CHAPTER SIX
Jesse’s eyes felt gritty and dry by the time he finally pulled up to the address in his GPS. The street was dim and quiet—unsurprising for nearly four in the fucking morning.
Jesse’d had the drive from hell. He’d thought he was in the clear once he got past the border but on I-290 somewhere in upstate New York, he’d gotten stuck behind an overturned truck that had spilled lube all over the interstate.
Jesse had nearly sprained something laughing when the cop diverting traffic told him what had been spilled. It was industrial lubricant for some factory or something. Not like the expensive shit Jesse had in his luggage.
But still, it was funny as fuck.
Between that and brief stops for gas, food, and stretching, it was so fucking late. But he’d made it to Boston in one piece, so that was something.
Now, Jesse looked around, trying to decide where to park.
It all seemed to be street parking, which made him grimace, but he finally found an open spot across the street and half a block away from Connor’s place.
Whatever, it was fine for now.
Jesse got out, stretching, groaning at how stiff he felt. Fuck , he was going to need to spend a couple of days recovering from the drive. Maybe he should have listened to the people suggesting he hop on a flight and hire someone to drive his car.
But he hadn’t liked the idea of anyone touching his baby.
He patted the car’s roof lovingly, then paced up and down the sidewalk as he pulled out his phone. Connor had sent a whole-ass novel about what to do once he got there and he couldn’t remember any of it.
He searched through the messages and frowned when he saw that Connor said his place was a white townhouse. That didn’t seem right.
Jesse jogged across the street and squinted at the sign on the side of the building. That was number nine alright. So why did it look like a fucking red brick apartment or condo building?
Well, that was weird .
Jesse double checked the address. Yeah, number nine Monument Square. But the building definitely wasn’t painted white and there weren’t narrow alleys on either side like Connor described and none of this made any fucking sense!
“Okay, so Connor’s either pranking me or he’s lost his marbles,” Jesse muttered. Probably some kind of prank. Maybe he was trying to fuck with Jesse as payback for being forced to let him move in?
A little weird, but the dude was super tightly wound. Maybe Jesse moving in with him had totally tipped him over the edge.
Jesse jogged up the steps to the double doors and peered through the window.
Yeah, that totally looked like an entryway area in a small apartment building. There were like half a dozen little mail slots and everything.
Jesse tried the handle but it was locked and the doors rattled when he tugged at them.
He glanced down at his shoes. Hmm . And there was definitely no mat by the door where Connor could have hidden a key for Jesse to let himself in like he’d said he would.
“Welp, sorry, Connor. Guess I’m going to have to wake you up,” he muttered, dialing his number.
“The fuck do you want?” Connor snarled as he brought his phone to his face.
The loud ring had woken him out of a deep sleep. After a quick glance to make sure it wasn’t Viv calling about an emergency with the kids, he’d debated turning the damn thing off and ignoring Webber.
But he was supposed to keep the asshole in line so …
“Uhh, are you pranking me, O’Shea?” Webber asked. “I’m at your place but it doesn’t look like your place.”
Connor rubbed a hand across his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m in front of a brick building but you said it was white! And there’s no key and no doormat with the Irish welcome greeting on it like you said there would be …”
Connor let the words wash over him without hearing as he glanced at the clock. Four in the goddamn morning.
Fuck his captaincy. Fuck the Boston Harriers. Fuck his entire hockey career. He was gonna murder Jesse Webber and dump his body in the Charles River.
“I was so fucking clear in the email I sent,” he pointed out. “White house. Key under the mat. How fucking hard is it?”
“I’m at number nine Monument Square!” Jesse protested. “But it’s brick .”
Despite Connor’s sluggish brain, the pieces finally clicked into place. “I’m at number nine Monument Street, you toolbag,” he said with a sigh. “Can’t you fuckin’ read?”
“Uhh, there’s a difference?”
“Yes!”
“Well fuck! How do I get there?”
