Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
PENELOPE
G abby has been texting me all day. The RSVPs for Tucker’s wedding are due tomorrow, and I haven’t sent mine in.
You’re going, right?
Everyone is going to be there!
You have to go, Pen!
Why aren’t you answering me?
Who am I going to hang out with at the wedding if you’re not there?
I need my best friend there!!!
Gotta love the three exclamation marks on her last text. She’s always been dramatic, that one. Not to mention, can we still claim our best friend status if we haven’t seen one another in over five years? I’m thinking not.
I haven’t been purposely ignoring her. It’s been a busy day. Road games are always a cluster. I planned on texting her back at that tiki hut bar. In fact, I opened my phone to do so when another text came through. Only this one wasn’t from her.
Jammies on, I lean against the headboard of the hotel bed and stare at my phone.
Nelly… please tell me you’re coming. Haven’t gotten your RSVP yet.
There’s only one person on earth who has ever called me Nelly. The nickname takes me back to the land of nostalgia and heartache.
I haven’t received an actual text from Tucker in a few years. We leave basic comments on social media posts every now and again, and there have been a few DMs on Instagram over the years. They’re never deep, usually generic pleasantries reminding the other that we’re still alive. There’s been no communication via text, so the fact that he reached out to me through my phone number seems much more personal. Add in the name he’s been calling me since third grade, and I’m a deer in headlights. I stare at the message, unable to respond. All I can do is read the two sentences over and over again.
I can hear his voice say the words, Nelly… please tell me you’re coming , and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t pull at my heartstrings. I loved Tucker, and I owed everything to him. He was my constant in a world of chaos. He allowed me to be someone other than the daughter of the town drunk. He never made me feel less than and was the perfect boyfriend. Before we were more, he was my best friend. The truth is, I don’t know if I miss Tucker or the idea of him. I’m not certain I even know who he is anymore. He definitely doesn’t know me. I’m not the same girl I was in high school. I’m assuming that after a life in the military and in the eight years since graduation, he’s changed, too.
Nostalgia is a crazy thing. It has me missing a memory that more than likely is no longer real.
Though, when I really stop to think about it, it’s not seeing him that has me hesitating. It’s the thought of him seeing me. What will he think? Part of me wants him to remember the girl I was just like I remember the boy he was—and leave it as that. What if our current realities don’t measure up to our memories? What if he looks at me and questions what he ever saw in me in the first place? It’s stupid because it doesn’t matter. He’s getting married. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of my physical appearance or anything else.
I pull in a deep breath. One thing I’ve never wanted to be is a coward, and I refuse to be one now.
My thumbs move across the screen as I answer him back.
Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Sorry for the late RSVP. It’s been crazy at work.
His response is almost immediate.
Great. I can’t wait for you to meet Marcela.
It takes me a second to remember Marcela is the Target model’s name. I scanned the wedding invitation for a total of two seconds before tossing it in my mail basket, never to look at it again. Another text comes through.
Will you be bringing a date?
Yes, please.
No problem. Steak, fish, or chicken?
Two steaks, please.
Got you down. See you soon.
And with that, our text exchange is over. I don’t have anyone to bring, but even via text, I couldn’t admit it. Additionally, I probably wouldn’t have chosen the steak if I’d taken a second to think about it. I chose the most expensive one to what… stick it to… the Target model’s rich parents? I have issues.
“Ugh!” I groan and fall to the side, plopping onto the bed.
After a minute, I pick up my phone and type out a text to Gabby.
I’m going. Just spoke with Tucker. See you there.
Yay!!!!!!!!!!!
The amount of exclamation points she uses makes me want to scream into my pillow. So I do.
The plane lands back in Michigan, and Iris and I wait for the players and the rest of the occupants to deplane before we follow them out.
“I’m going to run to my parents’ to check on Sandy, and I’ll be back,” she says.
“Take your time. We don’t have much to do today,” I say.
