Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Fucking hell, I’m coming,” I mutter as I jog down the stairs, the incessant pounding at my front door becoming more irritating with each bang. “What is—?”
Shock makes my words die on my tongue, the sentence long forgotten as I see my girl on my doorstep. I’m about to take a step toward her, pull her into my arms, a surprise I didn’t know was coming, but stop short when I notice Pippa’s jaw locked, her face murderous, as she stands on my step.
“I’ve just had déjà vu.” I smile, wanting to break the tension that’s coming off her in waves, but it doesn’t get a chance to grow as she shoves past me and whirls around as I close the door.
“You were fired!?”
I open my mouth to speak, but close it quickly, not wanting to answer her question, instead asking, “What are you doing back?”
She glares at me, propping her hands on her hips. “I came back to surprise you before your boys’ weekend, but imagine my surprise when I found out you were fired? ”
“Who told you?” I ask, confused.
“So it’s true?” she asks in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to tell you after Worlds,” I say calmly, which appears to anger her more, her face growing red. But I don’t understand how she knows. “Who told you?”
“After Worlds?” she shrieks, ignoring me again, and I swear I see her stomp her foot. “You were going to wait a whole week before telling me my dad fucking fired you?”
I try to reach for her, but she snaps her arm out of reach. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
I flinch, stepping back, giving her the space she obviously needs. I want to comfort her, to tell her that I’m fine, that we’re fine, but she storms into the kitchen, huffing loudly, and threading her hands into her hair.
“Your focus needs to be on your upcoming competition, not my recent dismissal from my job,” I say, my voice as serene as I can muster, versus her high-pitched, irate one. “How did you find out about it anyway? I was under the impression your father was waiting.”
“You and my father do not get to determine what I should and should not be allowed to know,” she snaps. “When did this happen?”
“The other day,” I reply, resigned to answering her questions if it helps her take a breath. Only, everything I appear to say is making it worse.
Her nostrils flare as she starts to pace, stopping halfway and whipping around. “Wait, was this before or after we video called?”
I itch the back of my neck. “Before.”
She growls, the sound oddly frightening from someone so small. “So that’s why you were avoiding me on the phone.”
I shake my head. “No, wait a minute, Pippa. I wasn’t avoiding you. I was focusing on Québec…”
“You’re unbelievable,” she huffs to herself. “More interested in your boys’ trip.”
“It’s not just a boys’ trip ,” I say, trying to approach her again, but the look she gives me could turn Medusa herself to stone. “Baby, it’s—"
“You should have told me,” she cuts me off. “I shouldn’t have to find out days later.”
“Who—”
“Liam,” she cries out in exasperation, throwing her arms in the air. “Liam told me, okay?”
“That little shit,” I chuckle.
“Why are you laughing, you asshole?” she seethes. A vein in her throat throbs as she slowly turns a brighter shade of red. “This is serious, Wyatt. Did he give you a reason? My dad? Why did he fire you?”
I run my hand through my hair, not particularly wanting to share this bit. Not when she’s so close to her goals. She should be focusing on the Championships and the Championships only. “Pippa, now’s not the time to discuss this.”
“Why?” She thrusts her finger at me. “And don’t you dare say it’s because of my skating.”
She’s breathing hard, more veins making themselves known in the side of her temples, her eyes glassy with what I think are tears of frustration. Hands shaking by her sides, rage fuels her as she stares at me from across my kitchen.
“Tell me, Wyatt,” she pleads.
I pause before saying, “Over twenty-five thousand dollars was charged to the company for aviation fuel used for unauthorized flights.”
Her lips tug down at the sides, her forehead wrinkling. “What does that even mean?”
“They were the flights I’d flown to California for the U.S. Championship and…”
“And Colorado,” she finishes for me, her voice small. Her face pales as understanding dawns on her. “The flights I asked you to make. The flights I didn’t run past my dad because I’m a selfish bitch.”
“Pippa,” I chide, closing the distance between us, only she steps back raising her hand.
“No, Wyatt, it’s true. If I’d told him I had asked you to make those journeys, it would have been fine, but I didn’t because I didn’t want him to find out about us until we decided what this was.” She gestures between us. “I wasn’t going to put your job in jeopardy, but it didn’t matter anyway, did it? It’s still the reason he fired you.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “Why didn’t you tell him it was me? Why didn’t you blame me?”
“’Cause that wouldn’t be the truth.”
“Yes, it would have,” she yells. “ I asked you! I forced you…” She grabs her hair, tugging hard. “Fuck, I even used the whole I’m your boss card.”
