’m teasing. Then I say, “For real, though, Sarah from HR will get statements from both of us, showing that this is a relationship we’ve both entered willingly. And I’ve already recused myself from your contract negotiations, forever. I literally have no power over you.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. Your influence extends beyond contracts.”

I step closer, continuing to rub Abby’s back as her head grows heavy on my chest. It must be her bedtime by now, and she’s clearly tired. “I’ve already given up any and all professional control I have over you. I’ve handed all management of you over to Jim.”

“The new assistant GM, who hasn’t even started yet?” he confirms.

“Yes.”

“Thus making you appear to be ineffective as a GM?” His eyebrows dip. “Nah. If that comes out, even without any details as to why, it’ll just give those assholes a reason to not give you an award you deserve.”

“The other GMs wouldn’t be assholes to question this. You know Brett Ivers?” I ask.

“Chicago’s GM?”

“Yeah. It’s going to come out, probably later tonight, that he’s been put on administrative leave. And he’s lost the nomination for GM of the Year because of it.”

“What did he do?”

“Sexual misconduct, it sounds like. Unwanted advances toward someone who worked for him.”

McCabe’s chuckle has his shoulders shaking as he steps closer and drops his voice to say, “Nothing about this is unwanted, Sunshine. And I’m happy to tell that to anyone who asks.”

“Sarah will be asking. She’ll need you to make a statement on the record, so that there’s proof that this is consensual.”

He leans in to kiss the crown of my head, and Tabitha uses the proximity to rub her head up and down Abby’s back, right next to my hand.

It’s the same motion as when she runs the top of her head along a piece of furniture, like she’s scratching an itch. But it seems so affectionate compared to how she acts when I try to touch her. And here she is, still in McCabe’s arms, while I’ve never been able to hold her without her immediately struggling to be free.

We stand there, with a child and a cat pressed between our bodies, and it feels like we’re a family. It feels like everything I ever wanted...which both thrills and terrifies me.

“I’ll be happy to tell her just how consensual this is.” His voice is raspy as he talks quietly, probably not wanting to wake Abby. “How much detail should I give her? Do you want me to tell her everything ?”

I know he’s joking, but just to be clear, I say, “Let’s not mention any specifics. We’ll just tell them this has been developing for a few weeks, that it’s consensual, and that we don’t want to hide it anymore.”

“It feels a bit weird to think that Frank knows we’re sleeping together.”

“Why is that any weirder than anyone else knowing?”

“Besides the fact that he signs both our paychecks? Maybe because you two have always seemed to have a bit of a father-daughter relationship.”

I tilt my head as I study his face—his bright green eyes half hidden behind those dark lashes as he gazes down at me, with the look of affection he wears so openly now.

He gives me a little smirk. “Do I need to go ask him for your hand or something?”

His tone is sarcastic, so I playfully retort, “You planning to marry me?”

“Someday.” There isn’t an ounce of lightness, as though he wants me to know he’s dead serious.

A boulder drops on my stomach so fast that the sensation pushes the air right out of my lungs. “Excuse me?” I squeak.

“Which part of that is unclear?” he asks as his eyes search my widened ones.

“The part where we’ve been developing feelings for each other over the past few weeks and you’re already talking about marriage?”

“I already can’t imagine myself with anyone but you, Sunshine. You’ve infiltrated every part of my soul and overrun all my defenses. There’s no part of me that doesn’t want to be with you. It’s okay if you’re still worried about how this will work, or if you’re not thinking far enough into the future to know for sure that everything will work out. I’m optimistic enough for the both of us.”

I huff out a laugh. “You’re optimistic? Since when?”

“I’m optimistic about you , and that’s all that matters. Look at you, standing there holding my baby, and looking at me like you’ve never wanted anything more than this. Us, together...it’s so easy. It’s like it was meant to be. And if you’d stop fighting it, you’d see that too.”

I gulp, before saying quietly, “I’m not fighting it.”

“Maybe not now. But until yesterday, all you could focus on were the reasons this wouldn’t work.”

I close my eyes, relaxing into the moment. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, peppering a trail of kisses across my forehead. “There are real obstacles that we’ll need to overcome, and that part won’t be easy. But I don’t think it’s a reason to give up on us.”

“I wasn’t trying to give up on us,” I tell him.

“What were you trying to do, then?” The question is asked with open curiosity, rather than the sarcasm I would have expected given the situation.

My words are small, reflecting how I feel having to admit this. “Protect myself.”

He stiffens slightly, but one of his hands slides to my hip, then rests on my lower back. “From me?”

“From being hurt again.” Though right now, with Abby asleep on me and Tabitha purring in his arms, his lips on my forehead and his voice quiet, I don’t feel in danger of being hurt. It feels...perfect.

“At this point,” I continue, looking down at Abby’s cherub-like face, “I’m sure you know me well enough to know that I’ve avoided relationships since my divorce. I’ve avoided everything but work, and Nicholas.”

“So that you don’t get hurt?”

“Yes. In my experience, relationships are messy and painful. I never wanted to feel that again. I told myself I was never going there again.”

“There?”

“I was married before?—”

“To an asshole.”

“Ronan,” I say, looking up at him pointedly, “not too long ago, I thought you were an asshole.”

A thin smile graces his lips as he lifts his hand and strokes my jaw with his thumb. “Maybe your judgment’s impaired. It would explain how you thought Chet was a good guy in the first place and were confused about me being an asshole until now.”

“Was I confused? Or were you an asshole until we talked about why I had to trade you?”

His smile widens. “Perhaps a little of both.”

I shift because Abby’s dead weight is hurting my back and arms. The cast on my right arm means my left is bearing most of her weight, and those muscles are clearly not up to the task.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding his chin toward my front door. “Let’s go put Abby to bed so we can finish talking about why I’m not going to let you close yourself off from being happy.”

I glance back into my kitchen at the dishes in the sink and realize that I don’t care about leaving a mess behind. Everything I care about is right in front of me, heading out my door, and I’m going with them.