“It’s like a two-minute walk. Head north on Monument Square toward Tremont Street.”
“Which way is north?”
“Christ you’re useless.” Connor threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, shirtless in his pajama pants. “Do you see the tall white pointy thing sticking up over the buildings?”
“Uhh.” There was the sound of soft breathing for a few heartbeats. “Yes. I do now.”
“Is it on your left or right? You do know the difference between those, yeah?”
“Yes, you asshole. And it’s on the left.”
“Well, keep it on your left and walk forward.”
“Okay. What about my car though? It’s a Jag, I don’t want to leave it on the street.”
Connor snorted. “Well, there’s no private parking around here. So good luck.”
“Dude, seriously, no way! Like, half the fucking cars I saw on my way into the city have their mirrors ripped off and shit. I’m not leaving my baby out to get mangled .”
“That’s Massachusetts drivers for ya,” Connor said with a laugh. Because that was actually really fucking funny. There was a reason he didn’t worry about having the newest, fanciest SUV. There was no fucking point. Not around here.
“Connor!” Jesse said, a whiny note in his voice.
Connor’s annoyance flared to life again.
“Webber, it’s four in the fucking morning and I am this close to losing my temper,” Connor said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I gave you the fucking key so you wouldn’t wake me up. You went to the wrong place. You don’t know which direction is up. You’ve more than tested my goddamn patience already!”
“It wasn’t my fault! How would I know there are two streets with the same name?” Jesse said. “I’ve never been to your stupid city except for games!”
“Well, maybe you should have learned something about the place you’re moving to,” Connor snapped. “Now, get your shit out of your fucking Jag, then walk your ass to my place. Move it or I will hang up and you can find it your own goddamn self. I’m counting to three.”
“Connor!”
“One,” he said threateningly.
“Fine! Fine! I’m going to get my bag. I swear to fucking God, if my shit gets stolen or my car gets messed up?—”
“Two …”
He heard muffled sounds for a moment, then the slam of a trunk.
“I’ve got my shit. The stupid-ass monument is on my left,” Jesse muttered.
“Tell me when you get to Tremont Street.” Connor jogged down two flights of stairs with the soft sounds of Jesse’s breathing in his ear. He tried not to think about the last time he’d heard that, when Jesse lay asleep next to him, his skin warm against Connor’s.
“Okay. Tremont Street. Now what?” Jesse asked.
“Turn left. Half a block down will be Monument Street. Take a right there. You can’t go left or you’ll end up in front of the Bunker Hill Monument. Which is the tall pointy thing I told you to look out for.”
Connor reached out to unlatch the deadbolt and unlock the door, then began pacing his entryway.
“Alright. I’m on Monument Street .”
Connor ignored the sarcastic retort. “Go half a block. On the right you’ll see a white house. Three stories. With two narrow alleys on either side. Like I fuckin’ told you before.”
There was muffled breathing for a little bit and then Connor heard a quiet rap on the door.
“I think I’m here.”
Connor hung up the phone, stuffing it into his pocket before he opened the door. Jesse stood on the other side, suitcase beside him, backpack slung over his shoulder, an exhausted look on his face.
For a moment, Connor felt a flash of pity because the kid probably was tired as hell. He’d been driving for the better part of a day. And then Connor remembered that all of this stupid shit could have been avoided if he’d planned ahead and left earlier. And made a thousand other decisions that weren’t the absolute worst ones out there.
“Get your ass in here,” Connor said gruffly.
Jesse rolled his eyes and stepped in, dragging his bag behind him. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
“You’d have gotten a better welcome if you’d showed up on time,” Connor pointed out.
“I didn’t mean to be late! Everything went wrong today. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, shit like this just happens , does it?”
“I mean, kind of.” Jesse shrugged. “At least to me.”
“Well, it stops now,” Connor snapped. “I mean it. This is bullshit . The team needs better from you. I need better from you.”
“Yeah?” Jesse’s face brightened and he tossed the backpack on the nearby couch. “What’ll I get for a reward if I behave?”