Pippa Cartwright is a fantasy I never thought I’d get to have. Apoplectic on my behalf for some unjust reason for my seemingly unfair dismissal. Only she doesn’t realize I’d take a million firings if it meant I got to be with her.
This time, when I step forward, I don’t give her a chance to bat me off. I cup the back of her neck, my thumb pushing her chin upward. “What kind of man would I be if I threw the woman I love under the bus just to save my job? A job that I was going to quit anyway.”
Eyes widening, she gasps. “What?”
I move my hand, the same thumb I’d used on her jaw brushing over her lower lip. “I had my resignation letter all printed and ready to go, but the day your dad called me into his office, I was on my way to Greenwich, and I didn’t have it on me.” I laugh half-heartedly. “It would have been nice to quit on a good note with your dad, but unemployed is unemployed either way.” I stare into her unblinking gray eyes. “But, it doesn’t matter because I love you, Pippa.”
She opens her mouth while my heart dislodges and travels to my throat as she closes it again. Maybe I’ve read this wrong. Maybe she doesn’t feel the same about me, but then she chews on her lip, trying to bite her smile, and I can only hope she feels the same.
“Wyatt,” she whispers her eyes slowly closing, only to snap back open with a look of determination on her face. “Fuck!”
She’s out of my hold and at my front door before I know it. Confused, I follow her, watching as she storms down my walkway toward the car waiting by the curb.
“I’m going to kill him,” she yells to no one in particular. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Pippa?” I call after her, leaning against the doorjamb, watching her go. Why bother chasing her? She’s Pippa fucking Cartwright. No one can tell her what to do.
She spins around, her long brown hair flying as she points at me, a fierce scowl on her face. “He is not firing my boyfriend over something that was my fault. I’m going to fix this.”
The car speeds away, leaving me on my doorstep, laughing to myself at the fact that my brat worked herself up over my firing yet didn’t fully register me telling her I loved her.
My phone rings, and I tug it out of my pants pocket, answering it without checking the caller ID.
“Are you ready for the best trip of your life?” Bowie asks as I walk back into the house and shut the door.
“I need a drink more than anything,” I say, rubbing my temple with my free hand.
“Uh-oh, what’s happened now?” His voice sounds farther away as I realize he must have put me on speaker. “Surely, your week cannot get any worse than seeing your biological mother on her deathbed and then getting fired?”
“Jesus, Bowie,” I hear Mason chastise. “You have no tact.”
“Some people might find your dry humor offensive, Bowie,” I add.
“Good thing you’re not some people,” he replies. “Now spill.”
Walking up to my bedroom, I finish adding my toiletry bag into my suitcase and close the lid. “I told Pippa I loved her.”
“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” Mason says.
“And what did she say?” Bowie asks, sounding curious.
“Fuck.”
The two men groan down the line. “Shit. You okay? What happened?”
I laugh, the sound a little hysterical. “No, fuck was what she said.”
After the way our conversation went, how else did I expect her to reply? Pippa is fiery and passionate and puts her heart and soul into every aspect of her life. Why would her reply to my declaration be anything different?
“Wyatt, I don't think that’s the best response for an I love you ,” Mason says. “Are you okay?”
Zipping up the bag, I carry it down to my hall, leaving it by the door. “She stormed out of my house, screaming that she was going to kill her father, and then called me her boyfriend. I’m great.”
“You Grant brothers are weird,” Mason mutters, and I hear scuffling down the line.
“And one day, hopefully, you’ll be a Grant,” Bowie says.
“Or you’ll be a Jury.”
“You’re taking my name, babe.”
“How is that fair?” Mason argues.
“People know who Bowie Grant is. No one’s gonna know who Bowie Jury is.”
“Excuse me, Mason Jury was on the cover of Forbes. Not Mason Grant.”
“Okay, guys,” I say, cutting in between their lovers’ quarrel. “As much as I’d love to keep listening to a hypothetical argument about when you get married, considering neither of you have proposed. I’m gonna hang up. I’ll be at your place in an hour.”
“Wy, do you think it’s a good idea to come with us?” Bowie questions hesitantly. “I mean, no offense bro, but your life’s a bit of a shitshow.”
“And that’s exactly why I need to come.”
Grabbing my car keys, I lock up my house and shove my case in the trunk of my car. “The woman I love thinks she has fucked over my life by getting me fired. I’d like to have some good news to give her after Worlds.”