The guys head off to the locker room to change for practice, and I make my way up to my office. After setting my purse down on my desk, I turn to my fancy coffee maker and hit the button. The water and coffee pod are waiting and ready. I find it best to have it all set up before coffee is needed to alleviate any caffeine emergencies. I grab my favorite flavored creamer from the mini-fridge and pour some into the cup of freshly brewed coffee.
I take a sip. It’s no Starbucks PSL, but it’s pretty damn good.
Reaching into my purse, I switch my phone off Airplane Mode. The second it has a signal, there is one notification ting after the next.
This can’t be good.
Reluctantly, I set my coffee down on my desk and pull up my phone notifications.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
I scan one post after the next and read all the articles I can find.
Jolting up from my chair, phone in hand, I hurry toward the locker room. I burst through the door and approach the bane of my existence. “Dreven, in my office. Now.”
He furrows his brows and shoots me a glare. “No. We’re practicing.”
“Now.” I turn on my heels and head back toward my office. The guys tease Gunner as he follows me.
Once we’re in my office, I close the door behind him and shove the phone against his chest. “Want to tell me what this is about? You couldn’t go one night? Why? Why do you make my job so hard? Do you know what a mess this is going to be to clean up!” My voice is shrieky, and I sound like I’m on the verge of a meltdown, which, if I’m being honest, maybe I am.
Gunner stares at my phone, his eyes narrow. “That fucker.”
“Oh yeah? He’s the fucker?”
He looks at me. “This isn’t what happened! He tripped and fell into me. I caught him and helped him stand.”
“Really because your face looks like you’re about to kick his ass, and your hands are splayed across his chest like you’re shoving him,” I snap.
“He had just spilled a fishbowl of icy, sticky liquid all over me. Sorry if I’m not smiling like a fucking Cheshire cat, but I did not push him. I caught him.”
“The picture looks like you’re attacking him!”
He takes a step toward me, his features schooled. He places the phone on my desk and lowers his voice. “I don’t care what the photo looks like. I’m telling you right now, I didn’t do shit to that guy besides stopping him from falling onto the floor and smashing his face in. This picture has been taken out of context. Ask all of the guys. I didn’t do anything to that idiot. In fact, given the circumstances, I was incredibly patient.”
My anger dissipates. “It looks bad, Gunner.”
He shrugs. “Maybe so but that doesn’t mean that it was.”
“And now the guy in Vancouver has come forward saying you hit him, too.”
“What? The little dweeb we paid off? The one who got box seats and all the money in my wallet?”
I sigh. “Yeah, that one. I haven’t transferred the tickets to him yet, so he won’t be getting those. But your cash? That’s gone.”
“I don’t care about the money, Penny. I’m pissed at the fact that he agreed to one thing and did something else.”
I throw up my hands. “Yeah, well… welcome to my life, Gunner. Every day is another disappointment. I leave you guys early one time, and this happens.” I glare at the image on my phone.
“I told you…”
I nod. “I know, but that’s not going to matter. The picture is pretty damning, and now with the Vancouver guy chiming in… it’s just not going to go away easily.”
“I should’ve let him fall and break his nose against the floor,” Gunner huffs.
I shake my head. “People do all sorts of messed-up things for money. You know he made money with that shot. I mean, it looks awful. The headlines are all over the place, but the one constant is they all paint you in a very bad light.” I wave my hand through the air. “Go to practice. I’ll figure it out.”
Gunner looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he turns and leaves without saying another word.
My coffee is lukewarm now, but I suck it down as if my life depends on it. I need my brain awake. I take a seat at my desk and open my laptop. Grabbing a legal pad of paper and a pen, I start writing out my to-do list.
So much for an easy day.
The sun has long set before I’m satisfied with my day’s work. I sent a message to Gunner, requesting he come back to my office. He left for home hours ago, but I don’t feel remotely guilty for making him come in. This is his mess after all.
“You summoned,” he grumbles, opening my office door.
“Take a seat.” I motion toward the chair facing my desk. “We have some stuff to go over.”