“The knowledge you worked hard,” Connor said, realizing a little too late that he sounded exactly like his father. Fuck .
“Somehow, that’s not doing it for me.”
“Well, it’s about time it starts.” Connor crossed his arms. “There will be rules living here. And you will obey them.”
“Oooh,” Jesse said, sidling closer. “Are you gonna spank me if I misbehave?”
Connor’s face went hot. “No. You’d probably enjoy it.”
Jesse grinned. “There isn’t much I don’t enjoy.”
“And that’s another thing,” Connor said. “My kids live here part-time. You will be on your best behavior when they’re over. No partying. No having random hookups over. No inappropriate behavior when they’re around. Do you understand?”
“Hey,” Jesse said, looking a little offended. “I like kids! I know how to act around them, okay?”
Connor pursed his lips because he’d believe it when he saw it. “Look, I’m serious.”
“So am I! But like, can we have this fucking conversation tomorrow or something?” Jesse asked, yawning. “I’m fucking beat. I want a shower and then to pass out. Even if you offered me sex, I wouldn’t take you up on it.” He raked his gaze over Connor, licking his lips. “Miiight be up for a little fooling around in the shower though. What do you say?”
“I say that it’ll never happen,” Connor snapped. “You’re an immature, spoiled little brat. What happened in Chicago was a mistake, and?—”
“Was it though? Because it didn’t feel like a mistake,” Jesse said teasingly. “Ohh, and did I tell you I got a new toy and named it Connor? It’s not as good as the real thing but it’s still nice for hitting my p-spot.”
Surely this is justifiable homicide , Connor thought wildly. No one could blame him if he strangled Jesse Webber with his bare hands. He would test anyone’s patience.
Connor turned on his heel instead. “I’ll take you to your room.”
He walked to the stairs, leaving Jesse to fend for himself with the bags.
“You’re a crappy host,” Jesse said when he reached the landing. He wasn’t huffing and puffing—he was in too good of shape for that—but his face was a little red.
“Well, unfortunately for both of us, you’re stuck with me.” Connor pointed to the closed door at the top of the stairs. “This is my son Nolan’s room when he’s staying with me.”
Connor walked down the hall, then pointed at another door. “This is your room. There’s an en suite bathroom you can use. The one in the hall is Nolan’s. He’s a good kid. He’s fourteen and getting serious about his hockey. He gets up ass-early for practices, so don’t even think about keeping him up with loud music or TV or whatever.”
“I’ll be good.” Jesse dragged the bag into the room, then flipped on the light. He set his backpack down with a sigh.
Right . Connor should be so lucky. “The girls—Evie and Maura—sleep upstairs. My room’s up there too.”
“Really?” Jesse widened his eyes and fluttered his lashes. “Aww, I’m sad. I thought I’d be bunking with you.”
“You listen to me, Webber.” Connor jabbed him in the chest, forcing him farther into the room. “What happened in Chicago was a one-time thing. It meant nothing and it’ll never happen again. It’s strictly professional between us going forward.”
Jesse sighed noisily, then pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me in the shower?”
Connor swallowed hard. “I’m sure.”
“God. You ruin all my fun.”
“I’m about to.” Connor grimaced, turning away before he remembered one final thing. He turned. “We need to be up and out of here no later than nine for the PR shit tomorrow.”
“In the morning ?” Jesse protested, pushing his pants to the floor. He was naked underneath.
Saints alive , Connor thought. What did I do to deserve this?
“In the morning,” he said emphatically, spinning on his heel. “Get up on time or I will drag you out of bed by your ear.”
“But that’s like … three and a half hours of sleep!”
“Guess you should have thought of that before you got here so late,” Connor said without an ounce of remorse, slamming the door closed behind him.
In the hall, he took a deep breath. And then another.
If he didn’t murder Jesse Webber, it would be a miracle. But if he did, there was always the Charles.
That was the only thing getting him through this nightmare.