He does as instructed. “Did you get it all figured out?”
“Well, I sent a letter to the guy in Vancouver threatening to sue him for breach of contract. That night, I had him e-sign a general agreement that I keep on my phone for cases like that. I doubt it will actually hold up in court, just as I doubt the Crane Organization would ever take it to court, but the little jerk doesn’t. I think the letter scared him enough, though. He apologized and agreed to withdraw his statement. As for the guy in Florida, he states he didn’t say anything negative about you, only sold the picture and the tabloids ran with their own stories. I contacted all media outlets with an official statement from the Crane Organization clarifying what happened last night and what is happening in the photo. Some may run a revised story, but most probably won’t. So let’s just hope something bigger and better happens in the sports and entertainment world tomorrow that will pull the tabloids’ focus away from your photo. In the meantime, I’ve set up a pretty rigorous tour to brighten your image.” I hand him the five-page document.
“A tour?” he holds the packet in his hands.
“Yeah, we’ll call it your good deeds tour. I’ve looked at your schedule for the next couple of weeks, and when you’re not training, traveling, or playing, you’ll be doing something to improve your image. I have all sorts of volunteer activities set up, which will all involve photo ops, of course. You’ll find your schedule, along with your obligations, in your packet.”
Gunner flips through the pages. “Are you kidding? This is a shit ton of work, Penny.”
“Yeah, well, we have a lot of damage control to do.”
“I didn’t do anything in Florida to warrant this.” He sucks in a breath through his nose.
Splaying my hands on my desk, I lean in. “Look, I get that, but it doesn’t matter. It still looks bad for the Crane Organization. That photo, paired with all the hotheaded shit you’ve done over the years, has created this bad reputation around you, and the owners aren’t happy. This good deeds tour is long overdue. It’s not just about the photo. If that were an isolated incident, it wouldn’t be as bad, but you know it wasn’t.”
“I don’t have time for this shit, Princess.”
We’re back to using my most despised nickname, making my tiny bit of empathy for the guy dissipate in record time. “Yeah, well, neither do I, yet… here we are. I’m forced to do all this crap with you, set up the photo ops and get the stories in the hands of the news outlets. It’s a lot of extra work I wish I didn’t have to do either.”
He gives me a look that resembles remorse as if he feels bad for adding more to my plate, but that can’t be it. That isn’t something Gunner Dreven would feel. Yet there’s this energy in the room. It’s more than remorse. There’s a longing, too. Or maybe I’m reflecting my own feelings outward.
Sitting across from Gunner in this office has me feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling. The knowledge that most everyone has gone home for the day and we’re alone has me on edge. It has emotions from our time together fighting for air, but I shove it all down, suffocating every single one of them.
I cross my legs. Leaning my elbows on the desk, I steeple my hands, pressing my fingers against my lips. “Do you have any more questions?”
Gunner’s chest rises and falls, heavier than usual. His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips.
It dawns on me that this is the most we’ve spoken since we’ve been back, and I realize I want him to have questions because I don’t want him to leave. This is an excuse to talk to him, something I don’t normally have. We agreed to go back to the way it was, and that means that the only time we communicate is when he does something to piss me off.
Today has been busy as hell. I’ve worked nonstop to smooth everything over and set up the plan in his hands. Despite the long hours, it’s been a good day. I feel… content, and now I’m wondering why.
He has yet to answer my question, so I ask him another. “Is there something you want to say, Gunner?” Something you want to talk about?”
My question is met with more silence as he runs his palms over his jean-clad thighs. There is contemplation in his gaze. He wants to say something, and he’s deciding whether he should.
Abruptly, he pushes himself up from the chair and takes a step away from the desk. He holds the packet up and shakes it. “No. Everything I need to know is right here.”
And then he’s gone.
I pull in a deep breath and look around my vacant office. Pressing my hand to my chest, I attempt to dull the ache. I can’t pinpoint the source of my unease, but it’s there, and I wish it wasn’t.